At that time in the morning?
Dont worry. No one really accepted that one. They had him on maximum security for a couple of years after that. When the Governor finally made things a little easier for him, Rogan told him that it didnt matter because he wasnt going to try again. He said that getting out was easy. It was getting anywhere without help once you were out that was difficult. I think he decided to sweat out his sentence and hope for remission.
Which is what hes just applied for?
Vanbrugh nodded. When the I.R.A. called off its border campaign in Ulster recently it just about went into liquidation. Most of its members serving sentences in English gaols have since been released. In fact the Home Office has been under considerable pressure to release them all.
And whats the answer on Rogan?
Theyre still frightened to death of him. Now Ive got to tell him hes still got five years to serve.
Why you, sir?
Vanbrugh shrugged. We worked together during the war. Since then, Ive arrested him on three separate occasions. You might say Im the Yards Rogan expert.
He walked to the window and stood looking out into the courtyard. Englands the only country in the civilized world that doesnt make special provision for political offenders, did you know that, Sergeant?
I hadnt really given it much thought, sir.
You should do, Sergeant. You should do.
The door opened and the Governor came in quickly. Theyre bringing him up now. He sat down behind his desk and grinned tightly. I really dont have much stomach for this one, Superintendent. Im glad youre here.
The door opened again and the Principal Officer came in. Hes here, sir.
The Governor nodded. Lets get it over with, then.
Outside, Drake stood beside the door waiting, and Rogan leaned against the wall, arms folded as he stared through the window at the end of the corridor.
Life was, on the whole, an act of faith. Hed read that somewhere once, but twenty years of hard living, of violence and the dark places had taught him to look only for the unexpected on the other side of each new hill.
Everyone in the place, including the screws, expected his pardon to go through. To Rogan, that was sufficient reason in itself for something to go wrong. When the door opened and the Principal Officer called him in, he was prepared for the worst.
The presence of Vanbrugh confirmed what was already apparent from the atmosphere in the office, and he stood in front of the desk, hands behind his back and looked out of the window over the Governors head. He noticed that the trees on the hill beyond the wall were stripped quite bare of leaves now and the untidy nests of the rookery were clearly exposed to view. He watched a rook flap lazily through the air from one tree to another and became aware that the Governor was speaking to him.
Weve had a communication from the Home Office, Rogan. Chief Superintendent Vanbrugh brought it down with him specially.
Rogan turned slightly to face Vanbrugh, and the big policeman got to his feet, suddenly awkward. Im sorry, Sean. Damned sorry.
Then theres nothing to be said, is there?
The hard shell with which he had surrounded himself was something they could not penetrate. In the heavy silence, the Governor glanced helplessly at Vanbrugh, then sighed.
I think youd better come in from the quarry for a while, Rogan.
Permanently, sir? Rogan said calmly.
The Governor swallowed hard. Well see how you go on.
Very well, sir.
Rogan turned and walked to the door without waiting for the Principal Officers order. He stood in the corridor, face expressionless, aware of the murmur of voices as the door closed behind him.
You can go now, Drake, the Principal Officer said, then turned to Rogan and said briskly, All right, Rogan.
They went downstairs and crossed the courtyard to one of the blocks. Rogan stood waiting for the door to be unlocked, aware from the expression on the Duty Officers face that he knew, which wasnt particularly surprising. Within another half hour every con, every screw in the place would know.
The prison had been constructed in the reform era of the nineteenth century on a system commonly found in Her Majestys prisons. Half a dozen three-tiered cell blocks radiated like the spokes of a wheel from a central hall which lifted a hundred feet into the gloom to an iron framed dome.
For reasons of safety each cell block was separated from the central hall by a curtain of steel mesh. The Principal Officer unlocked the gate into D block and motioned Rogan through.
They mounted an iron staircase to the top landing, boxed in with more steel mesh to prevent anyone who felt like it from taking a dive over the rail. His cell was at the far end of the landing and he paused, waiting for the Principal Officer to unlock the door.
As it opened, Rogan took a step forward and the Principal Officer said, Dont try anything silly. Youve everything to lose now.
Rogan swung round, his iron control snapping for a brief moment so that the man recoiled from the savage anger that blazed in the grey eyes. He slammed the door shut quickly, turning the key in the lock.
Rogan turned slowly. The cell was only six by ten with a small barred window, and a washbasin and fixed toilet had been added in an attempt at modernization. A single bed ran along each wall.
A man was lying on one of them reading a magazine. He looked about sixty-five, with very white hair, and eyes a vivid blue in a wrinkled humorous face.
Hello, Jigger, Rogan said.
In that single moment, the smile died on Jigger Martins face and he swung his legs to the floor. The bastards, he said. The lousy rotten bastards.
Rogan stood looking out through the small barred window and Martin produced a packet of cigarettes from beneath his mattress and offered him one. What are you going to do now, Irish?
Rogan blew out a cloud of smoke and laughed harshly. What do you think, boyo? What do you think?
As the gates closed behind them, Dwyer was conscious of a very real relief. It was as if a great weight had been lifted from him, and he took out his cigarettes.
He offered one to Vanbrugh who was driving, his face dark and sombre, but the big man shook his head. When they reached the crest of the hill, he braked, turned and looked down at the prison.
Dwyer said softly, What do you think hell do, sir?
Vanbrugh swung round, all his pent-up frustration and anger boiling out of him. For Gods sake, use your intelligence. You saw him, didnt you? Theres only one thing a man like that can do.
