Penance: Absolution

By Seth Sjostrom

A prison transport bus accident sets dangerous convicts free to wreak havoc throughout the Mississippi Delta, among them, a pair of Las Piratas cartel members.

 

FBI Agent Alex Penance takes the lead in wrangling the murderers, rapists and human traffickers back into custody. Complicating Penance's task is the OPR agent sent by

• Language: English
• Publisher: wolfprintMedia
• Release date: Jul 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9781737530046

Seth Sjostrom

Seth Sjostrom is a Camas, Washington resident. He grew up in Uncasville, CT and Southport, NC; going to college at University of North Carolina at Wilmington. Seth is a serial entrepreneur, adventurer and author. His books include the thrillers Blood in the Snow, Blood in the Water, Blood in the Sand, Penance, and Dark Chase as well as the romances Back to Carolina, Finding Christmas, The Tree Farm and The Nativity.

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Penance

Absolution

Seth Sjostrom

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wolfprint, LLC

Hernando Beach, FL 34607

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

Copyright ©2022 by Seth Sjostrom

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or any portion of the book in any form whatsoever.

For information, contact wolfprintMedia.

ePub

ISBN-13: 978-1-7375300-4-6

Penance Absolution

1. Alex Penance (Fictitious character)-Fiction. 2. Terrorism-Crime-Political- Fiction. 3. Penance Series-Fiction I. Title.

First wolfprintMedia print edition 2021. wolfprintMedia is a trademark of wolfprintMedia, LLC.

For information regarding bulk purchases, please contact wolfprintMedia, LLC, at [e-mail].

United States of America

To those who are lost, may you be found.

To the first responders, the law enforcement and trauma teams who help pick up the shattered pieces, knowing each is a life that can be put back together again.

To God, through whom all things are possible.

Penance

Absolution

Penance

Absolution

One

Lightning streaked across the sky, briefly turning the quiet highway a brilliant blue. As quick as the flash came, it was gone, returning the scene through the rain-speckled windshield jet black. Wipers worked overtime to clear the glass as the bus’s standard headlights struggled to provide a view forward. Even without the intense storm, the moonless night sky was inky black at a tick past three in the morning.

Receiving a report that the highway north of Jackson, Mississippi was backed up due to a storm-related accident, the driver diverted onto the rural state highway to avoid the slowdown. It was a questionable decision. Sitting still on a closed roadway was a risk, as was leaving the higher traffic highway for the rural route that scarcely saw any travelers at that hour.

Eyes wide. The visibility along the state route was an even greater challenge. The driver chewed his lip, concentrating. As a jagged bolt lit up the sky in front of him, the driver eyed the highway marker, the midpoint on the diverted route.

Hitting a patch of standing water, the tires fought for traction as the rubber floated above the tarmac. Grappling for control, the driver, wrenched the wheel as the rear of the bus pitched sideways into the oncoming lane. His hands wrenched for control as the bus’s headlights swung from the road ahead to the trees that lined the ravine on the side of the highway.

Desperately churning the wheel in the other direction, the momentum of the bus now completely dictating its path, the driver braced himself, wincing as the nose of the heavy vehicle left the roadway. Slamming into the drainage ditch that lined the road, the bus careened into the storm-filled ravine, listing wildly to the passenger’s side.

The driver hung by the steering wheel as the bus lurched to a halt on its side. The twenty-one passengers behind him screaming in alarm, as they had been brutally tossed from their seats.

Picking up his radio, the driver called in for help. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw hands reaching through bars separating the front of the bus from the rear passengers. One of the riders was submerged in the low point of the bus that was rapidly filling with water. From the other side of the divider, the rider was clawed at, preventing him from breaking the surface.

Open it up! another passenger called to the driver as he tried to haul the rider above the water line.

Hesitating, the driver hit the release on the door gate separating the compartments, allowing a third rider to burst through and attempt to free the passenger’s grip on the drowning rider. The moment he dove in to assist, a pair of powerful hands were wrapped around his neck. Reaching for his sidearm, he felt another pair of hands gripping the weapon, tussling to tear it away.

The gun drawn, his hand still clasped around another man’s hand, the muzzle flashed. He watched in horror as his partner dropped into the water, turning it red. Spinning to face his assailant, his world swirled into a surreal slow-motion sequence.

