one side of the cell was a steel slab fixed to the wall. Newman pointed to it as she worked her camera.
'That's the bed. Imagine trying to sleep on it. No sign of mattresses. Not quite like the British police accommodation.'
'What are those shower-like objects in the roof?' Paula asked as she continued photographing.
'If they don't like the prisoner they turn on the water and you're soaked. I checked the system. First cold water, then very hot, scalding probably.'
'It's inhuman.'
'Wait till you see the punishment chamber.'
She counted fifty cells on one side as Newman led her towards the end. So fifty on the other side. This cramped hell accommodated one hundred prisoners. Near the end Newman opened a larger steel door. She peered into a much bigger cell. Newman beckoned to her to come inside.
A steel floor sloped on all four sides towards a central drain. She gazed at hooks let into the walls about seven feet above the floor. Hanging from one wall were six cat-o'-nine tail whips, a sharp needle at the tip of each tail. She spoke as she used the camera.
'What are those for?'
'To whip aggressive prisoners into submission. Their bodies will be slashed and dripping blood. Hence the drain to take it away. Nice people, the hoped-for State Security mob.' Newman walked to the far end, bent down, took hold of a handle attached to a round lid about five feet in diameter. When he heaved it open Paula looked down into a deep circular area. High up in the walls were radio speakers and showerheads.
'What are the speakers for?' Paula wondered.
'I'd say when they have a prisoner down there they turn on the showers and the speakers play ghastly music at top pitch – enough to burst their eardrums.'
Newman shone a powerful torch down inside the tube-like cell. Paula used the illumination to take a number of photos. When she had finished Newman replaced the lid in the position he had found it.
'Time to get out,' he said, 'after I've checked that giant American-style fridge outside.'
'I wonder why those hooks are there, high up in the walls?' Paula enquired, pointing up.
Newman opened the metal drawer of a steel cabinet built into a side wall. They peered inside. It was full of metal handcuffs. Newman closed the drawer quietly, his expression grim.
'They plan to handcuff prisoners, then lift them up so they can hang the chain between the cuffs from the hooks. Being so high up, no matter how tall the prisoner is he'll find himself with his legs dangling in space, the whole weight of his body hanging from his wrists. Now, that fridge.'
As they re-entered the corridor, Newman closed the punishment-cell door quietly behind them. He opened the huge fridge that stood at the end of the corridor. The electric power was working, and it was crammed with ice.
'Got it,' Newman explained. 'Before they drop a prisoner into that tube cell they empty a load of ice down inside. My guess is they half-freeze the poor devil first, then turn on the showers emitting scalding water. Let's get out of here while we can…'
They traversed the entire length of the corridor. Newman cautiously opened the door a few inches, nodded, stepped out as Paula hurried after him. A damp cloying mist had drifted in off the sea while they were inside. They were walking swiftly alongside the prison wall when Newman grabbed Paula, pushed her against the wall and flattened himself.
'Keep very still,' he whispered. 'Movement attracts attention.'
Some distance away, blurred in the mist, four men in uniform were walking towards a distant half-erected building like the one they had explored. Two carried steel bars while the couple behind them pushed a trolley laden with breeze blocks.
When they had arrived Paula and Newman had seen the whole area was surrounded with high coils of barbed wire. They had entered through a gap with a huge roll of barbed wire pushed to one side.
'Let's hope they haven't closed our exit,' Paula whispered.
'If they have I can shift it,' Newman assured her, taking out of his pocket a pair of thick gardening gloves.
They reached the exit point to find it still open. Once they had climbed out of the vast hollow, they crossed the flat grassy plain. They had reached the first ridge when Paula grabbed Newman's arm.
'We've been seen. Three men with automatic weapons are running up behind us.' Newman glanced back, saw three figures blurred in the mist coming after them. He took Paula's arm, hustled her over the first ridge, then moved at the double towards the second ridge. They had just reached the far side when Paula pointed ahead. Three more uniformed men with weapons were walking towards them.
'Caught in a cross-fire,' she hissed.
'Drop flat behind the ridge.'
He did so, facing the way they had come, and she flattened herself behind him. He gave the order fiercely.
'Whatever happens, you stay still. You do not fire.'
He glanced over his shoulder, saw the three men as blurred figures, like ghosts, weapons at the ready. He looked in front over the crest, aimed his rifle. He timed it carefully. As the three in front stood on top of the other ridge Newman aimed, fired, deliberately hit one man in the kneecap. A shriek as he fired two more shots over their heads, dipped his own head.
The mist made his tactic work. The three in front thought the three blurred figures coming from the other direction had opened fire on them. A fusillade opened up on the men behind Newman and Paula, immediately returned by a rattle of automatic weapons. The three men on the ridge nearest the prison dropped, slumped like dead men. Newman looked over his shoulder. The three behind him were collapsing on their ridge. No further movement anywhere.
'Let's get out of this,' Newman ordered urgently.
They ran to the ridge behind them. Newman paused to check the bodies on the ridge. All dead. Bless the Duke of Wellington, he said to himself.
They ran all the way after Paula had checked her watch and said they were going to miss the return ferry. As they arrived on the dock, Abe, his motor running, waved at them. Newman glanced down into a powerful motorboat tied to the other side of the jetty. The earlier wind had blown overboard a canvas covering, now floating in the water. He saw the contents.
'We've made it,' Paula panted as she hauled herself aboard the ferry.
'Don't be too sure of that,' Newman warned.
8
Abe had the barge leaving the dock as soon as they were aboard. A strong breeze had blown up, curling the smooth water into waves. It had dispersed any fragments of mist. Above the sky was a clear cerulean blue.
'Thank heavens,' Paula said to Newman as they sat near the stern. 'What we saw was quite terrible.'
'Main thing is we have the evidence – your photos. Soon as we get back to Park Crescent, take the camera down into the basement. I want the film developed immediately and five sets of prints.'
'Five?'
'That's what I said,' he told her abruptly, then grinned.
They were in mid-channel, halfway to the mainland landing point, when Paula turned in her seat, stared back towards Black Island. Newman was also looking in that direction. The speedboat had left Lydford dock and was roaring towards them. Paula took out her field glasses, steadied herself, then slipped them back inside her pocket.
'We may never reach the mainland,' she said quietly.
Newman was using his own field glasses. He sucked in his breath, then lowered them. He looked at Paula, who had taken out her Browning, holding it out of sight of Abe. She looked at Newman.
'You've seen what's coming after us like a bat out of hell?'
