by Simon Mayo
‘Where’s the strap-key now?’ asked Gina.
Ant realized that the question was for her. ‘The first fan on the fifth level,’ she said. ‘There’s a small flap by the cable. Small beans tin. In there.’
Dan whistled. ‘We will need it today, I’m sure of it. But everyone’s way too twitchy . . .’
‘They’re going to be twitchy all day,’ said Gina. ‘If we need it, we need it. When the alarm stops . . . maybe then.’
‘And what if it doesn’t stop?’ asked Dan.
Ant pulled MacMillan’s pass from under her shirt and got off her bunk. ‘Could be worth a try,’ she said.
‘Will it still work when we’re all in lockdown?’
‘One way to find out,’ said Ant, and walked towards the door.
She was about to swipe her pass through the security box when Gina exclaimed, ‘No, stop! Wait . . .’ Ant hesitated, her hand poised with the card above the box. ‘They’ll know it’s you,’ said Gina.
‘What?’
‘They’ll know it’s you. MacMillan is . . . in the tunnel . . .’
Ant nodded. ‘Good point.’
‘Whatever happened,’ said Gina, ‘everyone knows he won’t be opening cell thirty-three, so if they’re monitoring their screens and see his pass being used here, they’ll know it’s you. And they’ll cancel it.’
Ant looked at the pass – Brian’s startled face staring right back. ‘So I can use it just once more?’
‘That sounds about right,’ said Gina.
Ant tucked the card back under her shirt.
Holloway
Following the smashing of the mug, the hall had quickly emptied. As the inmates headed for the cells, shouts of alarm rang out around the tables.
‘This is it! It’s starting, get out of here!’
Four POs who had been lounging around the edges of the hall came striding towards Chang, pushing against the crowd. In the rush to leave, one officer was barged into a table, crashing heavily into the crockery and half-eaten food. Dazed, he rolled onto the floor. Three inmates made sure they stamped on him as they hurried past.
It happened so quickly, none of the other POs were sure what had happened. But they had a man down – a wounded and unconscious man – and they knew what they had to do. Batons drawn, they chased after the running inmates, catching two stragglers before they could leave the hall. Flung to the floor, both women received a flurry of blows; their howls and screams rang out down the corridors.
The women of 283 got to their feet as the prison siren fired up.
‘We didn’t start this, OK?’ said Chang. ‘What happened last night was a strutter takeover. The screws allowed it, the governor allowed it. We are on our own!’
More inmates ran back into the hall, alerted by the screams. A few had brought weapons – blades and bludgeons visible at fingertips and inside shirts.
‘If they’ve let one strutter in, there will be others.’ Chang suddenly sounded as if she was addressing a political meeting. ‘If we don’t put a stop to this, there’ll be more tonight. We’ll be overwhelmed.’
‘But we’re in trouble now,’ said a scared voice. ‘We’ll be put in SHU. All of us. Can’t we go back to our cells?’
Chang smiled. ‘No one is going to get punished,’ she said. ‘Trust me. We now have the best security a prison can offer.’ She pointed at the now cuffed and prone guards. ‘We have hostages.’
Spike
Silence. The quietist a prison can be. The scariest a prison can be. Everyone in their cells, everyone straining for the first sounds of danger. Ant and Mattie looked out of one cell window, Dan and Gina peered out of the other. They caught occasional glimpses of running POs and hammered unsuccessfully to attract their attention. As the morning progressed and the temperature inside the cells rose, there was no sign of anyone in a uniform. There hadn’t been a tannoy message for an hour.
‘What’s happening? Where are the screws?’ muttered Dan.
‘You’ve said that a hundred times,’ said Gina. ‘Same answer: no idea.’
‘Have they run away?’ asked Mattie. ‘Are we on our own?’
Ant put her arm around him. ‘Don’t worry, little brother. Tout pral pase byen.’
But he shook his head. ‘Non. Tout pap pase byen.’
Dan and Gina exchanged a brief glance. Over the years they had learned the meaning of only a few of the Haitian words Ant and Mattie spoke to each other. They had learned to keep out; it was a private language from their old life. But this phrase they understood. ‘All will go well,’ is what Ant had said. Mattie was unconvinced.
