A FULL ENGLISH PROBLEM

(Excerpt only)

Anthony Perham

BooksForABuck.com

A FULL ENGLISH PROBLEM

Anthony Perham

Copyright 2007 by Anthony Perham, all rights reserved. No portion of this novel may be duplicated, transmitted, or stored in any form without the express written permission of the publisher.

Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and locations are fictitious or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or people is coincidental

Published by BooksForABuck.com

ISBN: 978-1-60215-060-7



















This is the excerpt from A FULL ENGLISH PROBLEM. To purchase the entire eNovel for only $3.99 click the 'Buy Now' button below (transactions processed by PayPal for your protection).

Chapter 1

The cold bloodedness of the cop killings had the public totally outraged. There had been public outcry when the media had published the sentences that had been handed down to the Cantrell family. There had even been calls to bring back the death penalty.

But the public--like the accused--had to be satisfied with life sentences across the board.

Although he too had been sentenced to a life behind bars, Peter Cantrell, the man who'd actually carried out the killings, was to spend his at the Broadmoor security hospital, an institution for the criminally insane.

Peter wouldn't have minded. Except his mothers' sentence came with a recommendation that parole was not to be an option until she had served at least fifteen years. She was a frail woman and would undoubtedly fall prey to the vixens that one gets in those places. And thanks to his own lengthy incarceration, he would be powerless to help or comfort her.

For him though, serving time in Broadmoor was like doing time at an R&R centre. Three square meals a day, warmth, clean sheets, television, games consoles all served to make his life 'comfortable'. Which only served to make his concern over the welfare of his mother even more acute.

The main problem though had been that his mother was far too old to survive her own sentence, which basically meant that he would never see her alive again. And although he could put up with most of life's little kicks, he had to admit, to himself at least, that that was truly painful. This thought had been responsible for keeping him awake at night while he cried like a baby into his pillow.

He had actually known his mother for a reasonably short time but had always known that he would return to her as a son that she could be proud of. His strong desire for such a reunion had probably kept him alive when he had been in held and tortured in the Taliban encampment and aided his recovery in the Hazlar Military Hospital.

His overwhelming desire to show his mother how much she could depend on him had eventually brought disaster down upon the heads of the entire family.

While waiting for the transfer to Broadmoor from the court, he had caught a brief glimpse of her as the guards walked her out to the waiting transport. Although he had smiled and tried to voice something reassuring, she had turned away. It had been like a knife through his heart.

Six months after he'd been committed to the secure hospital, two guards and a male nurse escorted him across the hospital grounds to the main office block.

He turned to the nurse. "Why am I here?"

The nurse had no wish to converse with this man. As a nurse, he did his job as well as he could. As a member of the human race, he believed that everyone in the institution should have been hung for their own benefit as well as that of public safety. He had trained as a psychiatric nurse for three years and although he knew how to deal with these animals, the one thing that he could never understand was how they could accept what they had done to be in there.

Peter looked across at one of the guards when the nurse refused to answer. From the look on the officer's face, asking again would be pointless.

By the time the door to the hospital governor's office opened to admit him, he had worked his way through dozens of scenarios ­ the worst being that the doctors had now found the correct combination of drugs so he could spend the rest of his sentence in a normal prison.

He faced the governor while the nurse stood to his rear with a loaded syringe and the two guards stood in front of him leaving just a small gap through which he could see the man who finally addressed him.

"Cantrell. I'm afraid that I have some distressing news for you. There is no good way to say what I have to soI'm very sorry to have to tell you that your mother has passed away."

Peter felt a hot flush tear round his body. "What--But how?" was all he could manage.

The man behind the desk clearly had trouble with this question. "It's never good to get news of this magnitude" he glanced down at some paperwork, "Peter. And you of course have a right to know how how it happened. And it is my sad duty to inform you that your mother took her own life."

The heat that had run through his body was now replaced with an icy cold. "Will I" He started.

