Page 101 of Call Sign: King
He remembered thinking how lame it had been to get the wallet as a gift after spending years risking his life in Afghanistan for his country. Seeing the guard’s demeanor soften slightly after recognizing the visitor as a fellow serviceman was the first real benefit he’d seen from the well-worn leather after carrying it for ten years.
Shoving a clipboard in Amir’s direction next, the guard instructed him to, “Fill this out.”
He’d only filled out half of the basic information when the guard added. “You must really know some bigwig. I’ve been working this Sunday shift for almost six months and you’re the first visitor that’s been approved like this.”
The asshole didn’t know the half of it.
Finishing by scrawling his signature at the bottom, Torch handed the clipboard and pen back as he finally answered.
“It helps having friends in high places.”
He knew his answer didn’t satisfy the guard’s curiosity, but he didn’t really give a shit. This was the absolutely last place he wanted to be. The sooner he got this shitshow started, the sooner he could get the fuck out of there.
The guard instructed him on what to do next.
“I’ll buzz you in over there,” pointing in the direction of the reinforced metal doors across the small lobby before adding. “Stop at the checkpoint. They’ll pat you down, so if you’re carrying any weapons or contraband, get rid of it now because you don’t want to see what happens if you try to get something inside you shouldn’t.”
Amir wanted to tell the man he wasn’t stupid but decided to keep his mouth shut instead. No point in taking his growing anxiety out on a guy just doing his job.
Instead, he took the visitor’s badge the guy held out with a final instruction. “You’ll trade this back in for your ID on the way out.”
Torch opened the heavy door as soon as he was buzzed in. The corridor on the other side was well-lit and clean.
It was also deserted.
Only when he was within reach of the metal bars that blocked the entire width of the hallway did the guard desk on the right come into view. Behind the presumably bullet-proof glass sat two armed guards dressed in standard Navy blues.
As soon as they recognized his arrival, one of the two men stood, coming out to meet him while the second buzzed the gate open.
Once inside the safe zone buffer, the twelve feet space between the two sets of iron bars, he was joined by the man with a military police badge on his bicep.
“I’m going to pat you down, Mr. Salik.”
Torch held out his arms, submitting to the search.
Once satisfied the visitor wasn’t trying to sneak in contraband, the guard nodded in the direction of his counterpart still behind the glass.
“Follow me. I’ll escort you to the visiting room.”
Another long buzz. Another set of locked doors.
Being in the sterile environment for even a few minutes was depressing. He pushed aside the anxiety he felt just thinking about what it must be like to call this place home, even for a short time, let alone years.
She did this to herself. Don’t feel sorry for her.
Once inside the triangular-shaped, windowless room, the guard motioned to one of the many tables.
“Have a seat. They’ll be bringing the prisoner in from those doors over there,” he said pointing.
“Why the infirmary?”
Had she been attacked behind bars?
Was she in danger?
Then he asked himself the most important question.
Why the fuck do you give a shit?