The siren started up again. Everyone jumped. Gina took advantage of the cover and leaned in close to Dan. ‘I don’t think I could honestly say to Mattie that all will be fine.’
Dan nodded his agreement. Across the level, in cell 31, he could see the young Evans girl, her face pressed up against the window. She was crying hysterically.
Holloway
The cafeteria had filled swiftly. The mood was ugly. With access to the kitchen, scores were being settled. The inmates attacked the guards, then they attacked each other.
Chang climbed onto a table. She was shouting but had to wait a long time before she could be heard. ‘Leave the guards alone. We need them to bargain with – we have hostages, we have power. There’s a first-aid kit in the kitchen . . .’ One of the gang members ran to find it. ‘Let’s patch them up and get them awake.’
A cry from a lookout. ‘We got company! Governor’s here!’
Chang ran over and stood by the door, gang members following in her wake. ‘Stay there, Burridge!’ she yelled. ‘We have four hostages. You try and take us and they won’t last five seconds.’
‘I’m not trying to “take you”, nor will anyone else,’ said the governor of Holloway. ‘I just need to talk . . .’
‘No, you just need to run a prison properly,’ shouted Chang. ‘You allowed a strutter to break in and assault us. Now she’s back in Spike and we want to find her. That’s all. Can you help us or not?’ Shouts of support and applause came from the cafeteria, but Chang told them to be quiet.
There was only the briefest of pauses before Jan Burridge replied. ‘Can I see how my guards are?’ she asked. ‘Can we get them medical help?’
‘How about how your prisoners are?’ called one woman. ‘We’re only treating them the way they treat us.’ Raucous support greeted that remark.
‘The answer to your question,’ shouted Chang, ‘is that one of your men is losing blood fast. We’ll swap him for you if you want.’
Within a minute the suited figure of Governor Jan Burridge walked into the cafeteria. ‘My medics are outside. Can they come in and get him?’
‘If you stay,’ said Chang.
Burridge called back through the door, and two anxious men with a stretcher ran to the bleeding guard, their eyes fixed straight ahead. Everyone watched as the unconscious PO was carried out of the room. When the door swung closed, Burridge turned to Chang. ‘Now can we talk?’
‘Sure,’ said Chang. ‘We want to get into Spike.’
The governor smiled. ‘I’m sorry I can’t help you with that,’ she said, and returned Chang’s stare.
‘Oh, you’d be surprised,’ said Chang, and punched Burridge in the throat.
Pentonville
The inmates were effectively in control of half of C Wing, some ransacked offices and a plundered pharmacy. A man in a bandana made from a ripped white shirt came running up to Campbell carrying three phones and a black box the size of a small suitcase.
‘What’s with the box?’ asked Campbell, his attention on the hostages.
‘It’s the blocker,’ came the reply. ‘This is what blocks all phone calls.’
Campbell smiled. ‘And you’ve switched it off?’
‘I’ve smashed it up a bit.’
‘Good,’ said Campbell. ‘Hand out the phones. Let’s film this.’
Five hostages were dragged over and dumped at his feet;
all five lay there motionless.
He stood on a chair, glanced at the inmates, then at the security cameras. ‘Listen up,’ he said down the lens, ‘and listen well. I have some requests. My friends you can see behind me, and they have requests too. Some are easy for you to sort, some not. But if you say no to any of them, any at all, we kill a hostage.’
Huge cheers from the inmates; they closed in around him.
‘You also know that somehow a video of the executions will end up online. And I’m sure none of us want that to happen. So . . .’ He smiled briefly. ‘There is a prisoner in Spike who was here just recently. She paid us a visit. You know who she is. We’d like her back, please.’ Loud cheers were again silenced by Campbell. ‘I have a phone you can call me on – it’s one of yours anyway, so don’t worry about the bill.’ He read out its number. ‘Call me in ten minutes. Or, if you don’t, we could always come and get her . . .’
The men behind him pushed forward in their desperation to be let loose.
Campbell shouted at the camera, ‘I don’t think they’re feeling very patient!’
Spike
The tannoy again.
