Captives

EIGHTY-SEVEN

Scott was waiting when the cell door was opened. He dutifully followed the two warders, walking briskly between them, his eyes occasionally straying to right or left as he heard voices behind the thick steel of the doors.

The trio marched along one of the catwalks around landing C and descended the iron steps carefully.

It felt good to be able to move about again after the cramped conditions of solitary. As the three men reached the exercise yard, Scott sucked in deep breaths of air. The sky above was the colour of wet concrete but he didn't care. Anything was better than the cold, insipid yellow walls of his cell.

Life.

He sucked in another lungful of air, remembering his conversation with Nicholson.

Risks. What kind of risks?

He didn't care. There was a chance of escape, perhaps.

A chance to get away from this place. To return to London.

To Plummer.

To Carol.

He marched faster as they drew near the hospital wing. Despite himself, Scott felt a shiver of fear run along his spine.

Was the means of release within that gaunt edifice? And, if so, what form did it take?

Release.

He clung to the word like a dying man clings to life.

The trio entered the building, Scott recoiling from the pungent odour of disinfectant. He was led down a long corridor. At an office door one of his escort knocked and was told to enter.

Scott waited, glancing at the other warder. He remained impassive. Finally Scott was ushered in, the first warder hesitating inside the door.

'You can leave,' said Dr Robert Dexter.

'He's dangerous,' the warder insisted.

'Wait outside,' Dexter said, and the uniformed man left reluctantly. He waited until the door was closed, then motioned for Scott to be seated.

'Do you know who I am?' Dexter asked.

'Should I?' Scott enquired.

Dexter smiled thinly.

'No, I suppose not.' He introduced himself quickly. 'And you are James Scott.' He had a file open before him. 'A convicted murderer.'

'I didn't kill those men…' Scott began.

'That's as maybe, but as far as the law is concerned you're guilty. You're going to spend the rest of your life inside.'

Life.

Dexter looked at the file, even though he already knew the contents well enough.

'You lived alone; you have no family. No wife. No children,' he said quietly. 'No one.'

Scott regarded him coldly.

'Nobody to miss you,' Dexter continued.

'Try telling me something I don't know,' Scott snapped. 'You seem to know such a lot about me. Who the hell are you? A doctor? Big deal. What's that got to do with me?'

'More than a doctor, Scott. A surgeon. I specialise in disorders of the mind. God alone knows there are enough in this place.' He smiled thinly, but it faded quickly.

'I still don't understand what this has got to do with me,' Scott told him. 'I couldn't give a fuck if you're a brain surgeon or a gynaecologist. Perhaps you'd be better off if you were. There are plenty of cunts in here, most of them wearing uniforms. Why should it matter to me?'

'The same way it mattered to the five men before you. Four of them were released from here. Four convicted murderers, like you, allowed back into society. Most had only served a year or two of their sentence.'

Scott sat forward.

'They were just like you,' Dexter continued. 'Alone. They had no one. That's why we chose them. The same way we've chosen you. They knew of the risks and they accepted them.'

'Nicholson said something about risks. What did he mean?' Scott wanted to know.

'The operation always carries a risk…'

'What fucking operation?' Scott snapped.

'The insertion, into the forebrain, of a tiny electronic device. Once it's placed there, after a few months you'll be released.'

Scott sucked in a deep breath. His mouth felt dry, and when he tried to lick his lips he found that his tongue was also as dry as parchment.

'No one except the Governor, myself and my immediate staff know about this. It's up to you whether or not you decide to go through with the operation, but think about the possibility. Release.'

'What about the law? They'll know I'm gone, that I've escaped.'

'But you won't have escaped, you'll have been released. And there'll be no police interference. All the arrangements will be taken care of here.'

Scott stroked his chin thoughtfully.

'You said you experimented on five men, but you said four were released. What happened to the other one?'

'He died. There were complications, the risks that Nicholson mentioned.'

'What happened to him?'

'A massive brain tumour developed where the device was implanted. There was nothing I could do to save him, but he'd known about the possibility of failure from the beginning. It was a chance he was willing to take.' Dexter eyed the other man coldly. 'Are you willing to take that chance, Scott? Six months at the most and you'll be able to leave here. Six months. Not life.'

Life.

'If I agree, how soon can you operate?' he wanted to know.

'Tomorrow.'

Six months, Scott thought. Six fucking months and then out. Back to London. Back to Plummer.

Back to Carol. The bitch.

Six months.

Fuck it. He wouldn't wait that long.

He looked directly at Dexter, his eyes unblinking, his voice even.

'Do it,' he said quietly.