He moved into gear and drove away rapidly in a cloud of dust.
2
During most of September it had been warm and clear, but on the last day the weather broke. Clouds hung threateningly over the moor, rain dripped from the gutters and when Rogan went to the window, brown leaves drifted across the courtyard from the trees in the Governors garden.
Behind him Martin shuffled the cards on a small stool. Another hand, Irish?
Not worth it, Rogan said. Theyll be feeding us soon. He stood at the window, a slight frown on his face, his eyes following the roof line of the next block to the hospital beyond, and Martin joined him.
Can it be done, Irish?
Rogan nodded. It can be done all right. It took me just over two hours last time. He turned and looked down at Martin. Youll never make it, Jigger. Youd break your bloody neck halfway.
Martin grinned. What would I be wanting to crash out for? Nine months and I can spit in their eyes once and for all. My old womans got a nice little boarding house going in Eastbourne. They wont see me back here again.
I seem to have heard that one before, Rogan said. Can you still work that trick of yours on the door?
Always happy to oblige.
Martin took an ordinary spoon from his bedside locker and went to the door. He listened for a moment, then dropped to one knee.
The lock was covered by a steel plate perhaps six inches square, and he quickly forced the handle of the spoon between the edge of the plate and the jamb. He worked it around for several minutes and there was a slight click. He pulled and the door opened slightly.
Now thats one thing that always impresses me, Rogan said.
Theres thirty years hard graft there, Irish. The best screwsman in the business. Martin sighed. The trouble is I got so good they could always tell when it was me.
He pushed the door gently into place and worked the spoon round again. There was another slight click and he stood up.
There have been times in my life when I could have used you, Rogan said.
You dont want to start consorting with criminals at your age, Irish. Martin grinned. An old lags trick. Plenty of cons in this place could do as much. These old mortice deadlocks are a snip. One of these days theyll get wise and change them.
He went back to his bed, produced a packet of cigarettes and tossed one across to Rogan. Theres at least six other gates to pass through between here and the yard and most of them are guarded, remember. Itll take more than a spoon to get you out of this place.
Anything can be done if you put your mind to it, Rogan said. Come to the window and Ill show you.
Martin held up a hand quickly and shook his head. Nothing doing. What I dont know cant hurt you.
Rogan frowned. Youre no grass, Jigger.
The old man shrugged. We can all be pushed just so far in a place like this.
There was a rattle at the door and, turning quickly, Rogan was aware of an eye at the spyhole. The key turned in the lock and the Principal Officer came in.
Outside, Rogan. Someone wants to see you.
Rogan frowned. Who is it?
A bloke called Soames. Lawyer from London. Something to do with an appeal. Seems youve got friends working for you.
As he waited in the queue outside the visiting room, Rogan wondered about Soames, trying to decide what could be behind his visit. As far as he was aware, there was no chance of an appeal against the Home Secretarys decision for at least another year, and to his certain knowledge there was no one working for him on the outside. Since the Organization had gone into voluntary liquidation the previous year, hed become a dead letter to most people.
When his turn came, the Duty Officer took him in and sat him in a cubicle. Rogan waited impatiently, the conversation on either side a meaningless blur, and then the door opened and Soames came in.
He was small and dark with a neatly trimmed moustache and soft pink hands. He carried a bowler hat and briefcase and wore a neat pin-striped suit.
He sat down and smiled through the wire mesh. You wont know me, Mr Rogan. My names Soames Henry Soames.
So Ive been told, Rogan said. Who sent you?
Soames glanced each way to make sure that no individual conversation could be overheard in the general hubbub, then leaned close.
Colum OMore.
A vivid picture jumped into Rogans mind at once, one of those queer tricks that memory plays. He had just volunteered to go active as theyd called it in the Organization in those days, a callow, seventeen-year-old student. Theyd taken him to a house outside Dublin for the final important interview and had left him alone in a small room to wait. And then the door had opened and a giant of a man had entered, the mouth split in a wide grin as he laughed back over his shoulder at someone outside, wearing his strength and courage for all to see like a suit of armour. Colum OMore the Big Man.
Are you sure, avic? hed said to Rogan. You know what youre getting into?
Mother of God, who wouldnt be sure and face to face with such a man?
So Colum sent you? Rogan said.
Not directly. Soames smiled faintly. I believe theres something like half of a ten-year sentence still hanging over his head in this country. He is in England at the moment, but weve only met personally once. Since then Ive been working through an accommodation address.
If youre thinking of raising my case again with the Home Secretary, youre wasting your time.
I couldnt agree more. Soames smiled slightly. To be perfectly frank, Colum OMore was thinking of adopting more unorthodox means.
Such as? Rogan said calmly.
Assisting you to leave without the Home Secretarys 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. Hed 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 OMore 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?
Ive been working there for the past year.
Below the quarry theres an iron footbridge. On the other side of the river youll find a cottage. You cant miss it. Its completely isolated.
Will Colum be there?
No, Pope.
Why him?
Hes proved very useful. Hell 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. Theyll take you to Colum OMore. Thats as much as I can tell you.
Rogan sat there, a slight frown knitting his forehead, considering the situation. He wasnt happy about Pope, and Soames was a hollow man if ever hed seen one, but was there really any choice? And if Colum OMore was behind the organization
Well? Soames said.
Rogan nodded. How soon can Pope be ready?
Hes ready now. Id heard you were a man who doesnt like to let grass grow under your feet.