Thornberry, now leading the way through the Processing Building, called back over his shoulder. "How many of them end up in prison? I mean, from the General Staff? The para-coms do, of course, they just can't adjust to civilian life and I think the Army should do something about that before they discharge them. But they never come here without an accompanying court order allowing us to use the eyeball technique."
Along the short path, enclosed by barbed wire, from Processing into The Cage. Swiftly along the corridor behind the one-way vision mirrors, down the walk to the gate in the barbed wire.
Bennington looked around and nodded approval: his reception committee for the new arrivals was waiting.
He looked across the river toward Harrisburg. Yes, just turning into the bridge approach, two tractor-trailer combos, preceded and followed by white cars.
Bennington glanced around again. From the roof of The Cage, Ferguson, drafted as a guard for this emergency, waved and lovingly patted the butt of his submachine gun.
One of the regular guards gave the general a sound-powered megaphone. He nodded thanks, lifted it.
"Give me your attention!"
"The procedure is as usual except that, when the prisoners go into The Cage, they are going to get an overnight conditioning treatment.
"But until they've had that treatment, you must be alert! These are all dangerous men."
Beside the general, Thornberry whispered hearty agreement. "Yes, yes! Except for Rooney, everyone on that list is here for armed robbery or murder and usually both."