man held out his hand, palm uppermost. Charlie felt the sensation of sickness, like he’d known earlier in the day after ingesting the drug. Cupped easily in Sampson’s hand was a short-barrelled gun. In the poor light Charlie couldn’t positively identify it but it looked like a .38, maybe a Smith and Wesson.
‘Where the hell did you get that?’
‘Get anything, with the right contacts,’ said Sampson. ‘And I didn’t bugger about, remember? Arranged for my bank to transfer £2,000 into Prudell’s account, a month ago. Prudell’s sister brought it in, inside a radio just like mine. Idiots didn’t check the inside of the case, just that it played when they turned the knobs. Didn’t think that a small transistor inside a big case left lots of room for something to be hidden.’
‘What do you want it for?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous!’
‘Why’s it so bloody necessary to hurt people!’
Sampson levelled the gun, so that the muzzle was only inches from Charlie’s chest. ‘I told you nothing was going to stop me,’ he said. ‘Just like I said I’d kill you if you got in the way. You thinking of getting in the way?’
‘The sound of that would bring every screw in the place here in about thirty seconds,’ said Charlie.
‘But you wouldn’t be alive to see it,’ said Sampson.
The bastard was mad enough to do it, Charlie thought. He said, ‘No, I’m not going to get in the way. Let’s get to hell out of here.’
Without bars at the windows, some attempt had been made at security by meshing barbed wire against the scaffolding frame. Sampson adopted his customary role as leader, squatting on the window ledge and carefully trying to ease the strands aside, to create a sufficient gap, but even when he moved his clothes were snagged on barbs and Charlie was caught when he tried to follow and in twisting, to try to free himself, he drove a point deeply into his hand, wincing at the sudden pain. He felt the warm stickiness of blood on his hand as he crawled forward, through the wire and on to the planking that had been set up, as a walkway, between the metal struts. Sampson was just beyond, hunched impatiently, not talking through the fear of discovery but making his familiar snatching, beckoning movements. Despite Sampson’s demand for speed, they could not move fast. The floodlights were on in the yard, but there were canvas sheets hung like a wall along the edge of the scaffolding and while that sheeting provided them with perfect protection against any outside patrol, it meant no lights penetrated their narrow, uneven walkway. They shuffled along, one behind the other, using the metal tubing as both a guide and support. The wind was comparatively strong, occasionally lifting the canvas in a snapping, crackling way and Charlie supposed it was quite cold: he was sweating so much, through nervousness, that he was unaware of it. At each intersection there was more barbed wire. There had been some light by the library window, when they first encountered the obstruction, but now there was none and they had to grope and bend in a tunnel of complete darkness. Ahead Charlie heard the other man grunt in what could have been pain and hoped he’d impaled himself. Hoped it hurt, too.
After about two hundred yards the scaffolding broke away from the main prison building, jutting to the left over some lower buildings where the main extension work was being carried out, raising them in extra storeys to provide additional accommodation. Without the protection of an adjoining wall the wind was stronger here, lifting the canvas more easily. Once it snagged, for several seconds, and through the gap Charlie could see the yellow streetlights of Shepherds Bush and actually hear traffic moving along the streets outside. And in a brief burst of excitement at the thought of freedom – any freedom – forgot what had just happened back at the prison and what might happen in the future. The wall was very close, close enough
‘Where the hell did you get that?’
‘Get anything, with the right contacts,’ said Sampson. ‘And I didn’t bugger about, remember? Arranged for my bank to transfer £2,000 into Prudell’s account, a month ago. Prudell’s sister brought it in, inside a radio just like mine. Idiots didn’t check the inside of the case, just that it played when they turned the knobs. Didn’t think that a small transistor inside a big case left lots of room for something to be hidden.’
‘What do you want it for?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous!’
‘Why’s it so bloody necessary to hurt people!’
Sampson levelled the gun, so that the muzzle was only inches from Charlie’s chest. ‘I told you nothing was going to stop me,’ he said. ‘Just like I said I’d kill you if you got in the way. You thinking of getting in the way?’
‘The sound of that would bring every screw in the place here in about thirty seconds,’ said Charlie.
‘But you wouldn’t be alive to see it,’ said Sampson.
The bastard was mad enough to do it, Charlie thought. He said, ‘No, I’m not going to get in the way. Let’s get to hell out of here.’
Without bars at the windows, some attempt had been made at security by meshing barbed wire against the scaffolding frame. Sampson adopted his customary role as leader, squatting on the window ledge and carefully trying to ease the strands aside, to create a sufficient gap, but even when he moved his clothes were snagged on barbs and Charlie was caught when he tried to follow and in twisting, to try to free himself, he drove a point deeply into his hand, wincing at the sudden pain. He felt the warm stickiness of blood on his hand as he crawled forward, through the wire and on to the planking that had been set up, as a walkway, between the metal struts. Sampson was just beyond, hunched impatiently, not talking through the fear of discovery but making his familiar snatching, beckoning movements. Despite Sampson’s demand for speed, they could not move fast. The floodlights were on in the yard, but there were canvas sheets hung like a wall along the edge of the scaffolding and while that sheeting provided them with perfect protection against any outside patrol, it meant no lights penetrated their narrow, uneven walkway. They shuffled along, one behind the other, using the metal tubing as both a guide and support. The wind was comparatively strong, occasionally lifting the canvas in a snapping, crackling way and Charlie supposed it was quite cold: he was sweating so much, through nervousness, that he was unaware of it. At each intersection there was more barbed wire. There had been some light by the library window, when they first encountered the obstruction, but now there was none and they had to grope and bend in a tunnel of complete darkness. Ahead Charlie heard the other man grunt in what could have been pain and hoped he’d impaled himself. Hoped it hurt, too.
After about two hundred yards the scaffolding broke away from the main prison building, jutting to the left over some lower buildings where the main extension work was being carried out, raising them in extra storeys to provide additional accommodation. Without the protection of an adjoining wall the wind was stronger here, lifting the canvas more easily. Once it snagged, for several seconds, and through the gap Charlie could see the yellow streetlights of Shepherds Bush and actually hear traffic moving along the streets outside. And in a brief burst of excitement at the thought of freedom – any freedom – forgot what had just happened back at the prison and what might happen in the future. The wall was very close, close enough
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