the director and 11 officials at a prison in northern Mexico have been charged with helping 17 inmates escape through a tunnel starting in the prison's laundry room.

The federal prosecutor's office says the director and 11 officials at a prison in northern Mexico have been charged with helping 17 inmates escape through a tunnel starting in the prison's laundry room.
The prosecutor's office alleges the prison officials in Reynosa, Tamaulipas, across the border from Texas, helped the inmates escape through a hatch hidden underneath a washing machine. The tunnel emerged outside the prison's grounds.
The officials were also charged Friday with gang involvement in connection with Tuesday's jailbreak. They were brought before a judge who will decide their case.
Security at state prisons is notoriously lax. Jailbreaks are common and inmates are often found to be directing criminal operations from behind bars.

READ MORE - the director and 11 officials at a prison in northern Mexico have been charged with helping 17 inmates escape through a tunnel starting in the prison's laundry room.

Ruben Pinuelas running a prison yard for the Mexican Mafia.

Ruben Pinuelas was a rising star in the criminal underworld. By the time he turned 24, he'd left his small gang in El Centro behind, got busted for auto theft, stabbed an inmate and moved on to bigger things: running a prison yard for the Mexican Mafia. 
His reign at California State Prison, Corcoran's Substance Abuse Treatment Facility lasted only a year. But it was the bloodiest year in the institution's history. The young leader had his hand in at least 10 attempted murders, and officials say they averaged a stabbing a day while Pinuelas controlled Facility C.
His story serves as a window into the power that criminal street gangs wield, even from behind bars, and the great lengths local authorities will go to keep these people in check.
"The gang culture is very, very violent," Kings County Gang Task Force Supervisor Andrew Meyer said. "They rule through fear, violence and intimidation. When they wind up in prison, they all form up together under a unified ruling body that controls their yard."
This unified body is known as a mesa, or table. It's a group of respected gang members who control the flow of money and narcotics in and out of the yard. And the head of a table, the "shot caller," gets a percentage from every transaction.
"The person running the yard has a lot of power," Meyer said. "He makes money without ever lifting a finger. Contraband goes for 10 times street value inside a prison. So these guys end up very wealthy."
Pinuelas was given control of Facility C after the previous shot caller was moved to a different prison. From the day he started, he showed a knack for keeping records and moving drug money around, so authorities had a hard time tracking it.
What he lacked, though, was subtlety.
Any time someone questioned his authority, Pinuelas lashed out. It is against the gang code to disobey orders, Meyer said, but Pinuelas went after everyone. He even had people stabbed who owed him money and paid late, investigators said.
The prison Investigative Services Unit began looking into the rise in attacks in the facility, but Investigator Ryan Couch could never directly link the hits to Pinuelas.
Until April 3, 2007.
That day, two inmates assaulted another out on the yard. The attackers, Aldrin Trejo and Louis Jimenez, continued to beat the man until they were covered in blood. They only stopped hitting him when correctional officers threatened to shoot, investigators said later. Though no weapons were found, the victim's wounds were consistent with a knife or sharp object.
But it was the location - the yard - where the attempted murder went down that surprised everyone.
"An attack on the yard is incredibly public," Deputy District Attorney Sarah Hacker said. "The assailant takes the risk of having correctional officers witness it. It also locks down the yard and limits a gang's ability to communicate and make drug transactions. Only a shot caller could have taken that kind of risk and ordered it."
Couch and the other investigators decided to search Pinuelas' cell. What they found was a wealth of information, more than 100 handwritten notes detailing extensive gang business - the good records Pinuelas was known for.
"He liked to keep his writing around," Meyer said. "We found lots of stuff in his files: lists of drug transactions, money owed, nicknames for gang members, parole dates, everything. Their entire chain of command was written down for us."
And among the files was a two-page note written by Pinuelas ordering the murder of his victim, identified by authorities only as "Inmate Villalobos."
The resulting investigation spanned more than three years and involved people from the Kings County District Attorney's Office, the Gang Task Force and the prison's Investigative Services Unit. They even enlisted help from the Department of Justice to examine the documents and compare handwriting samples, a news release said.
"It was worth it to send a message," Meyer said. "We're not going to let these people operate without any consequences. I doubt this will deter them, but I sure hope it does."
What they discovered was a power struggle for the mesa. Inmate Villalobos had been watching Pinuelas shed blood left and right and decided to do something about it. He, a loyal gang soldier, wrote to the gang leaders and asked for permission to take over and do things right.
Those loyal to Pinuelas warned him in advance. The leaders told Villalobos to do nothing, to let it slide. Pinuelas was told the same, but instead decided to make an example of the man in front of everyone on the yard, Meyer said.
Ultimately, Villalobos survived. And for living through such a violent assault, he was promoted in the gang as an "ideal soldier," investigators said.
Pinuelas was paroled in 2008, just nine months after the assault. He did not face charges until he was arrested in September 2010, along with Trejo and Jimenez for their role in the attempted murder.
They were charged with conspiracy to commit murder, attempted murder and assault with a deadly weapon by a prisoner. They also faced special enhancements for performing these acts to benefit a criminal street gang and for being previous one-strike offenders.
The jury trial lasted three weeks before coming back with a guilty verdict on all counts.
"It was a culmination of several years' investigation and so much hard work," Hacker said. "At that moment, I knew no matter what the outcome was, that good would prevail. I knew it in my bones. It was the best moment of the trial."
Pinuelas, Jimenez and Trejo were sentenced on Friday to each spend 60 years to life in prison. It served as a major victory for local law enforcement.
"I knew these guys had a certain amount of power, but not how much," Meyer said. "It's pure evil all around. To a magnitude I never suspected. The violence in our institutions is out of control. And it all spills out onto the streets. I hope this sends a message that we will continue to work cases like these."

