Bagley, Desmond - The Freedom Trap Page 8

  I said, 'This is just getting him over the wall?'

  That's it. Once the pair of you are on the other side my pals will look after you both.' He shrugged. 'It's a certainty Slade couldn't make it on his own so that's, why we're doing it this way. I'll give it to you straight; he can't run very well. Neither could you if you had a stainless steel peg through each hip joint."

  'How is he at climbing?'

  'His arms are strong but you might have to give him a bunk up when that platform comes over.'

  'All right,' I said. 'I'd better have a talk to him.'

  'No! said Cosgrove. 'You don't go near him. That's part of the deal. He's been talked to already and he knows what to do. I'm the one who tells you what to do.' A bell rang stridently signifying the end of free association time. He flipped his hand at me. 'See you in the yard on Saturday.'

  Saturday was a long time corning. I was in a muck sweat when they changed my cell again -- two changes in three days -- and I wondered if someone guessed that an escape was in the wind. It took all my will power to carry on with my studies in the evenings and my Russian suffered and I turned to the course on Eng. Lit. but found Finnegan's Wake hardly more relaxing in the circumstances.

  I kept my eye on Slade and noted with glumness the obvious weakness of his legs. It wasn't going to be at all easy to get him over the wall, cherry-picker or no cherry-picker. Once he saw me watching him and his eyes casually swept past me without a flicker. I didn't see Cosgrove talking to him and came to the conclusion that he might have a different contact. It was possible that the whole damn prison was riddled by the hirelings of the Scarperers.

  I scrubbed the tables and swept the Hall during the day and made sure I did a good job -- even on the Saturday morning. I wanted no sign of abnormality to appear at all. But I hadn't much appetite for the midday meal and left most of it. At a table across the Hall I saw Slade polishing his tin plate with a slice of bread.

  At two-thirty we were marched into the yard for free exercise. Some of the boys were kicking a ball about, but most strolled up and down enjoying the sun and the sky and the air.

  I drifted over to Cosgrove and we walked the length of the yard. He said, 'I'll tell you where it's coming over and then we walk right past, see? Then I'll take you to the place you have to wait. You stay there and you keep one eye on me and one on the wall -- but don't stare at it as though expecting some thing to happen.'

  'I'm not stupid.'

  He grunted. 'That's as maybe. All right, we're coming to it now. See that chalk mark?"

  'I see it,1 I said, and almost laughed. It was a crudely phallic scrawl more likely to be found in a run-down public lavatory.

  Cossie wasn't laughing. 'That's where it comes over. Now we carry on to the end of the yard.' We walked on and turned in unison, just like the teachers" who supervised the playground at school used to do when I was a kid. 'You might have to jump for it, but there'll be a bloke to help you.'

  'Jump!' I said. 'What about Slade?'

  'You give him a bunk-up first. There'll be ropes hanging from the platform. He'll be all right once he grabs those -- he has strong arms.'

  I saw Slade watching the football match with evident appreciation. 'He'll be leaving his sticks behind then.'

  'That's obvious,' said Cosgrove impatiently. We strolled back to a point on the other side of the yard facing the chalk mark. Slade was leaning against the wall quite close to the mark and wouldn't have to move more than a few feet when the action started.

  Cosgrove said, 'Now you just stay here and wait for it.' He consulted something he held in his fingers and I saw it was a very small ladies' watch. 'Nearly twenty minutes to go.'

  The watch vanished. 'Where did you get that?' I asked.

  'That doesn't matter,' he said with a sour grin. 'And I won't have it at all in twenty-five minutes. The screws'll act as though someone lit a fire under them when this comes off and they'll turn the whole bloody place upside down. They won't find this watch, though."

  I leaned against the wall and looked at the faint chalk mark on the other side of the yard. I could hear the traffic on the other side of that exterior wall but not much because it was Saturday afternoon and there wasn't much commercial stuff on the roads.

  Cosgrove said, 'I'll leave you now, and this is what you do. At two minutes to three a fight will start over in that corner. There'll be a lot of noise. As soon as you hear it you start walking -- slowly, mind you -- across the yard towards that mark. Don't make a fuss about it and, for God's sake, don't run. Slade will see you move and he'll get ready.'

