Riven - Jerry B. Jenkins [76]
As he had been instructed, Thomas carried nothing but his Bible and his wallet as he passed through the various security checkpoints on his way to the separation room. He went through two metal detectors, and though he was greeted by name by all the officers, his ID was still compared to his face, and he was reminded that anything other than single sheets of paper was contraband. Four different officers fanned the pages of his Bible. He couldn’t imagine what he might have hidden in there that would prove useful as a weapon to the Deacon.
Thomas told each new corrections officer, “This is my first time, so . . .”
And each rehearsed the procedure with him. He would be ushered into his side first and would sit in a chair facing the Plexiglas. Inmate Henry Trenton would be cuffed and shackled and brought to the other side in due time.
“Will he be uncuffed so he can use the phone?”
“There is no phone, Reverend. There’s a built-in voice-activated intercom that allows you to hear each other fine. Just be careful to not talk over each other.”
High-tech as the room was, as soon as Thomas sat he was struck by how old the place felt compared with the rest of the facility. The dull, gray-green walls were awash in a dingy light emanating from long, bare fluorescent fixtures. They cast a reflection on the Plexiglas that would force him to dip his head to see Trenton when the time came.
Thomas wasn’t sure why he expected the prisoner to be brought within minutes of his own arrival. He had assumed that with all the computers and tracking devices in the place, there must be a record of his progress from his office all the way deep inside to this room and that someone would decide it was time to fetch the inmate.
No such luck. Fifteen minutes after sitting, Thomas began to idly page through his Bible. He didn’t know what he would have done if he had not brought it. The only other reading material was painted on the wall.
Do not touch the glass.
Do not attempt to pass more than one sheet through the slot at a time.
Do not attempt to pass anything through the slot a corrections officer has not authorized.
Thomas heard nothing for fifteen more minutes, then finally poked his head out the door.
“Finished?” an officer said.
“Not even started,” Thomas said. “Are they going to bring him, or what?”
“No idea. They don’t tell us. They’ll inform personnel on the other side when the inmate is ready.”
“Can you call someone and ask?”
“I wouldn’t know who to call, Reverend. Sorry.”
After ten more minutes Thomas emerged again. A new officer stood in the hall. “I’ve been here forty minutes, and no prisoner. Could you please telephone the warden’s secretary for me and ask her what I should do?”
The officer smiled. “You’re gettin’ a taste of what the cons go through every day. If he’s still not here in twenty minutes, I’ll let you use the phone down here.”
The delay seemed so wasteful and inefficient, but then Thomas realized that the Deacon didn’t have any pressing appointments. And neither did he. It was up to Thomas to redeem the time. He turned back to his Bible.
Finally, just minutes before the hour was up, he heard muffled conversation, then a door open and close. Eventually, shuffling into view came the shackled and manacled Deacon. He looked small and thin and weak, no surprise for a man of nearly seventy who had spent half a lifetime in prison.
“Good morning,” Thomas said, resisting the urge to stand.
The Deacon sat wearily. “Is it?”
“Well, I guess not. Big storm outside.”
“Like I would know. I can’t even verify it’s morning.”
“Trust me, it is. What can I do for you, Henry?”
“Call me Deke.”
“Okay.”
“First off, you won’t be needing that.” He nodded toward Thomas’s Bible.
“If you don’t need it, that’s fine, Deke. But I always need it.”
“Spare me. We won’t be praying today either.”
“As you wish.”
“I need an emergency phone call, Reverend.”
“You do? You know the rules. Is there an imminent