The Network

by Luke Delaney

  Chapter Three

  Two Days Later

  The heavy key turned in the ancient Victorian lock and allowed the prison officer to open the iron-barred door that led into the prison wing where the prisoners on Rule Forty-Three were all kept together, isolated from the main prison population for their own safety. Convicted prisoners and those on remand awaiting court hearings and trials mixed together freely here – the convicted in prison uniform, the remanded still allowed to wear their own clothes. ‘This luxury wing of the hotel’s for you, Cramer,’ the prison officer told him, oblivious to Sean’s true identity. Only the Prison Governor and Head Prison Officer knew about the operation. Sean was posing as a prisoner on remand awaiting trial for sexual assault on a boy under the age of fourteen. The thought of staying in this place for weeks made him feel sick and froze him to the floor. ‘Come on, Cramer,’ the officer barked, ‘I haven’t got all day.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Sean replied meekly and stepped into the inner sanctum of the prison carrying his supply of bedding and towels. The door was slammed shut and locked behind him.

  ‘This way,’ the officer told him, striding along the metal-grid walkway that circled the entire wing, leading to the first-floor cells and two separate staircases, both zig-zagging down to the ground floor where more cells surrounded the communal and dining areas. ‘Hurry-up Cramer. I told you, I haven’t got all day.’

  Sean increased his pace, following the officer to a cell that was little bigger than the ones he was used to locking prisoners in across various police stations around London.

  ‘Your new home,’ the officer told him with a grin, ‘and you get it all to yourself – lucky you. We’re not too busy in here at the moment so enjoy the privilege while it lasts. Now make up your bed and put your wash stuff away, and keep an eye on your body wash and deodorants – they’re valuable things in here.’ Sean said nothing, standing in the middle of the cell still holding his bedding and towels, a sense of claustrophobia creeping into his body and mind. ‘Right,’ the officer exclaimed loudly, ‘I’ll leave you to make yourself comfortable. Dinner’s at six, lock-up’s at eight, TV’s off by eleven or at least turned down so I can’t hear it.’ With that he spun on his heels and walked out, leaving Sean alone to study his cell. An uncomfortable-looking double-bunk was riveted to the lime-green wall on one side, and a fold-down desk on the other. A small white toilet and sink that looked like they belonged in a school not a prison filled the space in one corner. At least Wandsworth didn’t have the pleasure of morning slop-out anymore.

  Sean threw the bundle he was holding onto the bottom bunk and kicked the side of the bed. He closed his eyes and cursed himself for accepting the deployment – for allowing his ego to rule his better, humbler senses – the word hubris ringing loud in his head. ‘Shit,’ he whispered to himself, wondering what the point of being a cop was if he was going to live the rest of his life as a criminal would – deceiving all around them, locked up in prison.

  He moved to the sink and poured a little cold water into the basin, lowering his face into the coolness, holding his breath while he allowed his mind to calm, the sounds of the prison outside becoming magnified by the absence of other senses – taste, smell, sight. Only when his lungs felt like they were on fire did he pull his head up, scraping the water from his face with his fingers before snatching a small towel from the bunk and patting himself dry, wet strands of hair sticking to his brow. He carried the towel with him as he wandered from the cell out onto the walkway, scanning it for prison guards and prisoners alike, checking for faces he knew, despite Chopra’s assurances there wouldn’t be any. One or two other prisoners stood around looking over the barrier down onto the communal area below, but no one he recognized, so he moved forward and peered below, trying to become accustomed to the sights, sounds and smells of the cell block.

  As he looked over the balcony he saw about fifteen prisoners below, most in prisoners’ uniforms, but some like him, in their own clothes – those there on remand. He scanned them all, trying to see them in his peripheral vision instead of searching hard for them like a cop would. Some were watching TV, others reading newspapers and one group of five men sat at the central table playing cards. They behaved slightly differently from the others – a little louder and more at ease with their surroundings. Sitting in the middle of the group, saying less than the others, but somehow dominating them, was the man Sean was here to befriend – John Conway. Over six-foot-tall, slim and athletic looking with short blonde hair cut like Steve McQueen, his angular face gave him a harsh, threatening appearance.

