Dick Francis - Crossfire

Next, I tried turning the ring clockwise in case it had a left-hand screw thread. Still nothing, other than sore fingers.

I jerked it with the chain, on one occasion throwing myself off balance and back into the hanging-by-shoulders position. But still the damn ring didn't shift. If I couldn't detach myself from the ring, then I would simply hang here until I died of dehydration, and the exertions of trying to escape would reduce the time that would take.

"Always to evacuate under your own steam if that is humanly possible." That's what the lady captain had said. Maybe freeing myself from the ring wasn't humanly possible.

I felt like crying, but I knew that would be another loss of precious fluid.

And I desperately needed an evacuation of a different kind.

How degrading bodily functions could be when they occurred in the wrong place at the wrong time. At least in the hospital, when I'd been bedridden and incapable, there had been bedpans and nurses close by to assist. Here I was, standing on my one very sore leg, imprisoned in a stable, unable even to remove my trousers, let alone to squat or sit on a toilet.

Who was the bastard who would force me to shit in my pants?

I was angry. Bloody angry.

I tried to channel my anger into a resurgence of energy and strength as I once more gripped the ring and tried to turn it. Again it resisted.

"Come on, you bugger, move!" I shouted at the ring. But it didn't.

I rested my head in frustration on the ledge at the top of the wooden paneling. So fed up was I that I bit through the cloth of the hood into the wood.

It moved.

I thought I must be imagining it, so I bit the wood again. It definitely moved.

I felt around with my face. The ledge on the top of the paneling was about an inch and a half wide, with its front edge curved, and it was the curved edge that had moved. It was obviously a facing strip that had been glued or nailed to the front of the ledge.

I bit into the wood again. Even through the hood, I found I could get my front teeth behind the curved beading. I bit hard and pulled backwards, using my arms to press on the wall. The curved beading strip came away from the ledge far enough for me to get my mouth around it properly. I pulled back again and it came away some more.

I was pulling so hard with my mouth that when one end of the strip came completely free, I again lost my balance and ended up hanging from the chain.

But I didn't care.

I pulled my knee back under me and stood up. The beading was flapping, with one end free and the other not. There had obviously been a join in the wood just a little way to my left.

I held the wood in my mouth and twisted my neck to the right, making the free end bend upwards. I could feel the free end on my arms, and finally, after nearly twisting myself again off my foot, I was able to grasp the strip in my hands.

I now bent myself to the right, folding the strip back on itself.

It snapped with a splintering crack, leaving me holding a free length of the beading. I couldn't see how long it was, but I carefully fed it through my fingers until I reached the end. This I put through the ring, and then I used it like a crowbar.

Still the ring resisted, and I again lost my balance and ended hanging by the chain as the end of the wood broke off. But I didn't let go of the rest of it.

I stood up once more and passed the broken end back through the ring.

This time I turned the wood through ninety degrees so that it was edge on, and hoped it would be more difficult to break. Then I leaned on it with as much weight as I dared.

The ring moved. I felt it. I leaned again. It moved some more.

I was so excited that I was laughing.

The ring had almost moved half a revolution. I put the wooden strip into my mouth to hold it, almost gagging on the vomit-tasting cloth. I then reached up and tried to turn the ring with my fingers. It was stiff, but it turned, slowly at first, then over and over until I could feel it part company with the wall.

I could lower my arms. I was free of my shackle. What bliss!

I quickly hauled down my pants and underwear, and then crouched against the wall to defecate. I could remember from my boyhood that my father had often described his morning constitutional on the lavatory as his golden moment of the day. Now, at long last, I knew what he meant. The relief was incredible. So much so that I hardly cared that disengaging myself from the wall was only the first step in my escape.

I pulled my pants up and then heel-and-toed my way along the wall until I found a corner. With difficulty, I sat down on the floor. I still had my wrists tied and I was still wearing the hood, but the joy of not having to stand up any longer was immense.

Stage one was complete. Now I had to remove the hood and free my wrists. No problem, I thought. If I could get away from that wall, everything else must be a piece of cake.

I lifted my hands to my neck and found the drawstring of the hood. With my hands still bound together at the wrists, it was not easy to untie the knot, and I'd probably tightened it with all my earlier tugging. However, I finally managed to get the string free, and I gratefully pulled the oppressive, fetid cloth over my head. I breathed deeply. The atmosphere in the stable may not have been that fresh, for obvious reasons, but it was a whole lot better than the rancid, vomit-smelling air I'd been breathing for the past thirty-six hours.

I shook my head and pushed my fingers through my hair.

Stage two complete. Now for my hands.

It was too dark to really see how they were tied, but by feeling with my tongue, I worked out that my kidnapper had used the sort of ties that gardeners use to secure bags of garden waste, or saplings to poles. The loose end went through a collar on the other end, and was then pulled tight, very tight, one tie on each wrist inter-looped both with each other and with the chain.

I tried biting my way through the plastic, but it was too tough and my efforts ended with me still tied up, but now with a sore mouth where the free ends of the ties kept sticking into my gums.

I looked around. It may have been dark, but there was just enough light entering for me to see the position of the window. I thought that if I could get outside, I might be able to find something to cut the plastic. But how was I going to get outside with only one leg, and with my wrists tied up?

How about the glass in the window? Could I use that to cut the plastic?

If getting down to the floor had been difficult, it was nothing compared to getting up again. Finally, I was upright, but a cramp in my calf had me hopping around to try to ease it. I leaned on the wall and stretched forwards, and the cramp thankfully subsided.

I hopped along the wall to the window.

It wasn't glass, it was Plexiglas. It would be. I suppose the horses would break glass. The window was actually made of two panes of Plexiglas in wooden frames, one above the other, like a sash window. I slid the bottom pane up. The real outdoor fresh air tasted so sweet.

But now I discovered there was another problem.

The window was covered on the outside by metal bars set about four inches apart. I'd had no food for two days, but even I wasn't yet slim enough to fit through that gap. I rested my head on my arms. I could feel the panic beginning to rise in me again. I was so thirsty, yet I could hear the rain. I held my arms out through the window as far as they would go, but they didn't reach the falling water. There was just enough light for me to see that the roof had an overhang. I would have needed arms six feet long to reach the rain. And to add insult to injury, it began to fall more heavily, beating like a drum against the stable roof.

"Water, water everywhere, Nor any drop to drink."