Chapter 27
Six months later.
ADX prison, Florence, Colorado. Security Housing Unit. Corridor control.
“Confirmed,” a guard yelled.
The five-inch thick blue-gray steel door slid back, metal rollers on metal rumbling.
Wrists shackled behind his back, Jackson walked through the door followed by two guards. He exited the one-story red brick building, walked past the pole, the pole with the American flag waving from it twenty feet up. He stopped and looked up at the flag, then turned to see his criminal attorney, Debra Kline, approaching.
Inside Debra’s car, Jackson looked back at the prison.
“They’re dying to recharge you if they can find anything they can go to trial with,” Kline said.
“Anything new about Hale?” Jackson said.
“No, he’s not surfaced again, which is consistent with the
