Blame

by Simon Mayo

  Still hooded, the POs were herded together. As they stumbled towards the tunnel, they whispered encouragement to each other.

  ‘Has anyone ever wanted to visit Spike?’ Campbell yelled. Cries of laughter and applause. ‘Has anyone ever wanted to show strutters just what we think of them?’

  In the enclosed tunnel the noise was deafening.

  Control room

  Panic.

  ‘They’re in the tunnel!’

  ‘Put that fire out!’

  ‘If they’re all in the tunnel, just seal it off!’

  ‘Fire brigade ready. Riot Squad here in three!’

  Governor Gaunt watched images of the inmates running for the tunnel. ‘Campbell just took the hostages with him,’ he shouted to his staff. ‘He can use their fingerprints to get into Spike. We need to remove names from the database. How long will that take?’

  ‘Not too long, but there is a procedure . . .’ shouted a woman in front of a bank of screens. ‘Give me the names! How many am I looking for?’

  ‘There’s five,’ he said over the woman’s shoulder. ‘Darcy is one. I can see Mangan. Who else is down there, people? Need this fast!’

  As the security data was accessed, more names were shouted, then some disputed.

  ‘They had bags over their heads, for God’s sake – it was hard to be certain!’

  ‘Get me pictures from the tunnel!’

  Some keys were punched and images from the security camera nearest the tunnel exit flickered onto the screen.

  ‘God, there’s hundreds of them.’

  ‘Who can we see of our people? Shout out their names!’

  Everyone in the control room scoured the screens for friends and colleagues.

  ‘Piercy was down there, I’m sure. Was that Norris with him?’

  The governor was getting desperate. ‘Who was on that wing in this shift? It’s in the logs, people. Thirty seconds! And I need everyone to the tunnel entrance now. Everything we have. Use all force necessary!’

  The woman at the keyboard yelled, ‘Darcy and Mangan deleted. Piercy and Norris deleted. If in doubt, shout them out.’ More names were shouted, all mixing into an incomprehensible noise.

  ‘Theresa,’ said Gaunt gently, ‘can you take out the whole shift? Remove all their security clearances? We can’t risk forgetting a name.’

  The woman shook her head. ‘Not as far as I know. It’s the way it’s programmed.’

  Gaunt nodded. ‘OK. Get ready to type faster than you’ve ever typed before.’

  Pentonville

  The inmates arrived at the steel entrance to Spike in swift order, running down the tunnel, exhilarated by their own noise and speed. When Campbell reached them, knife in hand, he pushed the first hostage towards the control pad. ‘Get us in,’ he spat.

  The crowd quietened as Mangan, his face covered in blood, pressed his finger to the sensor. The light stayed red. He wiped his shaking hand on his underpants and tried again. The red light flashed twice, then stayed red.

  ‘You did that on purpose!’ shouted Treves.

  Mangan turned to protest, but Campbell slammed his head into the steel door. The guard fell to the floor, hands over his face.

  ‘You’re next, Darcy. Don’t make us mad.’ The battered guard stumbled towards the sensor but needed Campbell’s hand to steady her shaking arm. He forced her finger onto the sensor. Red light.

  He cursed, then punched her, casting her aside. ‘Bring the other three. Now.’

  The other POs were shoved to the front. Campbell removed the hoods. The terrified officers glanced from their captors to each other. When they saw Mangan and Darcy lying face down by the door, they cried out.

  ‘They couldn’t get us in,’ said Campbell. ‘I’m sure you’ll do better.’ He offered them each in turn a corner of his shirt. ‘Wipe your hands, particularly your index finger. Let it dry, get us in. Like your lives depended on it.’

  Control room

  All eyes studied the screens. As the hoods came off, the names came fast.

  ‘OK, that’s Goldman at the front! John Goldman!’

  ‘And Jordan Harris behind him!’

  For a moment the third hostage was obscured by an inmate; then he moved slightly.

  ‘Kahn! It’s Sid Kahn! He’s only been here three weeks, poor lad.’

  ‘Go, Theresa!’

