The Freedom Trap [= The Mackintosh Man]

I

I suppose a man can get used to anything. They tell me the Jews even got used to living — and dying — in Belsen and Dachau. Well, this was no Dachau, crummy though it was.

At the end of the first week I no longer had my meals in the cell but joined with the others in eating in the Hall. It was then I discovered that I was a personality. There’s a very strong caste system in a prison largely based on criminal achievement and, oddly enough, on the lack of achievement which results in a long sentence. Roughly speaking, the long-term prisoners, such as myself, were at the top of the heap with the high-risk boys as the Ălite. They’re looked up to and respected; they hold their little courts and can command the favour of many parasites and hangers-on.

That is one classification. Another is by type of crime. The brainy boys — the con men and professional frauds — are on top with safe breakers running them close. At the bottom of this heap are the sex criminals whom nobody likes. The honest burglar is a much respected man, more for his workmanlike and unassuming ways than anything else.

I was in a position to command a lot of respect, had I so wished it. My status stemmed from the fact that not only was I a long-term man but that I’d diddled the johns and hadn’t grassed on my mysterious pal. You can’t keep a secret in prison and everyone knew the facts of my case. Because I kept my mouth shut about the diamonds and because everyone knew what pressure Forbes was exerting I was reckoned to be one of the all right boys; an oddity, but one to be respected.

But I steered clear of all entanglements and alliances. I was being a good boy because I didn’t want my high-risk status to continue for any longer than it had to. The time would come when I was going to escape and I had to get rid of the constant surveillance — the singling out of attention on Rearden. Not that I was the only high-risk prisoner — there were others — about half a dozen in all. I steered clear of the lot of them.

Because I was high risk they gave me the job of looking after the tidiness of ‘C’ Hall where I was under the eye of the Hall screw permanently on duty. Otherwise they would have had to provide a warder to escort me to the workshops instead of going with the others in a gang supervised by a trusty. They were short-staffed and this was a convenient arrangement. I didn’t object; I mopped the floors and scrubbed the tables and worked with a will. Anything to be a good boy.

Homosexuals are the bane of prison life. One of them rather fancied me and pursued me to the extent that the only possible way of dissuading him was to give him a thump on the nose which I didn’t want to do because that would have been a black mark on my record sheet. It was Smeaton, my landing screw, who got me out of that predicament. He saw what was happening and warned off the queer with a few choice and blasphemous threats, for which I was thankful.

Smeaton was typical of the majority of prison officers. He hadn’t interfered because he particularly wanted to prevent my corruption. He’d done it for the sake of a quiet life. The screws looked upon us neutrally for the most part and to them we were just a part of the job. Over the years they had learned a technique — stop it before it starts; keep the temperature down; don’t let trouble spread. It was a very effective technique.

So I kept to myself and out of trouble. Not that I didn’t mix with the others at all; if I drew attention as a loner then the prison psychiatrist would fix his beady eye on me. So, during the free association periods, I played a few games of cards and improved my chess considerably.

There were others to talk to besides one’s fellow criminals. There were the unofficial visitors. Why these were called unofficial I never found out because they had to be authorized by the Governor. They were the prison visitors, the do-gooders and penal reform crowd, and a mixed bag they were. Some of them thought the way to reform a criminal was to moralize at him solemnly by the hour as though a steady drip of predigested religious pap would wash away the canker of the soul. Others were better than that.

Fortunately they weren’t obligatory and one could pick and choose to some extent. I discarded a couple before finding a good one. He used to come and chat with me about all sorts of things without ever once trying to fill me up with a lot of guff or trying to convert me. He, also, had lived in South Africa and so we had something in common. Of course, since I was a high-risk prisoner, all these conversations were under the watchful eye and listening ear of a screw. Once I popped in a sentence in Afrikaans to which my visitor replied in the same language. The screw soon put a stop to that and we were both reprimanded by the Governor. But no black mark for Rearden, thank God.

