by David Carter
“Don’t worry, when I’m free I’ll make sure you’re connected to the outside world.” He pulled Blaze in and embraced him tightly.
“Thanks. Oh, and one more thing–” Blaze said.
“Yes?
Blaze reached for the shiv in his pocket—and with one almighty blow—drove it deep into the side of Cyrus’ neck. Cyrus dropped to his knees, choking, desperately trying to dislodge the blade wedged horizontally through his oesophagus. But it was no use. His fingers grew weak as the seconds ticked by; the constant stream of blood made the shiv’s handle impossible to grip. As his eyes flickered shut, Blaze whispered in his ear, “In case you hadn’t already guessed: I’m the turncoat, motherfucker.”
Chapter 53
Blaze high-tailed it towards the elevator down to the ground-floor. It was now or never if he was going to escape. It had all come together nicely thus far: gaining Mickey’s uniform and security card had made it easy to hide in plain sight. It was no wonder he’d been able to start the riot and take a hostage without any trouble; the staffing levels in The Tombs were dire. He encountered only one other officer on his way to freedom.
He figured getting through security should be a cake walk. Every prison he’d ever known worked on the premise that once a person had been searched and scanned on their way in, they simply walked out without so much as a second glance. This is what Blaze hoped would be the case as he casually strode around the bag scanner and past the reception desk. The guard on security didn’t flinch. He even tipped his cap and wished Blaze a pleasant evening. Blaze couldn’t believe how simple it had been. A uniform, security pass, and a bucket load of arrogance had worked its magic.
“Excuse me, sir, stop! Where do you think you are going?” Beatrice called out from behind her desk.
“Something the matter, ma’am?” Blaze replied with minimal eye contact.
“Well, yes: you forgot to sign out, silly.” She gave him a friendly smile,
“Sorry, first day on the job.” Blaze said. “Got transferred after the riot broke out. Must have slipped my mind.”
“That’s okay, just remember to sign in and out when you come and go, all right?.”
“Sure, no problem.”
Blaze smirked as he signed his name: Mickey Mouse, then carried on his merry way. Beatrice watched him step through the self-opening doors and walk outside, which was when she noticed the shoes he was wearing: black, standard-issue Manhattan Detention Complex canvas slip-ons. The only reason she hadn’t noticed them before was because all the guards wore black boots with long trousers. Unfortunately for Blaze, Mickey’s boots were too small for him. Beatrice quickly glanced at the register. She saw the name Blaze had signed and frantically pressed the emergency button. “Attempted escape!” she yelled. “Lock it down!”
Sirens and alarms went off throughout the entire complex. Every cell door and gate automatically locked shut. An armada of guards wielding rifles and batons chased after Blaze. He’d heard the sirens blaring and was high-tailing it down the street. Armoured vehicles and police units tore after him. He desperately ran for his life.
Blaze stuck to the alleyways in the hopes he would outrun the ever-growing chase party. But the guards were hot on his tail. He stopped dead in his tracks as two guards entered the alley from the opposite direction he was running. He turned around to go back the way he’d come, but at that moment, a police cruiser full of armed men screeched into the opening, blocking his path.
Trapped.
Blaze looked up and saw a fire escape ladder just out of his reach. He jumped for all he was worth and latched onto the bottom rung. Using his powerful upper-body strength, he heaved himself up and clambered up the ladder. He scrambled up the equivalent of five flights of stairs until he heard bullets firing. They pinged off the steel railing in all directions. “Shit!” he exclaimed as a chunk of brick exploded in his face as a bullet drove into the wall of the run-down apartment building. He quickly wiped his eyes clear of dust and tiny fragments. No blood. A lucky break.
Blaze dived off the ladder onto a platform outside of a fire exit door. He tried the handle. It was locked from the inside. “Fuck!”
He frantically looked around in search of an escape. Guards started climbing the ladder beneath him. At least the bullets have stopped for the moment, he thought.
