"Warden Bennington, Duncannon Prison. We're having trouble here and I
need help. About thirty prisoners have seized control of our
Administration Building, which includes the armory."
"Riot? Duncannon? Impossible! Those men are con--"
"It may be impossible, but it's happening. Now, how much help can you
give me?"
"Let me check, sir." The phone was silent, except for heavy breathing
from Private Endrews. "Here it is, sir. In less than fifteen minutes,
three cars--that's six men and they've got full equipment in those
cars--will be at The Cage."
"That all?"
"No, sir. In twenty minutes I'll have the riot-control copter over the
prison. It's got floodlights on its belly and the pilot knows the
prison."
"Good. What else?"
"For at least two hours, that's all, sir. Standard Operating Procedure
calls for the immediate establishment of a cordon at fixed points,
roving patrols on the countryside west of you and blocks on all
railroads, bus and air terminals--"
"Someone will be in the parking lot. Give me what you have and get it
moving!"
It wouldn't be enough. Half of the permanent staff as hostages, enough
weapons and ammo in the armory to fight a war....
He dialed again. "Operator? I want the Commanding General at
Indiantown Gap. Now!"
"One moment; sir." The lilt was gone from the voice.
She had been listening in, the general decided.
"Duty Officer, Indiantown Gap. Major Smith speaking."
"Smith? Connect me immediately with General Mosby!"
"I'm sorry, but the general is--"
"Major, get off the line and get Mossback on before--"
There was a click, another telephone rang three times, then a calm
voice, "General Mosby".
"Bennington here!"
"Jim! You old--"
"No time, Mossback, I need help. I'm down at Duncannon Prison. Got a
riot on my hands, two gateguards plus myself and Ferguson to handle
it. The State police can give me only another six men, in the next
two hours."
"One moment, Jim. Duty Officer! The First Battalion, riot-armed, on
the field and in their copters in twenty minutes!"
"Second and Third Battalions fully-armed, with all support sections,
ready to roll in forty minutes!"
"Yes, sir!"
"Give me the whole picture, Jim. And by the way, I've visited the
prison."
Bennington gave the details in less than a minute, then added,
"Thanks, Mossback."
While he had been talking, Bennington had also been listening. From
Mosby's end of the line came clearly that most reassuring sound, the
great bull-speakers thundering out of orders that meant for a few
moments rapid running and confusion, then in a few moments more the
resolution of the confusion into disciplined movement.
Knowing Mosby, Bennington also knew that the copters would be loaded
in twenty minutes.
"Thanks again," he said.
"Thank you, Jim. I've been moaning for a chance to check our training.
See you in half an hour."
"You'll see me--"
"Sure. Don't think I'd miss a real shootin' match, do you? Hang on
till then." The line was dead.
_Hang on till then._
Easier said than done.
* * * * *
Well, step number one, survey the situation and the terrain.
A glance at his watch startled him. Though his combat experience had
taught him how time could compress and stretch, the fact that only
seven minutes ago he had been considering supper in his office came as
a shock.
He took no chances but left his house as he had come, by the back
door. Then stepping quietly but quickly, he went to the south side of
the Processing Building at the corner nearest the Administration
Building. All the offices were dark. Only scratches of light--probably
matches to cigarette tips--flickered briefly out of the windows of the
second-story where the staff was housed.
The mess hall was also dark but as Bennington watched, a short burst
of submachine gun fire tracered across the darkness from the kitchen
toward the armory.
"Listen, you screws, listen to this!"
The gigantic voice thundered through every corner of the compound. For
a second Bennington was startled, then he remembered. The rioters
controlled Message Center and the PA system.
"Stop shooting at us. Don't forget that half your staff is in here.
Every time you shoot one of us, we are shooting one of them."
The words came through on only part of Bennington's attention. They
registered, but he was also studying the seventy feet of open ground
between him and the nearest door into the mess hall.
The big voice again filled the compound.
"We want to talk to the warden if he's still alive. Or whoever can
take his place if he ain't. You got five minutes to call us on the
intercom."
I can talk to them from the kitchen if I can get there, Bennington
thought.
He glanced back over his shoulder. The moon, thought full, was only
part-way up.
_I'm sixty-five, but maybe I've got one fast run still left._
He did. He made it without a shot being fired.
But he stayed on his belly just outside the door, remembering the
submachine gun. From the shadow of the step into the mess hall, he
used his command voice to get safe passage.
"Thornberry!"
"General Bennington!"
The psychologist almost twisted Bennington's hand off before he could
speak. Then his first words puzzled the general. "We've got to find
Judkins."
"Why?"
"I want to know what went wrong--"
"That can wait. Let's put the fire out first, then learn how it
started. Who's here with you?"
"The two guards. Rayburne! Householder! Come here!"
"Only those two? Where's the kitchen staff?"
"Dead," said Thornberry soberly.
There was a roaring in the skies and through a window Bennington could
see the compound was almost as brightly lit up as it was by day.
"The riot-copter, and before I expected it," the general said, "I've
been in touch with the State police. And the Army."
There was another short burst of submachine fire. Bennington mentally
placed it as behind the Administration Building. _Someone trying to
sneak out the back way...._
"Stop that shooting!" The PA confirmed his thoughts. "No one else is
going to try to leave here. Warden, get on that intercom!"
_Got to hurry_, Bennington thought, _I've got to get them talking and
keep them talking_.
"Householder and Rayburne, get over to the parking lot. The State
police are coming there. Bring five of the six over here. Keep the
other man by his car radio. If he can switch to the Army frequency, or
can get in touch with the Army copters thorough his Headquarters,
guide their planes to land behind Barracks Four. Tell General Mosby
where I am. Tell him before he lands, so that he can plan his
deployment.
"Take off. Thornberry, come with me."
* * * * *
The two of them clambered over the counter and carefully, to avoid
stepping on the dead, made their way to the kitchen office in the
southwest corner of the mess hall. Thorough one of its windows, the
Administration Building could be clearly seen.
The intercom was directly in front of the window.
Bennington seated himself and turned the intercom switch to Message
Center.
"This is General Bennington, the warden of this prison," he said
clearly. "I am in the kitchen office. To show my confidence in the
fact that we can arrange a bargain, I am turning on the light in this
room. You will be able to see me clearly."
[Illustration]
"No!" broke out Thornberry, staring at Bennington.
"Turn them on," said Bennington.
Thornberry hesitated for a heartbeat, obeyed the order. Then, moving
with deliberation, he seated himself beside the general.
"This is Musto," came from the intercom. "I'm boss over here. You've
got guts, Bennington, I've read about you. But don't forget, two of my
boys have you and the other guy on line down the sights of their
rifles. Any sign of something screwy, and you two get it first."
"There has to be mutual trust for any kind of bargaining," Bennington
replied. "This is mine, right out where you can see it."
"O.K. Now, first, get that copter off the top of this building."
Musto spoke with the assurance that his order would be obeyed.
"Go to hell," said Bennington easily.
"WHAT!"
"That copter above you, and the Army battalion that will be here in a
few minutes, are for me what those rifles you have aimed are for you.
You can knock me off, sure. But how long are you going to live to
enjoy the thrill?"
"Well, I'll be--" and Musto described his relationship to a female
dog.
"I can't confirm or deny your opinion of yourself," Bennington said,
and forced himself to chuckle. "Now, let's get down to business. What
do you want?"
"Pardons. For all of us. For all crimes."