Hack.A.I. (The Hack. series Book 1), page 2
As he spoke, Nate rifled through his file with his eyes, searching for anything interesting.
Henry Kramer. Forty-seven. Five foot eight. Scottish. Convicted for armed robbery. Sentenced to life imprisonment.
Harsh sentence must’ve been somewhere serious, Nate thought.
“Those pretty little glasses you got there are quite desirable in a place like this. And I heard a few of the guys say they will get them off you.”
“Thank you for the warning. I’ve already had a visit from those three lovely gentlemen over there.” Nate gestured to the men over Henry’s shoulder.
Henry turned and looked at them.
They scorned back at Nate, their eyes filled with anger and blame, as if he was the one who put them in jail.
Nate gave them a little woohoo twiddle his fingers wave and smiled.
“Well, I wouldn’t piss them off more for a start. The wee one is the son of Benny Dochlan, man.”
“Should I know who that is?”
“Just know that he is bad news.”
With a nod, Nate rolled his eyes.
“Alright, thanks again, ‘Kramer’.”
“No problem, kid. Break a leg. Oh, I meant to ask, are you gonna eat them?”
He pointed to the fruit, the only thing Nate planned on eating.
Nate handed the Apple to him. It was the least he could do. He had no reason to utter a single word other than compassion.
“Cheers, pal!”
The guards came in and began grouping the men and handing them designated jobs. Nate got grouped with two men. Both were low on the aggression score. Both financial crimes. Relief.
“You three, laundry, now.” A guard said.
Nate guided them out of the canteen.
With unwavering focus, Dochlan and his boys watched Nate closely, never letting him out of their sight.
three
The dingy laundry room was stowed away in the block’s corner. With a single entrance in and out and a mixture of a damp musty odour and industrial fabric softener.
They painted the cinder block walls in standard prison magnolia. A little light seeped through the barred windows on the back wall, just below the high ceiling.
Filled with washing machines and dryers as big as garden sheds, large cotton laundry trolleys more suited to hotels and a pile of collapsible blue bins where the clean clothes are put ready for collection.
Every morning, prisoners dropped off laundry for each cell with a ticket and left it in baskets for the porter to bring to the laundry room. Nate was to move the laundered clothes from the washing machines to the dryers, and then from the dryers to Ben, the individual responsible for collecting the baskets.
Andrew handled the dirty clothes that arrived.
Nate wouldn’t like to guess how much bodily fluids would cover the incoming garments. He was just grateful he didn’t have to handle them.
The two men chatted and joked together. They seemed like nice people. They felt out of place here.
He guessed if you defraud the wrong people, they will make sure your life is not worth living.
After the tedious morning, a guard called for them for lunch.
Nate stalled and staggered out, allowing the guard to go ahead of him.
“SQAI, I need you to scan the building. We somehow need to get a note to the prisoner.”
“Working.”
After sauntering out the laundry room, Nate wandered around the block. The other prisoners, with varying speeds because of hunger, were making their way to the canteen beside the laundry facility, but he tried to avoid them.
He gazed high and low. Mouth aghast. Like he’s taking in the sights of a new city. Those sights are a lot of bland walls and metal bars.
Nate completed an entire loop of the block before the guard approached him.
“Why aren’t you at lunch?”
The heavyset man in uniform asked.
“I’m not hungry.”
“Hmm! I’ve heard that excuse before. It usually means someone is up to no good.” The guard scoffed. “So, why don’t you go to the yard and have a little time-out there alone while they eat?”
“I’d rather not.”
“I insist. Some guys won’t be too happy to hear you been skulking around their cell in Ray Charles’ glasses, butty. Especially if something goes missing. And something always goes missing.”
Nate kissed his teeth, nodded, and made his way down the long corridor, passing three open gates towards the double door exit to the yard.
“SQAI?”
Nate said, ensuring he was clear of anyone.
“Yes, Nate?”
“Any ideas?”
“On the extraction?”
“Yeah.”
“As previously thought, the prisoner stays in his cell for twenty-three hours a day. He gets one hour of exercise, which he takes alone in a yard away from all the other prisoners.”
“Okay, can I get to him while he’s in his cell?”
“There is a sixty-eight percent likelihood of getting caught. Two guards patrol the wing every half an hour. You do not get enough time to get there and back with no one noticing.”
“Shit. I’d rather him not go into the escape blind. He might not believe me.”
“Agreed. The subject is naturally suspicious. Although, he has several visitors throughout the day. Three different guards bring him his food, and the librarian delivers and collects books once a day. That would be the optimal route for transfer of the note.”
“What, the librarian?”
“Yes. He waits until after lunch to deliver his books to that wing.”
“Great, okay. I need to get to the library before he leaves.”
Nate walked in through the yard’s double doors, back up the long gated corridor to the open expanse of the block.
Canteen ahead, laundry room left. Nate searched for the library.
Directions to the library popped up on the lens of his glasses. Suggested by SQAI based on his hesitation and searching.
Nate resisted the urge to thank her out loud.
Following the directions, he walked to the block’s opposite end, retracing the path he took earlier.
