Sanctuary by Ted Dekker

that Bostich, who’s a devil, has his orders, and unless I’m a fool those orders are to break you down before he breaks you in.”
    None of this concerned Danny for the simple reason that he was powerless to change any of it. There was only so much the authorities could do to a person in an American prison, and none of it compared to the suffering he’d experienced in Bosnia as a younger man. His vow of nonviolence could not be compromised.
    “They can try,” Danny said. “I suppose I deserve whatever comes my way.”
    “You do realize what the carrot is, don’t you?” Godfrey asked, then answered himself. “The privileged wing. You follow the rules, all the rules, rules, rules, and you live life large until you get out on early release, assuming you still want it. All things become new, my man, that’s the carrot.” He formed an imaginary ball with his thin, blue-veined hands. “A paradise overflowing with milk and honey, that’s the ticket. The Pape’s kingdom, right here on earth. They live in apartments over there, man! With their own bathrooms and flatscreen TVs. They wear what they want, they get all the jobs. Better food, a cinema room, a full weight room, a gym with nets. Heck, if you believe the rumors, they get booty calls over there.”
    “And yet you’re still here,” Danny said.
    Godfrey lowered his hands and flashed his missing-toothed smile. “Because I can’t seem to keep my mouth shut. The warden doesn’t like my little slipups. He’s got all the privileged guys in tow, see?” He stabbed his forehead with a bony finger. “But I got too much up here for him. The only thing that keeps me out of trouble is that no one has the brains to listen.”
    His confession made Danny wonder why he’d been placed with Godfrey. Clearly, the warden wanted him to hear all of this.
    “How long have you been here?” he asked.
    “Two years. Give me another two and I just might see it like the rest. It gets to you, you know. Don’t think it doesn’t. Once you buy into it all, you’re stuck. The strange thing is, the Pape’s philosophy actually seems to work. Basal is probably the smoothest-running correctional facility in the country.”
    “Why wouldn’t it be? The warden handpicks his prisoners.”
    “True. He’s even got the knuckleheads by the gonads. It’s not just the carrot, my friend. There’s more down in that basement than a cold hole. You buck the system and you pay a price.”
    Godfrey glanced at the bars and lowered his voice. “In my time I’ve seen three men commit suicide, all of them knuckleheads, and I swear not one of them did it to themselves. That’s just the way it is. He’s got a little heaven and a little hell laid out like a smorgasbord, and he makes the choice pretty easy. Just like on the outside.”
    “Hustlers?”
    “Sure, we got all kinds, everybody has their thing, but it’s all pretty much either aboveboard or immediately exposed and punished. Nothing happens the warden doesn’t know about, trust me. If there’s a hustle going on, it’s only because he allows it. There’s no freedom here. Pape controls every syllable uttered in this prison. Sometimes I think half the staff doesn’t even know what’s really happening.”
    “So it’s not all aboveboard.”
    “I’m not talking about the hustles and tattoos or what not. I’m talking about what’s really going on. And visitation? Forget it.”
    It was the first thing Godfrey said that struck a raw nerve.
    “Unless you’re in the east wing, and then only if he can trust you. ‘Come out from among them and be separate,’ as the book says. Keeps you safe from what destroyed you, he says.”
    “I’m surprised his policy isn’t challenged.”
    “By who? You have an attorney?”
    “No need for one.”
    “Exactly. Like you said, he handpicks his prisoners. The ones who don’t have a case or the resources to bring a case. You have anyone on the outside who would help you?”
    His mind filled with