Running Blind / The Freedom Trap (33 page)

The months went by.

I mopped and scrubbed and polished ‘C’ Hall in a continual round of endeavour; it was like cleaning out the Augean stables because of some of the pigs who lived in it. I had one or two arguments on that score but nothing serious enough to get me a black mark.

Forbes tried to con me a couple of times into narking about the diamonds but when he saw he wasn’t getting anywhere he gave it up. I suppose I was written off as incorrigible.

Maskell came to see me a couple of times. The first time he asked if I wanted to appeal against my sentence. I said, ‘Is there any point?’

‘A technicality,’ he said. ‘You may remember that the judge told Rollins that he didn’t see how your case could deteriorate much further. That was an unfortunate remark and could be construed on appeal as having undue influence on the jury. On the other hand, your attitude about the missing property has not been an encouraging feature.’

I smiled at him. ‘Mr Maskell, if I knew nothing about the diamonds then I couldn’t help in the way I’m expected to, could I?’

We did nothing about the appeal.

The second time he came I saw him in the Governor’s office. The Governor said, ‘Your solicitor is asking that you should sign a power of attorney.’

Maskell broke in smoothly. ‘Mr Rearden had certain assets in South Africa which have now been liquidated and transferred to England. It is natural that he had an advisor to handle the investment of these funds since he is incapable of doing it himself.’

‘How much is involved?’ asked the Governor.

‘A little over £400,’ said Maskell. ‘A safe investment in trustee funds should turn it into over £1,000 in twenty years—something for Mr Rearden to look forward to, I hope.’ He produced a document. ‘I have Home Office approval.’

‘Very well,’ said the Governor, so I signed the power of attorney. Someone had to pay for the radio I had been granted permission to have—they aren’t supplied free of charge. And it was nice to know I hadn’t been forgotten. I thanked Maskell warmly.

The time came when I was able to strike day number 365 from my calendar—only another 19 years to go. I had heard nothing from Johnny about the so-called scarperers and was becoming despondent about my chances.

I was still classified as high risk with all the attendant irritants. By now I had got used to sleeping with the light on and it had become an automatic and unthinking reaction to put my clothes outside the cell door before Smeaton locked up for the night. I changed cells irregularly and kept a record, wondering if I could detect a pattern but there were no regularities as far as I could see, either in the timing or in the particular cell I was transferred to next. I think they randomized it by pulling numbers out of a hat or some such method. That kind of thing is unbeatable.

It was about this time that I first met Slade. He was a new boy inside for a first offence and he’d got forty-two years,
but I don’t believe the First Offenders Act covers espionage. I had heard about him before, of course; the news broadcasts had been full of the Slade Trial. Since most of the juicy bits had been told
in camera
no one really knew what Slade had been up to, but from all accounts he was the biggest catch since Blake.

He was a pallid man and looked as though he had been bigger at one time but had shrunk, so that his skin was baggy and ill-fitting, something like the skin of a bloodhound. He walked with two sticks and I later learned that he’d been shot through the hips and had spent eight months in hospital before being put on trial. A spy leads an interesting life—sometimes too interesting.

At the trial it had come out that he was really Russian but to speak with him you wouldn’t think so because his English was perfect, if a little too public school. His forty-two year stretch should have made him the doyen of the prison but it didn’t work out that way. Surprisingly, the most hardened criminal can be patriotic and, to a large extent, he was given the cold shoulder.

Not being English that didn’t worry me too much. He proved to be a most interesting conversationalist, cultured and knowledgeable, and was instantly prepared to help me with my Russian lessons when I asked him. He looked at me blandly when I put the question. ‘Certainly I speak Russian,’ he said. ‘It would be very odd if I didn’t under the circumstances.’ A faint smile played about his lips.

My Russian improved spectacularly after Slade’s arrival.

It was nearing the end of Johnny’s sentence and he had been transferred to the hostel. That meant he was employed on jobs outside the prison, the theory being that it would acclimatize him gradually to the rigours of the outside world—a part of the rehabilitation process. I didn’t see it would make much difference to Johnny Swift.

But it meant I didn’t see him as often. Sometimes we had a few words in the exercise yard but that was as far as it went. I looked around in ‘C’ Hall for someone else to chum up with, someone who was a likely prospect for contacting an escape organization—if the damned thing existed. At any moment I could be transferred without notice to another nick—possibly a high security prison—and that didn’t suit my book at all.