The governor turned his head away as if ashamed of what was coming next. "I know what you are about to ask and I have to say no"

"But" started Peter again taking an involuntary step forward only to be quickly stopped in his tracks by the guards.

"Peter," the governor began. "I'm afraid that your mother was cremated over a week ago. You should have been informed immediately but unfortunately, because your name is Cantrell and your mothers name iswas Tatum, no one made the connection until earlier today. I am so very sorry."

* * * *

Peter had been escorted back to his wing. For the remainder of the day, he was allowed to remain in his cell as opposed to the usual compulsory association.

He sat on his bed and tried to remember the last time he had seen his mother. She had looked tired and drained. Her normally styled hair had been tied back in a bun and for the first time since returning to her, she had looked every bit her age.

* * * *

The regular day shift started at six and, within reason, always consisted of the same members of staff.

They were a mixed bunch. Some were okay while others looked upon themselves as keepers in a zoo ­ their charges, the most dangerous animals known to man.

Until he had been given the tragic news of his mothers' demise, Peter had been content to stay where he was, become a model inmate and work towards an early release. It was part of his long-term plan to make things better for his mother.

At her age it was doubtful if she would have lasted until paroled, but there was always hope and if she did and he was back on the streets as well, he had promised himself that he would make sure that her remaining time on earth was the happiest she had ever known.

But now, that sort of planning was useless. For her, there was now no future left.

A week after he had received the sad news, Peter Cantrell swore that he would get out and take revenge on those that had been responsible for their incarceration in the first place.

* * * *

He had lain awake night after night after that, walking the wing in his mind. He saw himself exiting through the door at the far end of the corridor that was in constant use by the staff during any normal day. Although there was a probability of a fire escape somewhere, because he had not actually seen one, it wasn't worth even considering.

He had to go with what he knew to be fact. He walked his way down the two short flights of stairs searching his memory for cameras. Then he was outside the wing, in the open air. And that was when luck would have to step in and take over.

Unless he had lost the skills that he had been taught by the army - which included taking everything that you see into account, however innocent, 'it may one day save your life,' he had identified a flaw in the facilities security. It appeared--from his rare trips into the open air and the comparisons that he had been able to make--that they had considered the main threat to be at wing level and had concentrated 80% of their security there. Once outside, especially with what he had in mind, things should go well. But because he had no knowledge of the area that he was intending to move through--it was in the opposite direction to the main reception building--the success of this part of the plan was very much going to be left in the lap of the Gods.

In a perfect world, he would have liked at least one more trip outside the wing before committing himself. But beggars can't be choosers and whatever was out there waiting for him was going to be something that he would have to deal with once he was committed.

As he heard movement in the corridor outside, he realised that he had once again been awake all night wondering about his chances of success. Turning over towards the wall he consoled himself with the thought that at the end of the day, the worst that could happen was that he'd get recaptured and spends a few extra years behind bars.

* * * *

His only real concern was the CCTV cameras. They were everywhere in a place like this, but he allowed for that by choosing what he hoped was the correct time to act.

He could see that the cell was starting to get a little lighter and knew that at this time of the year, that meant that it was about half six and realised suddenly that he'd put his whole plan into jeopardy by being tired when they came in a few minutes time to wake him up. He'd be forced to take sleeping pills if the doctor thought that he was not getting enough rest--and if that happened, his escape plan would have to be put on the back burner for an indefinite period. And the one that he had in his head certainly wouldn't stand too much criticism in its present state, let alone after another month or so when he'd surely have forgotten something important.

Exactly forty-eight hours later. He was as ready as he was ever going to be.

At twenty minutes to six on the morning of his escape attempt, while outside his window it was still dark, he pressed the bell on the wall of his cell to attract the attention of the staff.

The door opened a moment later and the male nurse found Peter spread-eagled on the floor before him with his head nearest to the door.

The nurse failed to note the relevance of Peter's outstretched arms lying ahead of him and clear of any sort of obstruction.

"What's wrong with you then? Belly ache is it?" He knelt and, as Peter had hoped, blocked the view into the cell from the corridor.