READ MORE - Ruben Pinuelas running a prison yard for the Mexican Mafia.

The threat of the rising Mississippi River has prisoners at Angola State Prison racing to make sandbags and finish other preparations.

And longtime Angola Warden Burl Cain has readied plans to evacuate thousands of the prisoners in a matter of days. Cain told reporters Thursday that if predictions hold the river surrounding the prison farm will reach unprecedented levels soon.

As cattle grazed on the thousands of acres which encompass Angola, a race to fill sandbags was underway by prisoners.

"We're gonna have more water than we've ever dealt with before," said Cain.

Water from the bulging Mississippi has already reached an interior levee encircling the prison camps.

"The worst case scenario is if the levee breaks," Cain stated.

As it stands now, he will begin evacuating most of the 5,200 prisoners to other state run prisons on Monday.

"The ones we keep would the ones that might pose some sort of extreme threat to the public."

The prison intentionally breached a levee to relieve pressure and prevent overtopping and unthinkable consequences.

"It's a big bowl with a 12 mile levee around the whole farm and so there's no way to get water out of here other than evaporate or pump it out or let it run through the levee," Cain stated.

The interior levee was raised after the 1997 river crisis. The water that has invaded prison property and crept up next to the levee is already over 50 feet. Without the improvements to the levee, Cain said he would already be dealing with a flooding crisis.

"They told us if we didn't build a new levee we would lose Angola within 20 years."

The Angola ferry which many of the prison's employees rely on is out of commission because of high water which has basically swallowed the road leading to it.

Three quarters of the 18,000 acre prison farm is surrounded by the Mississippi River, and by May 23rd the river is expected to reach 65.5 feet.

"Picture that water 10 feet or 11 feet higher than it is today and look at that [prison] camp and you'll see that it would be inundated if the water came through...I'm very prayerful, I'm not certain of anything, but I'm pretty certain," he further stated.

Prison Camp "C" next to the levee will not be evacuated. Cain said hundreds of prisoners are needed to continue the flood protection work.

"We will keep this camp because we have to work on the levee."

And ultimately, Cain believes the higher levee will prevail against the rising water.

"We think we can weather this storm…..We're very experienced flood fighters and I have more resources than the Corps has because I have all these inmates," he said.

Cain added that New Orleans Sheriff Marlin Gusman is sending him buses on Friday to aid in the planned evacuation of prisoners.

READ MORE - The threat of the rising Mississippi River has prisoners at Angola State Prison racing to make sandbags and finish other preparations.

Inmates at a prison near Venezuela's capital freed the prison director and 14 other hostages Thursday and ended an eight-day standoff over conditions at the jail.