He heard the sound first, followed by a blinding flash. He felt the burn and sting of a close-range bullet searing through his flesh, ripping through bone and shattering into bits piercing his organs. His blood pressure plummeted, his knees buckled. He could taste blood first in his throat and then in his mouth as he began to choke on the volume. Falling backwards, he clawed at the floor of the bus, clamoring for safety he couldn’t possibly find. Solace came in the form of dark and vanishing pain as life seeped from his limp body.

Two quick shots later, the struggle for the submerged rider ceased. Rider and would-be rescuer slumped on the bottom of the bus. The driver looked at the man holding the gun, resigned to his fate. He awaited the inevitable pull of the trigger and end to his ordeal.

Headlights captured the scene of the bus laying on its side, all four tires off the ground like a dead bug in its final pose. Two passengers clamored out of the SUV. With flashlights, they swept the bus. Ignoring the driver and fallen corrections officers, they stomped through the waist deep drainage ditch and peered into the bus.

A set of keys was making its way through the bus as men rubbed their wrists while their liberators filtered down the aisle. A few opportunistic and even pleading glances at the SUV on the road were met with the muzzles of MAC-10 automatic weapons and glares through sullen, shaking heads.

When two men pushed their way forward, the men with the automatic weapons escorted them into the SUV and, with tires screaming, raced away from the scene.

The other men glanced at each other as the red taillights disappeared into the night. One wasted no time walking in the opposite direction. A pair walked together towards where the taillights had faded. Others bolted into the dense, swampy forest perpendicular to the roadway, putting as much distance away from the tarmac as possible.

In the belly of the bus, the driver crawled his way forward, fighting to keep his face above the water line. Slipping through the open door, he clawed at the bank of the ravine, climbing his way through the mud until he rested with only his feet still dangling in the water.

His vision narrowed. His mind was heavy. Breathing became both a physical and mental challenge. Giving in, he collapsed onto the ground, his face slapping the muddy bank, his world as dark as the stormy night sky.

Two

FBI Agent Alex Penance sat in the bureau issued Ford Interceptor SUV. The blacked-out police car was a well-used hand-me-down that the agents in the Jackson office were happy to part with. Penance’s coveted Porsche SUV that he’d commandeered following a drug bust had served him well. Riddled with bullets during the case rescuing a dozen missing girls from the clutches of a human-trafficking ring, the damage was too great for the FBI to approve repairs.

Forced to accept whatever Field Director Denny Dixon could requisition for him, he ignored the coffee stains that had absorbed into the fabric seat. Trying to not miss the leather-wrapped sport seats, massive sky roof and powerful engine of the German SUV, he spied his target through the windshield.

Stepping out of the tavern, a man looked both ways over his shoulder and climbed into a graphite pickup truck sitting atop tall, aggressive tires. The man pressed the start button, and the truck thundered to life. Penance wrinkled his brow, appreciating the menacing sound the truck made. Slipping into gear, the truck roared away from the curb.

Penance brought the Interceptor out of the shadows, keeping the taillights of the subject vehicle in sight. Snaking through the rural Mississippi roads, Penance followed with as much distance as he dared.

The Interceptor wasn’t a bad car. It was fast, relatively comfortable, but it screamed law enforcement officer to any bad guy with the slightest observational skills. Penance preferred to drive a vehicle that was atypical for law enforcement.

Penance let out a grin as he recalled pulling into the bureau lot with the Porsche for the first time. Director Dixon had suggested a vehicle that might blend in with the four-wheel-drive trucks of western Mississippi. Penance cruising in a gleaming German SUV wasn’t what Dixon had in mind. The FBI agent enjoyed pushing the envelope with his superior. It was one of the early joys he’d allotted himself when he was first exiled to the forgotten rural FBI outpost.

As the vehicle turned onto U.S. Route 61 and Penance’s own headlights followed, the truck began to separate. By the time that Penance realized the race was on, he was quickly being left in the dust.

Throttling down, he brought the Interceptor into the triple digits, barely keeping the truck’s taillights in view. Seeing the truck pitch sideways, Penance kept his eyes locked on the intersection.

Careening off the highway, he found himself rambling down a dirt road, rutted from recent storms, standing water resting in deep potholes. The Interceptor rattled along, its tires clawing for traction. Penance’s jaw clenched to avoid his teeth clacking together as his vehicle’s suspension struggled to absorb the demands of the pitted road.