  Sean forgot his training, forgot not to be seen searching the faces of the men around him. His head was flooded with the images Chopra had shown him of young boys and girls being systematically abused. The ugly nakedness of the men contrasted grotesquely with the beauty of the strange animal masks they wore – exquisitely handmade and painted, feathers streaming from the peacock mask, long thin horns rising from the gazelle, a real fur mane for the lion – all leaping and rejoicing as they did unspeakable things. But the thing that had disturbed Sean most had been the acceptance of the children. There was no crying, no pleading for the abuse to stop, just a cold, lifeless performance of the terrible tasks they’d been given, even when they were told to do things to each other. Their occasional smiles when the adults praised them made the scenes on the film all the more nightmarish – as if for the children this had become normal.

  Sean’s belly was a tight knot as he fought the desire to fly down the stairs and drag Conway to the nearest cell, gripping him by the back of the hair and drowning him in the small toilet. Conway lifted his head to look up directly at Sean and smiled – a small almost flirtatious smile, but threatening at the same time. Sean gave a slight nod and retreated back into his cell. He sat on the bottom bunk and listened to the sound of his heart punching inside his chest, fury and doubt a heady, intoxicating cocktail. Did Conway know something? And even if he didn’t, would Sean be able to control his anger or would he pour his bloody revenge onto Conway – the revenge his father had cheated him out of by choosing death instead? He closed his eyes and calmed his breathing, allowing the anger and hatred to sink back into the black water, a sense of who he was and what he was there to do returning. ‘Just get the job done, ‘he whispered to himself. ‘Just get the job done and get the fuck out of this hell-hole’. He inhaled deeply and lay down on the mattress, pushing Conway and his past from his mind and allowing thoughts of Kate in.

  ***

  Three uneventful days later and the prison block was almost beginning to feel normal for Sean – the daily routine of up at six-thirty, a shower for those who wanted one, breakfast, TV and games, lunch, TV and games, dinner, TV and games, lock-down. He’d spoken briefly with some of the other inmates – all of whom swore they were innocent of crimes that ranged from minor sexual assaults to sexually motivated murder. He’d let it be known that he stood accused of sexually assaulting a child, although he’d been deliberately sparing with the details and had of course proclaimed his innocence. He knew it would only be a matter of time before the more influential inmates came calling, eager to vicariously re-live his crimes for their own gratification. All he had to do was bide his time and keep teasing the other inmates with his secrecy. If he approached Conway directly he would almost certainly be treated with mistrust, and infiltration would be all but impossible.

  He’d walked from his cell to the shower area in his boxer-shorts, his towel over one shoulder and wash-bag in hand, trying to ignore the looks of admiration some of the inmates gave him. His slim, muscular body not the norm in the block reserved for those on Rule Forty-Three. Two other men were already in the shower as he removed his shorts and hung them and the towel on a peg provided. He was careful not to make eye contact with either of them for fear of provoking a reaction, and stepped into the hot water, washing himself as quickly as he could without appearing to rush, using his body-wash just as sparingly as the other inmates, closing his eyes to
rinse his face – a dangerous time for any prisoner, Rule Forty-Three or otherwise. When he opened them again the other two men in the shower had left, taking their towels and wash-bags with them before they’d had a chance to dry themselves. He sensed a presence behind him – watching him.

  He spun round instinctively, betraying his anxiety and fear, adrenalin suddenly pumping into his body. Through the slight steam of the shower room he could see a tall, slim figure moving towards him, fair, naked skin marking him out from the dark, clothed figures that hung back as the spectre came close enough to be recognized – John Conway, drifting closer and closer. Sean slowly turned his back to the nightmare vision to hide the terror in his eyes, caused not by any fear of Conway, but by the horror of what he might do when he felt the touch of Conway’s hand on his own body.

  The breathing too close behind him made him turn and try to head for the exit, but Conway’s hand gently pressed against Sean’s chest with just enough force to prevent his escape. Before he could think, his hand coiled around Conway’s wrist, ready to bend his arm up behind his back then take hold of Conway’s scalp and thrust his face repeatedly into the metal taps. Somehow he managed to stop himself, allowing his fingers to relax around the other man’s wrist.