  'I could have done with talking to him about it myself,' I grumbled.

  'Too dangerous,' said Cosgrove. 'Now, don't be surprised by anything else that happens around you, no matter what it is. Just keep your mind on your job and head for that mark. By the time you get there the platform will be coming over. You hoist Slade up on your shoulders and then you jump for it yourself. It should be easy.'

  'I'll be all right, Cossie."

  'Okay,' he said, 'Good luck, Rearden.' He grinned crookedly. 'Under the circumstances we won't shake hands. I'm going now; I'll be talking to Paddy Colquhoun until this thing's all over." The watch appeared again. 'Fifteen minutes exactly.'

  'Wait a minute,' I said. 'What about the closed circuit TV outside the wall?'

  'That'll be taken care of,' he said patiently. 'Goodbye, Rearden.'

  He walked away across the yard leaving me leaning against the wall alone. My hands were sweating and my mouth was suddenly dry as I looked at the barbed wire on top of the exterior wall. God help me if I got snagged on that. I wiped my wet hands on my trousers and squatted down on my heels.

  Slade was standing next to the chalk mark and he, too, was alone. Probably everyone had been warned to keep clear of us; they wouldn't know why but they'd obey, especially if the warning had been given by the strong-arm boys. Accidents can be arranged, even in prison, and it's awfully easy to get a broken arm, or worse.

  Cosgrove was talking to Paddy and they appeared to be enjoying a huge joke. I hoped the joke wasn't on me. I was taking a hell of a lot on faith, but if Cossie was conning me -if he was pulling a practical joke -- I'd have his lights for a necktie. The prison wouldn't be big enough for both of us. But I looked across at Slade and knew, deep in my bones, that this was the real thing.

  There were four screws in the yard, walking up and down with set, expressionless faces. And I knew there were two more watching from the high windows above my head. From there they could see into the street outside the exterior wall. God in heaven, surely they'd ring the alarm as soon as they saw that mechanical lift drive into the street. They couldn't be as stupid as all that.

  The minutes went by. I found myself losing track of time. Fifteen minutes had already gone by -- or was it only five? Again I could feel the sweat on the palms of my hands, and again I rubbed them dry. If I had to jump for a rope I didn't want any chance of slipping.

  I looked at Cosgrove again. He was standing with his head cocked on one side listening to what Paddy had to say, and I saw him flick an eye towards me before he burst into a guffaw of laughter and slapped Paddy on the back.

  I didn't see him give the signal but suddenly there were raised voices at the other end of the yard, so perhaps the slap on Paddy's back had been the signal. I got to my feet and began to walk slowly forward as though hypnotized by that distant chalk mark. Slade push ed •himself away from the wall and came forward, hobbling on his sticks.

  The men all around me were looking towards the disturbance which had grown noisier. Some of the prisoners were running in that direction and the screws had begun to converge on the fight. I glanced to my right and saw Hudson, the senior screw, who had apparently sprung from nowhere, making his way across the yard. He wasn't running but walking at a smart pace, and he was on a collision course with me.

  Something astonishing happened behind. There was a sharp crack, like a minor explosion, and a billow of dense, white smoke erupted
from the ground. I kept going but Hudson turned and stared. There were more explosions in the yard and the smoke grew thick and heavy. Somebody was being liberal with the smoke bombs that were being tossed over the wall.

  Hudson was now behind me, and I heard his anguished bellow. 'Escape! Escape! Sound the alarm.'

  Frantically he blew on his whistle but I kept going to where Slade was waiting. His face was set in lines of strain and as I approached he said urgently, 'Where the hell is that damned contraption?'

  I looked up and saw it coming over through the wreaths of smoke, looming over the wall like the head and neck of a prehistoric monster with slimy weeds dripping from its jaws. As it dipped down I saw that the weeds were four knotted ropes dangling from the platform on which stood a man who was, so help me, talking into a telephone.

  I bent down. 'Come on, Slade; up you go!'

