Death Watch, North Block Rotunda, San Quentin, California They come quickly into the holding cell.
Bale says nothing.
Fears nothing.
He's been expecting them.
Big, leathery hands frisk him for a final time.
Metal cuffs click tight around his wrists. A jangling Martin chain loops noisily around his waist. Leg restraints clunk around his ankles. He can smell beer and tobacco on the bodies around him. A surreptitious smoke and jolt of Dutch courage before they set about their duties.
'Move the prisoner.' The voice is not a guard's this time, it's Governor McFaul's.
Bale smiles as he passes him.
Smiles every step of the way to the L-shaped Prep Room that adjoins the Lethal Chamber.
And he's going to keep on smiling, right through each and every one of his last minutes on earth. 'Madonna Porce!' Vito Carvalho has never seen a detonation device so high-tech and clean. 'There's no way of getting to the wires. The whole unit is sealed.'
'It needs a password,' observes Rocco, somewhat unnecessarily.
'Oh, really?' Vito answers sarcastically. 'You have one handy?'
Rocco looks stressed. 'I guess we have to guess.'
'You guess we guess? Thanks, bright spark. And if I get it wrong?'
'We're dead. Or you get another go.'
'Thanks.' He takes off his jacket and rolls up his sleeves. The armpits and back of his shirt are already soaked in sweat.
Perspiration runs off Rocco's head as he stares at the display. 'You usually get several attempts with electronic-key locks. It must be built to be deactivated as well as primed. Even bombers need to reset things.'
The digital display drops to show six minutes.
The space above the keypad allows for five numbers or five letters.
Vito doesn't say anything. He types in: 66666 and feels his heart hammer in his chest.
The display flashes – ERROR – then goes blank again.
Vito tries a word: SATAN.