It was fifteen months to a day before anything happened. I was breathing the lovely smog-laden air in the exercise yard when I saw Johnny Swift signal that he wanted to talk. I drifted over to him and caught the football that he threw, apparently by accident. I bounced it a couple of times and took it to him and handed it over. ‘You still want to get out?’ he asked, and kicked the ball up the yard.

I felt my stomach muscles tense. ‘Had an offer?’

‘I been approached,’ he admitted. ‘If you’re still interested it could go further.’

‘I’m bloody interested. I’ve had enough of this.’

‘Fifteen months!’ he scoffed. ‘That’s nothing. But have you got the lolly? That’s important.’

‘How much?’

‘Five thousand nicker and that’s just a starter,’ said Johnny. ‘It’s to be put up before anything happens—before they even think about getting you out.’

‘Christ! That’s a lot of money.’

‘I been told to tell you that this is the expense money—and it’s non-returnable. The real payment will be more than that.’

‘How much?’

‘I dunno. That’s all I been told. They want to know how soon you can spring the five thousand quid.’

‘I can get it,’ I said. ‘I have funds tucked away in South Africa that no one knows about.’ I looked along the exercise yard. Hudson was at the bottom end, making his way up
slowly. ‘I’ll want a cheque form on the Standard Bank of South Africa, Hospital Hill Branch, Johannesburg. Got that?’

He repeated it slowly, then nodded. ‘I got it.’

‘I’ll sign it, and they cash it. It’ll have to be cashed in South Africa. That shouldn’t be too difficult.’

‘It’ll take some time, mate,’ said Johnny.

I laughed humourlessly. ‘I’ve got nineteen years. But tell them to hurry. I’m getting nervous about being moved out of here.’

‘Watch it—here’s Hudson,’ Johnny said. ‘You’ll be contacted.’ He ran forward and intercepted the football and both he and I joined in the game.

The cheque form came ten days later. A new arrival brought it in and it was passed to me surreptitiously. ‘I was told to give you this. Pass it to Sherwin when you’ve done with it.’

‘I knew Sherwin; he was due for release, I said quickly, ‘Wait a minute; anything else?’

‘I don’t know nothing else,’ the man muttered, and shuffled away.

That night I settled my correspondence course books on the table and started work as usual. I’d been plugging away at the Russian and I reckoned I was pretty good—my pronunciation had improved vastly since Slade’s arrival although that makes no difference to the examiner’s marks in a correspondence course. I carried on for half an hour and then dug out the cheque form and smoothed it out.

It had been quite a while since I’d seen that familiar sight, and I could almost smell the dust blowing off the Johannesburg mine dumps. The amount had been filled in—R10,000—Ten Thousand Rand—and I thought the mob was laying it on a bit thick; since devaluation of the value of the pound sterling had deteriorated relative to the Rand, and this cheque was for about £5,650. The
payee line was blank—I wasn’t supposed to know about that yet, and when I did find out it would be too late to do anything about it.

I filled in the date and added my signature—and it wasn’t J. A. Rearden, either—then stuck the cheque between thepages of the Russian grammar, wondering if I was a wise man or the prize chump of all time. Someone could be conning me—it could even be Johnny Swift—and if he was I was over £5,000 in the red and all for nothing. But I had to rely on cupidity; if it was realized that there was more loot where that came from then someone would be back for more, but this time it would be payment by results—after the results had been achieved.

Next morning I passed the cheque on to Sherwin who palmed it expertly and I knew he wouldn’t have any trouble in getting it out unseen. Sherwin was a card sharp and no one in ‘C’ Hall would dream of playing nap with him; he could make a deck of cards sit up and talk, and concealing a cheque would be no trouble at all.

Then I settled down to wait, wondering what expenses the mob would have that could run to five thousand quid.

The weeks went by and again nothing happened. I had figured out the time needed to cash the cheque and get word back to England and had estimated it at just over a week. When five long weeks had gone by without result I began to get edgy.

Then it broke very suddenly.

It was at free association time. Smeaton was giving me a minor dressing down for a small infraction; I’d not been cleaning up as well as I should have done—a sign that I was slipping. Cosgrove came up carrying a chess board. He waited until Smeaton had finished, then said, ‘Cheer up, Rearden; what about a game?’