Clark, the Prison Chaplain, also came to see me occasionally. He, also, was no toffee-nose and we got on together quite well. Basically, he was a very religious man and so found himself in a dilemma. He found it hard to reconcile the Christian precept of ‘Love thy enemies’ with the task of ministering to his flock who were locked up in a big cage. I think it was wearing him down a bit.

The best of the lot was Anderson, the Welfare Officer. He did quite a lot for me and I think his reports to the Governor were encouraging. It was through him that I got the radio, something for which I had worked assiduously. I had been going to the library once a week, as per regulations, and each visit needed the supervision of a screw. I asked Anderson why I couldn’t take out a double ration of books and halve the number of library visits, thus taking a bit of strain off the overworked staff.

He saw the point and quickly agreed. I think I managed successfully to give him the notion that I was playing along and trying to help. When I applied for permission to have a radio there was no opposition and, soon after that, I was given permission to start correspondence courses through the prison educational system. After all, if you are doing twenty years’ bird you have to fill in the time somehow.

I chose English Literature and Russian. There was a bit of doubt about the Russian but it went through all right in the end. I had no intention of finishing either course if I could help it; it was all a bit of wool-pulling to make them think Rearden was reconciled to his fate. Still, I buckled down and worked hard. It had to look good and, besides, it was something to do.

The only other prisoner I got close to at this time was Johnny Swift who was doing a ‘cut’ for burglary. In prison jargon a ‘sleep’ is a sentence of from six months to two years; a ‘cut’ is from two to four years, and a ‘stretch’ is anything over four years. Johnny had been sent up for three years for having been found on business premises after closing time, so he was doing a cut and I was doing a stretch.

More shrewd than intelligent, he gave me lots of tips about the minor rackets that go on in prison and the best ways of keeping out of trouble. Once, when I had changed cells for the umpteenth time, I was a bit grouchy about it. He laughed. ‘The penalty of being famous,’ he said. ‘I know one cell you’ll never be put in.’

‘Which is that?’

‘That one over there in the corner. Snooky’s cell.’

Snooky was an odd little man with a permanent smile; he also was in for burglary. ‘And why shouldn’t I go in there?’

Johnny grinned. ‘Because the main sewer runs under there — right across the corner of the Hall. It’s big enough to crawl through if you could dig down to it.’

‘I see,’ I said thoughtfully. ‘But they’ll trust your burglar mate, Snooky.’

‘Burglar!’ said Johnny in disgust. ‘He’s no more a burglar than my Aunt Fanny. He’s nick-struck — that’s what he is. Every time he’s discharged tears roll down his cheeks as they push him through the gate. Then he goes and does a job and bungles it so he can get back in here.’

‘He likes it here!’

‘If you’d been brought up like Snooky you’d find this place a home from home,’ said Johnny soberly. ‘But I agree he’s not all there.’

Another time Johnny said, ‘Be careful who you talk to in here. I wouldn’t trust a bloody soul myself.’

‘Even you?’

He chuckled. ‘Especially me, mate. But seriously, watch out for Simpson — he’s a proper arse-creeper. If you find him hanging around, clip his bloody earhole.’

He pointed out others I should beware of, and some of them surprised me. ‘That gang would peach on anyone if they thought it would get them in good with the Governor so he’ll put in a good word to the Review Board. But they’re wasting their time; he’s too fly for them. He knows what goes on in here without those narks helping him.’

Johnny was philosophical about doing time. To him, his work was his profession and prison an occupational hazard. ‘I’ve done two sleeps and a cut,’ he said. ‘Next time it’ll be a stretch.’

‘Aren’t you worried about that?’

‘A bit,’ he admitted. Like an economist discussing the effect of government legislation on industrial activity he began to analyse the situation. ‘It’s these bloody dogooders,’ he said. ‘They’ve knocked out capital punishment and they’ve got to put something in its place. So you get long terms for murderers. But a bloke serving a long term doesn’t like it and wants to get out, so they class him as a high risk.’

