an outside party decided to scale the fence, security personnel could deliver a substantial electrical charge to that specific section of fence. Beyond the fence, the last deterrent to an escape is isolation. Anyone finding themselves on the other side of that fence would face a fifty-mile trek through unforgiving wilderness to reach the first signs of civilization.”
“Has anyone tried to go over the fence?” Daniel said.
“Fuck no. The average guest puts on thirty to forty pounds within the first three months here…and most of them arrive already showing the signs of an excessive lifestyle. The gourmet food serves a purpose. Most of them would have a heart attack getting to the fence. Speaking of heart conditions, Mr. Reznikov’s health is improving.”
“That’s a shame,” Berg said.
“Good food. Fresh air. Works wonders. I’ll notify him that you’ve arrived. Should I announce Mr. Petrovich?”
“No. I’d like to surprise him. Maybe set his health back a few notches. The two of them have met before,” Berg said.
“Very well. I’ll send his usual breakfast over. Can I get the two of you anything?”
“Lobster Benedict with homefries?”
“How do you like the egg yolks?” Sheffield asked.
“Wow, I was just kidding,” Petrovich said. “Cooked through.”
“Karl?”
“I’ll have the same, but runny.”
“Give it about thirty minutes. Here’s the code to cut the audio feeds. Input at the door touch pad,” Sheffield said, removing a notecard from his trouser pocket.
“Thanks, Gary. See you on the way out,” Berg said.
Sheffield nodded at his security officers, who followed him into the security station as Berg and Petrovich walked down the raked gravel path toward Reznikov’s residence. They arrived at the cozy Cape Cod-style cottage a few minutes later after a short walk through the forest. Without stopping to examine any of the trees, Daniel failed to detect any of the surveillance equipment installed to keep Reznikov from wandering off the reservation. Either the gear had been expertly hidden or the whole system was a carefully crafted lie to keep the inmates guessing. Either method could be equally effective. He maneuvered himself behind Berg as they approached the cottage.
Petrovich saw one of the curtains flutter as they walked onto the small covered porch. Less than a second later, the door flashed open, and Reznikov bellowed in a deep Russian voice, welcoming Karl Berg. When Daniel stepped onto the porch, clearing Berg’s shadow, the pallid Russian’s face lost any last vestiges of color. He imagined that Sheffield and his crew were getting their monthly dose of entertainment watching Reznikov’s vital signs spike.
“Good morning, Dr. Reznikov,” Petrovich said in his cheeriest voice.
“What is he doing here?” Reznikov asked, looking betrayed.
“Emotional support…and to reinforce the fact that you are not out of the woods by a long shot. Stand back from the door,” Berg ordered.
Reznikov retreated into the house, and Petrovich followed him, glancing around at the modestly appointed residence. Comfortable, inexpensive furniture adorned the family room to the right, reminding him of the mountain cottage he had rented for a week with Jessica in New Hampshire. He heard Berg type his code into the keypad on the porch, which piqued Reznikov’s interest.
“What are you doing?”
“He’s cutting the surveillance feeds so I can beat you senseless without interruption from the warden,” Petrovich said.
“Director,” Reznikov countered.
“Warden. You’re an inmate. This is a prison…albeit a nice one.”
“I like to think of it as my well-earned retirement.”
Berg slammed the door shut and walked past Petrovich, causing Reznikov to retreat into the kitchen area ahead of him.
“Well, I have bad news about your retirement plan. Have a seat,” Berg said.
Reznikov swiped a half-finished bottle of Ketel One vodka from the kitchen counter and started to
“Has anyone tried to go over the fence?” Daniel said.
“Fuck no. The average guest puts on thirty to forty pounds within the first three months here…and most of them arrive already showing the signs of an excessive lifestyle. The gourmet food serves a purpose. Most of them would have a heart attack getting to the fence. Speaking of heart conditions, Mr. Reznikov’s health is improving.”
“That’s a shame,” Berg said.
“Good food. Fresh air. Works wonders. I’ll notify him that you’ve arrived. Should I announce Mr. Petrovich?”
“No. I’d like to surprise him. Maybe set his health back a few notches. The two of them have met before,” Berg said.
“Very well. I’ll send his usual breakfast over. Can I get the two of you anything?”
“Lobster Benedict with homefries?”
“How do you like the egg yolks?” Sheffield asked.
“Wow, I was just kidding,” Petrovich said. “Cooked through.”
“Karl?”
“I’ll have the same, but runny.”
“Give it about thirty minutes. Here’s the code to cut the audio feeds. Input at the door touch pad,” Sheffield said, removing a notecard from his trouser pocket.
“Thanks, Gary. See you on the way out,” Berg said.
Sheffield nodded at his security officers, who followed him into the security station as Berg and Petrovich walked down the raked gravel path toward Reznikov’s residence. They arrived at the cozy Cape Cod-style cottage a few minutes later after a short walk through the forest. Without stopping to examine any of the trees, Daniel failed to detect any of the surveillance equipment installed to keep Reznikov from wandering off the reservation. Either the gear had been expertly hidden or the whole system was a carefully crafted lie to keep the inmates guessing. Either method could be equally effective. He maneuvered himself behind Berg as they approached the cottage.
Petrovich saw one of the curtains flutter as they walked onto the small covered porch. Less than a second later, the door flashed open, and Reznikov bellowed in a deep Russian voice, welcoming Karl Berg. When Daniel stepped onto the porch, clearing Berg’s shadow, the pallid Russian’s face lost any last vestiges of color. He imagined that Sheffield and his crew were getting their monthly dose of entertainment watching Reznikov’s vital signs spike.
“Good morning, Dr. Reznikov,” Petrovich said in his cheeriest voice.
“What is he doing here?” Reznikov asked, looking betrayed.
“Emotional support…and to reinforce the fact that you are not out of the woods by a long shot. Stand back from the door,” Berg ordered.
Reznikov retreated into the house, and Petrovich followed him, glancing around at the modestly appointed residence. Comfortable, inexpensive furniture adorned the family room to the right, reminding him of the mountain cottage he had rented for a week with Jessica in New Hampshire. He heard Berg type his code into the keypad on the porch, which piqued Reznikov’s interest.
“What are you doing?”
“He’s cutting the surveillance feeds so I can beat you senseless without interruption from the warden,” Petrovich said.
“Director,” Reznikov countered.
“Warden. You’re an inmate. This is a prison…albeit a nice one.”
“I like to think of it as my well-earned retirement.”
Berg slammed the door shut and walked past Petrovich, causing Reznikov to retreat into the kitchen area ahead of him.
“Well, I have bad news about your retirement plan. Have a seat,” Berg said.
Reznikov swiped a half-finished bottle of Ketel One vodka from the kitchen counter and started to
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