Inmates at a prison near Venezuela's capital freed the prison director and 14 other hostages Thursday and ended an eight-day standoff over conditions at the jail.
The prisoners released the last of their hostages after talks led to an agreement by government officials to provide medical services, set up a library and remove a national prisons administrator from his post.
The hostages left El Rodeo II prison in ambulances. The inmates had initially taken 22 people hostage April 27 but freed seven earlier this week during the negotiations with authorities.
Deputy Interior Minister Edwin Rojas confirmed that officials had complied with one key demand: removing a national prisons administrator and opening an investigation into accusations he was involved in corruption.
As part of the agreement, six inmates were also taken to a hospital outside the prison to be checked for possible tuberculosis cases.
The uprising in the prison near Caracas erupted after a sick inmate who apparently had tuberculosis was taken to another lockup where he was not given medical treatment, said Humberto Prado, a rights activist who leads the organization Venezuelan Prisons Observatory.
Prado criticized the inmates' tactics but said the prisoners decided to take hostages in part because they had been demanding medical care for a month and had not received any response from authorities.
Last year, 20 inmates with tuberculosis and AIDS died in Venezuelan prisons due to a lack of medical care, and eight more have died this year of the same causes, Prado told The Associated Press.
Venezuela's 30 prisons were designed to hold a total of 15,000 inmates, but the prison population is more than double that size. Chronic delays in court proceedings contribute to the problem.
Violence is common in the severely crowded and understaffed prisons, where inmates are able to obtain firearms and other weapons with the help of corrupt guards.
During 2009, 366 deaths were reported at Venezuela's prisons, according to figures kept by Prado's group. Some of the victims were killed using firearms.

READ MORE - Inmates at a prison near Venezuela's capital freed the prison director and 14 other hostages Thursday and ended an eight-day standoff over conditions at the jail.

400 prisoners are locked up in their cells 23 hours a day because they are in fear of being killed in jail.

A growing gang culture in prisons has forced authorities to take drastic measures to ensure the safety of those under threat.

The director general of the Irish Prison Service, Brian Purcell, admitted yesterday there were now more than 900 prisoners under protection in the nation's jails.

He acknowledged there was a problem with gang culture in society that was also being reflected behind prison walls.

But he denied claims made by delegates at the annual conference of the Prison Officers Association in Kilkenny that the gangs were taking control of the system.

He said prisoners had to be kept under protection because of threats to their security.

This was not an indication the prisons were unsafe but a measure of what the prison service was doing to ensure inmates were not harmed.

Mr Purcell said between 340 and 370 prisoners were kept in their cells for 23 hours a day and then allowed to exercise on their own for the other hour.

"If we didn't have the lock-ups, there would be an increasing risk," he said.

But the vast majority of the protected prisoners was subject to a regime that was similar to that experienced by most of the prison population, he said.

He revealed members of 10 to 12 different gangs were held in the prison system.

This meant that the different factions had to be kept apart, as far as possible.

Association president Stephen Delaney said there were 60 protected prisoners in Dublin's Mountjoy jail, including members of nine different factions, and this created significant problems for staff there.

Overall, there are about 4,500 people in custody and 5,500 in the system, including those on temporary release, according to Mr Purcell.

Projections for the next three to four years push the figures up to 7,000 in the system.

He said there were additional prison spaces due to come on stream in Mountjoy and Dochas next year, and the service was also looking at other options.

But he said no definite decisions on future prison building could be made until the Thornton Hall project review committee made its recommendations, which are due to be delivered to Justice Minister Alan Shatter by July 1.

Overcrowding

He said Thornton Hall had been a key plank in the strategy to deal with overcrowding in the past, and that the committee had to come up with some other solutions to that problem.

Mr Purcell said there were about 150 assaults by prisoners on staff in a year.

"Given the type of people we deal with, this is not a huge number but every assault must be deplored," he said.

He noted there were also 760 assaults by prisoners on other prisoners in a year, slightly over two a day. "We have 1.4 million prisoner bed nights in our jails on an annual basis, so two assaults a day is a relatively low number," he said

READ MORE - 400 prisoners are locked up in their cells 23 hours a day because they are in fear of being killed in jail.

suspected Aryan Brotherhood prison gang member got hold of a cell phone and called a friend to break him out of a minimum-security conservation camp in Nevada City, Calif

One day last summer, a suspected Aryan Brotherhood prison gang member got hold of a cell phone and called a friend to break him out of a minimum-security conservation camp in Nevada City, Calif.