He spotted an ancient clay pot with the withered remains of whatever had once flourished inside of it beneath the window of one of the building’s apartments. With the guards only two flights away from his perch he had no other alternative.
Blaze flung the pot through the window.
CRASH!
Shards of glass crashed in all directions. He dived through the hole in the window and landed in a child’s bedroom. There were teddy bears and various toys strewn across the floor. He headed straight for the hallway and through the kitchen. Fortunately no one was home. He heard the sound of breaking glass from the bedroom as the chasers cleared the remaining fragments from around the window frame. They were right on his tail.
Blaze made a desperate dash for the front door, but stopped as he saw a ball of twine sitting in a basket of miscellaneous items on the kitchen counter. He quickly swiped it and made his exit.
Blaze tied the loose end of twine around the apartment’s door knob, then uncoiled enough length until it reached the door on the opposite side of the hallway. No sooner had he tightly tied it off that he heard shouts of frustration emanating from the chasing guards as they tried in vain to kick the door down.
That should put some distance between us, he thought.
He stood at the top of the stairwell and listened for signs of trouble. It seemed safe; his options were few and far between.
He bolted down the stairs, three at a time, until he came to the ground floor. He noticed a further flight of stairs down to the building’s service entrance. He was about to make his way down till he heard voices coming up from the stairwell. He scuttled through into the foyer to make a break for it out the building’s front entrance, but he saw an army of guards heading straight down the pavement in his direction.
Shit! Can’t go back up, can’t go down either!
Then Blaze saw his one and only hope of escape. He had to act fast. He raced towards the sign on the door in the hallway that read: GARBAGE CHUTE.
He closed the door behind him and dived headfirst down the dirty, foul-smelling hole in the wall.
THUD!
Blaze landed head-first in a rubbish skip full of decomposing shit. His hand lay in an open nappy containing an explosive mess from its former occupant. The vile mess was a mere afterthought as he rapidly dived beneath the surface after hearing voices travelling in his direction. Blaze suppressed the ever-increasing urge to vomit as a plastic shopping bag full of liquified meat trickled down his neck and under his shirt collar. The noxious smell tortured his senses; he remained as silent as a church mouse.
Finally the voices faded. After what seemed an age, Blaze tentatively crawled out from his hideaway. He brushed a rotting banana peel from his shirt and jumped out of the skip.
WHACK!
Blaze crumbled at the knees. The menacing grin of the warden burned into his eyes as he ruthlessly blindsided him with his baton.
WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!
Blaze lay face down on the ground. “So you thought you could outsmart me, eh?” The warden cackled. “Well, I’ll give you ten out of ten for trying. I must say, that was quite the escape attempt you pulled off.”
Blaze launched himself up to take a swing at the warden. He backed off as the warden pulled a pistol on him. “Don’t even think about it,” he said curtly. “Get down on your knees and cuff yourself.” He tossed a set of cuffs at Blaze’s feet.
“Fucking make me,” Blaze refused.
The warden snapped his fingers and the room filled with a mob of angry prison guards. They all took aim at Blaze with their rifles. He had no choice but to concede defeat.
“Enjoy the rest of your life in solitar
y,” the warden snickered as the guards roughly pinned Blaze down and cuffed him behind his back, while enjoying a few cheap shots with their batons before marching him up the stairs towards the armoured vehicle waiting at the kerb.
Chapter 54
“I’ve got good news and bad news,” Commissioner Marshall said to Hampton after he’d answered his cell phone.
“I’m listening,” Hampton replied.
“We managed to get a location on where the missing video footage had been transferred to.”
“Had been transferred to?” Hampton queried.
“Yes, unfortunately whoever stole the footage truly doesn’t want it to see the light of day. It’s gone.”
“What do you mean, gone?”
“Erased, destroyed, wiped from the face of the Earth. We’ll never know for sure who committed the murders unless we get a confession.”