Peter had put his escape plan into action the evening before when he had ensured that he had been seen to eat not only all of his own dinner, but those of a couple of other inmates as well, although in truth the contents of the other plates disappeared into his pockets, only to be flushed down the toilet pan when he had returned to his cell.

When his behaviour had been commented on by one of the nurses he knew that at least that at least part of his plan was working. When another had suggested that he would have a tummy ache if he kept it up, he couldn't have been more pleased.

The one thing that he found that he could rely upon was that his behaviour in the cookhouse would be written down somewhere so that everyone else on the nursing staff, especially the next shift, the one he was interested in, could read it. If they didn't read it, the very first part of his plan would be scuppered.

But they had. And therefore had not been unduly alarmed at finding him on the floor after an apparent collapse.

Under normal circumstances, an inmate found semi-conscious on the floor necessitated the attendance of the duty doctor. Because the night staff had made themselves aware of his previous evening's unusual table manners, an upset stomach was to be expected and would not require anything more than a mild rebuke of his actions by the wing staff similar to the one that a mother would hand down to her young offspring. 'It's your own fault'.

The nurse who came to his aid found himself having to drop down much lower to hear Cantrell's mumbled words.

Peter had to time this to perfection. If he fouled this part up, he wouldn't be seeing the outside of the cellblock in twenty years--let alone twenty minutes, as was his plan.

He had to be careful. If he went too far with this act, the nurse would have no alternative but to call for the assistance of the second nurse that was on duty, which would be bad news. These nurses were not small people and well used to the violent ways of the inmates. Although he reckoned on being able to handle them one at the time, the two of them together would most likely end with him being overpowered. To make matters even more complicated, he had a very small time window in which to act.

The immediate problem at this stage of his escape was that he couldn't see which nurse had entered his cell. One of them had been a stocky built person who appeared to spend the whole of his off-duty time pumping iron while the other was taller and wirier. Peter prayed that this was the body beautiful. Rippling muscles might look the part on a sunny beach covered in Crisp'n'Dry but when it came down to it, people with big muscles were usually very easy to get the better of in a street-fighting situation--their own body-weight being their downfall. Peter knew from experience that agility, speed and surprise overcome muscle relatively easily.

He felt the attendant's breath near to the side of his head and waited for the split second where he would have to act.

The moment arrived when he felt the man's breath pull away and knew that he was about to rise to call for help. A quick glance down the hall, through the man's legs, ascertained that the second nurse was not watching, and Peter moved with the swiftness of a cobra.

His right arm shot upwards and his clenched fist made a very acceptable and satisfying contact with the nurse's Adam's apple, temporarily at least, cutting off the man's ability to make a sound or catch his breath. This gave Peter time to stand and, using every ounce of his strength, swing the man around until his head crashed into a shelf bracket protruding from the wall. The nurse's skull cracked with a hollow, satisfying 'thunk'.

The nurse's entire weight sagged in his arms and Peter desperately fought to keep the man semi-upright so that he could get his hands into position. From there, with a quick twist, he successfully snapped the part of the nurse's vertebra that travelled up through the nape of the neck prior to being connected to the brain. The nurse was dead before he hit the floor.

Peter pulled the body deeper into the cell as quickly as he could. The man's dead weight proved to be quite a problem but eventually he was able to push the door closed. That accomplished, he stripped off the man's white coat and dressed himself in it.

He stood for a minute to calm himself after the brief encounter. Time, however, was of the essence. Putting together every bit of confidence he could muster, he stepped out of the cell, stopping for a brief moment to turn back and utter something to the corpse, which he figured would have been the natural thing to do. He had noticed that it was very rare for any of the staff just to get up and leave--they always had to have that last word.

His next target was way down a corridor that was narrow for the most part, with several doors leading off to the right. On the left was a series of large indentations that had been the architecturally acceptable back during the reign of Queen Victoria.

