MARIA WALKED DOWN G wing toward the infirmary. She passed by the guard station at the door leading down to the underground parking garage, G-3. Empty. That was odd, but not entirely unheard-of at this time of night, when all prisoners were locked down. Budgets were tight. This time of night, the prison often wasn't staffed at full capacity.320Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡVoXXMOFqHM
Maria could see from a distance that the guard booth at the infirmary, G-2----her assigned position----was empty as well. When she reached the booth, she found the check sheet---the form the departing guard had to fill out, verifying her head count and containing an inventory of all equipment----was resting on a clipboard, not filled out.
Coralie, she thought. Fucking Coralie.
Coralie, the head guard, would have anyone else written up for this. But Coralie seemed to think that the rules didn't apply to her. She was likely gallivanting around somewhere and would expect Maria not to complain about the checksheet. In fact, she'd likely expect Maria to do the inventory herself.
Maria raised her hand radio and spoke into it. "This is Maria at G station two for Coralie," she said in French. "Maria at G station two for Coralie. Over."
She waited a minute and got nothing back.
She looked around the booth. The inmate sheet said they had an overnight guest tonight----Mischa Barton, one of the president's assassins. If someone was staying overnight, that meant the secured room.
She looked at the security monitor. Sure enough, in bed 1, the bed closest to the camera, a motionless figure with sandy blonde hair was lying on her left side. The black-and-white picture was somewhat grainy, and the lighting was dim. The lights didn't turn all the way off in the secured room, because the camera couldn't see in the dark, but they dimmed enough to allow the inmates to sleep at night while still allowing the camera to monitor them. So Maria couldn't quite make out the facial features of the sleeping figure, but she didn't think twice about it.
Filling out the form that Coralie should have completed her own damned self, Maria checked the box for the inmate head count---easy in this case, just one person. Then she went to the equipment inventory. The four rifles were locked and loaded. The tear gas and batons, check. Mobile first-aid kits, check. Handcuffs, check. Glocks....
What the----?
There was a Glock missing from the stash. The guards weren't typically armed, for obvious security reasons----an inmate who subdued a guard with a gun would become very dangerous very quickly. Why did Coralie need a handgun now?
"Maria at G station two for Coralie," she said into her radio. "Maria at G station two for Coralie. Over."320Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡHDYZ3rsmLT
As she waited for a response, Maria peered closely at the four screens corresponding to the infirmary cameras. The pharmacy was empty. The main room, empty. The security room, just the one sleeping prisoner. 320Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡvjAKetY5vd
In terms of protocol, the next step was clear. Having found a serious equipment breach----it didn't get much more serious than a missing gun---and having been unable to immediately clarify the situation to her satisfaction, Maria was supposed to call this in to administration as a "code 3 alert." Every guard on duty would be alerted that there was an unaccounted-for gun.320Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡvqg3qUE5WA
But this would mean ratting out Coralie, of all people. Snitching on the head guard. The one who set the schedules and the assignments, who allocated vacation time. The last place you wanted to be in this prison was on Coralie's bad side.320Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡByv2LKTtoh
And there wasn't a single inmate in this whole prison who wasn't locked up in her cell, or, in Mischa Barton's case, in the secured infirmary room.320Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ75naWX6QAG
Maria thought for a moment, then raised the radio to her mouth.320Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡY9rmn5wxOG
