My fingers slipped inside and brushed against the cool, smooth metal of the steel bodkin.

I pinched the end of it between my index and middle fingers.

Slowly, carefully, I slid it out of the pocket.

It slipped from my numb fingers.

My heart stopped as it clicked against the concrete floor.

I reached down, my shoulders straining against the pipe, my joints popping with the effort.

My fingertips grazed the metal rod.

I dragged it toward me, trapping it against the heel of my boot.

I managed to scoop it up, gripping it firmly in my right hand this time.

Now came the harder part.

I had never picked a lock before, but I understood mechanical tension.

A lock was just a series of levers and springs, not unlike the tension disks on a heavy industrial sewing machine.

I inserted the blunt end of the steel bodkin into the keyhole of the left cuff.

I wiggled it, feeling for the small metal lever inside the mechanism.

The metal scraped against metal, a tiny, sharp sound in the quiet warehouse.

Nothing happened.