Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 2

coat.
    "What will happen there?" Bobby asked. Always with the questions. Of course, he'd never accompanied Sam on his visits to Oberon before.
    What normally would happen for the regular visitor to Mission Point would be a full body examination and a complete inspection of the items they brought with them. But the other heavy purse Sam carried, assured that none of that would occur. They'd be taken to an examination room, the money would exchange hands, and they'd be given permission to enter the elevator that would take them below to the next level, to spend time in the pressure chamber before finally descending to the main underwater psychiatric prison facility.
    Tedious but necessary delays as they accustomed themselves to the pressure change. Then down again and just as Sam expected, everything went quite smoothly, and soon they were in the final descent, entering the elevator and passing down a mile below the surface. The doors cranked opened and they were met by a guard. He looked at his clipboard. Then he scrutinized Sam and Bobby.
    "Constable Sam Dart and companion. Bobby Robbins. Come with me. Dr. Rustenberg is expecting you."
    Rustenberg. Alienist, warden. Jailer whose sole purpose, it seemed, was fixed on Dr. Oberon Ophelian. Hopefully the very expensive bribes would appease him adequately and keep him just high enough that he wouldn't recall this visit with any truly clear memory. Soon they would be in Oberon's presence. And soon enough after, Oberon would be free of this place. It was Sam who had arrested him, and now it would be Sam who set him free. What came after mattered little. Sam considered the dope lining the hatbox. A bit for himself might not go amiss to help get him through the next few hours. But, no, he needed a clear head– or at least clear enough to navigate the dangerous maze awaiting them.
    CHAPTER 4
    The design and engineering team that created the Mission Point bathypelagic facility must have been a truly devious lot, for the underwater prison was as tight and secure as a maximum security incarceratorium could be: steel-enforced walls, narrow oxygen breathing apparatuses lined throughout the ship. If the air tubes were cut off from above, everything– everyone– in the facility would suffocate and die.
    Fashioned much as a warship merged with submarine, Sam considered it a monstrosity at best. Claustrophobic hardly described the conditions below-water. The horrors of hell. It had been specially made to contain a very special breed of prisoner, mad geniuses who must be contained, but also would be utilized for the good of the country. Hidden away, long forgotten, banished from society. But Sam had discovered over the course of the last five years of Oberon's incarceration, every prison had a weakness. For this incarceratorium it was the easy ability to bribe its caretakers, if one was clever enough and possessed the right connections. Sam had those connections, and now he would be putting them all into play.
    There were four levels to the facility. The only elevator was the one they'd ridden in from the surface. No passageway gave a clear shot from stem to stern. There were passages that went up, stairs that went down, steel doors to be unlocked, re-locked.
    Sam's and Bobby's footsteps echoed as they passed along the short narrow passageways, up and down narrow stairs, their footsteps echoing, following the guard deeper into the bowels of the incarceratorium.
    Before being taken to Oberon, Sam would first meet with Dr. Rustenberg, the chief alienist in charge of psychologic modification of the incarcerants. It was ritual and a time to pay the proper bribes for full access to Oberon's quarters, and the right to enjoy their conjugal visit unimpeded. More or less. Today was Oberon's fortieth birthday and thus a more expensive bribe would be demanded in order for Bobby to accompany him. It was to be a special visit. Likely one none of them would forget.
    Dr. Rustenberg's office seemed like none other in the facility. It was spacious and luxurious, decorated in a manner in keeping with the gilded society he had become so far removed from and obviously missed. It was one of the few places on the ship where one could see outside, through a massive ceiling-to-floor curving portal of thick glass. A school of fish swam by just as Sam and Bobby entered Rustenberg's domain. Several sharks hunting their dinner met with some success. Sam glanced first at the overly large oak desk, scanned the