The Thieves of Darkness Read Online Free

of barren land in front of the prison, his line of sight following the rocky terrain toward the cliff’s edge. He confirmed the lack of obstacles and the moon shadow provided by the penitentiary to his rear. If they could survive the ten-second run without being shot, they just might make it.
    Michael pulled out a small block of C-4 and buried it at the south base of the prison, the red LED barely glowing through the dirt.
    Michael fell back behind the prison and walked a half mile to the power station, the loud whine of its generators echoing off the prison and surrounding terrain. Utility lines and electrical power were still foreign words in this remote section of the country. Chiron’s desolate location forced them to generate their own power, using gas-driven generators. The electricity was used to power the prison’s minimal lighting, radios, satellite phones, and guard-tower searchlights, which were turned on only in the event of an escape attempt. But first and foremost, the generated electricity ensured the comfort of the warden.
    The fuel depot contained two five-thousand-gallon tanks that were filled once every two months by a trucker who was paid triple wages to drive up the narrow mountain pass. He was always paid in advance, since the money in his pocket kept him focused as he drove past the hulking charred remains of his predecessors’ fuel trucks that littered the valley below.
    Michael carefully affixed a small block of C-4 to the first fuel tank and triple-checked the remote. He crept over to the generator and found the main electrical panel. He picked the lock almost as quickly as if he were using a key. He found the main breaker, and without hesitation, flipped it off. The lights of the prison immediately blinked out. Michael closed the panel, affixed the lock, and fell back into the shadows.
    It was five minutes before the flashlights of the guards could be seen, bouncing with their approach. Michael watched as two guards came into view, their cigarettes glowing in the night. He couldn’t hearthem over the whine of the still-running generators, but watched as they unlocked the panel, flipped the switch, and restored the power.
    Michael waited until they were back in the prison, reopened the panel, and, once again, flipped off the lights. This time, the two guards walked fast, the anger about being interrupted once again evident in their stride. Michael quickly worked his way around, directly across from the prison door they exited, and waited as they reset the system once again. Michael watched their return. The lead guard removed the key ring from his waist, opened the door, and disappeared inside, the door slamming shut behind him.
    Michael went back to the generator, shut off the power again, and hid within the shadows.
    It took them ten minutes to arrive this time, their curses easily audible above the generator’s roar. They were so lost in their exasperation they never saw Michael two feet away in the dark.
    The bullets passed through and erased the anger from the guards’ minds; both were dead before they hit the ground.
    Michael quickly holstered his pistol, bent, and stripped them of their guns, keys, and radios. He took the lead guard’s jacket and hat, put them on, and headed for the prison.
    M ICHAEL SLIPPED THE key in the side door of the prison. A sudden chill ran through him; he hated prisons more than anything in life. To him it was like having one foot in hell. He had spent three years at Sing Sing a few years back and still had nightmares.
    He shook off the feeling and refocused, opened the door, and stepped into the square, dungeonlike room. A raw smell hung in the air. There were only two pieces of furniture: a table and a chair that sat directly across from each other. The floor was slightly sloped toward the middle, where a lone drain sat, from which dark stains radiated outward toward the furniture. Michael looked more closely at the two pieces. They were both rough-hewn,