like half of a ten-year sentence still hanging over his head in this country. He is in England at the moment, but we’ve only met personally once. Since then I’ve been working through an accommodation address.’
‘If you’re thinking of raising my case again with the Home Secretary, you’re wasting your time.’
‘I couldn’t agree more.’ Soames smiled slightly. ‘To be perfectly frank, Colum O’More was thinking of adopting more unorthodox means.’
‘Such as?’ Rogan said calmly.
‘Assisting you to leave without the Home Secretary’s permission.’
‘And what makes you think I could?’
‘A man called Pope,’ Soames said. ‘I believe he shared a cell with you for a year? He was released six months ago.’
‘I still have the stink of him in my nostrils,’ Rogan said contemptuously. ‘A cheap, two-a-penny tearaway. The worst kind. Was a peeler with the Metropolitan and got done for corruption. He’d sell his own sister on the streets if you made it worth his while.’
‘He tells an interesting story, Mr Rogan. He insists that in 1960 you were caught in the early hours of the morning outside the walls of this prison. That to this day the authorities have never been able to find out how you got out.’
‘He has a big mouth,’ Rogan said. ‘One day someone will be closing his eyes with pennies.’
‘Is it true?’ Soames said, and for the first time there was an urgency in his voice. ‘Have you a way out?’
‘And if I had?’
‘Then Colum O’More would be glad to see you.’
‘And how could that be managed?’
Soames leaned even closer. ‘You know the quarry and the hamlet between it and the river – Hexton?’
‘I’ve been working there for the past year.’
‘Below the quarry there’s an iron footbridge. On the other side of the river you’ll find a cottage. You can’t miss it. It’s completely isolated.’
‘Will Colum be there?’
‘No, Pope.’
‘Why him?’
‘He’s proved very useful. He’ll have clothes, a car, even an identity for you. You could be clear of the moor within half an hour.’
‘And where do I go?’
‘Pope will have full instructions. They’ll take you to Colum O’More. That’s as much as I can tell you.’
Rogan sat there, a slight frown knitting his forehead, considering the situation. He wasn’t happy about Pope, and Soames was a hollow man if ever he’d seen one, but was there really any choice? And if Colum O’More was behind the organization …
‘Well?’ Soames said.
Rogan nodded. ‘How soon can Pope be ready?’
‘He’s ready now. I’d heard you were a man who doesn’t like to let grass grow under your feet.’
‘It’s Thursday today,’ Rogan said. ‘Better make it Sunday.’
‘Any particular reason?’
‘It’s dark by six and we’re locked up for the night at half past in my wing. From then on there’s only one duty screw who works from the central hall checking blocks. If I’m not missed, and there’s no reason why I should be, they won’t find I’m gone till they turn out the cells at seven on Monday morning.’
‘Which sounds sensible.’ Soames hesitated and then said carefully. ‘You’re certain you can get out?’
‘Nothing’s certain in this life, Mr Soames, I’d have thought you’d have found that out for yourself by now.’
‘How right you are, Mr Rogan.’ Soames picked up his bowler hat and briefcase and pushed back his chair. ‘I don’t think there’s anything more to discuss. I’ll look forward to Monday’s newspaper with interest.’
‘So will I,’ Rogan said.
He stood there watching as Soames walked to the door and waited. A few moments later, the Principal Officer came for him and they went back into the corridor.
As they went back across the courtyard, he said, ‘Any joy?’
Rogan shrugged. ‘You know what these lawyers are like. Big with their promises and fees, but short on hope. I gave up counting my chickens a long time ago.’
‘The best way of looking at things and the most sensible.’
When they reached the top landing, the bell was sounding for the midday meal and when Rogan went back into his cell, Martin already had the plates ready on the small table. When the door closed, he waited for a moment, then looked at Rogan questioningly.
‘And what was all that about?’
For a moment, Rogan was going to tell him and then he remembered the old man’s words earlier. That in a place like this a man could only be pushed so far. He was right, of course. If Sean Rogan had learned one thing from the thirteen years of his life spent between four walls, it was that no one was ever completely dependable.
He shrugged. ‘Some friends of mine on the outside have clubbed together and dug up a lawyer. He wanted to meet me personally before trying the Home Secretary again.’
Martin’s face creased into the perpetual smile of hope of the long serving convict. ‘Hell, Irish, maybe things are looking up.’
‘You can always hope,’ Sean Rogan said and moved to the window.
It was still raining and a slight mist curled across the top of the hill beyond the walls where the quarry lay. If you listened carefully you could almost hear the river; dark, peat-stained, splashing over great boulders on its long run down to the sea.
Rain dashed against the window as Rogan peered into the darkness. After a while, he went to the door and stood listening, and from below the steel gate clanged hollowly as the Duty Officer closed it after him.
He turned and grinned tightly, his face shadowed in the dim light. ‘A hell of a night for it.’
Martin was lying on his bed reading a book, and he pushed himself up on one elbow. ‘For what?’
Rogan crouched beside him and said calmly, ‘I’m crashing out, Jigger. Whose side are you on?’
‘Why, yours, Irish, you don’t need to ask.’ The old man’s face was grey with excitement and he swung his legs to the floor. ‘What do you want me to do?’
‘Open