Once free, 36-year-old Jeffory Shook --"one of the most violent and dangerous suspects we've encountered in a long time," a sheriff in Placer County, Calif., once called him -- began a four-week crime spree, stealing cars and leading officers on dangerous chases through four counties.

No one was hurt in Shook's escape. But San Francisco police officer Bryan Tuvera was killed in a December 2006 encounter with a camp escapee. Tuvera's partner returned fire, killing the escapee.

While those escapes were unusual, the decision to let violent convicts serve part of their time working under light guard in neighborhoods and rural communities is not, according to an investigation by the Record Searchlight of Redding, Calif.

At any given time, at least 800of the California camps' 4,000-plus inmates, or one in five, have violent criminal histories. This contradicts state officials' claims that only "carefully-screened," non-violent, low-risk inmates are allowed inside the state's 41 minimum-security conservation camps.

California's experience may presage a problem for other states, which increasingly rely on low-security solutions for the nation's burgeoning inmate populations.

According to the Bureau of Justice Statistics, prison populations in recent years have swollen to more than 1.5 million inmates, more than double the number imprisoned in 1990.

Federal and state authorities opened 155 new minimum-security facilities between 2000 and 2005 to accommodate some of the growth. The number of medium-and maximum-security sites has held steady.

Eight months after Shook's escape, California officials have done nothing to change their policies.

Harriet Salarno, chairwoman of Crime Victims United of California, said it's disturbing that inmates with violent pasts are being placed in situations where "they can easily escape," she said. "They should be within the prisons' walls."

The Record Searchlight's analysis of primary offenses of conservation camp inmates between 2005 and 2010 shows:

-- At least 20 percent of camp inmates at any given time had been convicted of violent crimes such as robberies, car jacking, assaults or altercations with police.

-- More than 200 inmates had been convicted of violent crimes against police. Some crimes involved firearms or left officers injured. More than 30 inmates had been convicted of injuring or killing someone in police chases.

-- Fourteen were convicted of voluntary and involuntary manslaughter. Officials pulled another inmate from camp after he was charged with murder; he was convicted and is back in prison. He'd been in camp while serving time for a lesser charge, a prison spokeswoman said.

-- Two inmates had been convicted of kidnapping. Four had been convicted of hostage taking.

-- Fifteen had been convicted specifically of committing street-gang related crimes.

The camps' growing numbers of violent inmates raise alarms with some lawmakers, who say California's state and local officials have become reliant on cheap labor and fire protection.

While yellow-clad, paid state firefighters hold the hoses and drive fire engines, orange-garbed inmate fire crews do much of the grunt work, cutting fire lines with hand tools and falling burned trees with chain saws. In the off season, they pick up trash along the state highways, cut fire breaks and fill sandbags at floods.

California inmates work an average of 10 million work hours per year, saving taxpayers more than $80 million annually, prison officials said.

Still, "these are the same people who we're putting an ax or a chain saw in their hands," said Shasta County Sheriff Tom Bosenko.

The state corrections department website paints a very different picture of the typical camp inmate.

"Only minimum custody inmates -- both male and female -- may participate in the Conservation Camps Program," the department's website says. "To be eligible, they must be physically fit and have no history of violent crime including kidnapping, sex offenses, arson or escape."

Pressed last month about the newspaper's findings, California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation representatives repeatedly denied that violent inmates were placed at the camps.

"My understanding is ... if inmates are considered violent they're not allowed," said spokeswoman Terry Thornton.

The officials questioned whether the newspaper's interpretation of violent or dangerous crimes fit with the state's legal definition of what constitutes a dangerous inmate.

According to prison officials and inmate classification documents, prisoners qualify for camps through a point system designed to promote good behavior and weed out dangerous offenders.

Adult inmates selected for camp have average sentences of less than two years, and they spend an average eight months in camp, officials say.

The corrections department's own inmate classification records indicate an inmate can gain faster camp placement if there's a "shortage of camp qualified inmates."

But fire camp commanders soon may face a labor shortage. To reduce prison overcrowding and trim the state's budget, Gov. Jerry Brown earlier this month signed a law that will shift the lowest-risk inmates -- like many of those serving sentences at the camps -- to the custody of the state's 58 counties.