I knew Cosgrove; he’d been the brains behind a hijacking mob—cigarettes and whisky mostly—and someone
had squealed on him and he’d been pulled in and got ten years. He was in his sixth year and, with a bit of luck, he’d be out in another two. He was also the ‘C’ Hall chess champion, a very astute and intelligent man.

I said abstractedly, ‘Not today, Cossie.’

He glanced sideways at Smeaton who was standing two paces away. ‘Don’t you want to win out?’

‘Win out?’ I said sharply.

‘The big tournament.’ He held up a box of chessmen. ‘I’m sure I can give you a few tips if you play with me.’

We found a table at the other end of the Hall away from Smeaton. As we set out the pieces I said, ‘Okay, what is this, Cossie?’

He put down a pawn. ‘I’m your go-between. You speak to me and no one else. Understand?’ I nodded briefly and he carried on. ‘To begin with I’m going to talk money.’

‘Then you can stop right now,’ I said. ‘Your mob already has over five thousand quid of mine, and I’ve yet to see a result.’

‘You’re seeing me, aren’t you?’ He looked around. ‘Play chess—it’s your first move.’ I moved to QP3 and he laughed softly. ‘You’re a cautious man, Rearden; that’s a piano opening.’

‘Quit being subtle, Cossie. Say what you have to say.’

‘I don’t blame you for being cautious,’ he said. ‘All I’m saying is that it’s going to cost you a hell of a lot more.’

‘Not before I’m out of here,’ I said. ‘I’m not that much of a sucker.’

‘I don’t blame you,’ said Cossie. ‘It’s like taking a jump in the dark. But the fact is we’ve got to talk money or the deal’s off. We’ve both got to know where we stand.’

‘All right. How much?’

He moved his king’s knight. ‘We’re a bit like tax collectors—we take
pro rata.
You made a killing of £173,000. We want half—that’s £86,500.’

‘Don’t be a bloody fool,’ I said. ‘There are too many things wrong with that calculation and you know it.’

‘Such as?’

‘There was only supposed to be £120,000 in that parcel. I think the owners were laying it on a bit.’

He nodded. ‘Could be. Anything else?’

‘Yes. Do you suppose we could sell for the full value? It’s not like selling legitimate—you ought to know that more than anyone.’

‘Play chess,’ he said calmly. ‘That screw’s watching us. You could sell for full value with uncut diamonds if you were clever enough and I think you are clever. That wasn’t a stupid job you pulled. You’d have got clean away if you hadn’t been shopped.’

‘They
weren’t
uncut diamonds,’ I said. ‘They’d been cut in Amsterdam and were being brought back for setting. Diamonds of that value are X-rayed, photographed and registered. They’ve been recut and that means a hell of a drop in value. And another thing—I wasn’t alone. I had a mate who’s in on a fifty-fifty split. He planned it and I did it.’

‘The boys were wondering about that,’ said Cossie. ‘They can’t quite make you out. Did your mate shop you? Because if he did you’ve not got a bean, have you? And that means you’re no good to us.’

‘It wasn’t my mate,’ I said, hoping to make it stick.

‘The buzz is going around that it was your mate.’

‘The buzz couldn’t have been started by a busy called Forbes—or another called Brunskill? They have their reasons, you know.’

‘Could be,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Who is your mate?’

‘Nothing doing,’ I said firmly. ‘I didn’t give him to the busies, and I’m not giving him to your mob. That, in itself, ought to prove he didn’t shop me. My friend and I move along very quietly; we mind our business and we don’t want anyone else minding it for us.’

‘We’ll let that one lie for a bit,’ said Cossie. ‘I’ll put it to the boys. But that brings us back to the boodle—what was
your
take?’

‘We estimated it at forty thousand nicker,’ I said calmly. ‘And it’s out away safely. You get it through me—not my mate.’

He smiled slightly. ‘In a Swiss numbered account?’

‘That’s right. It’s quite safe.’

‘So it’s still half,’ he said. ‘Twenty years at a thousand a year—cheap at half price. We take you over the wall and deliver you
outside
the United Kingdom, and if you come back that’s your trouble. But let me tell you something—you’d better not welsh on us; you’d better have the boodle for us because, if you don’t, nobody will ever hear of you again. I hope that’s quite clear.’