Chris Ryan - Osama

A pause. Hennessey blinked at him, then suddenly gave a short, humourless bark of a laugh. ‘That a threat, son?’

‘More than that, Hennessey. I’m army, remember. I’ve got contacts. Trust me, there’s plenty of bent coppers in my little black book who’d deposit a few quid in one of your family’s bank accounts if I asked them. I guess some of the animals in this place might get funny ideas if they thought you were on a police payroll…’

Hennessey stared impassively at him, trying to judge if Joe was serious or not. ‘You’ll have to do better than that,’ he said finally, before giving Joe a contemptuous look, turning his back on him and hobbling towards the door.

The window of opportunity was closing. ‘You think you’re the big man, Hennessey?’ he called after him. ‘You think you scare me like you scare the other shitheads in this place? Trust me, son , I can fucking break you. The best way for you to stay king of the hill is to get me the hell out of here.’

Hennessey halted. For ten seconds he stood still, his back to Joe. When he finally turned, his expression was cold. He stumped back towards Joe, stopping when they were just a metre apart. ‘And how do you work that out?’ he barely whispered, derision dripping from his voice.

Joe moved quickly. He grabbed the food tray by the door – its contents went flying – then smashed the plastic over his knee so that it broke, with lethally jagged corners on each half. He swiped the crutch from under Hennessey’s arm. It didn’t appear to make the prisoner any less steady until Joe used it to push him violently up against the wall, before pressing a sharp corner of the shattered tray against his jugular. ‘Listen to me, you piece of shit. You think I don’t have friends who wouldn’t think twice about taking a smack at your whore if I asked them to? You think they wouldn’t break her legs just for fun?’ It wasn’t true, but Hennessey didn’t know that.

‘You think I care?’ Hennessey whispered. ‘She’s just a pair of lips to me…’

‘Of course you don’t care. But just think about it. Big bad Hennessey, stuck in the Seg Wing and not even able to stop his bit of skirt getting done over on the outside, even when he’s in the police’s pockets. Not to mention that, as long as I’m here, I’ll break a different bone in your fucking body every time I see you. You’ll need more than a wooden crutch.’

To emphasize his point he pressed the plastic harder into Hennessey’s throat – the guy broke into a sweat – before throwing it, along with the crutch, to the floor. He knew better than to turn his back on a man like this, so he stepped away while Hennessey caught his breath and bent down to pick up the crutch.

‘You’re a brave man, army boy,’ Hennessey said hoarsely, rubbing at his throat with one hand, ‘talking to me like that.’

Joe ignored him. ‘Course,’ he added, ‘pull some strings for me and it wouldn’t do your reputation much harm.’

‘What wouldn’t?’

‘You really are as stupid as you look. Think about it. The inmate who does Hennessey a favour gets out. They’ll know your name on every landing in the country after that. They’ll be falling over themselves to help you out.’

Hennessey fixed him with a dead-eyed stare. He made no attempt to hide his loathing of Joe, but he was clearly deciding what call to make.

Joe feigned indifference.

‘You’re in the Seg Wing of a Cat A prison,’ Hennessey said finally. ‘People don’t just walk out of this place.’

‘Except your bird.’

Hennessey’s eyes tightened. ‘What do you mean?’

‘How does she get in? I’m guessing she doesn’t just bang on the front gates.’

The inmate inclined his head, but didn’t answer.

Joe took a step towards him, and was pleased to notice Hennessey flinch. ‘You think I’m playing twenty fucking questions, Hennessey?’ he hissed. ‘You think I’m playing around? I’ll ask you one more time. How does she get in? ’

He was watching Hennessey carefully. Examining his expression. He saw the way the eyes narrowed, just a millimetre. Hennessey had made a decision.

‘There’s a delivery of medical supplies. Once a month. The screws make a point of not checking too closely what’s in the back of the van when it arrives.’

‘And when it leaves?’

‘That too.’

Joe started pacing. ‘Where do you meet her?’ he demanded. ‘Does she come to you?’

‘No,’ Hennessey replied. The wariness had returned to his voice. It was as if they were tiptoeing around each other. ‘I go to her when they’ve finished unloading…’

‘How long for?’

Hennessey’s eyes narrowed.

‘ How long for? ’

‘Half an hour.’

‘Where does the van park?’

‘Delivery bay, behind the kitchens.’

‘Who takes you there?’

‘One of the screws,’ Hennessey said evasively. And then he added quickly – a bit too quickly? – ‘Hobson, ginger moustache…’

Joe remembered the screw he’d attacked the night he arrived. He’d hardly be queuing up to do Joe a favour. But that didn’t matter. Not if Joe worked it properly.

‘There’s a route from the back of the Seg Wing,’ Hennessey said. Joe noted that he was volunteering information without being pressed. ‘Winds round past the bins to the delivery bay. No cameras. That’s the way Hobson takes me.’

‘What time does the delivery arrive?’

‘Five p.m. Sometimes a bit later. Never earlier.’

Joe absorbed that information for a few seconds. ‘OK. Here’s what’s going to happen. Hobson’s going to take me instead of you. You can tell him that if he doesn’t play ball, I’ll grass him up. If I’m still in this cell at five-thirty, you’ll both wish you never even heard my name.’

There was a hostile silence. Hennessey stuck his chin out at Joe. ‘I’m beginning to wish that already,’ he said. ‘Five o’clock. Be ready.’ He started limping out of the room.

Joe wasn’t fooled. He knew Hennessey had given in too easily, that he couldn’t be trusted. Joe wanted him to think that he, Hennessey, had the upper hand, that Joe was so desperate to escape that he’d do anything, believe anything. He strode after him, grabbed him by the back of the shirt and spun him round. ‘Listen to me,’ he hissed. ‘Hunter told me you’ve got a habit of knocking off your cellmates because you know you’re never seeing the outside again. If I’m still in here at five-thirty, I’ll know I’m never seeing the outside either. I guess then it’ll come down to which one of us can fuck the other up best. Is that a game you really want to play? Is it? ’

He let go of Hennessey, who said nothing. He just smoothed down his shirt, gave Joe a look of utter contempt, then limped out of the cell.

Joe heard the key turn in the lock. His mouth, he realized, was unbearably dry, the nape of his neck soaked with sweat.

He’d played his only card. All he could do now was wait.

It was impossible to keep track of time in that cramped, windowless cell. All Joe knew was that one mealtime and several hours had passed. That meant it had to be approaching 5 p.m. Hennessey hadn’t returned. They only person he’d seen was the screw who’d dumped his meal tray in the cell and collected it thirty minutes later. No words, no eye contact. If Hennessey had this man in his pocket, there was no way of telling. He half expected a police officer or another lawyer to walk through the door at any moment. Nobody did. They knew, he supposed, that he wasn’t going anywhere.

He sat by the door, listening. Occasionally there were voices in the corridor outside, but they were muffled – he couldn’t tell who they belonged to or what they were saying – but that didn’t stop him trying. Hennessey was his only hope, but also the last person on earth that he could trust. But Joe’s eavesdropping yielded nothing.