Sanctuary Read Free Page B

indicators that Basal was a high-security facility were the series of locked doors that separated the administrative wing from the rest of the prison, the twin heavy-gauge doors at the entrance, and the three impassable perimeter fences around the entire compound.
    The warden’s door opened. A tall man with a balding head, dressed in dark brown slacks and a white shirt, filled the frame and stared at Danny with drooping blue eyes. This was the warden. Marshall Pape.
    Danny stood. The man’s cheekbones were high, hardening his long face, but otherwise he looked like any middle-aged executive who might be seen entering or leaving a bank.
    “Welcome to hell,” Pape said.
    His eyes held on Danny for a long beat before a smile brightened his face.
    “So to speak. Please. Come in.”
    Danny dipped his head and walked into the room. The door closed quietly behind him and an electric latch fell into place, sealing him off from any attempt to get out using the warden as a hostage.
    Three red camera lights winked at them from the corners of the ceiling. Whoever had constructed this new facility had surely covered all the bases using less conventional and far more sophisticated measures than in older prisons. For all Danny knew, there was a gun trained on his head at that very moment, waiting for him to grab a pen on the warden’s cherrywood desk in an attempt to stab him.
    The office was large and plush, with dark wood-paneled walls, bookcases, globes, several lamps, and two large family portraits. These showed a gray-haired woman, presumably the warden’s wife, and two adolescent children, a boy and a girl. A sheer lace curtain covered the room’s only window.
    “Have a seat, Danny.” The warden’s voice was low and soothing. He indicated one of three high-backed leather chairs positioned opposite his desk. “Just so you know, this interview is being watched and recorded. Do you have a family?”
    “No, sir.”
    “No?” He looked at one of the family portraits. “That’s too bad. Everyone needs a family. There’s nothing more important in this world than loving and being loved by your family. It’s why I do what I do, you know. To keep families like mine safe. Society demands this from me, and I would give my life for it.”
    Danny said nothing.
    The warden slowly opened a file folder, studied Danny for a moment, then settled into his chair.
    “Let’s start at the beginning, if you don’t mind. Do you know how many people in the United States are incarcerated, Mr. Hansen?”
    “No.”
    “According to the latest statistics, one out of every hundred adults in America is behind bars at any given time. Purely by the numbers, the average adult male in this country stands a fifteen percent chance of being imprisoned sometime during his life. Does that strike you as high?”
    He’d heard it was ten percent. “It does.”
    “Yes, it does. And thank you for being so direct in your responses. I appreciate that.”
    Danny nodded.
    “The sheer number of people imprisoned in this country becomes truly alarming when you consider that, although the Unites States makes up only five percent of the world’s population, it has twenty-five percent of the world’s prison population. On average, our incarceration rate is five times the rest of the world. Per capita, we have six times the incarceration rate of Canada, twenty times that of Japan. That’s a seven hundred percent increase since 1970. Few realize it, but the United States is fast becoming a penal colony. Does this alarm you?”
    “It does.”
    “Bear with me, because I need you to understand where I’m headed with all of this. One out of every thirty-one men in the United States today is either in jail today or under the supervision of corrections. The recidivism rate in California is seventy percent. As you know, the gyms at Ironwood are no longer used for recreation but to house hundreds of bunk beds, an attempt to handle more than twice the number of