Free The Son by Jo Nesbø Page B

transparent. Like an angel, Johannes thought.
    ‘Hello, Sonny. I heard they put you in solitary. How are you doing now?’
    Sonny shrugged.
    ‘You’ve a good left hook, lad.’ Johannes grinned and pointed to the gap where his front tooth used to be.
    ‘I hope you can forgive me.’
    Johannes gulped. ‘I’m the one who needs forgiving, Sonny.’
    The two of them looked at each other. Johannes saw Sonny glance up and down the corridor. There was a pause.
    ‘Would you break out of prison for me, Johannes?’
    Johannes took his time and tried shuffling the words to see if that made them make more sense before he asked: ‘What do you mean? I don’t want to escape. Besides, I’ve nowhere to go. I’ll be found and brought back immediately.’
    Sonny didn’t reply, but his eyes radiated black desperation and Johannes understood.
    ‘You want . . . you want me to break out so I can score some Superboy for you.’
    Sonny still didn’t reply, but continued to fix the old man’s gaze with his own manic, intense stare. Poor lad, Johannes thought. Sodding heroin.
    ‘Why me?’
    ‘Because you’re the only one with access to the control room so only you can do it.’
    ‘Wrong. I’m the only one with access to the control room and that’s why I know it can’t be done. The doors can only be opened with fingerprints stored in the database. And I’m not in it, my friend. Nor can I be added without submitting four copies of an application which would need to be approved on high. I’ve seen them—’
    ‘All the doors can be locked and unlocked from the control room.’
    Johannes shook his head and looked around to make sure they were still alone in the corridor. ‘Even if you make it outside, there are guards in the security booth in the car park. They check the ID of everyone coming or going.’
    ‘Everyone?’
    ‘Yes. Except during shift changes when they let out recognised cars and familiar faces.’
    ‘Would that include people in a prison officer’s uniform, by any chance?’
    ‘Definitely.’
    ‘So you would need to get yourself a uniform and break out when the officers change shift?’
    Johannes placed his forefinger and thumb under his chin. His jaw still hurt.
    ‘How would I get hold of the uniform?’
    ‘From Sørensen’s locker in the changing room. You’ll have to force it open with a screwdriver.’
    Sørensen was a prison officer who had been on sick leave for almost two months now. Nervous breakdown. Johannes knew they called it something else these days, but it was the same thing, a bloody great big mess of feelings. He had been there.
    Johannes shook his head again. ‘The changing room is full of prison officers during a shift change. Someone will recognise me.’
    ‘Change your appearance.’
    Johannes laughed. ‘Right. And let’s say I get hold of a uniform, now how would I go about threatening a group of prison officers so that they’ll let me out?’
    Sonny lifted up his long white shirt and produced a packet of cigarettes from his trouser pocket. Stuck a cigarette in between his dry lips and lit it with a lighter shaped like a pistol. Johannes nodded slowly.
    ‘This isn’t about drugs. There’s something you want me to do on the outside, isn’t there?’
    Sonny sucked the flame from the lighter into the cigarette and exhaled the smoke. He narrowed his eyes.
    ‘Will you do it?’ His voice was warm and soft.
    ‘Will you give me absolution from my sins?’ Johannes asked.
    Arild Franck spotted them as he came round the corner. Sonny Lofthus had placed his hand on the forehead of Johannes who was standing with his head bowed and his eyes closed. They looked like a pair of queers to him. He had seen them on the monitor in the control room; they had been talking for a while. From time to time he regretted not fitting every camera with a microphone because he could tell from the men’s wary, sideways glances that they weren’t discussing the next football pools coupon. Then Sonny