These niches had, in the last few years at least, been put to use secreting bookshelves and filling cabinets. Halfway down the hall, one such area had originally been another corridor leading off to somewhere. After some major works, all that was left was a much deeper niche that was now utilised as the administrative post for the wing. It contained a desk, a telephone, another couple of filing cabinets and a water dispenser.

On his way down to this little oasis was the first of the myriad CCTV cameras that he had to contend with.

He had known about this one though from day one as it could be seen from his cell and it he knew that it was always facing away towards the desk, which meant that, so far at least, his attempt was going well. The first part of his audacious plan had succeeded.

He had broke the plan--such as it was--down into three separate parts, One, to exit the cell. Two, to exit the building. And three, to exit the facility. One down, two to go.

This hospital, like the Military hospital at Hazlar, had a skeleton staff for its entire night shift, the night shift on these wings totalling only two nurses. After the shift change, the place crawled with white coats. He had to be on the other side of the wall by the time the day shift arrived.

The other nurse was the next important element to Peter's escape attempt. The nurse would need to be taken alive for he was the key, literally, to achieving Peter's second objective.

He thanked whoever it was that seemed to be watching over him that the nurse that had attended him in the cell had been the one with muscles the size of tree trunks and protruding veins that reminded him of a relief map of the Somme.

The second nurse stood with his back to him as he arrived.

"What did he want?" The nurse was busy sorting through files, probably with the intention of getting the morning drug issue ready prior to the next shift coming on.

Peter saw no advantage in wasting time trying to convince this idiot that he was the man that he had been sharing a shift with for the last eleven hours and forty something minutes. He had stopped under the CCTV camera and raising a hand, tilted the monitoring device up towards the ceiling slightly. He then moved quickly across the space between him and the other nurse. From behind, he took a secure grip of the man's Adam's apple with one hand while pushing two of his fingers deep into the eye sockets with the other.

"You will live if you tell me exactly what I want to know."

The nurse was clearly petrified, a fact backed up by the sudden smell of warm urine drifting upwards from the puddle that fast spread from the man's footwear.

There was no point in waiting for the nurse to agree, or disagree come to that, Peter's grip disallowed any sort of speech anyway.

Peter continued. "I need you to take me out of here." He removed his fingers from his victim's eyes in order to lean over and search the drawers of the desk for the ball of string that he knew was there somewhere. He had seen one of the day shift throw the ball in there once after tying up some interoffice parcel and not only remembered it, but made it an integral part of his plan. He found it, expertly designed a noose with his one free hand, and slipped it over the nurse's head.

He pulled it as tight as he dared, which was tight enough for one more tug to do damage while at the same time, allowing the man to show the world a face that was in no way deprived of either air or blood.

"Now don't go doing anything stupid okay?" Peter whispered quietly into the man's ear while making sure that the cord was out of sight underneath the collar. He took a moment to check on the time that he had left before the shift change. So far, he had used up five minutes of his allotted twenty.

"First of all, turn around and move over to the camera and correct its angle."

As he said that, the phone on the desk started to ring softly. Right on schedule. "Answer that. If it's security asking about the camera, tell them that it was your mate sodding about--tell them that he hit it with his head, but you are about to put it back."

The nurse did as he was asked. With the phone still in one hand he moved over to the camera and, with Peter out of shot, adjusted it until the guard in the control unit said that the position was acceptable.

Peter allowed the nurse to replace the phone and then whispered softly, "Now we are going to walk along the corridor casually until we get to the gate. Then you are going to open it. When we are through to the landing, you will turn and lock it back up again. After that, you will go to the outer door and do the same thing. Is all that clear?"

Peter insisted that he turn to lock the gate after they had passed through because he had noticed a highly sophisticated warning device similar to a system that he had come across once before. A timer allowed the gate to be unlocked for just a certain amount of time--any longer and every alarm in the hospital would sound off. The security staff would also be alerted if both the inner security gate and outer door were open at the same time.

