The thought of it induced a choking panic, as if he were the hapless bloke being bound and gagged and hooded; the noose closing round his neck, as he prepared for the dizzying drop. And, yes, it could have been him, he reflected – just as he, too, could be banged up here with the other 1400 men. His whole background and experience had taught him that those inside and those out were separated only by a hair’s-breadth, and whether you were fêted as a good, upstanding citizen, or condemned as so-called scum, was often just a matter of circumstance and fate. Having unstrapped his case from the carrier on his bike, he crossed the road, dwarfed by the intimidating presence of the massive ramparts now rearing up in front of him. Pausing for a moment, to try to get his bearings, he located the main prison entrance up a flight of steps. However, once he’d humped the heavy case to the top, he was instructed to go down again and report to a second, smaller entrance, up a different set of steps.