‘The security situation is ongoing. Cells will remain locked. Police are assisting us with . . . events.’
Ant, Mattie, Dan and Gina stared at each other. Now they all looked scared.
‘The police?’ said Dan.
‘The screws have lost control, haven’t they?’ said Gina. ‘Whatever they think they’re dealing with, they need help.’
Mattie was at the window again. ‘The police are here. Well, I think they are . . .’ Everyone crowded around. Six men with helmets and shields were at the windows of cell 31.
‘No, they’re screws, Mattie. It’s hats and bats time, that’s all. They’re counting us,’ said Gina.
Within seconds they were at 33, Mattie exclaiming in alarm as they came right up to the window. Visors up, three urgent faces peered in, checking names and faces. Satisfied that the numbers tallied, one of the men managed a thumbs-up before disappearing.
‘Oh well, at least we’re all here,’ said Ant. ‘They must be relieved.’
‘It is safer in here, isn’t it?’ said Mattie.
Ant shook her head. ‘That’s exactly the point. I don’t think so. When have they ever cared what happens to us? We have to make this call ourselves. And we can move when we need to.’ She waved her pass again.
‘Ant’s right,’ said Gina. ‘We have to be ready to make this our decision, not theirs.’
HMP London control room
The usual eight had been supplemented by four emergency staff, their leave cancelled at the last minute. Calls were taken, radios shouted into; it sounded more like a trading floor than a prison control room. In the middle stood Assessor Grey and HMP London Governor Ernest Gaunt.
The screens showed the growing pandemonium in Holloway and Pentonville. Some had images of the lockdown in Spike: deserted halls and levels, cells full of scared inmates staring out. The resolution was good enough to see the sweat pouring from their faces.
There was perspiration on Gaunt’s forehead too, and he wiped it with his shirt sleeve. ‘Will someone explain,’ he said, his words slow with controlled anger, ‘how I can watch images from the rioters on my phone? On my phone, for God’s sake!’
‘I understand,’ said Grey, ‘that the phone-jamming signal comes from the Pentonville medics’ office, next to the pharmacy. It was out of sight, but the rioters found it and smashed it up. As a result all phones and internet work as normal. There’s wifi in the medics’ room too. They found some work phones . . .’ He shrugged. ‘The rest was easy. That’s what you’re watching.’
Gaunt ran his hand through his hair. ‘So if – God forbid – they kill a hostage, the whole world will be watching.’
Grey nodded.
‘Can you see Jan?’ asked Gaunt wearily.
One of the screen watchers looked up at him. ‘Not at the moment, sir. She was attacked soon after she walked into the cafeteria.’
‘We need to get her and the other hostages out,’ said Gaunt. ‘But we follow procedure. What do the rioters want, Assessor? What can we give them before we send in the troops?’
‘They want Abigail Norton Turner from Spike. I’m afraid she broke into Holloway, then Pentonville – with the help of a guard. Caused a lot of trouble.’
There was a silence as Gaunt waited. When nothing more was forthcoming, he said, ‘Is that it? They want a strutter?’
‘That appears to be the case, yes,’ said Grey.
Gaunt breathed heavily. ‘How many rioters are we talking about? Top figure.’
‘About ninety in Holloway. And it looks like eighty in Pentonville. They also have the Pentonville tunnel door wedged open.’
Whatever blood was in Gaunt’s face drained from it now. ‘So they have access to the tunnel?’
‘I’m not worried on that score,’ said Grey. ‘The system is designed to cope with a breach. Your prisons are still secure.’
‘But they both have hostages?’
A nod from Grey. Silence from Gaunt.
‘A thought, Governor?’ said Grey. ‘Let them get to the tunnels and deal with them there. Take out the cameras first – it’s probably best if it’s only us watching. Procedure states that deadly physical force is acceptable to prevent arson or escape. I think both are in play here.’
Gaunt looked aghast. ‘Deadly force? But what about the hostages? Jan is down there!’
‘Obviously we save as many as we can,’ said Grey flatly.
The governor shook his head. ‘No. We’re not there yet. We negotiate, we compromise, we stall. In ninety minutes we should have the troops we need to cover all eventualities. We keep them talking.’
