Dark Side of the Street - Jack Higgins [17]
They stood there for a moment and then the gate opened smoothly and silently. They moved inside and it closed again.
"Impressed?" Atkinson demanded as Chavasse turned to examine it. "You're meant to be. It's operated electronically by remote control. The man who pressed the button is sitting in the control centre on the ground floor at the other end of the prison. He's one of a team of five who watch fifty-three television screens on a shift system twenty-four hours a day. You've been on view ever since we left the governor's office."
"Wonderful what you can do with science these days," Chavasse said.
"Nobody escapes from Fridaythorpe--just remember that," Atkinson said as they proceeded along the corridor. "Behave yourself and you'll get a square deal--try to act tough and you'll fall flat on your face."
He didn't seem to require an answer and Chavasse didn't attempt to give him one. They paused outside a door at the far end of the passage, Atkinson produced a key and unlocked it.
The cell was larger than Chavasse had anticipated. There were three small slit windows glazed with armour glass and in any case too small to admit a man. There was also a washbasin and a fixed toilet in one corner.
There was a single bed against each wall and Youngblood was lying on one of them reading a magazine. He looked at them in an almost casual fashion and didn't bother getting up.
"I've got a cell mate for you, Youngblood." Atkinson told him. "The governors afraid you might pass away on us one night without any warning. He'd like someone to be here just in case."
"Well, that's nice of the old bastard," Youngblood said. "I didn't know he cared."
"You just mind your bloody lip."
"Careful, Mr. Atkinson." Youngblood smiled. "There's a thin line of foam on the edge of your lips. You want to watch it."
Atkinson took one quick step towards him and Youngblood raised a hand. "I'm not a well man, remember."
"That's right, I was forgetting." Atkinson laughed gently. "You may be a big man in here, Youngblood, but from where I stand you look pretty damned small. I laugh myself sick every time I lock the door."
Something moved in Harry Youngblood's eyes and for a moment, the habitual mocking smile was erased and he looked capable of murder.
"That's better," Atkinson said. "That's much better," and he went outside, the door clanging behind him with a grim finality.
"Bastard!" Youngblood said and turned to examine Chavasse. "So you're Drummond? We've been expecting you for a week now."
"Word certainly gets around."
"That's the nick for you--we're all just one big happy family. You'll like it here--it's got everything. Central heating, air conditioning, television--all we needed was a bit of class and now we've got you."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Come off it--you were a Captain in the Engineers before they kicked you out. Sandhurst and all that. I read about it in the papers when you were up at the Bailey."
"I've read about you too."
Youngblood sat on the edge of the bed and lit a cigarette. "Where was that then?"
"A book called Great Crimes of the Century. Came out last year. There was a whole chapter devoted to the Peterfield Airport job. Written by a man called Tillotson."
"That clown," Youngblood said contemptuously. "He didn't get the half of it. Came to see me by special permission of the Home Office. I gave him all the griff--no reason not to now--but did he get it right? Gave all the credit for the planning to Ben Hoffa and he couldn't tell his arse from his elbow."
"It was your idea then?"
"That's it." Youngblood shrugged. "I needed Ben, I'm not denying that. He could fly a Dakota-- that was his main function."
"What about Saxon?"
"A good lad when he had someone to tell him what to do."
"Any idea where they are now?"
"Somewhere in the sun spending all that lovely lolly if they've any sense."
"You never know your luck," Chavasse said. "They might be making arrangements for you to join them right now."
Youngblood stared across