The scaffolding ended abruptly and not as they expected, fifty yards from the outer wall – for it to finish at the wall would have been too much to expect – with another bundle of wire and with the access ladders removed, another security precaution.
‘Shit!’ Charlie heard the man in front of him exclaim.
Charlie drew up beside the man, gazing beyond the wire and through the now open end of the scaffolding tunnel even closer to freedom. ‘Ignore the wire,’ he said. He pushed at the canvas, which gave sufficiently for them to get between it, the scaffolding and the planking and use its protection to scramble, arms and legs wrapped round the tubing, downwards. They did not, however, go right to the ground because the scaffolding was erected at the very end on top of the flat roofs of some outbuildings. Unsure of what was below and apprehensive of the sound they might make they walked as carefully across the roof as they had earlier inched along the occupied corridor towards the library.
They were lucky. It was still an appalling breach of security and one which Charlie, in passing, guessed would be seized upon in the enquiry that was inevitable after their escape, but the ladders were laid, neatly one atop the other, beneath the protective parapet. But unsecured, by any chain or locking device. It was obvious, Charlie recognised, that the workers and the prison authorities imagined any danger to be from ladders stored in the yards and that because they were on inaccessible roofs the danger was minimal but it was still a lapse that would earn justifiable criticism.
At Sampson’s hand-gesturing sign language, they did not immediately try to move the ladders, instead creeping light-footed the full length of the roof on which they found themselves, reconnoitring for the best advantage. And they were lucky again. The building upon which they stood ran almost to the outer wall, only a narrow passageway separating the two. And what formed the roof of that was covered by a supporting structure and then mesh, once again to prevent any upward escape attempt, with no consideration of the advantage it created for someone from above. Without the elevation of the preventative mesh, one ladder length would have been insufficient to reach the top of the wall, but by carefully and quietly selecting the longest from the untethered pile, stepping delicately upon the mesh-support bars and not the mesh itself and using one of those same support bars as the centre base beneath the ladder, they were able to reach right to the very top, actually beneath the protruding spikes and use the ladder steps as footholds easily to manoeuvre over what was supposed to be an escape preventative. On top – once again – rather than below the spikes they actually provided a convenient platform upon which to crouch and stare over the outer rim, into the side street below. There were the regulated lights and there were lights, too, in several of the opposite houses, which Charlie presumed to be prison officer accommodation but the road itself was deserted.
‘Where’s the car?’ said Charlie, urgently.
‘We’re early.’
‘We’ll never be able to get the ladder over that metal lip,’ said Charlie gesturing behind him. ‘Too much risk of losing our grip and letting it fall back and wake up every bastard in the nick.’
‘We’ll have to jump,’ agreed Sampson. ‘Let ourselves down as far as possible from the edge and then drop the rest.’
Charlie looked down again, concentrating upon the distance this time. ‘Bloody long way,’ he said.
‘You got a better idea?’
After several moments, Charlie said, ‘No.’
‘You first.’
‘Why?’ protested Charlie.
‘Why not?’
It didn’t make any difference, Charlie supposed. He twisted over, on to his stomach, and wriggled himself backwards, so that first his feet and then gradually the rest of his body first stuck out and then hung over the edge. Charlie clung, at the very point of release and the plunge down to the unseen road beneath, frightened of letting go. And then he did, pushing himself out slightly at the moment of release, away from the rough wall, trying to keep himself loose and ready to roll at the first intimation of contact, as he had been taught during the physical survival courses. He’d never got it right, on the course, when he had been fitter and younger. The ground came sooner than he anticipated and he wasn’t able to roll properly, jarring sideways instead. The pain, as his ankle twisted, felt like someone thrusting a hot prod throughout the length of his leg.
‘Fuck!’ said Charlie. It didn’t do anything to ease the pain.
He supported himself against the wall, looking upwards to Sampson. There was the briefest outline against the night sky as the man came over the edge and then Charlie had an impression rather than saw him falling. Sampson landed as Charlie had intended to, a fluid, sideways movement at the moment he reached the ground, the classic parachute drop.
‘Fuck,’ said Charlie again, disappointed.
‘What’s the matter?’
‘Hurt my ankle.’
‘Just don’t become a burden. Or an obstruction,’ warned Sampson.
‘Get off my back,’ said Charlie. He wouldn’t let the antagonism interfere if they got to Moscow, because that would be stupid as well as unprofessional, but if it were at all possible Charlie determined that he was going to teach Sampson the sort of lesson that old ladies used to embroider on cloth and frame over bedheads, as reminding cliches.
The main road, where the main gate and the prison forecourt were, was to their right. Sampson moved off in the opposite direction, close against the wall now, wanting its black shadowed protection. Charlie followed, trying to control the limp as much as possible, the pain burning up through his leg at every step. He swore again, but mentally, not aloud, not wanting Sampson to know his difficulty. Just before they reached the end of the wall they were following, getting actually to the rear of the prison, a far-away clock began to strike and Sampson stopped, bringing Charlie to a halt, while he counted. It was a clock that chimed the quarter hours. They both counted three and Sampson said unnecessarily ‘Quarter to twelve.’
Charlie stood with his foot lifted slightly off the ground, like a lame animal, trying to ease the discomfort. ‘We can’t stay out here in the open, for fifteen minutes,’ he said.