He grinned. ‘And they’ve got to find a special place to put him. Nicks like this are no good — you could get out of here with a bent pin — so they’re building high-risk nicks special like. But when you’ve got a place like that there aren’t enough killers to fill it — there’s a bit of space going to waste — so they begin to get a bit harder on the sentences. That’s where you felt the draught, chum.’

I said, ‘But why put me in here to do my bird if it isn’t safe?’

‘Because the special nicks aren’t ready yet. You wait until they’ve built those places on the Isle of Wight that Mount-batten’s been going for. You’ll be whizzed out of here in no time. In the meantime they spread you high-risk blokes around thin, a few in each nick, so you can be watched easy.’

I looked around ‘C’ Hall. ‘If this place is so easy to get out of why haven’t you tried?’

He looked at me incredulously. ‘Think I’m a mug, mate? I’m only doing a cut, and that means I’m out of here in just over two years from start to finish — if I don’t lose me temper and clobber that bastard, Hudson. You got no idea what it’s like when you go over the wall and you know that every bluebottle in England is looking for you. It ain’t worth it, chum; not with all those bloody dogs. They use helicopters, too, and radio. It’s like a bloody army exercise.’

He tapped my arm. ‘Could be different for you, though. You ain’t got as much to lose. But it wouldn’t be as easy for you to go over the wall as it would be for me, ‘cause they’re watching you all the time. They’re on to you, mate. And if you did get over the wall you’d get nowhere without an organization.’

That sounded interesting. ‘Organization! What organization?’

‘You got to have planning on the outside,’ said Johnny. ‘You don’t want to be like those mugs who find themselves on the Moor running in circles and eating raw turnip and listening for the dogs.’ He shuddered slightly. ‘Those bloody dogs! No, you got to have an organization that’ll get you clean away. How do you suppose Wilson, Biggs, and the others did it?’

‘All right,’ I said. ‘I’ll buy it. How did they get away?’

He rubbed the side of his nose. ‘Like I said — organization and outside planning. But it takes the shekels; you got to have a lot of money.’ He looked around to see if there was anyone within earshot, and lowered his voice. ‘You ever hear of the Scarperers?’

‘Scarperers?’ I shook my head. ‘Never heard of them.’

‘Well, it’s only a rumour and I could be wrong, but the griff is that there’s a mob specially set up for it — helping you long-term blokes.’ He chuckled. ‘Could call it a new kind of crime. But you got to have the bees.’

That didn’t need much working out; the bees and honey — the money. ‘How do I contact them?’

‘You don’t,’ said Johnny bluntly. ‘They contact you. This is a very exclusive mob; very picky and choosy. But I hear on the grapevine that they do a guaranteed job — you get clear away or no pay — barring expenses. Course, they don’t bother about blokes like me because they know it ain’t worth me while, but you could be different.’

I hesitated. ‘Johnny, this isn’t my country and I don’t know the ropes. I was in England for less than a week before I was picked up. But if you put it out on the grapevine that there’s a bloke in this nick who could do with a bit of help it might do me some good. No names, mind!’

‘Think I’m a mug?’ he asked. ‘No names it is.’ He looked at me speculatively. ‘Can’t say that I blame you, chum. Twenty years’ bird would send me round the twist. Trouble with you is that you didn’t cough up nicely when asked; you slapped ‘em in the face with it and they didn’t like it.’

He sighed heavily. ‘As I said, next time I’m up before the beak it’ll be a stretch. Time was when I could reckon on five or seven years, but that was before the beaks got bloody-minded. Now I don’t know what they’ll do — could be ten, twelve or even fifteen years’ bird. I don’t know if I could do fifteen years. It unsettles a man, it really does, not having a dependable stretch to rely on.’

I said, ‘Maybe you’d better call it a day when you get out of here.’

‘What else can I do?’ he said despondently. ‘I’m not brass-faced enough to go on the con; besides, I ain’t got the voice — you need to be la-di-da for that. And I’m too old to learn how to dip. And I hates the protection bit — too softhearted to beat anybody up. No, I’m an inside man — up the old drainpipe, that’s me.’

‘You could turn honest,’ I suggested.

