Ultimatum

Forty-seven

19.15

‘Get in there,’ grunted the screw, manhandling Fox into the cell.

‘They tried to kill me again,’ said Fox, as the screw went to shut the cell door. ‘You saw them. I’m not safe in this place.’

‘You’re a lot safer than we are right now,’ replied the screw. He was one of the young ones, an ex-squaddie who’d told Fox when they’d first met a couple of months earlier that he was a disgrace to the armed forces and his regiment. The screw looked scared and confused now, though. This was clearly his first riot. He gave Fox another shove and slammed the door shut.

The decor was better in here, thought Fox, as the key turned in the lock. They’d had a refurbishment on this wing recently, and the walls had been painted a soothing cream. The bed was new too, but he didn’t sit on it, even though he was tired from his recent exertions.

The whole prison was in lockdown now, with Fox’s wing completely sealed off with the prisoners inside. It was, he thought, amazing how easy it had been for the inmates to seize control. Hopelessly outnumbered, the screws had been thrown into panic, and in their haste to ensure the disturbance didn’t spread to the other wings they’d neglected to search him properly. Which was a mistake on their parts.

Fox took the mobile phone from his pocket. He’d bought it from another inmate two days previously. There were always plenty of mobiles inside prisons, smuggled in during visits when physical contact was permissible, or by the guards themselves who sold them on for profit. Fox had always considered the British penal system far too liberal, but it was certainly working in his favour now.

He sent a text to a number he’d memorized. It was only three words long, and it said simply: SWITCH IT ON. When he’d got confirmation that it had sent, he deleted the message and turned off the phone, removing the sim card and flushing it down the toilet, before shoving the handset under the mattress on the bed.

He leaned back against the wall. Now it was just a matter of waiting.