The Prisoner #3 - A Day in the Life

THE PRISONER (BOOK #3)

"A DAY IN THE LIFE"

A novel of eerie suspense based on the exciting TV series starring Patrick

McGoohan.

by Jean Marie Stine

"Number 6" had a chance to destroy the Village - if that was really possible...

PROLOGUE

Music pounds out of the car’s speaker with a steady, insistent rhythm and the singer’s voice sets up an eerie summons, high and compelling It is a rock song, White Rabbit. Hard as daylight, the song wails on, the shadows of overhead trees dappling and the car as it roars down the highway and into the city.

The driver’s face is grim and set. Eyes, chin, planes of the face, tightness of mouth, determined, stubborn and intractable. A dark blue scarf blows back from the throat of his jacket and his eyes stare intently ahead. The woman's image is conjured in the mind, behind the brightness of London sooty stone.

The car moves smoothly through the traffic, turning and accelerating with a swift, sure expertise. The man’s face is set unswervingly into the pounding uncertainty of the music. His eyes glitter and he smiles grimly, taking out a cigar and bringing it to his lips. Music and city blend into one kaleidoscopic rhythm: concrete and drums. reaches an eerie, wailing climax, and down a ramp into an underground garage.

He gets out of the car and strides up to giant, double doors, throwing them open with a defiant downward jerk of his arms. He comes to a desk, glares at its occupant, whips an envelope from his pocket, slams it on the blotter, turns, exits.

A card rolls up in a computer. Typewriter keys slam against it. The man's photograph is xxx'ed out.

The card passes down a conveyor, drops in a file. The file shuts. Its legend moves into the light: RESIGNED.

The man’s car roars back through the traffic. His eyes gleam and there is a ruthless tilt to his jaw. A hearse is parked at the curb before his house.

He gets out and goes in. Two men in black high silk hats, with black kerchiefs at the neck look up after him.

He throws a group of travel folders in an already packed valise and begins to close it. A white fog swirls up about him, He turns and looks. A jet of gas comes in through the keyhole.

He straightens: the room spins.

The spire of St. Paul’s, seen through the window, spirals in against him. As he falls, his arm knocks the valise to the floor. Clothes and folders spill upon the carpet.

One of the folders falls flat beside his face. A name is printed beneath white gingerbread houses with gray-gabled roofs: PENRYHMDEUDRAETH: PORTMERION.

read Act 1

Scanned in from an old paperback copy and not very carefully proofead.

Reprinted by permission of the author.



	THE PRISONER (BOOK #3) "A DAY IN THE LIFE" A novel of eerie suspense based on the exciting TV series starring Patrick McGoohan. by Jean Marie Stine "Number 6" had a chance to destroy the Village - if that was really possible... PROLOGUE Music pounds out of the car’s speaker with a steady, insistent rhythm and the singer’s voice sets up an eerie summons, high and compelling It is a rock song, White Rabbit. Hard as daylight, the song wails on, the shadows of overhead trees dappling and the car as it roars down the highway and into the city. The driver’s face is grim and set. Eyes, chin, planes of the face, tightness of mouth, determined, stubborn and intractable. A dark blue scarf blows back from the throat of his jacket and his eyes stare intently ahead. The woman's image is conjured in the mind, behind the brightness of London sooty stone. The car moves smoothly through the traffic, turning and accelerating with a swift, sure expertise. The man’s face is set unswervingly into the pounding uncertainty of the music. His eyes glitter and he smiles grimly, taking out a cigar and bringing it to his lips. Music and city blend into one kaleidoscopic rhythm: concrete and drums. reaches an eerie, wailing climax, and down a ramp into an underground garage. He gets out of the car and strides up to giant, double doors, throwing them open with a defiant downward jerk of his arms. He comes to a desk, glares at its occupant, whips an envelope from his pocket, slams it on the blotter, turns, exits. A card rolls up in a computer. Typewriter keys slam against it. The man's photograph is xxx'ed out. The card passes down a conveyor, drops in a file. The file shuts. Its legend moves into the light: RESIGNED. The man’s car roars back through the traffic. His eyes gleam and there is a ruthless tilt to his jaw. A hearse is parked at the curb before his house. He gets out and goes in. Two men in black high silk hats, with black kerchiefs at the neck look up after him. He throws a group of travel folders in an already packed valise and begins to close it. A white fog swirls up about him, He turns and looks. A jet of gas comes in through the keyhole. He straightens: the room spins. The spire of St. Paul’s, seen through the window, spirals in against him. As he falls, his arm knocks the valise to the floor. Clothes and folders spill upon the carpet. One of the folders falls flat beside his face. A name is printed beneath white gingerbread houses with gray-gabled roofs: PENRYHMDEUDRAETH: PORTMERION. read Act 1

		Scanned in from an old paperback copy and not very carefully proofead. Copyright 1967. Reprinted by permission of the author.