  He dropped his sticks as I heaved him up and he made a grab at one of the ropes as it came within reach. He was no lightweight and it was not easy for me to hold him up. He caught on to the rope and I was thankful when his weight eased from me.

  The man on the platform was looking down at us and when he saw that Slade had a secure hold he spoke urgently into the telephone and the platform began to rise. The only trouble about that was it was leaving me behind. I made a frantic leap and grasped the last knot on the same rope that Slade was climbing. He was going up fast but his legs were flailing about and he caught me under the jaw with the tip of his shoes. I felt dizzy and nearly let go but managed to tighten my grip at the last moment.

  Then somebody grabbed my ankle and I looked down and saw it was Hudson, his face contorted with effort. The man had a grip like iron so I lifted my other leg and booted him in the face. I was learning from Slade already. He let go and tumbled to the ground which, by that time, seemed to be a long way down. I carried on up the rope, my shoulder muscles cracking, until I could grasp the edge of the platform.

  Slade was sprawled on the steel floor, gasping with the effort he had made, and the man with the telephone bent down. 'Stay there,' he said. 'You'll be all right.' He spoke into the mouthpiece again.

  I looked down and saw the barbed wire apparently moving away underneath as the great articulated arm swept me over the wall. Then it began to drop and the man bent down again, directing his words at both of us. 'Do exactly as I do,' he said calmly.

  We were swept dizzily over the street and then stopped dead. A small open delivery truck came from nowhere and pulled up beneath the platform. The man swung over the railings of the platform and dropped lightly into the back of the truck and I thankfully let go of the rope and followed him. Slade came after and fell on top of me and I cursed him, but then he was thrown off me by a sudden surge of acceleration as the little truck took off and -went round the first corner with a squeal of tyres.

  I looked back along the street and saw the big cherry-picker move ponderously into view and the great arm fell forward, completely blocking the street. Men tumbled from the cab and ran, and then we turned another corner and I saw no,more of that.

  Slade leaned against the side" of the truck with his head lolling on one side. His face was grey and he seemed thoroughly exhausted. I remembered that he had been in hospital not long before. The man with us thumped his elbow into my ribs. 'Pay attention!' he said sharply. 'You'll be transferring into a little black mini-van. Get ready to move.'

  The truck was moving fast but there was little traffic to hinder us on that Saturday afternoon. Suddenly we swooped to a stop behind a mini-van which stood at the kerb with its rear doors open. 'That's it. Into there -- quickly.'

  1 jumped out of the truck and took a header into the mini-van, and heard the doors slam shut behind. I lifted my head and, looking through the windscreen between two broad-shouldered men in the front seats, saw that the truck I had left was already on the move with Slade still in it. It turned ahead to the right and at high speed.

  The mini-van took off more sedately, well within the speed limit, and turned to the left. I felt absolutely breathless. My lungs were strained and my heart was thumping as though it was going to burst in my chest. I lay there panting until I felt better and then raised myself and poked at the passenger in front with my finger. 'Why were we separated?'

  He made no answer to that, so I tried again. 'Where are we going?'

  'Shut up and keep down,' he said without turning. 'You'll find out soon enough.'

  I relaxed as much as I could, sitting there on the hard metal floor of the van. From what I could gather from the brief glimpses I saw from the rear windows we were covering a complicated course among the streets, stopping properly at all the traffic lights and not moving fast enough to excite attention.

  The van turned into a side street and swung up an alley. I leaned up on my elbow and looked forward cautiously. Ahead were two big wooden doors which were open, and inside the building was a huge moving-van with the tail-gate down. Without hesitation the driver headed right for it in low gear, bumped up the ramp formed by the tail-gate and drove right inside the pantechnicon. Behind us something came down from the roof, enclosing the van completely, and I heard the slam of the tail-gate as it was closed.

  We were in complete darkness when the rear doors of the mini-van were opened. 'You can get out now.' It was a woman's voice.

  I scrambled out and bumped into her, steadying myself on a soft arm. The front door of the mini-van slammed. 'For God's sake!' she said. Turn on a light.'

