Lockdown

Fifty-six

‘Why don’t we just roll a grenade in there, frag the whole lot and let God do the sorting?’ Brand asked.

Stafford rounded on him. ‘Because twelve’s the clinical minimum for Phase One.’

‘So we find one other person,’ Brand countered.

‘And where do you suggest we do that, Colonel? Craigslist?’ Stafford pointed a finger at the blank screen. ‘Take me down there. I’ll talk to them.’

Brand snorted. ‘She doesn’t speak English, and there’s no way Lock’s dumb enough to walk out of there with us waiting for him. Don’t have time to starve them out either.’

‘Then we’ll find some other way.’

Brand shrugged as Stafford marched out of the control room. ‘Can’t wait to see that.’

‘Bring your weapon with you,’ Stafford called back as he strode ahead.

‘Firearms aren’t allowed in the accommodation block,’ Brand reminded him, grabbing his Glock and following him down the corridor.

‘Make an exception.’

‘I really don’t think it’s a good idea.’

‘They have a knife. You said so yourself.’

‘And what if they get hold of a gun?’

‘It won’t come to that.’

A few minutes later they arrived at the door of Mareta’s cell. Brand stood one side of the door, Stafford on the other.

‘Give me your weapon,’ Stafford said.

Brand unholstered the Glock, pulled back the slide to chamber a round, and handed it, handle first, to Stafford.

‘You’re not going in there, are you?’

‘No,’ said Stafford, taking the Glock and pointing it at his head of security. ‘You are.’

Brand kept cool. ‘You don’t have it in you.’

‘Had it in me when I killed Stokes,’ Stafford said. ‘That was different. Everything was set up for you. All you had to do was pull the trigger.’

The pad of Stafford’s index finger bulged as he applied pressure to the trigger. ‘Which makes it different how?’

Brand raised his hands in surrender. ‘OK, OK.’

‘Look at it this way,’ said Stafford. ‘You were always telling me how Lock was a grandstander and you were the real deal. Now’s your chance to prove it.’