The pickup vanished ahead of him as it appeared to not be affected by the change of tarmac in the slightest.

Reluctantly, Penance hit the call button, Agent in pursuit of narcotics suspect. Traveling down unnamed rural road east of U.S. Route 61, 3 miles south of Mound Bayou, requesting assistance.

Agent Penance, this is Bolivar County dispatch. We’ll have units intersecting at Range Dorsey Road, a voice called over his speakers.

Focusing on the road ahead, he navigated the deeper holes and undulations, reducing his speed to a crawl in more challenging sections. Hitting a stretch where he could put the throttle down, he did his best to close the gap but only managed to prevent further distancing.

This new nemesis ahead of him was a snarling beast. It was leaving his hand-me-down vehicle in the dust on the pavement. On the rough stuff, it wasn’t even a contest.

Seeing the flashing lights ahead and the truck with its brake lights lit, Penance kept his throttle pegged. Closing in on the scene, the old Ford struggled to bite in the surface of the soft road, careening straight for the stopped vehicles ahead. Wrenching the wheel, Penance opened the driver’s door and sprung out just as the Interceptor leapt off the road, launched off a berm and slammed into a tree.

In a neat roll, Penance leapt to his feet, weapon drawn as though his entrance wasn’t at all abnormal and circled the driver’s door of the truck. Ordering the driver to get out with his hands up, Bolivar deputies aiming their own weapons from their vantage of the roadblock, the pickup door opened.

A reluctant man stepped out, his arms held high.

Penance closed, spinning the man to face the truck, quickly slipping cuffs around his wrists.

Peering through the open driver’s window, Penance frowned. This thing has leather?

Yeah, the driver said.

Twin turbo Six?

Nah. Classic American V8, the man replied.

The words made Penance salivate, appreciating the grunt and growl of the strong engine, Fast. Smoothing his hand along the cab of the truck. Handles well.

The driver looked over his shoulder, You going to arrest me or post my truck on Autotrader?

Wha…, Penance snapped his head, nodding vigorously. Oh, yeah. You bought this truck with drug money, right?

The driver shrugged, Yeah, I guess.

Sweet! Penance grins. You, and this vehicle, are hereby in the custody of the FBI.

He looked up at the deputies who had stepped out from the roadblock to assist.

I got this, boys! Penance called cheerily to the deputies. Oh, can you call a wrecker for my car? Thanks.

Securing the driver in the back seat of the truck, Penance wiped the mud off the knees of his suit and climbed in the driver’s seat. Wrapping his hands around the steering wheel, he admired the commanding view out of the tall truck’s windows. Pressing the start button, a fierce growl emitted through the dual tailpipes.

Turning the truck around, Penance planted his right foot. Flogging the Ford Raptor through its paces, he enjoyed a wildly different experience than he ever had in his FBI Interceptor. The beefy suspension and tires absorbed the worst that the road could dish out. The willing engine screamed happily along, even more so when the tires moved from mud and dirt to hard tarmac.

Spying the sunroof overhead, Penance opened it up, smiling widely as he accelerated the alarmingly fast and nimble truck towards Sawyer, Mississippi. Wind rushed in through the cab, morning sun shielded through Penance’s sunglasses.

Too windy back there? Penance grinned at his disgruntled passenger. Ah, you’ll be fine!

The agent pressed the accelerator hard as the truck rocketed down the highway towards the small FBI office. Pulling into the town of Sawyer, Penance couldn’t shake the sensation he never had expected to feel when he was banished to the vestigial bureau station as a punishment. Entering the streets of the small, rural, swamp town, he felt a twinge of excitement. The kind of feeling you get when you meet an attractive date for the first time. The warmth you get when you have a place to call home.

Pulling into the bureau office parking lot, he backed into a parking space. The spot that had become his in the few spaces allotted.

Climbing out, Penance opened the rear door and wrangled his passenger out. Come on, we’ll get you logged and set up for transfer to the county lock up until the Feds from Jackson come to fetch you, Penance said, ushering the drug dealer forward towards the bureau office.

Three

Field Director Dixon circled the Ford Raptor pickup. He eyed his impetuous agent. Penance grinned, dried mud caked on the shoulders and knees of his grey suit.