  They had the names; now all they had to do was remove them from the security file. Theresa’s hands flew over the keyboard as they watched Goldman being shoved towards the sensor. She hit ‘delete’ just before his finger touched the pad. In the control room, a small sigh of relief was quickly followed by a shout of alarm as the guard was struck on the head. Goldman fell next to Mangan, and already Harris was in position. His finger made contact at exactly the same time as the ‘delete’ order was executed. A moment’s pause before he too was assaulted by three inmates, then dragged away.

  ‘Last one!’ shouted Gaunt. He watched the screen as Campbell grabbed Sid Kahn, then suddenly paused. He stared up at the security camera.

  ‘He’s just realized what we’re doing,’ said a voice in the control room. The only other sound was Theresa’s frantic typing. She hit one final key.

  ‘That’s it! Kahn’s deleted!’ she cried triumphantly. On the screen they watched as Campbell stepped behind the rookie PO, glanced briefly back at the camera and, with one swift pull of the knife, slit his throat.

  Screams in the control room. Two men were sick; a tight-lipped, swaying Gaunt gripped the back of a chair, knuckles white. ‘God help us,’ he muttered.

  Only Theresa, hands still on the keyboard, heard him. ‘Amen,’ she mouthed, eyes on her slain colleague.

  Looking at the screens, they saw that the cons had turned on the other hostages.

  ‘Turn it off!’ cried an anguished voice, but the screens continued to beam their terror into the control room.

  The governor’s words sounded unnaturally loud. ‘We have lost a brother officer. We’ll mourn in due course and we will have justice for our colleagues. But first we have two riots to sort. Theresa will remove all the Pentonville shift from the security-access file, then the tunnel will be secure.’

  He walked over to a different bank of screens which showed Holloway’s Governor Burridge being marched along a corridor. Behind her, brawling inmates were brandishing weapons and smashing anything within reach.

  ‘Why doesn’t someone stop them?’ called a voice, but Gaunt shook his head.

  ‘’Cos they’ve seen what happened to Sid Kahn, that’s why. Remember, they’re beaming this stuff out to anyone who wants to watch.’ He pointed to other screens showing deserted posts, empty desks and unmanned exits. ‘My God, they’ve actually run away . . . Get the Spike Riot Squad into the Holloway tunnel. Close it behind them. Let’s stop this now . . .’

  ‘Governor!’

  The cry from someone watching the Pentonville screens was shrill and panicky. All around the room hands were covering mouths. Gaunt ended his call and ran over; now it was his turn to feel sick. He was watching the body of PO Brian MacMillan being hauled out of a cupboard. It was taking two, then three, then four inmates to move him, but there was no doubting where they were headed.

  ‘Great God in heaven,’ muttered Gaunt. ‘We are dealing with savages.’

  ‘Take MacMillan off the list!’ someone shouted.

  Theresa’s fingers were working fast but she had started to sob. ‘He’s on the Spike list!’ she said, shaking her head. ‘It’s arranged differently . . . it’s not easy . . . I’m not in yet.’ She hit more keys. ‘Come on! Come on!’

  Everyone had stopped what they were doing; around the control room conversations were halted, heads turned. Eyes flicked from Theresa to the screens. The inmates seemed to be taking it in turns to hold MacMillan’s hand – ten seconds maximum before the next one took over.

  ‘Governor . . . ?’

  ‘The sensor needs heat,’ he said flatly. ‘Not much, but some. They’re ahead o
f us . . .’

  Theresa shouted, ‘I’m in!’ and eyes switched back to her. ‘Governor, you need to override!’ She slid sideways as Gaunt entered his command code, then back again as he stepped aside. They now watched the grotesque comedy as the inmates positioned the dead man’s hand over the sensor.

  Theresa spluttered, ‘Nearly got it!’

  Staff names were scrolling down the screen.

  ‘Might he have been taken off already?’ someone suggested.

  ‘No, there he is!’

  MacMillan, Brian Donald Hester. Staff number e382184p. Age 23. 31C Penn Gardens N7 89P.

  Everyone in the control room wanted to yell. No one said a word.

  On the screen: inmates everywhere, obscuring the camera’s view.

  Theresa highlighted MacMillan’s name.

  The crowd parted; MacMillan’s finger was on the sensor.

  Theresa began to type her command order.

  The red light went off. Three people screamed.

  The sensor light turned to green.

  The tunnel door was open.

  The governor turned to his staff. ‘We evacuate the prison.’

