Disclaimer: As usual I don't own any of the 24 characters. This story takes place roughly seven weeks after In Federal Custody ends, although this is a separate story.
Their footsteps echoed all the way up the metal staircases with a hollow ring, amplified by the empty space in the middle of the catwalks. The stairs resonated with their passage, ignored by the six guards who traveled this path dozens of times daily, but picked up by their new arrival who gazed straight ahead; face a blank mask, eyes narrowed slightly. Hundreds of cursing voices echoed round the building, drowning out the staircase's echoes as they moved forward. None of the guards paid them the slightest attention; they continued up the final flight of stairs at the same measured pace. Occasionally the guard at the back prodded the prisoner forward when his feet stumbled, unwilling to allow him to pause. Rather than help the prisoner regain his balance this had the opposite effect, forcing him to grab the railing awkwardly with hands cuffed behind him.
'Move it,' ordered the guard at the back as they reached the third floor catwalk. They set off along the row, watched by all the prisoners in the cells they passed. The prisoner ignored the few insults thrown his way as he followed the leading guard, eyes fixed firmly on the end of the catwalk. His feet were able to move with greater ease as they moved over level ground.
The leading guard paused in front of a cell identical to all the others they had passed, and pushed his access card through the slot. The door opened slightly, and he pushed it wider. Tony walked in without being ordered to do so, moving to the back of the cell and facing the wall, silent and motionless as they removed his handcuffs. He remained in the same position until they exited his cell, pulling the door locked with a loud clang that reverberated through his brain, forcing a slight sob from his throat.
Once he heard their footsteps moving away he turned slowly, surveying his new surroundings. The cell was around the same size as the one he had been held in for the past six weeks awaiting his trial. The furnishing was identical too. A cast iron bed with a grey blanket was bolted to the floor on the left hand side, and a chair and small table were bolted directly opposite, beside a toilet and washbasin. Grey plastered brick surrounded three sides of the cell, the front consisting of bars from floor to ceiling, much like the previous cell, except that the bars were grey here, rather than white. Light grey tiles covered the floor, damaged along the edge. The ceiling was so dirty it was hard to know whether it had been white or light grey to start with – covered with patches of grime and peeling directly above the bed.
Tony felt drained, emptied of everything that had held meaning in his life. He had sat through his trial expressionless, fixing his gaze directly before him at a spot halfway between the witness stand and the judge's bench. If any of the witnesses hoped to see a reaction they were disappointed, getting only the blank mask he had perfected in the punishment cell. None of them were favored with a single glance. All were ignored with the same passivity; those who came to support him treated the same as those who spoke against him.
He had nearly snapped on the final day, when his sentence was handed out. Despite his outward immobility he seethed inside, pacing his cell ceaselessly whenever he was returned there, one, two, three steps and turn, one two three and turn again, for several hours each day. He had spent further hours leaning against the walls in the corner forcing himself to remember happier times, and hours lying face down on the bed, praying for deliverance. Before they came to collect him for yet another day of his trial he would stare at the bars, narrowing his eyes and steadying his breathing, focusing on a tiny gap between two of them, pulling the blank expression onto his face. 'Focus, Almeida.' Well, he had learned how to do that perfectly now. He wouldn't have moved a muscle at an unexpected gun shot, he focused so deeply.
On that final day they had come for him earlier than usual, placing him in handcuffs, shackling his feet and securing both to a chain he wore round his waist. He had shuffled in with the small half steps he was able to take restrained that way, startled to notice three people sitting in the normally empty audience seating. For the briefest second their eyes met his, showing him their shock at the sight of him. Michelle looked pale, as though she were suffering from a cold. Tears filled his mother's eyes, her gasp of dismay clearly heard in the silent courtroom. The tears were blinked back instantly by his father, who managed to give him an encouraging nod before he was turned away, being shackled to the table leg.
They are here. Their faces look so drawn compared to the last time I saw them at the bail hearing. They have grieved for me. I am destroying them from the inside, robbing them of sleep, poisoning their waking moments with fear and hope for my future. The sight of me brings them to tears. Dammit, who allowed them to come today? They are not required as witnesses, and no one has been permitted to watch the case. It was the only thing I've been thankful for during the trial, that they were refused entry. Why oh why couldn't they have been spared this?
His lawyer summarized the arguments in favor of leniency, reminding the judge of Colonel Anderson's testimony about his proven courage under fire; Jack's testimony about his outstanding work at CTU. The prosecutor reminded the judge of Hammond's testimony, recounting briefly how Tony had lied to everyone about covering up a mistake, how he removed a material witness from CTU, the only leverage they had against Saunders, how he gave suicide capsules to the dying at the Chandler Plaza Hotel without authorization, preventing anyone of them from the possibility of recovery, and how he had risked the lives of everyone in the nation, everyone in the whole world for his wife.