“Oii! Ray Charles!”
Nate stopped and turned slowly.
“What did I say?”
The larger guard approached him. Less jovial than before. Gripping his belt directly above his truncheon. Ready for emergencies.
SQAI brought up his work file on Nate’s lens.
Terry Morgan. Thirty-three. Ex-rugby player. Terry Morgan’s last post on Facebook got banned from using a racial slur.
“I said go to the fucking yard now!”
“I know, I’m sorry, sir!” Nate said. “I was just hoping to go to the library.”
Morgan studied him for a moment, then gave a nod of approval and swung open the gate.
Nate nodded back with thanks.
He got to the library to see an older gentleman, maybe in his early seventies, sorting books for his trolley.
“SQAI. I need you to help me negotiate with this guy.”
“Working.”
Nate’s sudden appearance surprised the man after a few seconds of peering up from his books.
“Sorry, young man, I did not see you there. How can I help?”
He rose to his feet, pressing on his back. He wore an open collar dress shirt with trouser suspenders going over his shoulders. Brown corduroy trousers and worn black shoes.
SQAI pulled up his file from the prison records.
Vic Rowe. Seventy-two. Five ten. Serving a life sentence for the murder of his wife and her lover in 1995.
A note on the system to hold all mail. The note on the system states that he writes a letter to his daughter every week, but he has received them back with no forwarding address.
“I was looking for a book.”
“Any book in particular?”
“Something about a prison escape.”
The man chuckled, and Nate returned a smile.
“Well, we all wish we could do that now, don’t we, kid? But no books like that. Any mention of it puts them on the ‘banned books’ list.”
“Oh, right?”
As Nate spoke, his voice carried a tinge of disappointment, betraying his true feelings.
“They don’t want anyone to get any bright ideas, see, kid?”
“Makes sense.”
With a brief glance, the man evaluated Nate's appearance, noting the glasses, his untucked shirt and scuffed shoes.
“You new in, kid?”
“Yeah, I came in yesterday.”
“Oh, christ. Very fresh meat. People will eat you alive with those glasses. What did you do?”
“I stole from a member of parliament.”
Nate was aware he could never pass as committing any violent crimes. He didn’t have the physique or look of someone violent. They’d easily see through it and assume he’s a cop or a spy. Neither would work out well for him.
“Oh, that’ll do it. What did you steal?”
“His laptop. It had information I needed.”
“Not one of those activists disrupting normal people, are ya?”
“No, just not a fan of the way this government treats people.”
“Eh, it’s always been the same. If anything, you kids get it better now than we ever did before.”
“I’m not so sure about that.”
“Oh, you do, trust me. There were times where we couldn’t even feed everyone in our family and had to choose.”
Vic pulled out a handkerchief and folded it over to rub his mouth.
“These days you get to spend time with your family, go on holidays around the world. The internet and technology have brought people all over the world closer together. It’s a fantastic new world. Sure, it has its issues, but it’s heading in the right direction, I believe.”
A slight pursing of his lips accompanied Nate's nod.
“Anyway, that’s enough of me rambling. What genre are you into?”
“I’m not really sure. Mainly thrillers or contemporary sci-fi sometimes.”
“Oh, well, have I got a thriller for you? Lovely book. One of my favourites lately, it’s called ‘Survive the night’ by Riley Sager. It keeps you guessing.”
He scuttled over to the latest releases bookshelf, got right up close to the books, and squinted at each book until he found the right one.
He pulled it out gently and tapped it with his opposite shaking, frail index finger. Before he scuttled back over and handed it to Nate.
“There you are, kid.” He cheerily smiled. And Nate returned the smile and turned to leave but paused.
“Actually, I had come here to ask you, hopefully, for a favour?”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. It’s Vic, isn’t it? Your name I mean.”
“Yes, it is.”
“I’m Nate. It’s nice to meet you.” Nate offered his hand, a warm smile on his face.
Vic extended his hand and gave it a firm shake, feeling the warmth and strength in his grasp.
“Nice to meet you too, kid. But save the formalities. What can I do for you?”
“I need to get a note to someone.”
Vic's response was a resolute "No," and he turned away from Nate, settling back into his seat and getting his trolley ready once more.
Nate walked around the bookshelf, bringing him face to face with Vic once more.
“Please, Vic, I’m begging you.”
“No, I’m sorry, kid, but I’m no messenger boy. This is too much of a cushy job for me to lose over a note.”
“Wouldn’t you want justice if somebody was wrongfully convicted and put in here?”
Vic looked up at Nate and scratched his cheek.
“Who am I to know if you or they are telling the truth? We are all human. We are all one mistake away from committing murder. It’s not worth this risk for me, sorry, kid. Find someone else.”
SQAI suggested on his display to use the daughter’s connection. A script appeared on his lens, like a teleprompter.
“Okay, how about we help each other?”
“Oh, and how do you think you can help me? A cool pair of glasses like that, is it?”
“Your daughter. I can get you her current address.”
Vic’s face changed. He jumped to his feet like a man twenty years his junior and pressed up against the trolley between him and Nate.
