not going back without you.' He stood where he was, his hands on his hips.
Shepherd got to his feet and wiped his hands on his jeans. He walked back into the spur, with Gilchrist following. Something was wrong. If it was just a friendly chat, Carpenter himself could have come out into the exercise yard. Or talked to him in the gym. Or on cleaning duty. There was no need to summon Shepherd to his cell. Unless there was a problem. He walked up the stairs with Gilchrist behind him. That was a worry, too. If it was just a chat, Gilchrist would have been friendlier. Shepherd fingered his Walkman. If Carpenter had become suspicious, it might be a good idea to leave it at his cell. But if it was a chat, it might be the sort that Shepherd should record. He ran through everything that had happened over the previous twenty-four hours but couldn't think of anything that might have raised a red flag. He forced himself to relax, then pressed the pause button. Whatever happened, it would be recorded.
He reached the threes and walked down the landing to Carpenter's cell. The door was ajar but Shepherd knocked. There was no answer so Shepherd pushed it open and stepped inside.
It wasthe first time Shepherd had seen inside Carpenter's cell. There were photographs of his wife and children on the wall - not snaps stuck on with tape, like in most of the other cells, but large prints in wooden frames. There was a carpet on the floor and a brand new Sony tape-deck and speakers on top of the wall cabinet. The room smelt of lemon, and Shepherd saw a small air-freshener under the sink.
Carpenter was sitting on the only chair and when he stood up Shepherd saw that there was a blue silk cushion on it. He had been reading a book and he put it down on his bunk. It was about opening moves in chess. Carpenter smiled, like a kindly uncle. 'Well, you've been a busy bee, haven't you?' he said.
'What's up?' said Shepherd.
'What's up? You've got the fucking audacity to ask me what's up?' Carpenter pointed finger at him. 'I'll tell you what's fucking up, Mr Plod. Your fucking number!'
Carpenter clenched his teeth and breathed heavily. Shepherd heard a noise behind him and looked round, but it was only Gilchrist with his back to the cell door. Shepherd ran through his options: he could stand his ground and try to bluff his way out; he could rush out on to the landing, hit the alarm button and hope that the officers got to the threes before Carpenter or his men did him any real damage; he could attack Carpenter, disable him, and Gilchrist if necessary, do whatever it took to save his skin.
'What the hell are you talking about, Gerry?' he said, hands swinging loosely by his side in case Carpenter should get physical. He looked for weapons but Carpenter's hands were empty and there was nothing obvious within reach.
'It's a bit late to play the innocent, Shepherd. It's a bit bloody late for that.'
As soon as he heard his name, Shepherd knew there was no point in trying to bluff his way out. If Carpenter knew his name, he knew everything. But the fact that he hadn't simply had him knifed in the showers meant that he had other plans. And that could only be bad news.
'I thought you were my fucking friend,' said Carpenter. 'I trusted you.'
'What can I tell you?' said Shepherd. 'A man's got to do what a man's got to do, right?'
'A man doesn't sneak around lying and cheating. Crawling around on his belly in the shit. That's not what a man does.'
'What do you want, Gerry?'
Carpenter continued to glare at him, then he smiled slowly. 'I suppose you think you've been pretty clever, don't you?'
Shepherd said nothing. He was still wondering why Carpenter had summoned him to the cell. If the man knew he was an undercover cop then he knew, too, that his plan to kill Roper would come to nothing and that he was going to prison for life. The drugs charges plus conspiracy to murder a Customs officer meant he'd be behind bars for ever.
'Did you think I wouldn't spot you? Do you think I can't smell an undercover cop a mile off ?'
It was over, Shepherd realised. First, Carpenter wouldn't say anything incriminating. Second, by tomorrow everyone on the block would know he was an undercover cop. Within two days everyone in the prison. He was blown. But he doubted he'd done anything to show out. Someone must have grassed him up, and Shepherd wanted to know who. That was the only reason he was still in the cell.
Carpenter handed Shepherd an envelope. It had already been opened. 'What's this? My P45?' he asked.
'Open it and find out,' said Carpenter. 'It should knock that self-satisfied grin off your face.'
Shepherd slid back the flap. His stomach lurched. There was a Polaroid photograph inside. Even before he took it out he knew what had happened and that his life was about to change for ever.
He stared at the picture in horror. Liam was sitting on a wooden chair, staring at the camera, tight-lipped, his hands on his knees. Moira and Tom were behind him, their faces fearful.
'They weren't hard to find, not once I knew who you were,' said Carpenter. 'You marry a girl from Hereford, she kicks the bucket, it makes sense that your lad would go and stay with her parents.'
'You hurt him - you hurt any of them - and you're dead,' said Shepherd.
'Nothing's going to happen to them, not if you're a good little piggy.'
'What do you want?' asked Shepherd.
'I want you to get me out of here,' said Carpenter.
'What?'
'You heard me. You've fucked up my plans well and good, so now you're going to get me out of here. That, or your kid dies.'
'You're not making any sense,' Shepherd said, confused.
'I'm making perfect sense,' said Carpenter. 'You've just got to listen to what I'm telling you. I have your son. You've stitched me up on the outside, you've had the Church spirit Roper away, you've been trying to put together a case against me in here. The way I see it, it's up to you to get me out.'
'Do I look like I've got a set of keys?'
Carpenter rushed at Shepherd and grabbed the front of his shirt. The Polaroid slipped from his fingers and fell to the floor. 'Don't get smart, Shepherd. Smart is what got you into the shit you're in.'
'How am I supposed to get you out, Gerry?' asked Shepherd calmly. He made no move to defend himself. There was no point: Carpenter held all the cards.
'That's up to you,' said Carpenter. 'But I'm telling you, here and now, if you don't get me the hell out of here, your boy dies.'
Shepherd held his hands out to his side while Hamilton patted him down. Then he went into the exercise yard. He took deep breaths of fresh air, then swung his arms and jogged on the spot. He wanted to run until he was exhausted, until he couldn't run any more. He wanted to get a gun and put it to Carpenter's head and pull the trigger. He wanted to grab the man by the throat and squeeze the life out of him.
Shepherd bent down and touched his toes, then arched his back, feeling his spine click into place. He wanted to kill Carpenter, but that wasn't an option. He couldn't kill him and he couldn't tell anyone. The fact that Carpenter knew who Shepherd was meant he still had a mole on the outside, someone who was passing information to him. If Shepherd told Hargrove or anyone else in the police, Carpenter might find out. And if that happened, Liam would be dead.
The strength went from his legs at the thought that his son might die because of what he'd done. He went down on one knee and put his hands on the Tarmac. His heart pounded and he fought to stop himself passing out.
A hand touched his shoulder. 'Are you all right, mate?' It was Ed Harris. 'You look like shit.'
'Stomach ache.'
'You want me to tell Hamilton that you've got to go to the medical centre?'
'I'll be okay.'
'Sure?'
'Sure.'
Shepherd stood up and took more deep breaths. He needed to plan, to find a way out. What he didn't need was to panic. Harris flashed him a worried look, but walked away. Shepherd gazed up through the anti-helicopter cables. What Carpenter was asking was unreasonable. How could he be expected to get him out of a Cat A prison?
He saw Justin Davenport on the opposite side of the exercise yard. It was hard to miss him in his escape-risk