'Prisoner, rise,' ordered the judge. Tony had pushed his feet hard against the ground and steadied himself with a hand that could reach the table's edge, standing to a sound of clanking chains. He gazed at the same spot he had focused on all during the trial, to the obvious irritation of the judge. 'Prisoner, face the bench!'
The guard beside him had moved, showing every indication of turning him forcibly, so he had complied, sparing his parents the sight of him being manhandled. 'Antonio Almeida, I find you guilty of treason. Had your actions been committed by a member of the public, an untrained civilian, I would have attempted to understand. Love is blind; it causes people to commit acts they would never otherwise contemplate. I cannot condone such acts by a trained Federal agent, one who swore to protect the interests of the citizens of this country, especially one with such a long military record as yours. You broke your oath, your betrayed all our trust, you risked us all. I find myself disinclined to show clemency to such a man. I hereby sentence you to imprisonment for the term of your natural life, without the possibility of parole.' He paused for emphasis, allowing his words to sink in. 'This sentence will be served in a maximum security facility outside LA.'
Everyone rose as the judge left the podium, and a guard unshackled him from the table. He had not even blinked at the sentence, having expected it for days from the way the trial had proceeded. 'Tony'. He couldn't resist turning his head to see his parents, both of whom were attempting to move towards him. Their way was blocked by a guard, who prevented them access to the floor. 'Tony, I love you.' 'Tony, we'll come see you. Hang in there.' 'God protect you, pet.' 'We'll see you real soon.'
'Tony,' a soft voice called, hoarse with an obvious cold. 'I won't give up on you. I love you…'
He had spoken voluntarily for the first time in weeks. 'I love you too,' he managed to tell them, before being hauled out of the courtroom.
Outside his mask had slipped on again, remaining until the present. He blinked in the unaccustomed sunlight, not having been permitted access to the outdoors before his trial. Several guards surrounded the van that awaited him. Two climbed into the back before him, one ordered him inside, pushing him roughly as he was unable to negotiate the required step up in his chains. Another two climbed in after him, securing his feet to iron rings in the floor, and his hands to iron bolts in the side.
This van better not have an accident now. They would never be able to unlock all those chains in a fire.
Two armed guards climbed in last of all, propping their rifles between their knees. He was given the usual warning about any movement being taken as an attempt to escape and the guards firing without warning. As usual he fixed his gaze between two guards and gazed at the spot on the side while the door was slammed shut and the van began to move. It paused to clear the court's parking lot and entered the heavy LA traffic. Around him the world moved on by car, hooting, blaring music, cutting in front of them forcing them to brake hard. Tony had no free hand able to grip the seat, whenever they braked sharply he slipped along the bench till his chains pulled him up.
He had sensed them leaving LA as the surrounding traffic faded and they gathered speed. About fifteen minutes later they slowed and turned a few times, before crawling forward. The van had stopped, and its door was opened. Armed guards waited outside with Alsatians held on leashes. A guard unfastened him from the van's bolts and ordered him to his feet. He shuffled forward, behind the first two guards who now awaited him beside the door. One of them gripped him by his shirt and pulled him out, steadying him.
Without moving his head his eyes took in the new surroundings. They were parked in a large courtyard surrounded by a high wall topped with barbed wire. Towers were located at every corner and in the centre of the wall. A building stood directly in front of them, in front of which stood six armed guards. A fence cut the courtyard in half beginning at the building and ending at the high wall. Obviously no prisoners were permitted access to this point.
Take a good look, Almeida. You'll never get to stand at the entrance again!
He was given a push from behind, and ordered to move. Silently he followed two guards inside, through two steel doors that were locked and unlocked behind him. He found himself in a room resembling a cloak room, where he had his chains and cuffs removed, and was ordered to strip. The old guards left him, and a new set from this prison stood in front of him, watching for any reaction to their presence. He gave none as he removed every vestige of clothing, standing before them naked.
'And what have we here? The man in the iron mask,' commented one of them.
'No, he's here for treason. For life!' replied another, glancing at the thick file on the bench.
'Treason! An enemy of this country! Hell, they should hang these bastards. Why waste tax-payers money on him? Does he even look American to you?'
Shut up, you semi-literate idiot, or I will break your neck before your friends could even raise their weapons. I AM AMERICAN.
One guard approached him warily. 'Open your mouth,' he ordered. Tony opened his mouth as a second guard grabbed him from behind by the hair and pulled his head backwards as far as it would go. The first guard donned gloves and poked through his mouth, pushing his fingers deep into his throat. Involuntarily he gagged, earning him a rough shake from behind. The guard removed his hand, wiping it on Tony's leg. 'Bend forward.'
God, is there no end to this? I've just come from a prison – I've been there seven weeks. What could I possibly have on me?