You are the weirdest redneck ever, Dixon shook his head.

Well, can I requisition it? Penance asked, like a child eyeing a puppy through a pet shop window.

What about the Interceptor? It is a perfectly serviceable vehicle. The bureau is going to want to send the truck to auction, Dixon pressed.

On cue, the flatbed truck that the Bolivar County deputies called in to retrieve Penance’s car pulled alongside the parking lot.

Yeah, it’s not so serviceable anymore, Penance admitted, nodding towards the flatbed and the totaled police car. And, you always said to blend in more, if I had a choice. It’s a pickup truck!

Dixon wasn’t sure whether to be annoyed or enamored with the agent’s zeal. Relenting, Dixon sighed, Fine. You write up the paperwork, I’ll sign it off. I know if I don’t, you’ll just keeping bugging me until you get what you want.

Great! I’ll get started on it right away! Penance said, starting towards the office.

We have more pressing matters, Dixon held Penance back. We need to meet with Jennings, now.

I’ll drive! Penance grinned, his eyes wide.

Dixon hesitated, eyeing his agent. Fine, he shrugged.

The moment Penance had the truck in gear and the supercharger gulping air, the director regretted his decision.

Penance greedily gobbled up pavement through the outskirts of Sawyer as he headed towards the municipal buildings. Pitching the truck sideways into the courthouse parking lot, he chuckled, impressed at how his new toy managed the aggressive maneuver, almost as cleanly as his Porsche had. The giant brakes brought the truck to an abrupt stop, much to Field Director Dixon’s relief. The director’s knuckles were white from gripping a variety of handles bolted around the passenger seat.

Eh? Penance patted the hood of the truck as he hopped out. What do you think? Pretty great, right?

Dixon stared at Penance for a long moment before deciding to exit the vehicle, refusing to requit the admiration his agent had for his new vehicle.

Penance glanced over his shoulder. He never thought he would enjoy driving a truck, but the beast he absconded with handled like a sports car. He wouldn’t need to struggle anymore with the backwoods chases that made for challenging work, even for the all-wheel drive Porsche.

Following his boss, Penance entered the federal building as they made their way to the District Attorney offices. Jennings’ assistant greeted them. She offered an initial smile before noting the mud afflicting Penance’s usual dapper presence. Despite the humidity and heat that scorched Mississippi in the summer, Penance refused to wear anything other than the standard dark gray suit the FBI was known for.

Ringing back, she alerted Jennings that they’d arrived. Instead of waiting for an invitation, Penance poked his way down the hall, craning his neck for Jennings’ office. It’s okay, Nancy, I’ll just head back.

But…Agent Penance…wait…, Nancy scrambled after the agent, to no avail.

We’ll be fine. I know the way, Dixon said, apologetically to the Nancy.

Colton Jennings poked his head out of the office, straightening his tie. With a forced smile covering his annoyance, he said, I was just going to head out and receive you.

Penance wrinkled his nose, I can find my way. Looking past the District Attorney, Penance made a few strides towards the adjacent office. The lovely Ms. Annie Hunt in her natural habitat.

Annie offered a broad smile that made her brown eyes lighten and the freckles on the bridge of her nose seem to glow in the light from her office window. Grabbing her papers, she cocked her head and replied, Agent Penance. It sounds as though you once more got your man.

Dixon clapped Penance on the shoulder and chided, Even brought this one in alive!

How many bullet holes? Jennings quipped as they gathered in the hall and the District Attorney ushered them into his office.

Penance bristled, Yeah, yeah, yeah. I only shoot when they are shooting at me or someone who doesn’t deserve to be shot at. Mostly.

Jennings paused as he studied Penance’s appearance. Exchanging a similar sideways glance with Annie, he frowned, Stop to feed the hogs on the way in?

Penance swiped at the crusty mud on his shoulder, "I had to ditch the government vehicle at the end of my pursuit. Did a nice tuck and roll, though. You should have seen it. Popped right up into firing position.

Annie studied the agent, trying to picture his experience, but shook her head.

Jennings addressed the group, Thank you for coming. We need your help right away.

