Dark Side of the Street - Jack Higgins [26]
There was a knock on the door and when Carter opened it, a male nurse came in pushing a trolley. He served them with scrambled eggs, toast and tea, and went out again.
Chavasse took his time over the meal, watching Youngblood intently. He showed little desire for conversation and ate slowly, apparently still weak and yet there was a slight air of tension about him and he kept glancing at the electric clock on the wall.
When they had both finished, Carter took the trays and put them back on the trolley which the nurse had left by the door.
"What about a smoke, Mr. Carter?" Youngblood said.
Carter looked dubious. "I'm not sure that's such a good idea."
"Just one--that's hardly likely to kill us."
"I suppose not."
He gave them a cigarette each and a light and went back to his magazine. It was just five minutes to nine and to Chavasse the atmosphere seemed to crackle with electricity. Youngblood lay back against the pillow, staring up at the ceiling, the cigarette held loosely between the fingers of his left hand--a hand that shook slightly each time he raised it to his mouth, betraying his inner tension.
As the second hand swept round towards nine he crushed his cigarette into the ashtray on the bedside locker and looked across at Chavasse.
"I'd like to say thanks while I still have the chance for what you did up there in the machine shop. First Brady and then the other thing."
"That's okay."
"I wish there was something I could do for you--I don't like being in debt to anyone--but there isn't. Whatever happens, I want you to get that straight."
"What in the hell are you talking about?"
Before Youngblood could reply, there was a knock on the door. Carter opened it on the chain and Chavasse heard a pleasant cultured voice, "Dr. Mackenzie--just making my rounds."
The man who stepped into the room wore the conventional white coat of the staff doctor and a stethoscope dangled from one pocket like a badge of office. He had a pale, aristocratic face and a fixed smile.
To the average person he might have seemed a slightly effeminate rather upper-class young man, but not to Chavasse who knew a real pro when he saw one.
"How are things then?" he said pleasantly and as Carter turned to lock the door, took a .38 automatic from one pocket and delivered a stunning blow to the base of the prison officer's skull.
Carter groaned and fell heavily to the floor. There was a cry of anger and the second prison officer, who had been sleeping on one of the spare beds, flung himself forward and landed squarely on Mackenzie's back before he could turn. He lurched into the wall, the gun flying from his hand to skid across the polished floor.
They went down together, Mackenzie underneath and then Youngblood arrived on the run. He grabbed the prison officer by the collar and pulled him off with a tremendous heave, swinging the man round, driving his clenched fist into his stomach. The prison officer doubled over and Youngblood's knee lifted him back against the wall. He slid to the ground and Mackenzie moved in fast and kicked him expertly in the side of the head.
"Almost fouled things up for us didn't he, old man?" he said to Youngblood as they stood over the two prison officers breathing heavily.
"A remarkable recovery, Harry," Chavasse said. "I must say you put in quite a performance back there in the machine shop."
He was standing three or four yards away, one hand behind his back as Youngblood turned to face him. "That was genuine enough, thanks to a drug called Mabofine. All the symptoms, but none of the after-effects."
"It must have taken quite some planning."
"A fascinating exchange," Mackenzie interrupted, "but I'm sure you won't mind if we postpone it and get to hell out of here."
"That suits me just fine," Chavasse said.
Mackenzie smiled patiently. "I'm afraid you'll have to sit this one out, old man. We've only catered for one."
"That's right, Drum," Youngblood said. "Fare paying passengers only this