  When the siren stopped, everyone in cell 33 looked up. They had become accustomed to the wail – its disappearance filled the prison with an eerie silence. Ears still ringing, Ant stepped over to the window that looked across the level – everywhere, nervous faces peered out, eyes darting up and down, left and right. She had just opened her mouth to speak when the siren started again. But this was different. Unlike the single high note they had got used to, this was a series of short blasts. Deeper, louder, more chilling.

  ‘Something’s changed!’ shouted Gina. Ant’s stomach flipped. It felt as though this marked the end of something. Gina and Dan exchanged glances.

  ‘OK, I think this is it,’ said Dan. ‘Ant, you should go and get the strap-key.’

  Gina nodded.

  ‘Use the pass?’ said Ant.

  ‘Use the pass,’ agreed Dan.

  ‘Why don’t I let everyone out? Might as well . . .’

  Dan shook his head. ‘No, wait till you have the key. You need that first. Then – assuming the pass still works – unlock everything you can.’

  Ant pulled the pass out from under her T-shirt, then felt her hand being grabbed fiercely.

  ‘I’m going too,’ said Mattie. ‘You said we had to stick together. Well, that just started.’

  A second’s hesitation before Gina nodded. ‘You’re right, we did say that.’ Another hesitation. ‘OK, do it together.’ She glanced at Ant, who nodded and stepped towards the door, her pass in one hand, her brother holding onto the other.

  Ant’s heart rate was in overdrive but her head was clear. ‘We won’t be long,’ she said, and swiped the card through the small box. The door buzzed and clicked, then, after Ant’s tentative push, swung open. She stepped outside, Mattie waving briefly at Gina and Dan as he followed her.

  ‘See you later,’ whispered Gina, eyes brimming with tears.

  The door clicked and locked again.

  Outside on the levels the staccato blasts of the siren were deafening. Ant and Mattie ran to the railings. She felt better out of the cell. At least I’m doing something. Lines of POs in riot gear were running towards the Pentonville tunnel entrance; behind them ran police, some with helmets, all with batons. In the brief gaps between the siren bursts, new sounds: the fury and panic of a pitched battle.

  Ant pulled her brother down into a crouch, held his face in her hands.

  ‘Mattie, you know this is bad,’ she said. He nodded, his eyes not leaving his sister’s for a second. Hers were everywhere, looking for danger from the steps, from the railings, from the other cells. Ant wiped the sweat from her face. Heart racing, she struggled to keep her voice calm. ‘We get the strap-key, we escape.’

  ‘And get Dan and Gina out?’ he said, his voice urgent, his eyes pleading.

  She nodded. ‘Everyone we can. If this still works.’ She tapped her pass, now swinging free around her neck.

  He pointed up at the security cameras. ‘And those?’

  ‘I reckon the screws are all too busy to care at the moment,’ she said. ‘But we mustn’t take the straps off till later. We can’t. The fact that we have a key has to stay a secret for as long as possible.’ More shouting from below, then a man screaming. ‘Ready?’

  Mattie nodded and grabbed her hand again. They ran, crouching, for the steps. Taking them two or three at a time, they passed the fourth level in seconds; the cells apparently quiet, the open spaces deserted.

  ‘Five!’ shouted Mattie as they got there. Each level had the same layout: eight cabins around the outside, two running down the middle. Four high-powered fans blew the hot air about, the nearest just a few metres away.

  Ant knelt in front of its control panel, shielding it from the camera above. ‘In there,’ she said, pointing at a hinged flap by the power cable. ‘In an old rusty tin.’

  Mattie squeezed in front of her and pushed his hand inside the fan. He nodded as his fingers found the tin; he pulled it out and, tipping it slightly, let the strap-key – still in its case – slide into his other hand. He swiftly offered it to Ant, aware of the treasure he was holding. She smiled briefly, kissed it and pushed it deep into her pocket.

  ‘That was easy!’ Mattie beamed.

  ‘I think it gets harder,’ said Ant. ‘Look.’

  Around the level, from the six cells that could see them, desperate, imploring faces stared out. There was banging and calling too, noise they had somehow missed earlier.

  ‘Let’s see if Brian can still help us,’ said Ant. She sprinted towards cell 50, then checked, ran back and grabbed Mattie. They reached the cabin together, and Ant sliced the card through the box control by the door.