Jim Nielsen, a Republican assemblyman and former president of California's Board of Parole and Prison Terms, said budget cuts might prompt prison officials to place dangerous inmates in fire camps -- especially if the safest inmates are sent back to local jails.

"Whatever we've got now," Nielsen said, "it's only going to get vastly worse."

READ MORE - suspected Aryan Brotherhood prison gang member got hold of a cell phone and called a friend to break him out of a minimum-security conservation camp in Nevada City, Calif

Flanagan had close ties to the Aryan Brotherhood of Texas, a race-based state-wide organization that operates inside and outside of state and federal prisons located throughout the state of Texas and the United States.

31-year old  Lufkin, Texas, woman was sentenced yesterday by U.S. District Judge Marcia Crone to 15 years in federal prison for her role in a double homicide that took place in Nacogdoches, Texas, in August 2007.

April Flanagan pleaded guilty on November 29, 2010, to committing a violent crime in aid of racketeering activity, the object of which was a conspiracy to murder David Clyde Mitchamore Jr., and to acting as an accessory after the fact in the murder of Christy Rochelle Brown. 

According to the evidence and testimony presented in court, Flanagan had close ties to the Aryan Brotherhood of Texas, a race-based state-wide organization that operates inside and outside of state and federal prisons located throughout the state of Texas and the United States. 

The ABT enforces its rules and promotes discipline among its members, prospects and associates through murder, attempted murder, conspiracy to murder, assault, robbery and threats against those who violate the rules or pose a threat to the enterprise. 

Members, as well as ABT associates and prospects, are required to follow, without question, the orders of higher-ranking members.  These so-called “direct orders” typically task the ABT member or associate to “discipline” the offending individual with physical force.

According to court documents, David Mitchamore, aka “Super Dave,” an ABT member, and his girlfriend, Christie Rochelle Brown, were murdered as a result of a “direct order” by ABT members because of Mitchamore’s failure to repay an outstanding debt he allegedly owed to an ABT member.   The bodies of Mitchamore and Brown were discovered in Nacogdoches County on August 10, 2007.

READ MORE - Flanagan had close ties to the Aryan Brotherhood of Texas, a race-based state-wide organization that operates inside and outside of state and federal prisons located throughout the state of Texas and the United States.

The Texas Syndicate's golden rule is as simple as it is merciless: Betray us and you're dead.