He looked at me incredulously. ‘That’s for peasants. Can you see me as a nine-to-five? Can you see me working in the corner garage getting me hands black?’ He was silent for a while. ‘Not that I’m relying on getting boobed, you understand. I’m not like Snooky, you know. But I know it’s in the cards and I got to face it.’

He stared blindly into the middle distance as though seeing a very bleak future. ‘And the scarperers won’t do nothing for me,’ he said softly. ‘I ain’t got the bees — I never have had.’

As far as I could see there wasn’t much difference between Snooky and Johnny Swift — they both faced the same end.

II

The months went by.

I mopped and scrubbed and polished ‘C’ Hall in a continual round of endeavour; it was like cleaning out the Augean stables because of some of the pigs who lived in it. I had one or two arguments on that score but nothing serious enough to get me a black mark.

Forbes tried to con me a couple of times into narking about the diamonds but when he saw he wasn’t getting anywhere he gave it up. I suppose I was written off as incorrigible.

Maskell came to see me a couple of times. The first time he asked if I wanted to appeal against my sentence. I said, ‘Is there any point?’

‘A technicality,’ he said. ‘You may remember that the judge told Rollins that he didn’t see how your case could deteriorate much further. That was an unfortunate remark and could be construed on appeal as having undue influence on the jury. On the other hand, your attitude about the missing property has not been an encouraging feature.’

I smiled at him. ‘Mr Maskell, if I knew nothing about the diamonds then I couldn’t help in the way I’m expected to, could I?’

We did nothing about the appeal.

The second time he came I saw him in the Governor’s office. The Governor said, ‘Your solicitor is asking that you should sign a power of attorney.’

Maskell broke in smoothly. ‘Mr Rearden had certain assets in South Africa which have now been liquidated and transferred to England. It is natural that he had an advisor to handle the investment of these funds since he is incapable of doing it himself.’

‘How much is involved?’ asked the Governor.

‘A little over £400,’ said Maskell. ‘A safe investment in trustee funds should turn it into over £1,000 in twenty years — something for Mr Rearden to look forward to, I hope.’ He produced a document. ‘I have Home Office approval.’

‘Very well,’ said the Governor, so I signed the power of attorney. Someone had to pay for the radio I had been granted permission to have — they aren’t supplied free of charge. And it was nice to know I hadn’t been forgotten. I thanked Maskell warmly.

The time came when I was able to strike day number 365 from my calendar — only another 19 years to go. I had heard nothing from Johnny about the so-called scarperers and was becoming despondent about my chances.

I was still classified as high risk with all the attendant irritants. By now I had got used to sleeping with the light on and it had become an automatic and unthinking reaction to put my clothes outside the cell door before Smeaton locked up for the night. I changed cells irregularly and kept a record, wondering if I could detect a pattern but there were no regularities as far as I could see, either in the timing or in the particular cell I was transferred to next. I think they randomized it by pulling numbers out of a hat or some such method. That kind of thing is unbeatable.

It was about this time that I first met Slade. He was a new boy inside for a first offence and he’d got forty-two years, but I don’t believe the First Offenders Act covers espionage. I had heard about him before, of course; the news broadcasts had been full of the Slade Trial. Since most of the juicy bits had been told in camera no one really knew what Slade had been up to, but from all accounts he was the biggest catch since Blake.

He was a pallid man and looked as though he had been bigger at one time but had shrunk, so that his skin was baggy and ill-fitting, something like the skin of a bloodhound. He walked with two sticks and I later learned that he’d been shot through the hips and had spent eight months in hospital before being put on trial. A spy leads an interesting life — sometimes too interesting.

At the trial it had come out that he was really Russian but to speak with him you wouldn’t think so because his English was perfect, if a little too public school. His forty-two year stretch should have made him the doyen of the prison but it didn’t work out that way. Surprisingly, the most hardened criminal can be patriotic and, to a large extent, he was given the cold shoulder.

