〃Flick； I think。。。〃
〃Hand me a sweetbun； would you？ They're in that side locker。 Have some yourself？'
A vast sea was on their left and they were speeding along the coast； a greenish surf drawing ribbons of foam upon the sand in the dimming light。 Great scarlet clouds； far to the west； were catching the afterglow of the sun。
Presently； in the fading twilight； the beaches gave way to cliffs and black mountains began to silhouette against the stars。 Suddenly Flick pulled his throttle back and pointed。
A huge ebony bulk lay just ahead； sprawling along the top of cliffs that fell a quarter of a mile； sheer； to the sea。 Battlements that covered acres were blacker against an ink…dark sky。
〃That's the Domestic Confederacy Prison；〃 said Flick。 〃Two hundred miles from Government City and two miles past Hell Nine。 My brother did twenty years here and he told me all about it。 It used to be an Army fort that held a million men： huge underground bunkers。 But part of it was destroyed by an earthquake that took some of the cliff away so they gave it to the 'bluebottles。' They use it for those sentenced to twenty years or more： place is escape…proof； so they ship in their worst ones from all over the Confederacy。 There's about two hundred thousand prisoners there and they never see the light。〃 He slid Madison's identoplate into a slot in the dash。
〃You mean we're going in amongst murderers？〃 said Madison。
〃Oh； you kill me； Chief； you really do。 Always gagging around。 You don't have to pretend with me。 I'm your driver； remember？〃 Flick snickered。 〃An officer of the Apparatus squealing like a little girl about associating with criminals！ And a murderer at that。〃 He thought it was very funny。 Then he sobered。 〃There's their call…in light。 Now； you let me do the talking； you hear？〃
A glaring light hit them from a battlement and then went off。 Four bright blue lights sprang up； bathing a courtyard in an eerie glow。
Flick landed and they got out。 Two 〃bluebottles〃 approached and the snout of a gun covered them from a high turret。 Flick showed them Madison's identoplate and a torch glared in Madison's face as they pared the picture。 Surf sounded with a distant boom and the wind moaned。
〃Take us to the warder；〃 said Flick。
They walked across the gritty courtyard； through a rusty door； and shortly were ushered into a stone…walled room where a very old and tough…faced man was just getting his jacket on。 〃And what's so urgent that you e here at night？〃 said the warder； scowling。
Flick held up Madison's identoplate。
〃PR man？〃 said the warder。 〃What's that？〃
〃Parole officer；〃 said Flick。 〃Apparatus parole officer。〃 And he made a little gesture toward the two 〃bluebottles〃 that had followed them in。 The warder signalled with his hand that the escort could withdraw。
Flick reached into Madison's coat and drew out two one…thousand…credit notes and slid them into the warder's palm。 It was a year's pay。
〃Ah； yes；〃 said the warder。 〃A parole officer。 Anybody special？〃
〃Lead us to your puter consoles；〃 said Flick。
The warder took them down a stone passageway； ushered them into a room where several consoles sat； deserted at night。 He waved his hand in invitation and left； shutting the door。
Flick took off his mustard…colored tunic； rolled up his sleeves and sat down before a keyboard and screen。
Madison said； 〃Flick； you've GOT to tell me what you are up to NOW！〃
〃Well；〃 said Flick； with a glance to make sure the door was shut； 〃if you plan a robbery you've got to have a gang。〃
〃You don't need a gang； Flick。〃
〃Now listen；〃 said Flick； 〃I've dreamed and dreamed of having my own gang。 I never had the means to break one out。 Now； you're not going to spoil it。 You got to be more careful of dreams： they're fragile。〃 He turned to a pad on the desk； a big smile beginning to split the horizontal oval of his face。 〃Oh； man！ Am I ever going to have a great gang。 Now I'm going to make a list of absolute essentials； so don't you interrupt。〃
He began to write and Madison； looking over his shoulder； read：
IDEAL GANG
1 Female for a footman in the car to fool with and feel up when I have long and tiresome waits。
5 More drivers for getaway and loot coaches and in case I get tired driving。
3 Chefs for cooking in relays 24 hours in case I get hungry at odd times。
1 Sealer to climb up walls and open windows and roof traps in places I think I might get dizzy or my shins barked。
1 Purse snatcher to get keys to houses and opening plates to avoid making noise by breaking locks。
1 Electronics security expert that knows all about security systems and can defeat them。
1 Salesman to fence loot for me so he gets caught and I don't。
1 Good…looking girl to dean up my wont because I hate making beds。 Ha。 Ha。
6 Whores to sleep with and cook for the rest of the gang so they leave mine alone。
He chewed the end of the pen for a bit； then he said； 〃Nope； that's it。 That's just about right。 A gang right out of my dreams for sure。 Now I'm going to puter out ten candidates for each of these jobs； then I'll get the warder to dig the applicants out of the old bunkers and parade them and I can select the absolute top…best criminals。 Perfection！〃
He turned to the console and shortly the screen began to show a racing blur of numbers； names； faces and records。 Flick was preselecting categories and then entering them by number in on a side； portable puter board。 Thousands of names and faces were pouring through。
Madison watched dully； wondering how he was going to stop this。
No master at operating one of these； Flick occasionally hit a wrong key。 This got him in a tangle and wrong categories flashed up while he tried to get back。
〃Wait！〃 said Madison； suddenly jarred out of his preoccupation。 〃What on Earth is that category you just passed？ Go back to it。〃
Flick did。 〃Circus girls？ What would anybody want with circus girls？ All they ever do is stand around and show off costumes。 And there； look at the crimes： life for rolling drunks。 That type of criminality is NOT dignified。 We're not rolling drunks： we're in the house…robbing business。〃
〃Wait； don't shift categories yet。 Some of those carry the educated symbol。 Does it say any of them were ever models？〃
〃What's a 'model'？〃
〃Pull the printout on those and get them paraded along with the rest。〃
Flick muttered。 He hit another wrong key。
〃Hey！〃 said Madison。 〃There's an ex…Homeview cameraman doing life for equipment theft！〃
Flick was disgusted。 〃Look； if you're going to put together another gang； go over to another console： you're getting in my way。〃
Madison approached another console and figured out how to operate it。 He got to work。
Chapter 6
Madison； two hours later； was feeling more than slightly ill。 He was standing in the ghastly blue light of the prison courtyard； one hand on the airbus； trying not to vomit。 Naturally fastidious； he feared he'd be smelling that smell for weeks。
The warder； good as his word； had paraded ten candidates at a time in a noisome assembly bunker and Flick and Madison had had the job of interviewing each。 Between them； they had examined 480 prisoners。 They had selected 48。 They had been cursed luridly at the last by the 432 luckless ones who had NOT been chosen。
And here came the fruits of their interviews after being handled on the prison rolls。 The small mob was being prodded forward by stingers in the hands of guards。 Additional 〃bluebottles；〃 alert with guns； walked behind。
The night was dark and the courtyard cold with wind in off the sea。 The prisoners' rags were blown like tattered banners about their filthy limbs。 They stank； their hair was matted； they were thin。 The fourteen women and thirty…four men should have been cowed； but they were not。
They came to a stop in the sudden glare of a spotlight on the wall。 They had not been outside； some of them； for years。 They looked around brazenly。 A couple of them barked laughs at the guards； jeering laughs。 Flick and Madison had not chosen convicts who looked cowed。
The warder； walking over the black pavement to Madison； heard the laughs and turned around and glared at the group。 Then he turned back to Madison and pushed papers at him on a board so they could be stamped。
〃I hope you know what you're doing；〃 the warder said