Glancing out into the hallway, he waved them towards seats. Penance wandered the office, taking in the pictures and baubles of the District Attorney. Photos of Jennings with various political figures sat in frames on the shelves. A bobble head of a Supreme Court Justice sat on his desk. Penance flicked the figure with his thumb causing its head to dance around.

Please don’t touch my things, Jennings groaned.

Ignoring him, Penance picked up a photo and inspected it closely. Looking at the photo and then at Jennings and back at the photo, his eyes and grin forewarned he was about to make a comment.

Yes, that was me in college with a mustache. A regrettable phase, but the opportunity to shake hands with the president is worth whatever sideways comment you might have to make, Jennings said, sinking into his plush leather chair behind his desk.

Penance looked flabbergasted, "I wasn’t going to do anything of the sort. I was going to suggest perhaps you grow it back. That thing is…regal!"

Jennings rolled his eyes. 

Judge Doyle rounded the corner. With a friendly wave to the room, he turned and closed the office doors behind him. Howdy, y’all. Thanks for gathering. We kind of caught the gator by the tail and need to get it under control, the judge declared. Glancing over at the photo Penance was placing back on the shelf, he added, Problems come a bit into perspective in relation to that unfortunate ‘stache in that photo.

Spinning, the judge looked around the room. Seeing that he had the floor, he addressed the prosecutors and agents. We should have called you earlier, but clearly, Judge Doyle glanced at Penance’s unusually unkempt attire, You have been otherwise engaged.

There was a black transfer last night, around three a.m. to be precise. A busload of prisoners from Jackson holding center to Yazoo City High Security Federal Corrections Institute was involved in an incident. A bus wreck on State Route 433 turned into a prison break. Two low level Las Piratas cartel members, that you all helped bring to justice, are among the missing. The Mississippi justice department elected to keep the incident quiet as to not stir a panic. Most of the prisoners are scattered in the wind. They are assumed to still be in Mississippi, possibly heading towards Louisiana or Arkansas, Judge Doyle declared.

Jackson to Yazoo… why were they on State Route 433? Jennings asked.

A late-night accident on U.S. 49 closed most of the interstate down. The corrections bus driver elected to avoid the scene and detour around and up State Route 433, Doyle replied.

Penance frowned, Is that protocol?

No, but not unheard of, the judge admitted.

Did the driver call it in? Penance pressed.

There is no record of the driver declaring the change of route, Judge Doyle said. "That is out of protocol."

Any line on the escapees? Assistant District Attorney Annie Hunt asked.

Three of ‘em stayed behind not wanting to add to their sentences. Two hung around on account of injuries, the Judge explained. Two were alleged to have been picked up by an SUV. Three walked in different directions along the roadway and another six disappeared into the nearby woods. Three are unaccounted for. County has dogs out there tracking them now, but the overnight storms are making that task difficult.

Penance waved the conversation to a halt, Two were picked up? Any idea on which two?

The judge swallowed, Members of the Las Piratas cartel.

Penance’s countenance immediately turned concerned. Spinning, he looked out the blinds towards the parking lot to collect his thoughts. Turning back to the room, he began, The accident on U.S. 49…

Car hydroplaned and spun out of control, Doyle replied.

Run the accident victims, Penance said.

What are you thinking? Jennings asked.

It was no accident. It was planned. The SUV picking them up was scheduled. Where’s the driver? Penance asked.

Jackson hospital in the ICU. He suffered a close-range gun shot, Judge Doyle replied. No one should have known the date, time or route of the transfer.

Look into his background, bank accounts, phone records, Penance said. Something’s not right.

What about the rest? Dixon asked. Who else was on that transfer bus?

Doyle’s head dropped and he licked his lips, Murderers, rapists, drug dealers…the usual lot we have going to Yazoo.

Then, we need to get busy. Send us everything you have. Connect us with the Marshals…, Dixon started.

Well, for now we are hoping we can keep this local. Including our local FBI office, of course, Doyle stammered. We need to keep this under wraps. My good friend, the Attorney General, is running a contested reelection bid. We’d like to keep this all quiet. Besides, given everything that has happened around here, word of Las Piratas running around would cause a panic. I’m sure I can trust your discretion.

As long as it doesn’t put the community at risk, Penance countered.

Good, Doyle nodded in appreciation. Hey, by the way, I’m hosting a gala for the Attorney General this weekend. You should come by, as my guests.