Not being English that didn’t worry me too much. He proved to be a most interesting conversationalist, cultured and knowledgeable, and was instantly prepared to help me with my Russian lessons when I asked him. He looked at me blandly when I put the question. ‘Certainly I speak Russian,’ he said. ‘It would be very odd if I didn’t under the circumstances.’ A faint smile played about his lips.

My Russian improved spectacularly after Slade’s arrival.

It was nearing the end of Johnny’s sentence and he had been transferred to the hostel. That meant he was employed on jobs outside the prison, the theory being that it would acclimatize him gradually to the rigours of the outside world — a part of the rehabilitation process. I didn’t see it would make much difference to Johnny Swift.

But it meant I didn’t see him as often. Sometimes we had a few words in the exercise yard but that was as far as it went. I looked around in ‘C’ Hall for someone else to chum up with, someone who was a likely prospect for contacting an escape organization — if the damned thing existed. At any moment I could be transferred without notice to another nick — possibly a high security prison — and that didn’t suit my book at all.

It was fifteen months to a day before anything happened. I was breathing the lovely smog-laden air in the exercise yard when I saw Johnny Swift signal that he wanted to talk. I drifted over to him and caught the football that he threw, apparently by accident. I bounced it a couple of times and took it to him and handed it over. ‘You still want to get out?’ he asked, and kicked the ball up the yard.

I felt my stomach muscles tense. ‘Had an offer?’

‘I been approached,’ he admitted. ‘If you’re still interested it could go further.’

‘I’m bloody interested. I’ve had enough of this.’

‘Fifteen months!’ he scoffed. ‘That’s nothing. But have you got the lolly? That’s important.’

‘How much?’

‘Five thousand nicker and that’s just a starter,’ said Johnny. ‘It’s to be put up before anything happens — before they even think about getting you out.’

‘Christ! That’s a lot of money.’

‘I been told to tell you that this is the expense money — and it’s non-returnable. The real payment will be more than that.’

‘How much?’

‘I dunno. That’s all I been told. They want to know how soon you can spring the five thousand quid.’

‘I can get it,’ I said. ‘I have funds tucked away in South Africa that no one knows about.’ I looked along the exercise yard. Hudson was at the bottom end, making his way up slowly. ‘I’ll want a cheque form on the Standard Bank of South Africa, Hospital Hill Branch, Johannesburg. Got that?’

He repeated it slowly, then nodded. ‘I got it.’

‘I’ll sign it, and they cash it. It’ll have to be cashed in South Africa. That shouldn’t be too difficult.’

‘It’ll take some time, mate,’ said Johnny.

I laughed humourlessly. ‘I’ve got nineteen years. But tell them to hurry. I’m getting nervous about being moved out of here.’

‘Watch it — here’s Hudson,’ Johnny said. ‘You’ll be contacted.’ He ran forward and intercepted the football and both he and I joined in the game.

The cheque form came ten days later. A new arrival brought it in and it was passed to me surreptitiously. ‘I was told to give you this. Pass it to Sherwin when you’ve done with it.’

‘I knew Sherwin; he was due for release, I said quickly, ‘Wait a minute; anything else?’

‘I don’t know nothing else,’ the man muttered, and shuffled away.

That night I settled my correspondence course books on the table and started work as usual. I’d been plugging away at the Russian and I reckoned I was pretty good — my pronunciation had improved vastly since Slade’s arrival although that makes no difference to the examiner’s marks in a correspondence course. I carried on for half an hour and then dug out the cheque form and smoothed it out.

It had been quite a while since I’d seen that familiar sight, and I could almost smell the dust blowing off the Johannesburg mine dumps. The amount had been filled in — R10,000 — Ten Thousand Rand — and I thought the mob was laying it on a bit thick; since devaluation of the value of the pound sterling had deteriorated relative to the Rand, and this cheque was for about £5,650. The payee line was blank — I wasn’t supposed to know about that yet, and when I did find out it would be too late to do anything about it.

I filled in the date and added my signature — and it wasn’t J. A. Rearden, either — then stuck the cheque between the pages of the Russian grammar, wondering if I was a wise man or the prize chump of all time. Someone could be conning me — it could even be Johnny Swift — and if he was I was over £5,000 in the red and all for nothing. But I had to rely on cupidity; if it was realized that there was more loot where that came from then someone would be back for more, but this time it would be payment by results — after the results had been achieved.

