Chapter 1: His Majesty's Prison Belmarsh 1. His Majesty's Prison Belmarsh LUCIEN ALLARD WAS IN A Hurry, Which was never a good thing to be in prison. He took a deep breath to calm himself and looked at his reflection in the mirror, or at least what passed for one in HMP Belmarsh. Actual mirrors weren't allowed because they could be shattered, and their shards used as weapons. Instead, he stared into a dull metal rectangle the size of a book that made his face look like it was part of an abstract painting. How had he fallen so far? As the leader of the global crime syndicate Umbra, he was used to traveling the world in style, eating gourmet meals, and sleeping in one of his luxury homes. Now he subsisted on prison food and spent most of his hours confined to a cell that was six feet by ten feet. He was in a hurry, all right. A hurry to get out. "Guard," he called through the small slat in his door. The problem was that no one had ever escaped from the High Security Unit at Belmarsh. The HSU was the prison-within-a-prison where the United Kingdom housed its most dangerous criminals. Allard had counted no fewer than twenty gated doors--many with built-in time delays--that he had passed through to reach his cell. Getting out would be virtually impossible. Virtually. "Guard," he called out again impatiently. "Settle down," bellowed a corrections officer named Blanton as his ruddy face appeared in the opening. "What do you want?" "I want dinner at the Wolseley," Allard replied. "Steak au poivre. But I guess I'll have to settle for a tepid cup of Earl Grey here in the spur." Belmarsh may have been the most notorious prison in Britain, but it was still British. Afternoon tea was practically considered a basic human right. "Five minutes," the guard instructed as he unlocked the door to let him out. "That's not even enough time for it to steep properly," Allard replied. "Maybe not at the Wolseley," replied Blanton with a chuckle. "But here in the HSU, it's the exact right amount of time." Allard smirked. "You know you're a barbarian." "And according to the missus, my communication skills aren't what they should be." Allard laughed as he stepped into the corridor. "We are all works in progress." Despite their notorious pasts, the fourteen inmates in the HSU tended to get along well with the guards, a necessity when spending so much time in such tight quarters. Because of this, the officers were only allowed to work in the unit for three years before being transferred to another part of the prison. This was to ensure that none developed too close a bond with the men they were supposed to be supervising. The cells were laid out in four spurs joined together at a common area with a small television and a kitchenette that had a microwave and a toaster. This was necessary because HSU inmates were not allowed in the cafeteria, where they could interact with prisoners from the general population. Rather than a mug, Lucien had a paper cup. And instead of a kettle, there was a dispenser that provided water that was warm, if not exactly hot. "We're out of sugar," said Allard, holding up an empty bowl. "There's more in the cupboard," answered Blanton. Allard opened the cabinet to reveal three bags of sugar. He took the one marked with a small blue dot and turned his body ever so slightly so that it blocked the guard's view while he refilled the bowl. As he did, he dipped his fingertips into the crystals and pulled out a phone. He'd paid fifteen thousand pounds to have it smuggled into the prison, making this quite likely the most expensive cup of tea in history. He deftly tucked the phone between his upper arm and body, which obscured it from view a few moments later when he returned to his cell. Allard walked slowly, because no one was ever in a rush to get back inside, and he didn't want to arouse suspicion. "I don't suppose I can sit outside and drink this on the patio," he asked. "You mean the concrete slab surrounded by steel mesh?" Blanton replied as he reopened the cell for him. "You know the answer to that." "Can't blame a man for trying." During his time atop the most-wanted lists of law enforcement agencies around the world, Allard had been so elusive and mysterious that he was known as Le Fantôme, the Ghost. Now he was simply Inmate SS1230AA. It had been a titanic fall from power, and in return he planned to exact revenge on the people responsible for causing it. Later that night, well after lights-out, he slipped the phone out of its new hiding place in his mattress and sent a simple two-word text that set in motion his plan to bring about retribution and freedom. Activate Lazarus. Excerpted from Europa by James Ponti All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