Let’s get back to the office. We have a lot to get going on, Penance declared with a nod towards Doyle.

We’ll join you. See what we can do to help, Jennings offered.

Dixon’s eyes lit up, Could, one of you give me a ride?

Penance grinned as Annie and Jennings looked confused.

Yeah, that’s fine, Jennings nodded. Let me get my things together.

We’ll see you there, Alex called, nudging Annie towards the door.

Once in the hallway, outside the prosecutors’ offices, Annie leaned into Penance. Looking up, her eyes couldn’t obscure her concern, The Las Piratas? I thought we were finally done with them.

Penance sighed as he drew his arm around her shoulders, They are like cockroaches. You get most of them, but there are always a few that somehow manage to linger, lurking in the shadows. Their power to blanket this area in fear like it once did, is gone.

Because of you, Annie drove her shoulder into him.

We all had a hand in kicking them out, Penance replied modestly.

So…Judge Doyle’s’ gala. Got a date yet? Annie grinned.

Penance shrugged, looking into her eyes, I’ve got my eye on someone.

Hope she’s pretty, Annie said.

She is, Penance nodded, And that’s not even her best quality.

Hmm. Sounds nice. Lucky girl, Annie smiled.

Nah. I’m the lucky one. I don’t deserve her, Penance scoffed.

Annie looked up at Alex, Don’t sell yourself short, agent.

Reaching the curb, Penance stopped alongside the Raptor. Moving to open the passenger door, Annie froze. Looking at the truck and then at Penance, she gasped in laughter, "This is what you’re driving?"

Yeah, it’s nice, right? Penance nodded vigorously. Like it?

It’s…very un-Alex Penance like, Annie observed. "Sawyer is really having an effect on you."

Something here is, Penance grinned. Don’t prejudge. This thing drives great.

Allowing Penance to help her into the tall cab of the four-by-four, Annie settled in, Alright, let’s see what this baby can do!

Penance pressed the start button and grinned.

Dry erase boards were assembled in a line. One was covered with the photographs of the prison bus escapees. Penance placed the pair of Las Piratas cartel members on top. Jennings prioritized the remaining images by risk of violence.

Maps with concentric rings emanating from the bus crash site filled another board. Each hour that ticked by the radius grew larger.

The third board highlighted connections to the escapees with red string lining from the connection to the fugitive. A pair of large monitors scrolled incoming leads supplied by county sheriffs and state police.

Who picked the Las Piratas up and where did they go? Penance asked.

They could be all the way to Mexico, or even Colombia by now, Dixon sighed.

Penance shook his head, They could be, but why break a couple of low-level guys out? Just to fly them home? The cartel would just as likely have them shanked in prison.

Because they want to use them for something. Front liners they aren’t afraid of dispensing with, Annie suggested.

High risk operation meat shields. Given the cartel’s loss record of late, toss some expendable henchmen to try and maintain some relevance, Penance said.

Jennings frowned, For what? A couple guys, even if you include whoever picked them up, what could they do? They can’t reignite the drug or sex trafficking lines on their own. It would take a concerted effort and by your hand, they don’t have much left in reserve.

Dixon scribbled on the board, What is the Las Piratas plan? I agree with Annie and Penance. They wouldn’t have exerted the effort if they didn’t have some objective.

Let’s have patrols keep an eye on the girls, Annie suggested. I’ll send a bulletin to the local, county and state resources.

Dixon glanced at his phone, scrolling through his messages as the device chimed in his pocket. Sliding the phone away, he placed his hands on his hips, The car cited as the instigator in the accident on the highway last night… they used false documents and aliases. When the state police went to follow up, none of their information checked out.

So, they’re in the wind too, Penance said. How many were involved in the wreck?

Two men of Hispanic decent, Dixon said.

That makes at least half a dozen cartel members floating around the Mississippi area, Annie said.

Jennings made some notes in his phone, I’ll have Chief Pruitt keep his crew on alert.

I have Bureau resources following up on known associates and haunts for the other fugitives, Dixon said.

We won’t be able to keep a lid on this for long, Jennings warned.

We’ll do what we can for Judge Doyle, but at the end of the day, we need to keep the citizens safe above all, Dixon agreed.

"What information can we get out of the convicts who stayed behind? I’d like to know anything and everything they