Next morning I passed the cheque on to Sherwin who palmed it expertly and I knew he wouldn’t have any trouble in getting it out unseen. Sherwin was a card sharp and no one in ‘C’ Hall would dream of playing nap with him; he could make a deck of cards sit up and talk, and concealing a cheque would be no trouble at all.

Then I settled down to wait, wondering what expenses the mob would have that could run to five thousand quid.

The weeks went by and again nothing happened. I had figured out the time needed to cash the cheque and get word back to England and had estimated it at just over a week. When five long weeks had gone by without result I began to get edgy.

Then it broke very suddenly.

It was at free association time. Smeaton was giving me a minor dressing down for a small infraction; I’d not been cleaning up as well as I should have done — a sign that I was slipping. Cosgrove came up carrying a chess board. He waited until Smeaton had finished, then said, ‘Cheer up, Rearden; what about a game?’

I knew Cosgrove; he’d been the brains behind a hijacking mob — cigarettes and whisky mostly — and someone had squealed on him and he’d been pulled in and got ten years. He was in his sixth year and, with a bit of luck, he’d be out in another two. He was also the ‘C’ Hall chess champion, a very astute and intelligent man.

I said abstractedly, ‘Not today, Cossie.’

He glanced sideways at Smeaton who was standing two paces away. ‘Don’t you want to win out?’

‘Win out?’ I said sharply.

‘The big tournament.’ He held up a box of chessmen. ‘I’m sure I can give you a few tips if you play with me.’

We found a table at the other end of the Hall away from Smeaton. As we set out the pieces I said, ‘Okay, what is this, Cossie?’

He put down a pawn. ‘I’m your go-between. You speak to me and no one else. Understand?’ I nodded briefly and he carried on. ‘To begin with I’m going to talk money.’

‘Then you can stop right now,’ I said. ‘Your mob already has over five thousand quid of mine, and I’ve yet to see a result.’

‘You’re seeing me, aren’t you?’ He looked around. ‘Play chess — it’s your first move.’ I moved to QP3 and he laughed softly. ‘You’re a cautious man, Rearden; that’s a piano opening.’

‘Quit being subtle, Cossie. Say what you have to say.’

‘I don’t blame you for being cautious,’ he said. ‘All I’m saying is that it’s going to cost you a hell of a lot more.’

‘Not before I’m out of here,’ I said. ‘I’m not that much of a sucker.’

‘I don’t blame you,’ said Cossie. ‘It’s like taking a jump in the dark. But the fact is we’ve got to talk money or the deal’s off. We’ve both got to know where we stand.’

‘All right. How much?’

He moved his king’s knight. ‘We’re a bit like tax collectors — we take pro rata. You made a killing of £173,000. We want half — that’s £86,500.’

‘Don’t be a bloody fool,’ I said. ‘There are too many things wrong with that calculation and you know it.’

‘Such as?’

‘There was only supposed to be £120,000 in that parcel. I think the owners were laying it on a bit.’

He nodded. ‘Could be. Anything else?’

‘Yes. Do you suppose we could sell for the full value? It’s not like selling legitimate — you ought to know that more than anyone.’

‘Play chess,’ he said calmly. ‘That screw’s watching us. You could sell for full value with uncut diamonds if you were clever enough and I think you are clever. That wasn’t a stupid job you pulled. You’d have got clean away if you hadn’t been shopped.’

‘They weren’t uncut diamonds,’ I said. ‘They’d been cut in Amsterdam and were being brought back for setting. Diamonds of that value are X-rayed, photographed and registered. They’ve been recut and that means a hell of a drop in value. And another thing — I wasn’t alone. I had a mate who’s in on a fifty-fifty split. He planned it and I did it.’

‘The boys were wondering about that,’ said Cossie. ‘They can’t quite make you out. Did your mate shop you? Because if he did you’ve not got a bean, have you? And that means you’re no good to us.’