  ‘Leaving so soon?’ Conway asked in an accent-less, soft, but seductive voice – the voice he used to reassure and persuade his young victims.

  ‘I’m all finished here,’ Sean told him, swallowing the bitterness in his mouth.

  ‘Are you sure?’ Conway persisted.

  ‘I’m sure.’

  ‘Shame,’ Conway snapped back, ‘because I’ve been watching you ever since you arrived and I could have sworn you’ve been watching me.’

  What did he know?

  ‘No,’ Sean lied. ‘It’s just that I know you. I know who you are.’

  ‘And I know who you are,’ Conway countered. ‘I make it my business to know everybody in this happy little holiday home of ours.’

  ‘Then who am I?’ Sean asked, heart racing, the sound of blood torrents deafening in his own head.

  ‘Don’t you know who you are?’ Conway asked with a smile. ‘You’re Justin Cramer, aren’t you?’

  ‘I am,’ Sean answered, staring hard into Conway’s eyes, looking for some sign Conway might know who he really was. But his eyes were like a shark’s – lifeless. They betrayed nothing. ‘And you’re John Conway.’

  ‘So you know my name,’ Conway said with a shrug. ‘Everybody in here knows who I am.’

  ‘But I know you from the outside,’ Sean continued, Conway’s hand still on his chest as his minders looked on through the steam, unable to hear their conversation above the sound of the shower. ‘I know you from The Network.’ He peeled Conway’s hand from his chest and waited for a reaction.

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Conway answered with a smile. ‘I’ve never heard of any Network.’

  ‘My Network key is The Unicorn – check it out, and when you come to my cell later, I’ll have something for you – to see you through for a while.’

  ‘And what would that be?’ Conway asked, his lips swelling with excitement, his eyes narrowing with suspicion, but also anticipation.

  ‘You’ll see,’ Sean promised as he pushed past him, Conway’s fingers curling around his bicep to stop him.

  ‘Are you sure you have to go? No one will disturb us.’

  ‘Let’s just say you’re a little older than my usual.’

  ‘Sometimes needs must.’

  ‘I haven’t been in here long enough for that,’ Sean explained, ‘and I don’t intend to be.’

  ‘Lucky you,’ Conway told him, releasing his arm. ‘I’ll see you later.’

  ‘You know where to find me,’ Sean reminded him, fighting the rising nausea sweeping through his body, ‘and I promise you – you won’t be disappointed.’

  ***

  Sean sat alone in his cell reading a copy of the Sun that had already been censored by the prison psychiatrist. All images that could be deemed to be stimulating to Rule Forty-Three Prisoners had been removed – pictures of children enjoying the sun wearing nothing but bikinis and swim-shorts, some even less. He looked at the pages, but read and saw nothing as he waited for Conway to take the bait. Having Conway make a play for him sexually hadn’t been part of the plan, but it could turn out to be useful – so long as Sean could handle it. Shortly after lunch a long shadow was cast into the cell. Sean turned his head towards Conway and faked a smile, trying to appear meek enough not to scare Conway off. Conway didn’t tolerate superiors or even equals.

  ‘Mind if I come in?’ Conway asked politely.

  ‘Be my guest.’ He entered slowly and sat on the bunk next to Sean, his eyes moving up and down Sean’s torso as he rested a hand on his shoulder. Sean shivered involuntarily and could only hope Conway hadn’t felt his tremor, or had misinterpreted it.

  ‘So,’ Conway asked, ‘what is it that you have for me?’

  ‘Well it’s not that,’ Sean answered. ‘Like I said, you’re a little too old for my tastes.’

  ‘A pity,’ Conway told him sliding his hand from Sean’s shoulder, ‘but if not that, then what?’ Sean began to look around himself, making it obvious to Conway he needed to be careful before he revealed whatever it was he valued so much. ‘No need to worry – my friends are watching out for us.’ Sean could sense the other men waiting outside the cell, watching for any approaching prison officers. ‘We’re quite safe.’ Without speaking Sean stood and crossed the cell, peeling back a poster of a computer game to reveal a white envelope blu-tacked to the wall underneath it. He snatched the envelope away and replaced the corner of the poster, walking back across the cell and sitting close to Conway, trying to act as he believed Justin Cramer would act, passing the envelope to Conway with a nervous grin. ‘And what’s this?’ Conway asked.