Authorities contend that in the past decade, members of the Texas Syndicate, which is the state's original prison gang, have carried out at least 50 murders, solved or unsolved, in addition to countless extortions, kidnappings, robberies and assaults. Bodies have turned up all over Texas, with dozens of the gang's members and associates prosecuted in Austin, Dallas and Houston.
Thousands of the gang's members are locked up in state and federal prisons, but even more are on the streets today, their wrath chilling. Just this January, three were sentenced in the Rio Grande Valley to life without parole.
At the heart of that case: A Syndicate gangster turned federal informant was taken to Hooters by his buddies. After dinner, they drove to a sugar-cane field and shot him in the head.
A member in Dallas was similarly shot, then rolled in a carpet and stuffed in a car that was set ablaze. He had violated an order to end an affair with another member's mother.
Yet another, nicknamed Third Eye for a scar on his forehead, was shot in Houston as he sat outside a strip joint in his black Ford Mustang.
He was suspected of snitching, and bragging at a nightclub about being a member.
The Latino gang long has provided a blueprint for gangs of all races climbing into the major leagues of crime. It was the first Texas prison gang to embrace such Italian mobster traditions as strict rules and harsh discipline.
Among the Syndicate's main rules: Once you join, you are in for life and the gang comes before your blood family, God or anything else.
Despite changes that have come since the Texas Syndicate was founded in the 1970s, authorities said the state's original prison gang has dwindled in size but remains a significant threat.
On the streets as well as in the prisons, it is suspected of having approximately 3,800 confirmed or suspected members, although it is unclear how many are still active in the gang.
The Syndicate claims not to kill innocent people, but does go after those who betray them. Especially those who betray them.
Most are retribution hits on their own members, associates or rivals, according to authorities.
"It is the person you trust the most who will be whacking you," said a Texas Department of Public Safety lieutenant who supervises the major gang squad and has spent much of his career investigating Latino gangs.
Snitch's heroin death
Among the Syndicate's more infamous killings — for which a ranking member was executed by the state of Texas in 2009 - is the case of a gang member wrongfully suspected of being a snitch. He was held down in the so-called "Texas Syndicate Tank" by Syndicate soldiers in an El Paso jail and injected with heroin that had been smuggled inside.
"We don't harm innocent people, man," contends Mike Mendoza Jr., 32, a second-generation Texas Syndicate member from Baytown who is serving life in prison for murder.
"We don't tolerate none of our members who do that," Mendoza said in a face-to-face interview at a state penitentiary about 25 miles outside Huntsville. There also have been numerous instances of extortion, kidnapping, robberies and murders, both sanctioned and not sanctioned by the gang.
Mendoza, who has been an enforcer for the Syndicate, went out on his own when he stabbed a Baytown man who was not a Syndicate enemy. Mendoza had been drinking, and the two had an argument that quickly escalated.
"In that indictment all you see is drug dealers getting robbed, ex-members getting killed. … Respect is given when respect is given to us," Mendoza said of the federal case that snared him.
He killed Isaac Benavidez, 26, in an attack that a state prosecutor who is now a judge described as "an absolutely senseless, cold-blooded killing" in which the victim was "gutted like a deer."
Mendoza claimed he was defending himself because Benavidez had a gun.
Cartel subcontractors
One of the most common Syndicate-sanctioned crimes is the drug business. They work as subcontractors for Mexican cartels to enforce and transport drugs on U.S. soil.
The Syndicate's other crime of choice is home invasions, ripping off dealers by smashing down doors and stealing their dope and cash.
Hits are sanctioned against fellow gangsters by a majority vote of other members in a prison unit or city.
"When Moses came down from Mount Sinai, he had only Ten Commandments. These folks have 22," federal prosecutor Robert Wells Jr. told Valley jurors in a case in which three Syndicate members got life. "Violate any one of them and you're subject to death."
Authorities contend they have crippled the gang by sending key leaders, soldiers and associates to prison in the past decade. More than 40 have been indicted in federal courts. They were often taken down with the help of members who betrayed the gang at the risk of death.
"Many cooperating witnesses are Texas Syndicate members that have been ordered to be killed by the Texas Syndicate, placed in the witness-protection program, or are otherwise at risk of harm if their identities are disclosed," notes a document filed by prosecutors in 2007 in Houston when Mendoza and others were convicted.
Mendoza offers no excuses for his life in the Syndicate.
"I done lost everything for it," said Mendoza, who grew up in Baytown and goes by the street name Barney. "Even though they are considered criminals and that kind of stuff, the ones I grew up with, it was all about respect."
Mendoza's biological father - a man he never knew - was also in the Texas Syndicate.
Sitting behind protective glass and screening, Mendoza said that as a teenager he thought he would one day be a Marine and wear a dress-blue uniform to make his mother proud. Not the prison whites worn by an inmate.
"It just didn't work out. The street gangs caught up with me," said Mendoza, who while in prison used ash, shampoo and a needle to ink his first Syndicate tattoo.
'Nothing like it was'
Arnold Darby, 62, is one of the few white men ever accepted into the Syndicate and one of the oldest survivors from the original Syndicate soldiers.
He said that while old-school gangsters were known for keeping a low profile, a new breed is more brash and willingly draws the attention of law enforcement.
"The class and character of the members they bring in now is nothing like it was," said Darby, who has two murder convictions, including killing an ex-member who testified for the government.
Despite the influx of young members who have their own style, Darby said the Texas Syndicate remains a force.
"There is no one in the Texas prison system who does any time who doesn't know you better show some respect to them," Darby said during an interview at another state prison near Huntsville.
Law enforcement officials and Syndicate members said that the newer generation is more likely to turn their backs on tradition and take deals in exchange for leniency.
Hard case, hard time
Mendoza said he won't take a deal and wants nothing to do with those who will.
Because he is a member of the Syndicate - considered by the Texas Department of Criminal Justice to be one of a dozen especially dangerous gangs - he serves his time under the harshest conditions in the prison system.
He is locked in a cell by himself 23 hours a day for his entire sentence.
In Mendoza's case, that means forever. Unless he renounces his membership and tells everything he knows - which he says he won't.
"Why would I run and put my tail between my legs? I did this to myself."