The nurse was dedicated to his profession as much as the next man, but not so much as to lose his life for it. He intended to do exactly what this desperate inmate wanted him to do. He'd read the man's file, was well aware of his violent history, and had absolutely no ambition of becoming one of his statistics. Especially when all it meant to him was another ten minutes on his sentence. And knowing the doctors in this place, they would probably see it as an unfortunate, but slight regression. 'Nothing we can't work through

He would do exactly what he was asked to do. At the same time, he would not lose hope that someone would investigate why the wing was left unattended, which if the security was up to scratch, would be happening right now. But with just a short while left before the shift changed, he doubted it. He had always argued that this was the most dangerous part of the day. He wondered if he was ever going to get a chance to say I told you so.

They negotiated the double entry security safeguard and descended a short flight of stairs that led to the door that would lead them out of the building.

Peter was slightly amazed as they exited the wing, that they weren't met by a team of ball-breakers who would quickly put an end to this lunacy. But as he and the nurse stepped out into the cold morning air they had apparently failed to raise a single alarm. Something that would be rectified very soon after this attempt by putting sensors into the ground outside the doors to the wings to detect unauthorised movement.

Taking one of the nurses as hostage had been an integral part of Peter's plan and had been designed to be a major part of his camouflage when he reached open ground where they now found themselves.

Open ground was a double-edged sword. It made it easier to see the enemy approaching but it also meant that they were capable of being seen from a distance. And as he was making his way across the well-cared-for lawns, he tried to figure where he would position himself if he were the sniper. He pushed the nurse ahead of him while thinking to himself that he was starting to be paranoid--as far as he could tell, no one even knew that an escape was happening, let alone called in police snipers.

The nurse seemed to be in a permanent state of shock and was apparently unable to stop himself from shaking, with the fear of where this could lead gripping his insides.

Once before, when an escape attempt was in progress, it had taken at least ten minutes after the alarm had been raised for extra security to be positioned at preordained positions around the hospital with the intention of putting an end to the situation. A non-religious man, he now found himself praying that the same precautions had been taken and that sooner or later this madman would be taken down by tazer at least.

That situation had been resolved quite quickly after the escapee had come into contact with several concealed guards--the tazer not having been invented at that time.

When it had all calmed down, the culprit had been secured in a padded cell--with a straight jacket thrown in to cause maximum discomfort. The hospital director at the time had assured everyone that lessons had been learned and that there was no need to fear a repetition.

That nurse had suffered nothing more than a bloody nose and a fortnight's sick leave.

* * * *

As Peter propelled him further away from the comparative safety of the wing, the nurse hoped that the hospital director would keep his word. And the only bit of history that he wanted repeated was that in the fine weather, he would take his lunch break with one or two of his friends on the very spot that they were now moving over.

The nurse knew that at least three cameras could pick them up as they made their way quickly across the lawn. Not that Peter wasn't aware of it also. Even if he wasn't aware of the exact number, he realised that they must be starring on at least a dozen monitors at that exact moment.

The only other thing that was running through Peter's mind was that, as with most security cameras, the grainy images that these older systems produced sometimes made it difficult to identify faces. As far as they could probably see, the two white-coated male nurses leaving the building could just as easily have been Mickey Mouse and Donald Duck.

And although they might well wonder why these two people had left the wing before the end of the shift, and might even go to the extremes of entering it into the occurrence book, at ten minutes to going home time, why bother? In eleven minutes time, it will be someone else's problem.

"Has this place got a married quarters?"

The pace that Peter was walking at had become very tiring and the nurse was finding it hard going, his breathing was starting to come in short gasps and he was sweating profusely. "Yes," he managed.

Peter got a little concerned about the look of his hostage. "Head for it," he said and then added as an afterthought, "and cheer up sunshine, once we're on the outside of the wall, your part is over. You will be able to be the hero for a day or two."

Peter's words had not come too soon. The nurse was just about at the end of his tether, and panic was beginning to set in. And although he had obvious cause to doubt Peter's sincerity, his captor's assurance was pleasing to hear. The problem was the back gate.