Slowly he bent forward, fighting to keep his face expressionless as he was examined. He placed one foot on the arm of his shirt, moving it very slightly. 'Alright, get up, get dressed.' A pile of prison clothing was placed on the bench beside him. He grabbed the underwear pulling it on, feeling slightly more human. He moved his left foot carefully along the floor away from his shirt, pulling a small square of paper along the floor under it. He settled on the bench to pull his socks on, shifting the picture to his other foot, further from the guards' line of vision, reaching down with his hands to pull his socks on. In a trice he held the picture covered in his hand, slipping it inside the bottom of his sock. He had managed to transport it! He breathed a sigh of relief.
A guard collected his discarded clothing, throwing them into a box. 'You won't be needing those again,' he remarked, eyeing Tony.
'Bastard's still playing deaf and dumb.'
'It's okay, the warden wanted to see him. He'll get a reaction, alright! Hands behind your back,' he ordered.
Tony placed his hands behind his back, feeling cuffs put on them. He was given a push to start moving. Expressionless, he followed the leading two guards to the end of the cloakroom, down a corridor and up a flight of stairs. This floor obviously belonged to the prison authorities. The parquet on the floor was polished and gleaming, and comfortable chairs formed a waiting area in front of an office labeled 'Warden.'
He was ordered to halt and face the wall while his guards watched him warily, knocking on the door of the office.
'Sir, Convict Almeida is here. You wanted to see him.'
He heard a murmur from within the office and a guard stepped out. 'Bring him in.' Tony was grabbed by his cuffs and turned to face the door by the guard who had expressed a desire to hang him. 'Move.'
He followed the two guards inside and was ordered to halt about three feet from the warden's desk. His two guards took up positions on either side of the door, within easy reach of him. The rest remained directly outside.
The warden regarded Tony in silence for a minute, obviously waiting for some reaction. Like all the others in the courtroom he was disappointed. Tony's face was completely blank, his eyes fixed above the warden on the window, barely blinking. The warden pursed his lips.
'Convict Almeida, you have been sentenced to life imprisonment for your heinous betrayal of this country. Do you realize what that means? You will stay here till you die; you will NEVER leave this prison again! You will never go home, never visit any friends, never go for any trips. You will never be permitted physical contact with any relative again, speaking to them only through glass IF you behave. Failure to adhere to the slightest rule will result in the loss of a visit.
'I am a loyal American, and I can't for the life of me contemplate why they tolerate people like you in our society. Do not expect any privileges here, you will get none.'
Have I asked for any?
'I can see from your record that you are a violent man. You have been sentenced to a period in the punishment cell. Let me tell you we have our own such facilities here too, and they're nothing like as comfortable as the rest rooms they term 'punishment cells' in LA Federal. Cause any kind of trouble and you will be placed into one without warning. Have I made myself clear?'
Tony had listened to the entire speech without moving his gaze from the window. 'Yes, sir,' he answered, hating the need to speak, but not daring to remain silent.
'You will lower your eyes when you are addressed, Convict.'
He fixed his gaze on the parquet, hoping the lecture would soon end. 'We don't have terribly many illustrious prisoners such as yourself here. Until you joined us we catered mainly for murderers, rapists and robbers. We did have the occasional domestic terrorist too. I believe you are acquainted with a few of them.
Which ones? How many?
'Here is a copy of our rules. Read it and memorize it. Take him to his cell.'
An access card was handed to the guard who had pulled his hair backwards, and he was grabbed by his arms and spun around, pushed through the door and ordered to follow them. The guards who had waited outside fell in behind him. He was marched down the stairs, over to the end of the corridor, through two steels doors and into an inner courtyard. It was empty except for a rusty basketball ring with a torn net on one side. The floor was a dusty concrete, uneven under his feet. He couldn't see any benches.
Tony breathed deeply as he was marched across this courtyard, attempting to fill his lungs with fresh air.
Breathe Almeida, breathe. Who knows when you'll be allowed outdoors again? God, what a dismal place this exercise yard is!
Inside was no less dismal. He was moved through the customary double doors of steel and entered a large floor, surrounded at the edges by cells, all full. Catwalks ran round the edges as high as he could see, surrounded by wire mesh to prevent anyone from ending such an idyllic existence. Cursing reached his ears from every direction, ceaseless as he was led along the floor over to an iron staircase.
He shut his eyes. He had arrived in his cell, in the prison where he would spend the remainder of his life. The trial, his friends and enemies no longer mattered, it was all over. Everything he had ever known was finished.
Tony rubbed the side of his head in a vain attempt to ease a growing migraine. He moved over to the corner and settled against the wall, burying his head in his hands. He ran through the events at his trial again, recalled his parents' faces. Slowly he felt something rise from the bottom of his stomach, a tension that threatened to squeeze the breath from his lungs and crush his heart.
Dammit. I thought there was nothing left anymore. Where did this come from? 'Focus, Almeida, focus!' You will not cry, no, no, stop! Ok, so maybe you will cry, but not now. Not while everyone is staring at you waiting for you to break. Save it till tonight.
He raised his head, fixing his gaze on a spot between the bars and gazed at it until the lights were dimmed and the prison settled for the night.