READ MORE - The Texas Syndicate's golden rule is as simple as it is merciless: Betray us and you're dead.

victim’s death was ordered by “a very powerful prison gang called the 'suranos,'” Spanish for the South Gang.

The trial of an Oregon State Penitentiary inmate accused of killing another prisoner got underway in Marion County Circuit Court .

Isacc Creed Agee, 33, is on trial for what prosecutors say was his part in the slaying of Antonio Barrantes-Vasquez inside the victim’s cell on Feb. 14, 2008.

Agee is charged with aggravated murder and could face the death penalty if convicted in Barrantes’ death.

During his opening statement, Matt Kemmy, a Marion County deputy district attorney, showed the jury a picture of the victim, saying the Barrantes had been asleep in his cell when Agee and another inmate, James Demetri Davenport, assaulted him.

“They were in their cell waiting for the chance to kill Mr. Barrantes,” Kemmy told the jury about the pair.

Davenport was sentenced to life in prison.

In his opening statement, Jeffrey Jones, Agee’s defense attorney, told jurors that he and his client were not contesting much of the evidence in Barrantes’ death.

He also told the jury the evidence will show that the victim’s death was ordered by “a very powerful prison gang called the 'suranos,'” Spanish for the South Gang.

READ MORE - victim’s death was ordered by “a very powerful prison gang called the 'suranos,'” Spanish for the South Gang.

The final three members of the Black Guerrilla Gang have pleaded guilty in federal court, wrapping up cases against 21 members what authorities described as a violent group responsible for money laundering, drug dealing and attacks inside Maryland prisons.

Police said they used pre-paid debit card accounts to deal drugs beyond prison walls.

“This case reflects an unprecedented commitment by the Maryland Department of Public Safety and Correctional Services to combat crime and corruption in state correctional facilities," Maryland U.S. Attorney Rod J. Rosenstein said in a statement. "An intensive investigation that included wiretaps on contraband prison cell phones resulted in evidence that BGF leaders ran the gang while incarcerated in state prisons.

"The crimes included extorting protection money from other inmates and using contraband cell phones to arrange drug deals, approve robberies and arrange attacks on cooperating witnesses," Rosenstein said. "In addition, gang members persuaded corrupt correctional officers to participate in the gang’s criminal activities by smuggling drugs, tobacco, cell phones and weapons into prisons.”

The arrests exposed corruption in prsion -- a guard was charged with helping deal drugs -- and revaled a handbook endorsed by an educator as promoting empowerment but described by authorities as a guide, or a "constitution," for gang life. The gang also had ties to an outreach group devoted to getting troubled youths off the streets.

Here is a previous story by The Sun's Justin Fenton exposing alleged activities of a corrections officers:

Items hauled out of a corrections officer's apartment before she was indicted in a gang racketeering conspiracy appear to connect her to a who's who of Baltimore criminals.

Authorities say Alicia Simmons, an employee at the Maryland Correctional Adjustment Center, is associated with the Black Guerrilla Family, the gang accused of directing a criminal enterprise from inside prison with the help of corrections staff. In a June 22 raid on her Pikesville apartment, agents seized the BGF "constitution," gang codes written in Swahili and paperwork related to its top leadership.Simmons, 34, also was in possession of letters, inmate ID cards, debit cards and other correspondence linked to some of the city's most notorious criminals. There's a letter from Kevin Gary, the Tree Top Bloods member known for his tinted red contact lenses, and another from Isaac Smith, convicted in the firebombing of a North Baltimore community activist's home.

She also had inmate identification cards in the names of Johnny "J.R." Butler and Calvin "Turkey" Wright, recently convicted for running a violent east-side drug ring connected to at least two killings; and Ronnie Thomas, better known as "Skinny Suge," the producer of the infamous "Stop Snitching" videos.

The search warrant and accompanying affidavit peel back another layer of the complex world of prison corruption that the Drug Enforcement Administration has been investigating for years, leading to a racketeering indictment this week.

Simmons is accused in the affidavit of helping smuggle heroin and cell phones through the prison's laundry system, allowing gang members to fight one another, and attempting to sniff out informants, including spying on federal agents as they met with a high-ranking gang member. The items in her apartment suggest her criminal ties go beyond the BGF.

