Kevin White took only a few moments to spring open the local telephone control box and find what he was looking for. He knew exactly what he was doing, and started slicing through the wires that served the club and its surrounding area.
The men waiting inside the Transit van watched nervously. He was taking too long. Ray looked round, the sweat pouring down his face. He had the van moving as Kevin jumped aboard. Next stop: Amanda’s nightclub.
‘You sure it’s all cut?’ Rintle asked.
‘I know what I’m doing. You just take care of your own side of things,’ White snapped back.
Micky Tesco patted White’s knee to calm him down, and gave a warning look to Rintle to shut it. Johnny Summers, shotgun resting across his knee, stared calmly out of the window. At least the rain had eased off; that was something in their favor, making the fire escape run less hazardous.
Brian Fisk was the first to arrive at the club. He parked his bike on the street and walked casually into the club’s forecourt through the ‘In’ gate, where a few parked cars were scattered round the horseshoe pathway. He knew the guard at the front entrance was watching him but continued looking over the cars.
‘Know where the kitchens are, mate?’
The guard pointed round the back, watching as Brian, walking unhurriedly, moved round the horseshoe, past the ‘Out’ gate and down the small alley into the wide access area by the kitchens.
The building work was still only half-completed, but there was no one around. He looked at the closed-up garages, then wandered over to the trees, giving the whole area a careful once-over. Then he froze.
‘Oi, you! What you want?’
A guard was leaning on the basement stairs at the rear entrance of the kitchens.
‘Just looking for a toilet,’ Brian shouted.
‘Well, look somewhere else,’ the guard told him, waving him away.
Brian shrugged and walked off, back down the alley, into the forecourt and through the ‘Out’ area on to the street where the Transit van was in position, waiting. Fisk wandered back to his bike, giving a little ‘All clear’ signal as he passed the van. He sat astride his bike and waited, turning to watch a green Fiesta slowly driving past.
Dolly was hunched over the wheel as Bella scanned the front of the club.
‘Shit, Dolly, we’re too late. They’re already here!’
Dolly could feel the sweat running from her armpits as she gripped the steering wheel tightly. In the rear view mirror she could see the Transit van and the motorbike.
Dolly drove on, then took a left, aiming to go round the block and come back on to the road behind them.
‘Where in Christ’s name are the police?’ she cursed.
Jukko was standing on the stage, shouting down to the photographers and press below.
‘OK, now for the finale! Get ready for the spectacular lighting effects!’
The girls were grouped at the end of the ramp. Mrs. Harper was explaining to the press that the girls were now wearing all the gems, more than £8 million pounds’ worth of diamonds, rubies and emeralds. Her voice droned on, explaining each piece’s history, which jewelers had loaned what...
It was time for Colin Soal to make a move. He began shaking his camera.
‘Shit!’ He shrugged. ‘Bleedin’ shutter’s frozen,’ he muttered and wandered off toward the exit, giving a couple of waves to his colleagues, who were more intent on getting into position for the big final display.
Colin passed the two watching guards standing by the manager’s office and out, past Steve, who stood up and stretched.
‘All over, is it?’
‘Not quite.’ Colin smiled. ‘But my camera’s packed in. It’s all right, though — I’ve got enough.’
He went down the front steps, even stopping to exchange a few words with a security guard, then he walked casually out of the ‘In’ gate and crossed the road.
The men waiting in the Transit were following his every move intently. They knew they were close now, very close.
‘Why doesn’t he get a bloody move on?’ Kevin White muttered nervously as they began pulling up their visors, checking their guns, their hands already beginning to sweat inside their gloves.
Colin jumped up into the van without a word and began pulling off his raincoat, revealing his security uniform underneath. Micky held out his helmet. Now it was Harvey Rintle’s turn...
Micky checked the radio one more time and gave him the signal. Rintle tapped his radio, the doors opened and he stepped down.
All the men now watched Rintle, with his visor up, move into the forecourt via the ‘Out’ gate, out of sight of the guard on duty at the main entrance, who was busy proffering a cigarette to Steve, the two men chatting easily as if their day was almost done.
Kensington Police Station was by now a hive of furious activity, with DI Frinton at the center of it, barking out orders left, right and center. The details of the raid were still sketchy, but all the names they’d been given by the anonymous caller had checked out. This was looking more and more like the real thing, and Frinton was urgently calling for backup from Notting Hill, Cromwell Road — anywhere that had spare bodies they could use. Lurking at the back of his mind was the fear that the whole thing was a hoax, and he was going to end up with egg on his face, but when they were unable to contact the club on the phone, the conviction hardened that they really were dealing with an armed robbery in progress. As every available car sped to the scene, Frinton gave strict orders that no one was to go in and try and be a hero — just seal off the area and await instructions.
As he left the station and got into his own waiting patrol car, Frinton’s gut tightened and he felt his heart racing. He knew full well if he messed this one up, his career would be over. On the other hand, if he was responsible for foiling an £8 million jewel heist, his name would be up in lights: no more soddin’ Kensington nick for him — he’d be playing with the big boys from now on.
As the car accelerated toward the club, he told himself to focus on the job in hand, not get ahead of himself. He quickly got on the radio.
‘Keep the pandas back. Let the unmarked cars go in first. Remember, we have every reason to believe this lot are armed and dangerous!’
A fresh-faced young officer in the back seat asked about the Chief — had anyone been able to contact him?
Frinton turned in the front seat. ‘If you fancy scouring the golf course you might find him, but right now we’ve got better things to do.’
Vic Morgan arrived at Shirley’s wearing his new jacket and carrying a big bunch of roses. He’d already tried Dolly’s flat, but she wasn’t there. As he pressed and held the doorbell for the fourth time with no response, he had to acknowledge she wasn’t here either. He turned back to the street, wondering what to do. Talk about being all dressed up with nowhere to go.
Then he had a thought: perhaps he’d go and pay a visit to old Resnick. He’d had so much else on his mind, he’d almost forgotten about him. He looked down at the roses. At least they’d make a change from sodding grapes.
‘What’s he bloody doing? Why doesn’t he get on with it?’ Kevin White muttered from inside the van as they watched Rintle, his visor down now, taking his time to move round to the side of the building, then along to the front steps of the club. The security guard stubbed out his cigarette, before returning to his position.
Rintle stepped out in front of him. ‘Got a problem with this,’ he said, holding the radio out.
The guard might not have seen Rintle before, but he was wearing the same uniform. He reached for his own radio, and Rintle brought his right knee up sharply between the guard’s legs, then as he doubled over with a grunt, swung an elbow into his temple. It connected with a sickening crack, and the guard slumped to the ground. Rintle quickly lifted the body up and heaved it over the side of the stairs. He turned, glancing quickly back at the van, and entered the club.