Hampton was disheartened. “So where does that leave us, then?”
“Well, I did say there was good news: we have the location of where the footage was accessed and stored before its deletion. And it seems your theory was correct: whoever stole the footage accessed it from a secure terminal from inside Government House in Brighton.”
“What! Are you sure?”
“One-hundred percent positive.”
“Well, then surely we can get a time stamp of when the system was hacked into and the video footage downloaded—meaning I can check the security logs and tapes at Government House?”
“I’m sending you those details right now.”
Hampton’s phone beeped as the message came through to his inbox.
“So how would you like me to proceed?” Hampton asked.
“We need to be careful, Steve. If you go poking your nose around in the wrong place you might just get it stuck in a whole heap of trouble. Because as you said, we’re potentially dealing with a big fish here.”
“You still haven’t answered my question...”
“Well, if you’d let me finish, I’ll explain what I’d like you to do.”
Hampton patiently waited for the commissioner to reveal his plan.
“To me it’s plain and simple: we know that whoever stole the footage of the bikers’ murders in Brighton Penitentiary accessed it via a terminal inside Government House. And I know for certain that every square inch of Government House is covered by video surveillance, which means that whoever this Jackal character is would be visible on the camera above the terminal used at the time the footage was stolen—assuming he hasn’t found and deleted that footage, too.”
“So you want me to go recover video surveillance? That seems easy enough. I’ll arrange a warrant and start viewing the tapes right away.”
The commissioner sighed heavily. “Unfortunately it’s not as simple as that, Steve. You know that Government House is our country’s nerve-centre for politicians within New Zealand’s governing body. If you walk in there with a search warrant you’re only going to start a shitstorm of panic and confusion—not to mention unwanted media attention. Besides, you’d need a court order, and we don’t want to alert the Jackal that we’re on to him. He might not have considered that he’s on camera while hacking into Brighton Penitentiary security footage. And even if he did know, he’ll be thinking he’s safe with the passcode he used to cover his tracks.”
“So if I don’t get a warrant, how can I possibly gain access to the footage?”
The commissioner lowered his voice. “How would you and your lady friend fancy a tour of Government House tomorrow morning?
“I beg your pardon?”
“You and Elizabeth—drive up to Brighton and have a slap-up breakfast followed by a tour of Government House, on me.”
“I’m sorry, sir, I don’t follow.”
“Okay, it’s like this: twice daily, there are tours of Government House available to members of the public. And I happen to know that the tours take people within one floor of the video surveillance room, where you should be able to find and copy the footage of the terminal the Jackal used.”
“Wouldn’t it be simpler for you to just walk in and view the footage? Surely a man in your position can arrange that?”
“Perhaps. But if I’m present at Government House, I’ll be there shaking hands and sitting in mind-numbing meeting and debates for all hours. I’m the police commissioner for God’s sake. I can’t just get away unnoticed. And I’m not scheduled for any upcoming events at the present. So to avoid any unwanted attention, you should slip away from the tour group—say you need to go to the bathroom or something—and make your way to the surveillance room. Simply find and make a copy of the footage, and tuck it away inside your jacket before you walk right on out of there. It’s simplicity itself.”
“Isn’t that kind of breaking the law?” Hampton whispered. “Last time I checked, stealing surveillance footage from a government facility was a felony.”
The commissioner was taken aback. “Well—er–” he stammered.
“Because now you’re talking like Detective Ryan, thinking outside of the square in order to attain your objective, even if in the eyes of the law it’s technically wrong. Are you sure you want to lower your standards to his? After all that is why you’re punishing him, is it not? And don’t forget you’re in this whole mess with the Jackal because you failed to report the threats made against you—resulting in a primary school bombing!”
The commissioner saw red. “You just find me that video footage! You hear me, Steve?” he replied curtly.
“Yes, commissioner.” Hampton gulped. He knew he’d crossed the line with his outburst: speaking the cold, hard truth.
