He was surprised to find a fresh pack of chalk. Even more surprised that it hadn’t been opened. Was this a trick? Maybe. But he would take his chances. He didn’t have time for games.

Yellow. Wensley always used the yellow stick first. Sunshine. Oh, how he missed it. He smiled as he pulled the virgin stick from the packet, not just because the box didn’t electrocute him or explode but also because he was imagining a sunrise. He had long wanted to draw a window on his wall. A sunrise scene. Always dawn. But every time he changed his mind as soon as he thought about the inevitable retribution, the rampage and ruin. Even though he had stolen the light and left Wensley to the dark, the Serpent hated the sun.

Wensley settled for a version of Van Gogh’s Sunflowers instead. Yellow and bright, it was the sunniest thing he could think of that wasn’t the sun. But it was still a risk. He didn’t think for a minute that the Serpent would like his chalk masterpiece, and feared that it might even inspire him to hack off his own ear.

Stupid. He really was losing his mind.

Wensley noticed his cell was even messier than before, which told him that the Serpent had been in a mood. The officers refused to clean his room when the Serpent was acting up. Wensley also noted some new things in his cell – books, batteries and headphones – which told him the useless priest had been here again. He shook his head. Father Martin had promised to get rid of the Serpent, not bring him gifts.

Anyway, he didn’t have time for that now, although he was intrigued by the travel guide. No. Concentrate. No time.

He started with his sunshine stick but was interrupted by the inmate in the adjoining cell banging on the wall. ‘He’s not here,’ he yelled back. ‘This is my time, not his.’ Wensley wanted nothing to do with Hammad. The terrorist next door was the Serpent’s friend, not his.

But still Hammad kept banging and now he was ranting too, reciting scripture.

‘Shut up!’ Wensley shouted as he moved away from his drawing. ‘I don’t have time for this.’

He turned to another section of his wall as the noise finally ceased.

‘Yes,’ he said to himself, as he zeroed in on the equation before him. ‘That’s it!’

Four down, one left to solve.

CHAPTER 27

Long Bay Correctional Complex, Sydney, NSW, Australia

JAX was in no mood for games.

‘Who are you?’ Jax asked. ‘And what do you want?’

No response.

The man could have been aged anywhere from thirty to fifty. His skin was smooth and wrinkle-free: no crow’s feet, age spots or sags, but his short-cropped hair was salt-sprinkled and starting to recede.