“Probably true. But it’s the only game in town.” The woman took a spoonful and made a face before swallowing. “You’re a new arrival? Me too.”
Jet didn’t answer, preferring to push her gruel around on her plate. The woman ate some more and tried again. “I got here a few days ago. Have they assigned you to a work detail yet?”
“No.”
“What are you charged with?” The woman leaned forward. “If you don’t mind me asking.”
“Failing to blow Putin.”
The woman laughed so hard she spat pieces of stew-soaked bread back onto the tray. “Ha! Very good. Caught me completely by surprise.”
“What about you?” Jet asked.
“Treason. Terrorism. Take your pick. I don’t think they’ve figured out exactly what to charge me with. Everything in the book, more than likely.”
Jet studied her face. “Really? What did you actually do?”
“I blew Putin.”
Both women laughed, drawing stares from the other inmates. Jet got herself under control as the woman hid her smile with her hand. “They say I was conspiring to buy weapons. I’m innocent, of course.”
“Of course,” Jet agreed.
“And you? Seriously.”
“Murder. But they have no proof.”
“Really? Boyfriend? Husband? Another woman?”
“I’m innocent too.”
“This prison is filled with the innocent.”
“At least us.”
“Right.”
They ate in silence, Jet forcing herself to choke down some of the slag, if only to keep her energy up, holding her breath with each mouthful and rinsing it away with her metal cup of water. A whistle sounded from where the guards were leaning against the cafeteria entrance wall, and one of them called out, “Five minutes.”
Jet pushed her tray away. “You want mine? I can’t eat any more of this.”
“Don’t blame you,” the woman said, and pulled the tray toward her. “You sure?”
“Positive.”
The inmate took the hunk of moldy bread and sopped up some of the brown mystery sauce. “How long until your trial?” she asked.
“I don’t think I’m going to get one.”
The woman’s eyes widened. “Really? Why not?”
“I haven’t been charged. This is completely illegal.”
“They’re holding you here without any formal accusation of wrongdoing?”
“You heard me right.”
“Bastards. This country’s out of control. A small group runs it like it’s their private club and does whatever it wants.”
“Same as most places,” Jet agreed.
The woman finished Jet’s meal and stood. “We have to take the trays back over there and then line up on the other side of the room.”
Jet followed her to where three fatigued women were hosing off the remains from the plates and scrubbing them with wooden-handled brushes. They set their trays down and moved to where the inmates had begun forming a ragged line. When they took a place at the end, the woman leaned into Jet and whispered to her, “My name’s Yulia.”
“I’m Sandra,” Jet responded, using the name she’d been booked under. She’d been processed into the jail as a Jane Doe, the name Sandra invented on the spot.
“Nice to meet you.”
“Right.”
Chapter 22
The guard at the head of the column blew her whistle again, and the line of prisoners shambled forward like a giant gray millipede. Jet noted that nobody searched the prisoners on the way out of the mess hall, which presented some interesting possibilities for the steel cups they drank from. If she could confiscate one and smash it flat, she could hone the edge into a blade, giving her a manageable weapon – crude but effective, depending on how stiff the collapsed vessel wound up being.
The line rounded a corner and shuffled along the long corridor, cell doors open on either side. Yulia had whispered that she was in the same cell that Jet had been assigned, but hadn’t seen her arrival due to mess duty. They came to the cell and entered with the rest of the prisoners, and were halfway to the rear of the space when three women rushed toward Yulia, one of them with a jagged shank in her hand.
Yulia recoiled and Jet stepped away, remembering her vow to avoid trouble. The woman with the homemade dagger lunged at Yulia, drawing blood and a cry. Jet could see the weapon was one of the wooden spoons sharpened to a lethal spike, and it was immediately evident that her new friend would be no match for the three assailants, all of whom outweighed her.
Jet held up her hands. “Hey. Everybody relax…”
The face of the woman with the shank twisted with rage. “You want to die, bitch? Stay out of this.”