  Green light.

  ‘It still works!’ yelled Ant. There were cheers from inside, but she had already moved on.

  ‘Fast as we can!’ she shouted. ‘Before anyone notices what’s happening! ’Bin fifty-one, here we come.’ Another swipe, another cell open. Ant and Mattie opened all ten in under two minutes. By the time they had finished the circuit, the whole level was teeming with released prisoners.

  ‘Where do we go?’ shouted Lena Durrow, holding onto a clearly terrified Sam and Tilly. ‘They’ve just said they’re evacuating the prison! Came over the speakers . . .’

  ‘Do they come and get us?’ asked Jeffrey Blakely, his whole body shaking.

  Ant shrugged. ‘No idea. Didn’t know about it.’

  As most of level five moved to the railings to see what was happening, Ant and Mattie headed for the stairs.

  ‘Gina and Dan!’ said Mattie. ‘Let’s get them out next!’

  ‘We’re getting there!’ said Ant. ‘Let’s do level four while we’re here – Daisy will be going crazy.’

  Sure enough, the Raaths in 48 spilled out gratefully, crying and applauding. Ant and Mattie were enveloped in hugs and kisses.

  ‘I thought I was going to die in there!’ cried Daisy. ‘Mum was going seriously crazy!’ She pointed to Sarah Raath, who was weeping on Frail Mary’s shoulder. ‘What do we do now?’ She turned and looked expectantly at Ant – but Ant and Mattie had gone.

  As they reached the steps, the noise from below suddenly surged in volume. Ant and Mattie peered cautiously over the fourth-floor railings and it was Ant who exclaimed the loudest. Under a barrage of missiles, followed up by a fearsome array of knives and cudgels, the POs and police were losing to the rioting prisoners from Pentonville. As they watched, two more guards lost their footing and tumbled to the ground, and then Ant saw Treves and Campbell. Before she was spotted she dropped to the floor, pulling Mattie on top of her.

  ‘Who are they, Abi?’ he whispered.

  Ant could feel his body trembling and held him tight until he stopped. ‘Real bad guys from next door,’ she said. ‘From Pentonville.’

  ‘Do you know them?’

  ‘I recognize some of them.’

&n
bsp; ‘What do they want?’

  She inhaled deeply and, for the first time, smelled fire. Now she really was scared. ‘Revenge, Mattie. They want revenge. Revenge on the guards for being locked up, and revenge on strutters for everything else. But mainly they want me. Two of them chased me out of Pentonville—’

  ‘The ones who killed Brian?’ said Mattie with a sharp intake of breath.

  ‘Yes. I fooled them. I beat them. They lost to a strutter. And a strutter who’s a girl and a mutt. Doesn’t get much worse for them. So I think they want revenge.’ She felt Mattie’s sinewy arms tighten around her and they were still for a few moments.

  ‘We need to get Gina and Dan,’ he said.

  ‘Let’s look,’ Ant replied, and they both peered through the railings.

  Two lines of riot police or prison officers – in the melee it was impossible to tell the difference – had fallen back to the level’s entrance. Batons drawn, shields high, they were waiting for the next assault. They didn’t have to wait long.

  When the rioters spotted the released strutters on levels four and five, they surged forward. The line of POs and police had started to buckle when the roar of an engine made heads turn. A mobile water cannon careered into view. Compact and tank-like, it sent prisoners scattering. Two women fell under its wheels as they tried to flee. Then its two barrels swivelled, the vehicle trembled and water blasted into the rioters, knocking them down like skittles.

  The guards and police advanced, batons swinging, catching many of the stunned and soaked prisoners before they could pick themselves up.

  For a moment it looked as though the advantage had shifted to the POs, but then some of the rioters regrouped. While the water gushed left and right, enraged prisoners rushed the cannon. Momentarily unprotected, it was soon overwhelmed by screaming men and women. The barrels swung to and fro, but they hung on, jumping up and down on the turret, causing the whole vehicle to rock.

  Then petrol bombs started to rain down, sending out flames as they smashed. The water cannon stuttered, swerved and jolted as the driver tried to free it, but, blinded by smoke, he only succeeded in crashing into the ground-floor level, scattering guards as it went. It shook as the rioters renewed their attack.