  A light came on in the roof and I looked around. We were in a cramped compartment just big enough to take the van with a little space left over. The woman was a tall blonde dressed in a white overall and looking like a doctor's receptionist. One of the men pushed past me and bent down; I saw he was attaching a shackle to the rear bumper of the mini-van.

  I hoard the throb of a heavy diesel engine and the whole compartment lurched. The man straightened up and gave me a grin. He patted the side of the van. 'We don't want this to get loose, do we?"

  There was another lurch and a grinding of gears. The big pantechnicon was travelling, taking me to -- where?

  The blonde smiled at me. 'We haven't much time,' she said practically. 'Take your clothes off.' I must have gaped at her because she said sharply, 'Strip, man! Don't be prudish -- you won't be the first man I've seen ballock-naked.'

  I took off the grey flannel jacket -- the uniform of servitude and watched her unpack a suitcase, producing underwear, socks, a shirt, a suit and a pair of shoes. 'You can start to get dressed in these,' she said. 'But don't put on the shirt yet.'

  I took off the prison uniform and dressed in that lovely soft underwear, then balanced uneasily against the rocking motions of the moving pantechnicon to put on the socks. One of the men said, 'How does it feel to be out, chum?'

  'I don't know. I'm not sure I'm out, yet.'

  'You are,' he assured me. 'You can bank on it.'

  I put on the trousers and then the shoes. Everything was a perfect fit. 'How did you know my measurements?' I asked.

  'We know everything about you,' the man said. 'Except maybe one thing.'

  'And what's that?'

  He struck a match and lit his cigarette, then blew a plume of smoke in my face. 'Where you keep your money. But you'll tell us, won't you?"

  I zipped up the trousers. 'At the proper time,' I said.

  'Come over here,' said the blonde. She had pulled up a stool in front of a basin set on a shelf. 'Sit down. I'm going to give you a shampoo.'

  So I sat down and she lathered my hair, digging her fingers deep into my scalp. She rinsed and then shampooed again before giving a final rinse. Then she took me by the chin and tilted my head. That'll do. Now for the eyebrows.' She got to work on my eyebrows and when she had finished she handed me a mirror. 'How do you like yourself now?'

  I looked at my reflection in the mirror. Gone was the black hair and I was now middling blond. I was surprised at the difference it made; even Mackintosh wouldn't recognize me now. I felt her fi
ngers on my cheek. 'You'll have to shave twice a day. That dark five o'clock shadow would give you away. 'You'd better shave now -- you'll find the kit in your suitcase.'

  I opened the case and found it very well fitted out with everything a man would normally travel with. There was a small battery-powered shaver which I put into use immediately. As I shaved she began to lay objects on the shelf. 'Your name is Raymond Cruickshank,' she said. 'Here are your initialled cuff-links.'

  'Do I have to be that kind of a man?' I asked lightly.

  She wasn't amused. 'Don't be funny,' she said coldly. "The same initials are on the suitcase. All this is your insurance, Rearden; insurance against getting caught -- treat it seriously.'

  'Sorry,' I said.

  'You've been to Australia, Rearden. You were mixed up in something in Sydney a few years ago, so we've made you an Australian. People over here can't tell the difference betwee n a South African and an Australian accent, so you should get away with it. Here's your passport.'

  I picked it up and flipped it open. It had a photograph of a blond-haired me..

  She produced a wallet and opened it for my inspection. 'This is all pure Cruickshank; you'd better check it to make sure you know what's in it.'

  So I did, and was very surprised. This mob was super-efficient -- no wonder Cossie had said it needed time to set up. There were membership cards of Sydney clubs, an odd Australian two-dollar note among the British currency, an Australian AA card together with an Australian driving licence and an International driving licence, a dozen business cards announcing where I lived and what I did -- it seemed I was the managing director of a firm importing office machinery. All very efficient, indeed.

  I held out a dog-eared photograph. 'What's this?'

  'You and the wife and kids,' she said calmly.

  I looked at it more closely in the dim light and, by God, she was right! At least, it was a blond-haired me with my arm around a brunette's waist and with a couple of kids in front. A nice tricky photograph.