He, unlike Peter, had faith in the security system of the hospital and believed that when they reached the exit, a dozen or so officers were going to leap out of concealment and put a short and hopefully, violent end to this hostage situation.

He had realised as soon as he been taken hostage that his colleague in the wing had probably been left for dead, if not actually dead. Peter's history showed him to be the sort of person that would not make do with a disabling injury--this guy did not leave people alive to tell tales--which put him into a bad position. If there was a team lying in wait, he wondered if they would get the better of Cantrell before Cantrell could pull on the noose, which during the walk had tightened considerably of its own accord.

A few minutes later, as they were nearing the gate, Peter suddenly felt uneasy. "Where's the guard?"

And although he was not about to admit it, that was exactly the question that was running through the nurse's brain. He felt his bowels turn to liquid. This was bad.

This gate was through a small copse and on the way over, the nurse had wondered where the best place for an ambush would be and decided that this was it. He now had very little option but to hope that his salvation lie on the other side of the wall.

"There isn't one here," he explained. "There never has been. Unless you have a key, there is no possible way for anyone to get out of the hospital by using this gate, so no human guard was needed." He tried to laugh. "Government cuts strike again."

Peter either ignored the quip or failed to hear it. "Do you live on site?" he asked. "Or somewhere else?"

"I live somewhere else. It's about three miles away."

"Where's your car?"

"I don't own a car, I've a motorbike instead. It's parked in the staff car park which is just to the right after you go through the gate." He nodded vaguely in that direction.

Peter waited until they passed through the metal wicker gate and the nurse had locked it again from the other side before breathing a short sigh of relief. He had now achieved the third of his three goals. His plan had worked. Now all he had to do was to remain at liberty.

The nurse, on the other hand, was beside himself with worry. Tears formed and fell from his eyes.

He looked up at the silhouette of the high wall that ran the full length of the establishment--the top edge black against the early grey of the morning sky--and could see that it was bristling with cameras. It was only a matter of time before someone put two and two together and started to wonder why two nurses were walking about outside the hospital walls while still in their white coats and before the shift officially ended--or at least, he prayed to God that they would--he was starting to realise why he didn't believe in him.

"What time is it?" Peter asked, looking around for anything suspicious.

"About six I would think." The nurse hoped that Cantrell would hear the tremor in his voice and take pity on him. He might think of him as a coward, but better a live coward than a dead one.

Peter had timed this part of his plan to perfection. He had wanted to get to this point at about the time the security physically changed shifts. That would be when the actual security would be at its worst--or best from Peter's point of view. Peter urged the nurse to walk even faster and pretty soon they had reached the man's maroon Kawasaki. It was the ZX-10 R Ninja, and from the licence plates he could see that it was the 2007 model. Not a bad machine by all accounts.

"Keys?" Peter felt the hairs on the back of his neck standing up as he reasoned that any second now, the ear splitting sound of the sirens would shatter the peace of the early morning.

The nurse moved to the rear of the bike and from under a stone, picked up the keys. "This is a spare set that I keep here in case the ones in the hospital go missing." He explained needlessly.

Peter grinned, "And under which brick are the helmet and leathers?"

"The helmet is in the box, but the leathers are in the staff room."

Peter figured that this was true. You might be required to take your helmet off so that you could be recognised going in but there would be no requirement to take off a warm coat.

Peter knew that he had reached the end of the line with the nurse and smiled at him. "Well thank you for your assistance, I hope you don't get into too much trouble for helping me and I'm sorry for hurting your friend. I would imagine that he will have a headache for an hour or two."

Both Peter and the nurse peered upwards, the nurse to give thanks to whoever's Deity was listening and Peter to check which way the cameras were facing. He felt the man's relief flood through him before yanking sharply back on the cord and almost garrotting the poor fellow prior to twisting the head around to breaking point.

He grinned. "Sorry mate--circumstances being what they are, I cannot leave live ones in my wake."

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