There was no reply – Grey had already left the control room.
Holloway
Grace Chang held Deputy Governor Jan Burridge’s radio in her hand. She pressed the talk button. ‘Who am I speaking to?’ she said. ‘Who’s there?’ For a few seconds there was the sound of rustling and whispering before a man’s voice said, ‘This is Ernest Gaunt. I’m the Governor of HMP London.’
‘I know who you are,’ said Chang. ‘I have Burridge here, and three other hostages too. We want the strutter who broke into Holloway. And we want her here. Are you prepared to do that?’
‘Do you know who she is?’ said Gaunt pleasantly.
‘She’s the sister of the kid in that Correction film. He is Matthew Norton Taylor, she’s Abigail Norton Taylor. Shaved head, looks like a boy. Shouldn’t take you long to find her.’
‘OK,’ said Gaunt. ‘I need to see Jan Burridge, please. I can see the other hostages but I can’t see Jan.’
‘No.’
‘Why?’
‘She’s busy. Listening to complaints.’
‘Let me see her.’ A moment’s pause.
‘OK. If you insist.’ Chang walked to the kitchen, Tess Clarke at her side. Jan Burridge was sprawled on the floor, her face cut and bruised.
‘You’re coming with me,’ Chang said.
The governor gave a muffled cry as Chang turned and dragged her through to the cafeteria. As they came within range of the security cameras, Chang dropped Burridge, pulled the gag from her mouth and turned to the lens.
She pressed the talk button again. ‘Now you can talk to her.’
Spike
In cell 33 Dan and Gina were sharing out the last of the food from their breakfast takeaway. The bacon had gone first, then the fruit. Only the bread rolls were left.
‘I’d been hoping to save these for later . . .’ said Gina. ‘But maybe now is a good time.’ She handed them round and they ate in silence.
‘What would you do first,’ asked Mattie, staring through the window, ‘if we ever got out of here? What would you do, where would you go?’
Dan looked up in surprise at the question, then managed a smile. ‘Think I’d call up some old friends and, if they still remembered me, go for a run with them. A
long run – then a few iced beers and a chicken Jalfrezi. Extra hot, extra poppadums. What about you, Mattie?’
‘Swim in the sea,’ he said immediately. ‘Roll in the sand, eat chips and then swim again. All day. And when you called me in, I’d take at least an hour to hear what you said.’
‘Fair enough.’ Gina smiled, her mouth still full. ‘Sounds like you got it all planned!’ He nodded. ‘But just to be clear,’ she said, ‘is this once we’re released? Or have we escaped?’
He shrugged. ‘Dunno. Either. Whichever you like.’
‘OK,’ said Gina. ‘I’ll go running with Dan, swimming with Mattie, and then . . . go dancing. And camping. And eat outdoors – fresh food I’ve bought from the market.’ Her eyes were closed now. ‘And get some decent clothes, go to the cinema, order pizza . . .’
‘No pizza in the cinema,’ said Dan, smiling.
‘Live dangerously, Dan,’ said Ant. ‘Go crazy. I’m off backpacking. But I’m only going to countries who never backed heritage crime.’
‘Which narrows it down a little,’ said Gina.
‘Agreed,’ said Ant. ‘But then I’m buying a wrecking ball.’ Dan and Gina looked quizzical but Mattie grinned. ‘I’m gonna knock down some prisons.’
Pentonville
The fire started in the pharmacy. The combination of cigarettes and surgical spirit proved explosive, and two inmates ran into the main hall, their hair and clothes on fire. The rest of the drugs caught quickly; the inmates’ slowness in responding, a direct result of the sheer volume of medicines they had already swallowed.
No one took control of firefighting. The fire alarms kicked in, followed by high-pressure sprinklers, but without any coordinated effort the blaze started to spread.
‘We move now!’ shouted Campbell. ‘We either head for the other wings or the tunnel.’
The inmates had decided already. They ran for the tunnel entrance. Some had phones strapped to their heads, the red ‘record’ icon already flashing. A few sported stolen PO caps.
‘Bring the hostages!’ ordered Campbell. ‘They’ll get us out the other end.’