‘It wasn’t my mate,’ I said, hoping to make it stick.

‘The buzz is going around that it was your mate.’

‘The buzz couldn’t have been started by a busy called Forbes — or another called Brunskill? They have their reasons, you know.’

‘Could be,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Who is your mate?’

‘Nothing doing,’ I said firmly. ‘I didn’t give him to the busies, and I’m not giving him to your mob. That, in itself, ought to prove he didn’t shop me. My friend and I move along very quietly; we mind our business and we don’t want anyone else minding it for us.’

‘We’ll let that one lie for a bit,’ said Cossie. ‘I’ll put it to the boys. But that brings us back to the boodle — what was your take?’

‘We estimated it at forty thousand nicker,’ I said calmly. ‘And it’s out away safely. You get it through me — not my mate.’

He smiled slightly. ‘In a Swiss numbered account?’

‘That’s right. It’s quite safe.’

‘So it’s still half,’ he said. ‘Twenty years at a thousand a year — cheap at half price. We take you over the wall and deliver you outside the United Kingdom, and if you come back that’s your trouble. But let me tell you something — you’d better not welsh on us; you’d better have the boodle for us because, if you don’t, nobody will ever hear of you again. I hope that’s quite clear.’

‘It’s very clear,’ I said. ‘You get me out of here and you’ll get your money. I’ll still be up on the deal, anyway.’

‘I’ll put it up to the boys,’ he said. ‘It’s up to them whether you’re accepted as a client.’

I said, ‘Cossie, if your mob is as good as you say it is, what the hell are you doing in here? That puzzles me.’

‘I’m just the contact man,’ he said. ‘I was recruited in here. Besides, I only have another two years’ bird, then I’m out, anyway. Why make trouble for myself? I’ve got a good business waiting for me outside and I’m not going to throw that away.’ He looked up. ‘It’d be dicey for you if you came back to England.’

‘That doesn’t trouble me,’ I said. ‘I was only on the loose for a week in England — I know nothing about the place and I don’t care to know any more.’

Cossie moved a piece. ‘Check. There’s another thing. You’ve been matey with Slade lately, haven’t you? You do a lot of talking together.’

‘He’s helping me with my Russian,’ I said, moving my king.

‘That stops,’ said Cossie flatly. ‘You keep clear of Slade or the deal’s off no matter how much money you have.’

I looked up, startled. ‘What the hell... ’

‘That’s the way it is,’ he said equably, and moved his bishop. ‘Check!’

‘Don’t tell me your mob is patriotic,’ I said, and laughed. ‘What’s the idea?’

Cossie gave me a pained look. ‘You ought to know better than to ask questions. You just do as you’re told.’ He turned to Smeaton who was walking past. ‘What do you know?’ he said. ‘Rearden nearly beat me.’ And that was a damned lie. ‘He’s got a good chance in the tournament.’

Smeaton looked at him with expressionless eyes and moved on.

III

So the game was on. I felt the tension rising in me and this time it was the tension of hope and not hopelessness. I even began to sing a bit as I scrubbed the tables in the Hall and I didn’t slip up on a thing. Smeaton looked on me with approval, or as near to it as he could show. I was proving to be a model prisoner.

I obeyed Cosgrove’s orders and dropped Slade who glanced at me reproachfully from time to time. I didn’t know why Cossie wanted me to do that but this wasn’t the time to argue it out. All the same, I felt a bit sorry for Slade; he hadn’t too many friends in this nick.

I kept my eye on Cosgrove unobtrusively and watched who he talked to and who his pals were. As far as I could see he was as relaxed as usual and there were no changes in his normal pattern, but since I hadn’t studied him especially before it was difficult to tell.

After a couple of weeks I went up to him during free association time. ‘What about a game of chess, Cossie?’

He looked at me with blank eyes. ‘Keep away from me, you silly bastard. I don’t want to be involved with you.’

