Both guards and medical personnel crowded around the gurney.

Cant your men get out of here? the doctor yelled into the ear of one of the guards. The man shook his head. Hes strong enough to maybe break those restraints, and if he does and were not here, then he could kill everybody in this room within a minute. Believe me, he could.

The doctor eyed the portable IV stand as it was placed next to the gurney. The other nurse raced up with the amp of lidocaine. The doctor nodded at the guards. Were going to need your help to hold him down. We need a good vein to get the IV started, and from the looks of things were only going to get one shot at it.

The men gathered around Rufus, holding him down. Even with their combined weight, it was barely enough. Rufus looked back at them, so enraged, so terrified, he could barely keep his senses. Just like the night when Ruth Ann Mosley had perished. They ripped his shirtsleeve up, exposing his sinewy forearm, the veins strong and pronounced. He shut his eyes and then opened them again as he saw the shiny needle coming his way. He shut his eyes one more time. When he opened them he was no longer in the infirmary at Fort Jackson. He was in the stockade in South Carolina a quarter of a century ago. The door burst open and a group of men walked in like they owned the place, like they owned him. There was only one he didnt know by sight. He had expected to see the batons come out, to feel the sharp thrusts into his ribs, against his buttocks and forearms. It had become a morning and evening ritual. As he absorbed the blows in silence, his mind would recite a Bible prayer, his spiritual side carrying him past the physical torture. Instead, a gun was placed against his head. He was told to kneel down on the floor and to close his eyes. Thats when it happened. He remembered the surprise, the shock he had felt as he stared up at the grinning, triumphant group. The smiles vanished when, a few minutes later, Harms rose, threw off the men as though they were weightless, burst through his cell door, bowled over the guard on duty and was out of the stockade, running wild. Rufus blinked again and he was back in the infirmary, looking at the faces, the bodies bearing down on him. He saw the needle coming closer to his forearm. He was looking up, the only person doing that. Thats when he saw the second needle puncture the IV bag, the fluid from the hypodermic flowing into the lidocaine solution. Vic Tremaine had carried out his task calmly and efficiently, as though he were watering flowers instead of committing murder. He didnt even look at his victim. Rufus jerked his head back around and eyed the IV needle held by the doctor. It was just about to puncture his skin, discharging into his body whatever poison Tremaine had chosen to kill him with. They had taken half his life already. He was not about to let them take the rest, not yet. Rufus timed it as best as he could.

Shit! the doctor yelled, as Rufus ripped free from the restraint, grabbed his hand and whipped it across his body. The IV stand came tumbling down; the IV bag hit the floor and burst. A furious Tremaine took the opportunity to quickly leave the infirmary. Rufuss chest suddenly tightened, and his breathing became constricted. When the doctor managed to stagger up, he looked at Rufus. So still was the prisoner that the doctor had to check the monitor to make sure he was still alive. As he stared at vital signs that had dropped to dangerously low levels, he said, Nobody can take this many extremes. He could be going into shock. He turned to a nurse. Get a medevac helicopter up here. He looked at the head guard. Were not equipped to handle this kind of situation. Well stabilize him and then fly him to the hospital in Roanoke. But we need to move fast. I assume youre sending a guard with him.

The guard rubbed his bruised jaw and looked at the docile Rufus. Id send a whole platoon if they could fit in the damn chopper.

["C15"]CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Escorted by an armed guard, Michael Fiske walked unsteadily down the hallway. Waiting at the end of the corridor was the uniformed officer who had questioned him earlier. Michael could see that he was holding two pieces of paper.

Mr. Fiske, I didnt identify myself when we first met. My name is Colonel Frank Rayfield. Im the commanding officer here.

Michael licked his lips. Frank Rayfield was one of the men Rufus had named in his appeal. The name had meant nothing to Michael at the time. Inside this prison, it meant that he was going to die. Who could have imagined that two of the men Rufus had accused of, essentially, murder in his appeal would be here of all places? But now that he thought about it, this would be a perfect place for them to keep close watch on Rufus Harms. Focusing on Rayfield once more, Michael wondered where they would dump his body. As he had done as a child, he suddenly found himself wishing that his big brother would appear to help him. He looked on dully as Rayfield handed him the papers and motioned the guard to leave. As Michael clutched the papers, Rayfield looked apologetic.

Im afraid my men were a little overzealous, said Ray-field. We dont usually photocopy documents in a sealed envelope. Actually, Rayfield had opened the envelope and photocopied its contents himself. None of his men had seen the documents. Michael looked down at the papers. I dont understand. The envelope was still sealed.

The envelope is a very common one. They just put it back in a new one and sealed it.

Michael inwardly cursed himself for missing something that obvious. Rayfield broke into a chuckle.

Whats so funny? Michael demanded.

This is the fifth time Rufus Harms has named me in some cockamamie lawsuit, Mr. Fiske. What else am I supposed to do but laugh?

Excuse me?

Hes never gone as high as the United States Supreme Court before thats who youre with, isnt it?

I dont have to answer that.

Okay. But if you are, then your presence here is a little unusual.

Thats my business.

And my business is running this prison in a precise, military way, Rayfield snapped back. But then his voice softened. I dont blame you, though. Harms is slick. Looks like he conned his old military lawyer to help him this time, and Sam Rider should know better.

Youre saying Rufus Harms makes a practice of filing frivolous lawsuits?

You think thats unusual for prisoners? Too much time on their hands. Anyway, last year he accused the president of the United States, the Secretary of Defense and yours truly of conspiring to frame him for a murder he committed, and which was witnessed by at least a half dozen people.

Really? Michael looked skeptical.

Yes, really. It was finally dismissed, but it cost a few thousand bucks in government attorney time to get it done. I know the courts are open to everybody, Mr. Fiske. But a nuisance suit is a nuisance suit and, quite frankly, Im getting tired of them.

But he said in his petition

Right, I read it. Two years ago, he claimed it was Agent Orange suffered in combat that caused him to do it. And you know what? Rufus Harms was never exposed to Agent Orange, because he was never in combat. He spent most of his two-year Army career in the stockade for insubordination, among other things. Its no secret look it up yourself if you want. That is, if you havent already done so. He gazed at Michael, who was looking down. Now take your little papers, go back to Washington and let it work its way through the system. Itll get dismissed like all the others. Some innocent people are going to get embarrassed as hell, but thats the American way. I guess its why I fought for this country: to sustain all those freedoms. Even when theyre abused.

Youre just going to let me go?

Youre not a prisoner here. Ive got a lot of real inmates to worry about, including one that just beat the crap out of three of my guards. Youre going to have to answer some questions that one of my men will be here shortly to ask you. It will relate to what happened in the visitors room. We need it for our incident report.