Lawrence generally avoided the common area of his cellblock. There were too many potential dangers, so he generally stayed in his cell, protected by a group of men whose canteen allowances Ivan kept well-supported. They were now clustered around him as he approached another group of men watching the single television for the block.
Philistines, he thought. They were watching something that passed as sporting competition in the barbaric country. American football, but that was something he mainly knew from motion pictures. Knute Rockne, All-American. The Longest Yard. That Marx Brothers film - what was it? Horse Feathers. That's right.
To be honest, those type of films held little interest to him. Lawrence had always been more intrigued by adventure films, with grand stunts and special effects. They had led him to install special effects equipment throughout his home - the home he had to rebuild because of the actions of a few members of Salem's most respected citizens.
Ironic that he thought of that, as one of them was the very reason he was here.
"Change the channel," he told one of the men with him.
The man passed the men who were cheering something happening on the screen and switched to the news channel. The football viewers began to shout, an angry chorus of barbarism to Lawrence's ears. How unrefined.
The man who changed the channel nodded in Lawrence's direction and most of the others turned to see Lawrence standing there with his other protectors. The cries died down. Some of the men exchanged looks with one another, but they knew the score. He chuckled silently. That's the only score that matters in here. To a man, the football viewers left the area surrounding the television.
Lawrence took a seat near the television and watched the talking heads debate some quite unimportant issue. Something about drugs. Come on. I'm waiting. Where is it? Then the screen changed and Lawrence broke into a wide grin. It's true.
The screen had a picture of Shane Donovan. Beneath it were the words "Accused ISA Traitor." Lawrence listened as the anchor described how Donovan had used ISA secrets to organize an unsanctioned military operation in Egypt.
An unsanctioned operation. That was quite an interesting term. It was difficult to imagine Donovan marshaling the necessary resources to do that. After all, Lawrence had seen the way Donovan thought and acted first-hand. His approach to matters was, to put it lightly, quite limited. He followed rules and regulations.
He managed to best you.
Lawrence shunted that thought aside, as the news channel switched to a reporter outside Donovan's home. She spoke breathlessly about Donovan's arrest and began speculating on rumors of what he would be charged with. He heard he mention the "possibility of a life sentence."
"My, my, Captain, you seem to be in a bit of a precarious position," Lawrence said to himself. Ah, the delicious irony of it all. Here was Lawrence, who would surely be released after his parole hearing next month, and one of his biggest adversaries might soon be spending the rest of his life within these very walls. It was almost poetic.
You couldn't write a better script.
On screen, the image shifted to a car pulling into the residence. Kimberly got out and was surrounded by a throng of reporters. Lawrence leaned forward to get a closer look at her.
She still looked the same, he thought, as he took in her porcelain skin and her golden hair. A true beauty. And passionate. He reached out and touched the screen, remembering how it felt to have her in his bed. He could almost feel her writhing beneath him in the throes of ecstasy.
Perhaps he could renew that relationship once he was freed. Kimberly would be without a man, and Lawrence knew enough about her to know that she needed a man in her bed.
The news report cut away, back to the talking heads. Their topic switched to something about Manuel Noriega's trial. Lawrence sat back, smiled, and reflected on what he had just heard.
Shane Donovan would be going to prison for destroying the Siwa facility. Those fools in the ISA were doing Lawrence's work for him.
Perhaps he should just let Donovan go to jail and forget his current plans. It would be extraordinary if it happened. Lawrence could imagine one day walking into the visitor's room and seeing Donovan on the other side of the plexiglass - only this time, their roles would be reversed. It was almost too perfect.
My father would be alive if not for him and his friends.
That was true, Lawrence thought. What had his bugs overheard Julie Williams calling them? "Donovan's Army." As Lawrence always believed, the leader bore responsibility for his troops. Lawrence's father's death deserved retribution. Consigned to prison might be poetic justice, but Leopold Alamain's memory demanded more.
Of course, with his newly acquired connections, Lawrence could probably arrange for Donovan to have an "accident." They happened in prisons all the time, usually involving a sharpened spoon handle or a razor blade glued to a toothbrush.
But that would deprive Lawrence of the pleasure of seeing Donovan die - and did he really want to miss such an event? That would be a travesty.
For now, though, he would let events play out. Donovan's arrest. And, of course, his other man was still out there. He had been silent for awhile, Lawrence realized. Perhaps the events at Andrew Donovan's school had forced him to lie low. Or perhaps he was just setting the stage for his next move.
Ironically, the man's services were no longer required. His purpose had been to keep Donovan off-balance while Lawrence developed the toxin. But Donovan's arrest solved that little problem.
Of course, it was too late for Lawrence to call off his dog. They were no longer in contact with the man. Not since he had Ivan deliver instructions to eliminate Marchand. Following Marchand's death, it was too risky to have Ivan or anyone else deliver messages to him. So that meant whatever the man had planned for Donovan and his son, there was no way to stop it. So, perhaps, there was still some poetic justice to be had.
It was almost enough to make Lawrence sympathize with Donovan. To lose one's son and one's freedom in such a short amount of time. But then, he thought, that was hardly different than losing one's father and one's freedom, wasn't it? And sympathy was for fools.
Lawrence stood up and began walking back to his cell. Behind him, the men who had been watching their silly game returned to the television. Lawrence just shook his head as he left. Barbarians.