We had breakfast at about three in the morning. They locked me in the vault and caught a taxi to the airport.
As I sat in my little chamber, I looked around at the scant walls of my cell. This small isolation cell would be my home for nearly two weeks. The one small light above me barely illuminated my surroundings, but it was adequate. After a few minutes I got up and folded my quilt, giving me something to sit on in the corner where’d I spend much of my time working on my book. In one of the other corners I placed the two cardboard boxes of food and in the opposite was the pail I’d use as a toilet.
I was reminded of the books I read as a child. Was Edmond Dantes’ prison cell any worse than this in The Count of Monte Cristo? For some reason I read that book a couple of times. I liked
