T-Bag grinned, wide and yellow. “Michael, you do know how to show a felon a good time.”
“Six minutes,” he said, not looking up. “That’s all we’ll have from the time we breach the sub-level until the pressure sensors trip the silent alarm.”
Finally, Michael’s gaze landed on T-Bag. “Voice. You’re going to have a conversation with him.”
He looked at the blueprints. At the maze of corridors and dead ends. At the one-way door labeled EXIT that led straight into enemy fire.
Sucre, wincing as he flexed his stitched arm, gave Bellick a tired look. “Then why are you still here, gordo ?”
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