Riven - Jerry B. Jenkins [61]
“Any contraband that turns up during cell searches is grounds for discipline. Like I said, these guys’ll make weapons of anything they get their hands on. I’ll show you our samples room last. You won’t believe it. But first death row and the execution area. Ever seen one?”
Thomas shook his head. He was curious, but he already had more to consider than he had ever dreamed. No TV show or movie came close to this reality. It would have been all right with him to put off this part of the tour for another day, but he was getting the picture that this may be his only extended time with the warden, and he dare not exhibit any weakness.
“Death row looks just like any other pod, but it’s in the very bowels of the place. As you can see, no one’s getting out of here. It simply isn’t possible, and we overdo it to make doubly sure. The condemned are as far from any ultimate exit as they can be. Eleven envelopes, then the main gate, then the guardhouse, then the fence.
“Nine of the cells on the row are filled right now, and none of these guys has ever been more’n twenty feet from this pod, unless it’s for meetings with their lawyers, and that’s all within this envelope too. Well, come to think of it, we got us a Native American back here who gets access to the sweat lodge every so often.”
“The what?”
“Your brochures will tell you about that. There’s a handbook on ‘religion behind bars.’ Bottom line, if a guy can prove he holds a sincere belief, we have to accommodate him, short of a compelling governmental interest, such as security. And I hope you know that even though you’re a Christian and a Protestant and all that, you work for the state, and you have to try to get things to any of these guys, regardless of their religion. Wicca, Islam, you name it; if they want a book or a pamphlet, you can’t deny ’em unless the publication promotes violence or crime. Anything you end up stocking for their spiritual health has your stamp on it. It’s lent to them for the length of their stay. They’re only borrowing it, but they can have it until their release or execution.”
“I have to accommodate even satanists?”
“So far we’ve dodged that one, because the very nature of satanism seems to violate our compelling interests. It helps that the governor and I agree on that, and George doesn’t cater to Washington. But you’re going to hafta get familiar with the RLUIPA. That’s the Religious Land Use Institutional Persons Act, and it’s the one that makes us provide wood and fire in an area where American Indians can build a sweat lodge, if that’s their sincerely held belief.”
The two-tiered death row was noisy, but not as much as the other pods Thomas had seen. Some of the men glanced at him; others just sat looking nowhere. Two were busy writing. Three others were watching TV. It was not lost on Thomas that two had open Bibles in their cells.
“That one’s doing it just for your benefit,” Yanno whispered, “but this one over here might be for real. Henry Trenton. Calls himself the Deacon, and he had a regular meeting with Russ every week.”
“Here, or in the—”
“Here, which is unusual. Typically a guy will ask for a visit in the separation room, just for something different to do, but mostly because he wants to talk confidentially. It’s considered a bad thing to have the chaplain visiting your house all the time. Makes you look soft. Being what they call chaplain-friendly is not a good thing. What you do for one guy, you’ve got to do for all. If the chaplain goes with a con to his parole board hearing, believe it or not, it looks bad to the board—for the con and the chaplain.”
“You don’t say.”
Yanno nodded. “The con looks desperate. You look like a pushover. I’ve never seen a chaplain change