‘You are involved,’ I snapped. ‘Smeaton was just asking if I wasn’t going to enter the chess tournament, after all. He wanted to know if I’d given up my lessons. He also wanted to know if I’d given up Russian.’

Cosgrove blinked. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Let’s go over there.’

We set up the board. ‘Any news?’

‘I’ll tell you when there’s any news.’ He was in a bad temper.

‘Look, Cossie; I’m worried,’ I said. ‘I’ve just heard that the top security nick is finished — the one on Wight. I’m scared of being transferred. It could happen any time.’

He looked around the Hall. ‘These things can’t be rushed — it’s a complicated set-up. What do you suppose you’ve paid five thousand quid for? Just a jump over a wall? There’s a whole escape line to be laid on.’ He moved a chess piece. ‘I don’t know much about that side of it, but I hear it’s a different set-up every time. No pattern, see? You ought to know that, Rearden, of all people.’

I stared at him. ‘I see someone’s been checking up on me.’

He looked at me with cold eyes. ‘What do you think? A part of that five thousand nicker went towards checking you out. The boys are very security-minded. You have an interesting record; I can’t see why you slipped up this time.’

‘It happens to all of us,’ I said. ‘I was shopped — same as you, Cossie.’

‘But I know who shopped me,’ he said savagely. ‘And the bastard is going to regret it to his dying day once I get out of here.’

‘Better have it done before you get out,’ I advised. ‘You have the perfect alibi — you’re in the nick; and enough time has gone by so that the busies aren’t likely to think of you.’

He smiled reluctantly. ‘You have interesting ideas, Rearden.’

‘And what makes you think I don’t know who shopped me?’ I asked. ‘Trouble is I don’t have contacts on the outside to arrange an accident.’

‘I can arrange it,’ he offered.

‘Forget it. I’ll be out myself soon enough if your mob comes up to scratch. So they had me investigated in South Africa, did they? I hope they were satisfied.’

‘You passed. You’ve got some good friends out there.’ Smeaton was passing close by. Cossie said, ‘Not that move, stupid; it gives me mate in three moves.’ He looked up at Smeaton. ‘He’s not as good as I thought he was; he’ll never make it in the tournament.’

Smeaton sneered at him without moving a muscle of his face.

IV

Cossie was right — I didn’t make it in the tournament — but it wasn’t because of my lousy chess. Two days later he came to me instead of vice versa. ‘It’s set up.’

‘They changed my cell yesterday,’ I said.

‘Doesn’t matter. You’ll be taken out in daylight — from the exercise yard on Saturday. Three o’clock exactly — remember that.’

There was a sudden tightening in my belly. ‘What’s the drill?’

‘Have you ever seen them putting up the Christmas lights in Regent Street?’ Cossie asked. He snapped his fingers in annoyance. ‘Of course, you haven’t. Anyway, they have this truck, see, with a platform on a long articulated arm — to hoist up the electricians.’

‘I know what you mean,’ I said. ‘They use them at Jan Smuts Airport at Jo’burg to service the big jets. They call them cherry-pickers.’

‘Do they?’ he said interestedly. ‘I see why they might. Anyway, there’ll be one of those coming over the wall on Saturday. I’ll show you where to stand, and when it comes over you jump in quick. There’ll be a bloke on the platform to help you, and you’ll be out in two ticks. That’s going over the wall in style.’

He turned to survey the Hall, then continued rapidly. ‘There’ll be a hell of a lot of other things going on at the same time, but you won’t take any notice of all that. Just keep your mind on the big platform.’

‘Okay,’ I said.

‘And I’ve been asked to tell you something — if you’re taken out and you can’t find the twenty thousand quid, then God help you because no one else will. You’ll not live to regret it — and that’s not a slip of the tongue. I was specially asked to tell you that in case you want to change your mind.’

‘The mob will get its money,’ I said shortly.

‘All right; I’ll see you on Saturday then.’ He turned away, then paused and turned back. ‘Oh, I nearly forgot,’ he said casually. ‘Someone else is going with you, and you’re going to help him.’

‘Who?’

Cosgrove looked at me blandly. ‘Slade!’