The Big Breach - Index of

The Big Breach; From Top Secret to Maximum SecurityCompliments of http://www.192.comof troublesome prisoners, chuckled in agreement. `Fuckin' madness. Butlook on the bright side, at least you'll be able to add another chapterto your book when you get out ...'A glance at a wall clock showed that I finally cleared reception atabout 1830. Clutching a black bin liner containing the few possessionsI'd been allowed to keep, I followed two screws down a long corridor.Judging by the smell of stale cabbages that reminded me of the kitchensat Barnard Castle School, I guessed that they were taking me to thedining area to get something to eat. `Get yourself some scoff in there,Basildon,' the screw ordered, indicating a dining-room filled withtables and benches. About ten other prisoners were already eating frommetal trays. There was silence, apart from the occasional gruntedrequest for the plastic salt cellar or for left-over food. I queued upfor my rice, beef stew and buttered white bread, and sat down with mymetal tray on my own. Like the other prisoners, I felt subdued andunsociable and ate in silence. The Italian, still with his Gazzetto,was staring quizzically at his tray of uneaten food. Next to him aNigerian, immaculately dressed in a brand new suit, read from hisbible, his lips moving to the words. In the corner was a distinguishedlookingand smartly dressed guy, perhaps in his late 60s, who judgingby the anger written on his face had been given a sentence with whichhe sharply disagreed.Nearest to me was the heroin junkie who had been doing cold-turkey inmy holding-pen. He smiled weakly at me. `Have you got a fag?' he beggedin a hoarse whisper.`Sorry, I don't smoke,' I replied quietly, not wanting to disturb thesilence.`Lucky bastard,' he replied. `You're far better off in jail if youdon't smoke. And even better off if you don't do drugs.' His chuckle athis self-deprecation was cut short by a spasm and for a moment Ithought he was going to throw up.`Tomlinson, come here,' the tattoed officer who had first christened me`Basildon' barked from the exit door. I stood up and made my way tohim, leaving my tray on the table. `All right, Basildon, you've beenput on the book, so we have to cuff you to take you down the wing.'Expertly, he grabbed my wrist, handcuffing me to his own wrist, andanother burly, bearded screw did the same with the other wrist. As theyconveyed me out into the damp air of a foggy London evening for theshort walk to the neighbouring block, I wanted to ask what `the book'was, but decided to play the grey man and kept quiet. As we passed 20-foot wire fences topped with barbed wire, illuminated by the depressingyellow of sodium strip lighting, the guards must have guessed mythoughts. `Sorry about this, Basildon, but we `ave to do it, you're onthe book, you see. Do you know what that means?'`No ...' I replied, guessing it was something bad.`Well it means the Governor's decided that you're a Category Aprisoner, as opposed to a B, a C or a D, and that means that you are ahighly dangerous threat to the state. It's a bit ridiculous making abloke like you an A-cat, if you ask me,' the tattoo explained.page- 170 - To purchase the original limited edition hardback version of this bookplease call 08000 192 192 or go to http://www.192.com