The Blind Run by Brian Freemantle Page A

time as Charlie approached, easing it back from the frame and staring out. He nodded, indicating that it was clear, leading out into the corridor with Charlie directly behind. There were no cells on this landing, which formed the beginning of the administration section. It was illuminated by the dull green night-lights. The two men still moved cautiously, hesitating every few steps for any noise of approaching officers. The longest pause was at the steps leading to the lower landing, where the empty library room was: the cells began at the far end and if a prisoner were standing against the bars of his cell there was a possibility of their being seen. Sampson mimed a treading motion with his hands, warning Charlie to walk softly, then slowly began his descent. When they reached the bottom of the stairway they stopped again, pulled into the concealing cover of the well. From the far end came the murmur of conversation from the cells. From where they were, it was impossible for Charlie to see if anyone were against the cell door: it was a very common place for prisoners to stand, particularly if they were attempting some sort of contact with a neighbouring cell.
    Sampson led again, keeping to the left of the corridor, to bring himself to the library door. Charlie crept behind him, nerves tight for some shout of discovery. What happened if they got caught now?, wondered Charlie. If everything was cocked up before it even had a chance to start and Wilson lost his chance would the man come forward and admit to a deal, with a prison officer suffering Christ knows what injuries? And another man as well? Government departments didn’t do that, when things went wrong. They put up the barricades and denied everything. Jesus! thought Charlie.
    But they reached the door unchallenged. Sampson held the connecting chain in his left hand, to prevent it vibrating and sounding against the door and tried to locate the correct key with his right. What if the officer didn’t have the library key on his chain? The fresh fear surged through Charlie. Taylor was attached to the section, so he supposed there should have been a key but the room was disused now and in any case there might be the system of limiting keys, to apply only to the necessary duty. Charlie strained forward, feeling the sweat run in irritating, itching paths down his back.
    Sampson opened the door on his fifth attempt, with only two more keys to try. Charlie was aware of Sampson’s shoulders sagging, a moment of abrupt relief, and realised the other man had had the same fear as himself. The click, as the lock moved, seemed to reverberate along the corridor and they both stared in the direction of the occupied cells, for any sign that it had been heard. There was nothing. Still Sampson was carefully easing the door open to guard against any squeaking sound and only creating the minimum gap for them to slip through. Sampson went first, then Charlie. Sampson was as careful closing it as he had been opening. The lock clicked shut with another loud-sounding noise and again, momentarily, they tensed. Again, nothing.
    The corridor lights and that which came in through the window were sufficient for them to move across the room, which was cleared anyway of everything except the skeletal shelves to be restocked when the outside extension work was completed. Charlie set out immediately for the window, aware as he got closer that the bars had been removed, but his attention was more fully upon Sampson. The man wasn’t going to the windows, as he should have done, but standing instead against the shelving by a far wall, legs apart and gazing up, as if trying to orientate himself. As the impression came to Charlie he realised that was exactly what Sampson was doing. The man paced off two divided sections in the shelving and reached up and even from where he stood Charlie detected the grunt of satisfaction.
    ‘What is it?’ whispered Charlie, when Sampson came to the window.
    The other