“Don’t you dare mention her to me, boy? I might look old, but I can still put you on the ground, believe me.”
His aggression score skyrocketed.
“I don’t mean to offend you, Vic. But if you pass on this note for me, you can finally hear how your daughter is doing again and not have thousands of return to sender letters from seven years ago.”
“How do you know about the letters?”
“I just do. Look, if you help me, I can get you her address.”
He settled a bit and returned to his seat.
“It doesn’t matter. She doesn’t want to hear from me, anyway.” He muttered under his breath.
“She would. It’s just that the guards have been holding the letters containing her new address from you. And since she had received no mail from you in a while, she had thought the worst and stopped writing.”
“How could you possibly know all this?”
“I know a lot about you, Vic Rowe. Seventy-two. Former car salesman. Serving a life sentence for murder. A good dad to a daughter named Abigail Shoreman (nee Rowe).”
“Abigail,” Vic interjected, tears started welling up in his eyes.
“A grandfather to Jake and Ben.” Nate continued.
Vic looked up at Nate, mouth open, tears welling up in his proud eyes. It was news to him.
Nate had taken off his glasses to show his sincerity. He nodded to confirm that it was true.
Vic smiled as tears plummeted from his eyes down his cheek.
“What are you, some kind of spy?”
“No, but I’m here to help someone good like you to escape. Will you hand them this note for me?”
Nate offered a folded piece of paper to Vic and waited for him to take it.
“Who’s the guy?” Vic replied.
four
Nate walked back to the gate where the large guard, Terry Morgan, was waiting.
“You’ve missed lunch. It’s time to get back to work.”
“I thought we had free time after lunch.”
The guard gave a wry smile. “Not if you are doing the laundry.”
Nate walked past several inmates, all glaring at him, towards the laundry room.
He walked in and the room was empty. Immediately, he started his work again. He ported the stuff that he had left before lunch over to the dryer, ready for Ben.
After checking over his shoulder, Nate brought up SQAI.
“SQAI, I need you to check the…”
Before he could finish, three men entered the room.
“Not talking to yourself, are you, mate?” A short man said in a thick Liverpudlian accent.
“SQAI, combat mode.” Nate whispered.
“Ha! look at this guy, he fucking nuts, man. Talking to himself an tha,” Dochlan joked to his boys.
“It would be sad to beat the living shit out of a psycho, but I really want them glasses.”
“I could get you some. Just let me send a letter and they will send me a spare pair.”
“Oh, no thanks, mate. I’ll just take them off your hands, in it.”
“I can’t tell you how much I need these glasses.”
“Well, that’s your problem!” Dochlan said matter of fact. “Go get em boys.”
The aggression score had been building in Nate’s lens until it reached ‘attack imminent.’
Dochlan stood in the only entrance or exit. Nate had to get past them. He was in the room’s corner, behind the island of machines in the middle, blocking a direct attack. Jack and Chad had to circumnavigate to get to Nate.
“Nate, stay calm. Breathe. In and out. Your adrenaline is kicking in and if used too soon, it will cause your brain to fog. You need to pull the chair in front of you to here.” She showed him the holographic chair placement about a foot to the right of where it was resting.
Nate followed her instructions and moved the chair.
“You need to open the washing machine door, square to the machine.”
Nate did so.
“There is a large pole behind you. Grab it.”
Nate picked up the light metal pole.
“It’s very thin and likely to break after the first hit.”
“Okay.” Nate said aloud, panicked.
“Nate, your heart rate is accelerating. Remember, breathe. It’s vital. In through the nose and out through the mouth.”
“Okay!” Nate breathed and watched them approach.
Jack Sullivan was going to get to Nate first, according to the time SQAI had put in the corner of his lens. He picked up speed to a fast walk. He was 8 feet away now.
“Nate, when I say, drive your heel into the chair. Now!”
Nate kicked the chair right into Sullivan’s path, causing him to stumble to the floor and into the washing machine door and gave it a soft thud with his head.
“When he tries to get back up, kick your heel into the top corner washing machine door.” SQAI stated.
Within a second, Jack pushed himself up off the floor.
“Now!” SQAI shouted.
Nate kicked the door into the side of Sullivan’s head until his head collided hard with the metal machine and the door’s glass smashed into his face and side of his head.
This time, he stayed down.
Chad slowed his approach as he watched Nate take down his mate with two kicks.
“Chad, move!” Dochlan angrily screamed.
It motivated Chad again.
“Nate, when I say, you need to strike the pole vertically into his defending raised arm. It will break immediately, leave it, go and then drive your heel, like before, into just above the knee of his trailing leg. He will stumble forward, then you need to grab the back of his head and use his momentum to force his face into the wall.”
Nate lifted the pole vertically, and Chad got within a few feet.
“Now!”
He smashed the pole on his arm, it snapped, but Chad closed his eyes long enough to not see Nate’s follow-up. He drove his heel just above Chad’s knee and watched it invert backwards. Chad let out a scream like a howler monkey and stumbled forward, desperately trying to grasp the remnants of his knee. Then, Nate grabbed the back of Chad’s head and forcefully propelled it into the wall.
