A shrill ringing broke out, and Li Jie groggily reached out from his dream. After fumbling around the nightstand several times, he finally grabbed the phone.
"...Huh... hello... who is it..." he asked weakly. "Oh... Director... mm... taking him where... if you don't know, ask... wait, what did you say? They're taking Mark Desmond by force? Got it. I'll be right there!"
He sat on the bed, shaking his head for a few seconds to clear it, then checked the time.
Eleven fifteen.
Motherfucker. He grabbed his pillow and slammed it viciously onto the bed. The one damn night I manage to get to sleep early, you assholes stir up trouble and ruin it.
You're all going to die!
He called the front desk dispatcher. "All personnel on alert. Unidentified terrorists have infiltrated Gotham. All officers on duty, collect long guns from the Arms Room and stand by!"
In an isolation cell in the deepest part of Blackgate Penitentiary, Floyd Lawton was doing push-ups.
Seven hundred forty-three, seven hundred forty-four.
Sweat ran down his lean, muscular back, forming a small puddle on the floor. In this six-square-meter space, this was his only way of staying sane.
Push his body to its limit, until his mind went blank and he no longer had to think about anything.
Seven hundred forty-five.
Footsteps sounded at the end of the corridor.
They weren't the rhythmic tread of a guard's leather boots. They sounded more arrogant, more contemptuous of everything around them. Lawton kept going, counting off the reps.
Seven hundred forty-six, seven hundred forty-seven.
The footsteps stopped outside his cell. Through the gaps between the iron bars, he saw a pair of black, chunky-heeled shoes, then the legs of sharply tailored dark gray trousers.
"Floyd Lawton."
The woman's voice sounded like a heavy