Ultimatum

Sixty-five

21.05

When the knock on the cell door came, Fox had to resist smiling.

‘Prisoner 407886,’ came the barked command, ‘stand up and show yourself, and keep your hands where we can see them.’

Fox got off the bunk and stood a few feet in front of the door, holding up his hands in a gesture of supplication as the guard peered through the inspection hatch. A second later the door was unlocked and four screws stood there, headed by Officer Thomson. All the guards were wearing plastic gloves, which could only mean one thing.

‘This looks ominous,’ said Fox, as the screws came inside.

‘You know the drill, Mr Garrett,’ said Thomson. ‘Clothes off. We’re going to give you a full body search.’

‘Any particular reason why?’

‘I don’t have to give you a fucking reason, Mr Garrett, but since you ask, you’re being transferred with immediate effect, and we’re making sure you don’t take anything that doesn’t belong to you.’

‘I have to say, I’ll feel a lot safer being out of here, sir. For some reason, the other prisoners don’t seem to like me. Sounds like they don’t like you much either.’ He nodded in the direction of the corridor where the sounds of shouting, yelping and banging as the prisoners vented their frustrations were clearly audible.

‘I don’t know what your game is, Garrett,’ hissed Thomson, coming close, ‘but whatever it is, remember this: you can be as cocky as you like, but you’re never going to taste freedom for as long as you live. And I’ll tell you something else. I hope you live a long fucking time.’

Fox didn’t say anything. Thomson’s words reeked of frustration. In the end, he was a small fish trapped in exactly the same pond as the men he was guarding. All he had were empty threats, and both of them knew it.

The search was thorough and invasive, just as it was supposed to be. Fox stood there and took it in cool silence, ignoring the jibes about how much he enjoyed having fingers rammed up his arse, ignoring the taste of those fingers then being deliberately shoved into his mouth, zoning out of the whole experience by staring unblinkingly at the wall and thinking of what lay ahead of him: the heat and the sunshine, and the sound of waves lapping gently on some distant shore.

It was all over in a couple of minutes and they didn’t find anything. Though they tried to hide it, the guards were clearly in a hurry and Fox had hardly got the last of his clothes on before he was pushed up face first against the cell door and his hands cuffed roughly behind his back.

‘Come on, you fuck,’ said Thomson, grabbing him by the collar and almost lifting him off his feet as he hauled him out of the cell. It was as if he was trying to get as much unpleasantness in as possible while he still had the chance.

Let him, thought Fox. In the end, Thomson was just like everyone else who chose to play by the rules. Impotent. He was probably hoping that Fox would snap and assault him, so that he’d have the justification to give him the kicking he’d doubtless been wanting to ever since the day Fox had first arrived. But there was no way Fox was going to give him the pleasure, and he didn’t resist as he was marched down the corridor towards the front of the main building.

En route, they passed a long line of black-clad, helmeted officers heading the other way. This was the Tornado Team, the Prison Service’s equivalent of riot police, who were always sent in to deal with prison disturbances. Fox had never seen them before. Westmoor had been remarkably peaceful during his stay, but these guys looked suitably mean and moody behind their flame-retardant masks, and Fox had little doubt that they’d quell the trouble easily enough. Most of the prisoners had little stomach for a fight, not when there was real opposition. But it didn’t matter. The violence had achieved what it was supposed to, and now, whatever Officer Thomson might have thought, Fox was going to get his first taste of life outside the prison gates for fifteen months.

There was still much that could go wrong but he felt a real excitement as he was led through various barred doors to the prison’s main reception area, and saw Tina Boyd waiting there, flanked by two armed cops carrying MP5s.

This was it. He was finally on his way.