Special Agent Edward Marcinko, a DEA spokesman, said her potential connections to other criminal enterprises were being investigated.

The Black Guerrilla Family is described by the DEA as the largest and most powerful prison gang in the state, with a presence in every facility and a top-down paramilitary structure that encouraged extortion and violence to further its goals. Already, the case has revealed how leaders used a handbook called the "Black Book" to spread its message while placing members to work with city school children and violence intervention programs as a front for recruiting.

Few details about Simmons' role in the BGF were revealed in the indictment unsealed this week. But the search warrant affidavit for her vehicle and Pikesville apartment, in the first block of Stockmill Road, adds additional perspective while raising questions about employee discipline within the prison system.

Federal agents appear to have focused on Simmons earlier this year, when a source told agents that they had personally observed her smuggle marijuana, crack cocaine and heroin into the protective custody unit of the Maryland Correctional Institute in Jessup in 2007, according to documents compiled by DEA Task Force member William Nickoles, a city police officer.

A second source said he had received a pound of marijuana from Simmons, and knew of a BGF commander who received 20 grams of heroin from her and other officers every two to three days. That source said that in December 2009 Simmons allowed BGF members into an area where they assaulted another inmate, and that she did not report the assault until the gang members were finished. She was removed from her shift as a result of the incident and suspended five days.

Agents also learned that Simmons was being disciplined by the Division of Correction for fraternizing with a former inmate over Facebook. She received a midlevel punishment that did not result in a suspension.

Prison officials have pointed to their cooperation with the DEA in bringing the indictments and said they should put the agency's "few bad apples" on notice that they will be caught. But Simmons' activities were well-known in the prison for years, according to informants who spoke to the DEA, and she continued to work as a guard despite the infractions.

Rick Binetti, a spokesman for the Department of Public Safety and Correctional Services, said the agency has improved its screening processes and has been working with law enforcement agencies. He said he could not comment on Simmons' personnel records.

When agents searched the cells of three BGF leaders in 2009, the inmates were removed "under the ruse that they were summoned to the warden's office." After the searches, two of the members - Eric Brown and Ray Olivis - were removed from the general population and indicted. But the third man, Jonathan Braverman, was not.

Suspecting he was a cooperating informant, BGF members ordered a "hit on sight" on Braverman. Law enforcement officials visited Braverman - under the guise that they were attorneys - in June 2009 to advise him of the threat, and noticed Simmons "in close proximity to the interview area." By the next day, an informant was relaying to federal agents that Simmons had advised several inmates and BGF members that the DEA had visited Braverman and that he was an informant.

Agents served the search warrant on her home on June 25, and an inventory of seized items was unsealed this week. Included among the items were letters from inmates soliciting phone calls and favors, and newspaper articles about crime and the BGF case. They also found:

* An envelope from federal inmate Kevin Gary, a Tree Top Piru Bloods leader who last year received 30 years in prison after admitting to witness intimidation, ordering gang members to rob drug dealers and unsuccessfully arranging a murder. The envelope was addressed to Simmons' apartment, and contained a photograph of Gary and a letter.

* A copy of the BGF Constitution, a copy of BGF codes and Swahili words and their meanings.

* Federal inmate cards in the names of Calvin Wright, Johnny Butler, Dieon Scruggs, Lejuanna Walker, Darrick Frayling, and several others. Butler and Wright were sentenced recently to life and 35 years, respectively, in federal prison in connection with their heroin ring. They still face charges in the 2007 torture and killing of Sintia Mesa, who police say was killed over a drug debt.

Scruggs was charged in February with posing as a Federal Fugitive Task Force officer last fall; Walker was convicted in May and received 12 years in prison for his role in a Baltimore County drug ring.

* "Green Dot" prepaid debit cards, which authorities say are the currency of the prison system, in the names of various inmates including Fonda White and Jeffrey Fowlkes. White, a former prison guard, and Fowlkes, her incarcerated lover and BGF gang member, pleaded guilty to extorting thousands of dollars from prisoners and their relatives.

READ MORE - The final three members of the Black Guerrilla Gang have pleaded guilty in federal court, wrapping up cases against 21 members what authorities described as a violent group responsible for money laundering, drug dealing and attacks inside Maryland prisons.