  ‘Take a look inside,’ Sean told him, blinking his eyes rapidly to feign excitement, tapping his foot repeatedly for the same effect. ‘You won’t be disappointed.’

  Conway opened the unsealed envelope and peeked inside. ‘Well, well. What do we have here?’ He pulled out the small stack of photographs and flicked through them like they were a deck of cards, showing no trace of emotion as he caught glimpses of the naked children – in the bath, on the beach, the swimming pool, getting ready for bed. ‘How did you get these?’

  ‘I have a friend who works for an online photo album company. People send their digital photographs to them and they…’

  ‘Make them into photo albums,’ Conway interrupted. ‘I know the sort of thing you mean. Keepsakes for happy families. Do you have a happy family waiting for you, Justin? When you get out of this stinking dungeon?’

  ‘No,’ Sean answered, ‘but you already knew that, didn’t you? You know everything.’

  ‘All I know about the Unicorn is that he is part of The Network and that his real name is Justin Cramer.’

  ‘Me,’ Sean lied.

  ‘Maybe,’ Conway told him, sending more electrical shivers down his spine, ‘but as I have never met The Unicorn in person, then I can’t be sure who he really is, can I?’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Sean told him trying to look confused.

  ‘Don’t you?’ Conway asked quickly, searching deep into Sean’s eyes, his own pupils vibrating as they looked for signs of betrayal.

  ‘You’re confusing me,’ Sean lied again.

  ‘Am I?’ Conway asked, resting a hand on Sean’s thigh, ‘then I’m sorry, but all will become clear in time.’ What did he know? What did he know? ‘But for now you’ll need to find a better place to keep these.’ He slid the photographs back into the envelope and tapped them with his finger. ‘If your cell gets searched it won’t take long to find them, which I don’t suppose would help your court case, would it?’

  ‘I want you to have them,’ Sean told him.

  ‘These are a valuable commodity in here, Justin. What do you want in return?’

  ‘Nothing,�
� Sean answered, forcing himself to be patient, suppressing his cop instincts to drive for the truth and evidence to convict. Conway had to come to him. ‘Not yet.’

  Conway stood and eyed him with suspicion. ‘You don’t smoke do you?’

  ‘No,’ Sean answered. Conway pulled an unopened packet of rolling tobacco from his pocket and tossed into Sean’s lap.

  ‘That’s worth a lot of credit in here,’ he explained. ‘If you don’t smoke, all the better. You can swap it for phone-cards, toiletries, pretty much anything.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Conway waved the envelope at him. ‘No, Justin – thank you.’ He gave one last smile and floated from the cell, his minders falling in line behind him.

  Sean slumped back on the bunk. The brief meeting had left him feeling physically and mentally exhausted. ‘Jesus Christ. What the fuck am I doing here?’

  Chapter Four

  Two Weeks Later

  Sean walked beside Conway while two minders guarded his front and two more his back. The sad column of Rule Forty-Three prisoners shuffled towards the door that led to a holding-pen from which they could make their way into the small exercise yard beyond. Three prison guards accompanied them, their brief to ensure none of the main prison population could get to the men who needed special protection – the rapists and sex offenders, the informants and disgraced ex-cops, although Sean was thankful there were none of those amongst them today. Over the last two weeks Conway had grown increasingly friendly towards him, but more in the way someone might become gradually more affectionate to the stray dog he’d planned on taking in only temporarily than man-to-man, human-to-human, and each time Sean tried to bring up the subject of The Network, no matter how subtly, Conway moved the conversation on. He constantly reminded himself of the need to remain patient and not panic and move too fast. Conway could be and probably was testing him out – seeing how long he remained in prison, no doubt sure that if he was a cop he would have only stayed for a few days – a quick-fire undercover operation looking for fast, cheap information, not as it was now, almost three weeks. Conway was beginning to relax – a little – allowing Sean to inch closer and closer to the core of The Network, but the time living as a prisoner amongst paedophiles and sex offenders was beginning to take its toll, his isolation from the real world dragging him further and further into a melancholy depression. At least most of the other prisoners around him seemed equally solemn – except Conway.