Simon Kernick - Ultimatum

The guard who escorted Tina to the prison’s Central Section was the same one who’d taken her to the governor’s office. His name was Thomson, and he looked like he’d been doing the job for years.

‘Did the governor give you his talk on rehabilitation?’ he asked as they walked.

Tina gave a derisive grunt. ‘He said a few words on the subject.’

‘He’s big on rehabilitation,’ Thomson said. ‘He says it’s the whole purpose of the job — that there’s good in everyone, even if in some cases it’s very well hidden. But he spends most of the time in his office, and he doesn’t see what we see.’

‘And what do you see?’

‘I see hundreds of bad men. Every day of my life. Men who wouldn’t think twice about cutting your throat, or raping your daughter. Or even your son. And do you know what the worst part of it is, Miss Boyd?’

Tina looked at him. ‘What?’

‘The public think we run this place. They think the governor and the guards run every prison.’ He frowned. ‘But we don’t. We don’t run any of them. The prisoners do. Right now, the only way we keep order is by treating this lot with kid gloves, and cutting them slack. The minute they decide they don’t want to take orders from us any more, they won’t. It’s as simple as that.’

‘I can believe it.’

‘Maybe if you were running the shop rather than the governor, things would be a bit different.’ He let slip a small smile to let her know he was joking.

Tina laughed. ‘I’m not patient enough, and I can’t stand being nice to people who don’t deserve it.’

‘You wouldn’t last long here then. This place is a tinderbox, Miss Boyd. And when it goes up, there’ll be nothing any of us can do about it. I think about that every day I’m here.’

Beyond the corridor walls, Tina could hear the faint sound of cell doors clanking and the staccato shouts of prisoners. The air felt hot and artificial, with an unpleasant undercurrent of cleaning products, reminding her of a hospital. The guard’s words unnerved her, even though she’d heard the same thing from different sources plenty of times. It was always disconcerting to know that however hard you fought, the war against the bad guys was ultimately unwinnable.

‘The whole country’s a tinderbox, Officer Thomson,’ she said. ‘The riots in 2011 showed that. We’ve just got to make sure we do our bit and keep blowing out the matches.’ She decided to change the subject. ‘This attack on Garrett by Eric Hughes. Do you think it was spontaneous, or planned?’

‘It’s difficult to tell. Hughes is a nasty piece of work — they both are — but there was no history of conflict between the two of them. The men in here are some of the most dangerous in the country, and they’re living in unnatural conditions, so their behaviour can get unpredictable.’

‘What about the camera? I heard it was tampered with.’

‘It was broken, but we’re not sure it was deliberate.’

‘Do you know how long it was broken for?’

Thomson shrugged. ‘Things like that are meant to be fixed straight away for health and safety reasons, but we’re like everyone else. Short of money and short of staff. So it could have been a while.’

‘Would the prisoners have known the camera was out of order? I mean, it would explain why Hughes attacked Garrett where he did.’

‘I honestly don’t know,’ he answered, but Tina’s antennae picked up something in his voice that made her think he might be lying. She filed it away for future reference.

They stopped at a set of heavy double doors and Thomson used a card to swipe them through. He nodded at a guard on the other side, who unlocked another set of doors, and then they were into the maximum-security section of the prison. It was far quieter in here, and the smell of cleaning fluids stronger, making Tina feel slightly nauseous.

Thomson turned to her as they walked down a windowless tunnel illuminated with garish strip lighting. ‘Be careful of our Mr Garrett. He might be polite and quiet, but I wouldn’t trust him an inch.’

‘Don’t worry, Officer Thomson. I can look after myself.’

‘So I’ve heard, Miss Boyd. So I’ve heard.’

They stopped outside a door where two more prison officers stood guard.

‘He’ll be handcuffed for the duration of your interview, and there’s a panic button in case he tries anything. Press it and we’ll intervene immediately.’

Tina smiled. ‘Thanks, but I’m sure he won’t do anything stupid. He knows there’s no way out of here.’

Officer Thomson nodded. ‘Exactly,’ he said, opening the reinforced door. ‘Right now, he’s got nothing to lose.’

10.58

William Garrett, the man the media knew as Fox, was possibly the most dangerous prisoner in the UK out of a population of close to a hundred thousand. Although it was another three months before his trial was due to start, and the reporting of his alleged crimes had been kept to a minimum so as not to prejudice any future proceedings, the prosecution case against him was as close to watertight as you were ever going to get. Positively identified by witnesses, and caught at the scene of the crime with traces of blood and gunshot residue on his person, as well as a phone which he’d just used to send a message to a fellow conspirator, it was well known that he’d been one of the lead terrorists involved in the Stanhope siege. There were numerous reports of him killing hostages without compunction or conscience, and he’d been fully prepared to blow up the building along with hundreds of people inside it.

And yet the man sitting on the other side of the desk holding a mug of lukewarm tea between cuffed hands didn’t look much like a ruthless terrorist to Tina. He looked more like a washed-out PE teacher who’d been in an accident. He was of medium height and medium build, with neatly cut, short sandy hair, and pale, almost translucent skin, which was probably the result of spending too many months behind bars. The signs of the attack on him were obvious. The top of his head was bandaged, and he had dressing running up his right forearm from wrist to elbow. There were also several minor defensive wounds on both hands, one containing a few stitches. His face was on the thin, almost gaunt, side, as if he exercised too much or had stopped enjoying his food, but the wide, clearly genuine smile he gave Tina as she entered the room suggested he remained in good spirits. Only the calculating expression in his narrow grey eyes suggested something darker.

‘Thanks for coming,’ he said in a confident voice that carried the faintest of West Country burrs. ‘I’d shake your hand but it’s not very easy with these on.’

‘I’m sure I’ll get over it,’ replied Tina, taking a seat opposite him and making a point of not looking at the red panic alarm button just beneath the lip of the desk. She didn’t want him thinking he intimidated her.

‘I heard you got reinstated in the Met. How did you manage that?’

Tina leaned forward in her seat, meeting his gaze. ‘We’re not here to discuss my career, Mr Garrett. You told the governor you had information regarding the people involved in the Stanhope siege.’

He looked down at the pockmarked table, then back at her. ‘Do you know why I asked to see you specifically?’

‘No. I’ve got to say I’m surprised. I’m not even working on the Stanhope case.’

‘The reason is I trust you. And I also think you can get things done. Most people do what they’re told, fill in the forms they’re meant to fill in, and let their bosses make the big decisions. That’s why this country’s in such a parlous state. Nobody likes taking responsibility any more. If it had been any other copper sitting where you are today, things would move slowly. With you, I think we might be able to get somewhere.’