Commissioner Marshall felt guilty as Hampton clicked off the call. He knew Hampton was right. Staying within the boundaries of the law wasn’t always possible. Perhaps he’d been too hasty in sending Ryan on what was likely a wild goose chase across the sea. Maybe even Blaze wasn’t as guilty as he’d first thought. He clicked off the call and decided to deal with those issues later. Right now he had to find the Jackal, before any further tragedies happened on his watch.
Chapter 55
The new guard in charge of the solitary wing inside The Tombs took great delight in heaving Blaze back into his cell. “In you go, asshole; sweet dreams,” he chuckled as Blaze’s face slammed into the unforgiving floor.
Blaze had abandoned all hope of breaking out. He didn’t know why Doyle had left him for dead, and after the recent deaths in his life, his mental fortitude had finally cracked. The warden had made damn sure the shiv and rope Blaze had used to kill Mickey and Cyrus were returned to his cell. The game of wits had barely had a chance to play out because of Mickey’s ineptitude. And now the warden had four more deaths on his books. But it was of no concern. The new guard in charge of the solitary wing wasn’t the sick-minded individual Mickey was. He abided by the law. He never bent the rules. He could count on the new guard to follow procedure to the letter: no favours for inmates.
Blaze didn’t move from his sprawled out position on the floor for hours. He still smelt like rotting shit. The smell of decaying meat juice constantly gnawed at his nostrils. For the first time in his life he felt weak; too numb to contemplate his next move. His life was over. There was no hope for him now. The warden’s shiv started gaining appeal. Now he understood the game. The warden had initially underestimated the lengths Blaze would go to in order to free himself. And he had almost succeeded. The warden couldn’t believe the mess Blaze had made of the solitary wing whilst unattended. He knew he was dealing with your smarter-than-average thug. He thought the way Blaze had accessed the kitchen and burned Joey Jackson alive was most ingenious. What disturbed him more was how vengeful Blaze was. He could have just stabbed Joey to death or beaten him to a pulp. But no, he’d sprinkled that touch of finesse to his kill. He almost thought it was a shame Blaze had to die. He was a class above the rest of human shit rotting inside The Tombs.
It was this train of thought that led the warden to showing his admiration for Blaze wi
th a rare act of kindness.
After the discovery of Mickey’s body in Blaze’s cell, the warden had ordered his cell to be cleaned and cleared of any items, including the pack of cigarettes Doyle had sent him. But the warden felt Blaze deserved one last drag before calling time on his tenure.
The warden marched down the corridor to Blaze’s cell and ordered the door to be opened.
“You sure you want to be left alone with that maniac?” the guard asked.
“He’ll be on his best behaviour, won’t he?” The warden held up the packet of Camels for Blaze to see.
“Sure, whatever,” Blaze said glumly. He had no fight left in him.
The door closed and the warden paced the room. “I’ve given it some thought, and I wanted you to have this parting gift, as a gesture of good faith that you’ll do the right thing, and by that I mean–”
“Slitting my fucking wrists, right?” Blaze interrupted.
“Your words, not mine,” the warden replied. “You have shown that my prison is run like a child’s playground, and that serious changes need to be made. And it’s because of you that my funding for more guards and better pay and conditions for my staff has been approved in an effort to keep the shenanigans like what you’ve pulled to a bare minimum.”
“Well, fucking hooray for you.”
The warden tossed Blaze the cigarettes and a box of matches. “I’d like to say it’s been a pleasure to have made your acquaintance. But to be honest, you’ve been a giant pain in my proverbial ass.”
Blaze sniggered while lighting a cigarette.
“And what’s so funny about that?”
“Nothing. It’s just that someone else said that to me once; the governor of the last prison I graced my presence with.”
“Oh, really? And how did that turn out?”
Blaze exhaled his lungful of smoke. “Same as you: made threats, tried to kill me off...”