Blown away [antikvár]

1? ? ?Ryan Gaerity sat before the back wall of his cell, visualizing what lay beyond. The cricket field, of course. And then the high fence. A guard tower stood at the seaward comer. Its searchlight would be probing the night, raindrops shimmering through the beam like strands of Christmas tree tinsel. That would obscure the view of the man in the tower. Belfast radio had been predicting the storm for days. It'd come in off the North Atlantic shortly after supper. Gaerity hadn't seen the rising surf and drizzle with his own eyes, for he didn't have the run of the placeas did the trusties, the quislings who brownnosed the guards. Still, he could see through the grimy, ancient stones of his wall and watch the waves smashing to mist against the rocky headland, the fog wreathing around the castle. Tourists, if Northern Ireland still had tourists, might be struck by the medieval charm of Castle Gleigh. Until they noticed the towers and the fence line strung with concertina wire.Gaerity checked the small clock on his bookshelf. Quarter to ten.Years of planning came down to tonight.Everything depended on his cellmate being re-1