had gotten down to the State level that Rooney was to be taken
care of, the former tax collector must be sitting on a lot of hot
stuff.

The right phrase here will buy a lot of co-operation, Bennington told
himself, remembering the overcrowded barracks, among the long list of
things needing a change before this place operated properly.

On a short-term basis, the answer was clear....

"Gentlemen, I have no doubt that anyone you recommend for special
consideration would, in some way, deserve that consideration," he
said. "I am further aware that one hand washes another and that if I
expect some favors from you, I should expect to do some for you."

He held down his temper while the politicians exchanged glances of
mutual congratulation.

"But," he said, "if I establish a trusty system, it will be an
honorable one. I would be seen in hell first before I would allow any
man to use the setup as a place to hide in comfort during a short rap
when he should be sweating out a long one.

"Your friend Rooney will get exactly what he deserves. And not a thing
more."

Giles had slowly turned a turkey purple, but his voice remained calm
and even. "I think you stated the proposition fairly, general. You
will get from us the same amount of consideration that you give us."

The party had been over for an hour, but Ferguson was still at work on
the debris. And his old sergeant had, Bennington estimated out of long
experience with cleaning up after stag parties, at least another
hour's work ahead of him.

The general returned to staring out the big picture window overlooking
the prison compound.

_Something was wrong...._

It wasn't Giles and Culpepper. A call to a friend in the Bureau of
Internal Revenue, a few words to each of the six governors who had
concurred in his appointment, either or both of these would take care
of those gentlemen, very thoroughly.

_Something else was wrong...._

He knew the basis of his feeling. He had led troops too many years not
to have learned how rapidly a commander can establish a feeling of
empathy, even on the first day of a new command.

He knew the basis for the feeling, but he couldn't pinpoint an exact
reason.

Or could he?

_Why were there absolutely no lights at all in the prison compound?_

He spoke over his shoulder to Ferguson, "I'm going for a little walk."

"Want me with you, sir?"

"No, I don't think I'll need you. Keep going and finish up in here."

"Right, sir