Stephen Leather - Breakout

‘Producing gunpowder this way is obviously not a precise science,’ he said. ‘So it will be of variable quality and it’ll be quite unstable. You can’t use it in wet weather, because damp black powder won’t ignite, but when it’s dry, it’s so volatile that it can be detonated by a spark of static electricity. You have to pack it down into your weapon or explosive charge, but if you compress it too much, by ramming it down hard with a ramrod for example, it may explode and blow you to pieces. On the other hand, if you’re too tentative and leave too many air-gaps, then when you try to detonate the charge or pull the trigger of your weapon, it either won’t go off at all or the powder won’t combust properly. However, if we get it right, it’ll do the job and it’s perfect for close range work because black powder combusts so rapidly that a round reaches its maximum velocity after travelling less than ten feet. So as well as a frame charge and some grenades, we can use it in improvised weapons too.’

‘The guards up in the towers are a lot more than ten feet away,’ Lupa said. ‘So will we have the range to hit them?’

‘Almost certainly not,’ Harper said, ‘so we’ll have to take care of them in Phase Two of the plan.’

‘What plan?’

‘The one I’m about to tell you about. Right, we’ve learned the routine of the guards and Don Lorenzo’s thugs. Two are stationed outside the punishment cells at all times. They sit on those battered chairs or pace around the yard and don’t leave even to relieve themselves, using a corner of the yard instead. But whatever hours the guards are actually supposed to be keeping, they are rarely there during the day and never after dusk, relying on the locked cell doors and Don Lorenzo’s thugs to keep the prisoners confined overnight.’

One of the walls in the San Martin section had been scaffolded with bamboo, ready for repainting, and a couple of spare lengths of bamboo, three metres long and about ten centimetres in diameter, were lying next to it. ‘Grab those,’ Harper said, ‘they’ll be perfect.’

‘Perfect for what?’ Lupa asked.

‘I’ll show you. Ricardo, can you buy or hire a wood saw from that guy who sells hardware from his cell?’

When Ricardo returned, holding a rusty, but still serviceable saw, Harper cut two pieces from one of the lengths of bamboo, one about a metre long and the other a metre and a half, and then split them lengthwise. He joined them together into a rectangle, using bits of scrap wire from the forge and then packed them with some of the home-made gunpowder. He made a fuse from a twisted piece of newspaper, filled with more black powder, and inserted it into the charge, then held it up and examined it. ‘It’s pretty primitive,’ he said, ‘and the fuse is probably only good for three or four seconds, but it’s a frame charge of a sort, so it should do the job and blow Scouse’s cell door if we need to.’

‘But a bamboo frame?’ Lupa said. ‘Won’t it just blow apart?’

‘It may not be as hard as steel,’ Harper said, ‘but it’s not far off - they use it for scaffolding for a reason.’

‘Couldn’t we just pick the lock?’

‘You know any safecrackers? Me neither, so a frame-charge is going to be the best option.’

‘And what if one of Don Lorenzo’s men has the key to the cells on them?’

‘Then we won’t need to set the frame charge, but it’s best to be prepared for any eventuality.’

Ricardo glanced into the huge pan which was still two-thirds full with black powder ‘There’s a lot of gunpowder left.’

‘Yeah, but we don’t need any more to blow the cell door. We may not need the rest, but better to have it ready, just in case.’

‘So when are we going to try to free Scouse?’

‘Tonight’s the night. Best try to grab a few hours’ shut-eye now because we’ll not be getting any the other side of midnight. One of us needs to stay on watch in case Don Lorenzo’s boys decide to pay us a visit, but I’ll take the first watch while you two get some rest.’

CHAPTER 14

Harper had always planned to make the attempt to free Scouse at around four in the morning, when the body’s daily cycle was at its lowest ebb and the thugs guarding him were likely to be drowsy or even asleep. Timing it then would also leave the minimum possible time before the gates of the prison were opened soon after day-break, when they could attempt to get Scouse out, with luck, before his absence from the cells had been detected.

They remained inside their cell until well after midnight. When Harper heard the church clocks out in the city streets striking three o’clock, he eased the cell door open and slipped out into the yard, followed by Ricardo and Lupa. The moon had already set, leaving only the faint glow of starlight illuminating the yard in front of the punishment cells, and it barely penetrated the darkness of the passage where Harper and the others were watching and waiting. They remained there, silent and motionless, every sense attuned to the noises of the night and the movements of the two men in front of the cells. One sat on a battered chair, his eyes half-closed and his chin drooping towards his chest. The other, more alert, was standing, occasionally pacing to and fro across the yard.

After Harper had been watching for almost an hour, the man yawned, stretched and walked towards the corner of the yard. Harper heard the sound of a zip and a moment later, his back to the yard, the man began to take a piss against the wall. At once Harper broke cover, sprinting silently on his rubber-soled shoes towards the dozing guard, still with his chin on his chest. He had shown no sign of even being aware of Harper’s approach until two powerful hands clamped themselves around his head. One covered his mouth, stifling any cry he might have made, the other grasped the back of his head and with a sudden savage jerk, Harper broke the man’s neck. He died instantaneously with no noise other than the snap of bone, but that faint sound was enough to alert the other man.

Still fumbling with his flies as he turned, he saw the prone figure of his dead comrade with Harper standing over him, and in the next instant, he was running towards him, pulling a knife as he did so. Harper whipped his own knife from the back of his belt and went into a fighting stance, poised on the balls of his feet, half-crouched, hands extended to either side, with the knife gripped in his fist. The thug half-checked his advance, eyes narrowing as he worked out his next move. He feinted a thrust with the knife held in his left hand, then switched hands in an instant and lunged for Harper’s chest with the knife in his right hand.

Harper swayed back, feeling the wind of the knife-blade as it sliced the air close enough to his chest to nick the fabric of his shirt, then sprang forward. He grabbed the man’s wrist, pulling him off-balance, and as his other arm flailed the air, Harper slashed down and across with his own knife, cutting a gash so deep into the other man’s wrist that the tendons severed and gouts of arterial blood began to pump from the wound. The knife slipped from the man’s fingers and clattered to the ground.

Harper was still moving, swinging him around, and as what might have been a cry of pain or a warning shout was still forming in the man’s throat, he slashed him across the throat. It severed the unprotected carotid arteries and the windpipe, so no noise emerged from the dying man’s throat but a gurgling, sucking sound that faded to silence within seconds as the last of his lifeblood drained onto the dust of the yard.

Harper held the body until the death spasm had stilled, then dropped him to the ground. He paused, listening for any sounds, then searched the pockets of both dead men, but neither had been holding the keys to the cells. Stifling a curse, he signalled to Ricardo and Lupa, who came running across the yard, carrying the frame charge.