Joe walked back up the quarry. In one hand he carried his ‘irons’ in a long black wooden case lined with red felt; in the other he carried a dead pheasant. Terry watched as Joe went over to his Lancia and placed the gun case and bird in the boot. Joe was tall, six-three, maybe more, with dark Italian looks, and he was obsessed with physical fitness. He was lean, with a chiseled face, and those odd-colored eyes — hazel, maybe? He was a tough man, and Terry was glad they were on the same side.
Terry signaled to Joe and the two men checked their watches before checking out the dummy security van. Harry Rawlins liked everything to be ready before his arrival, and Joe and Terry carefully went over every detaiclass="underline" the money sacks were weighted; the vehicles’ positions exactly measured to reflect where they’d be for the raid itself. After the rehearsal, it would be their job to clean the cars and bread truck and take them back to the lock-up.
The bread truck now sounded as if its engine was running smoothly. Jimmy got out of the driving seat and gave the thumbs up to Joe and Terry over by the dummy van. They made him nervous — well, Joe scared him more than Terry. He didn’t know exactly what the job was yet, and he was aware he was still on trial, but he admired Harry Rawlins and wanted to be in on his team.
Harry’s silver Merc was so quiet it seemed to float over the gravel road. No one heard it arriving, but as soon as Terry and Joe saw it pull up and Harry get out they almost stood to attention, like troops about to be inspected by their commanding officer. With his fawn cashmere coat hanging over his shoulders, his immaculately tailored navy suit, his black briefcase and his dark glasses, Harry Rawlins looked more like a city banker than a man about to rehearse a security raid. He went over to Joe and Terry.
‘He’s got the bread van purring like a kitten. It’ll be no bother now,’ said Terry.
Harry looked over at the BMW getaway car and nodded at Jimmy.
This was Jimmy’s big chance. He ran to the BMW, jumped in, started her up and, with a screeching smoking wheel spin, accelerated round the quarry at an incredible speed, sweating as the car screamed up and down. Speeding past the three men, he pulled on the handbrake, did a one-eighty turn and accelerated away again. In his rearview mirror, he saw Terry grinning and giving him the thumbs up.
Harry went back to his car and took his coat off, methodically changing his clothes, folding each garment up and placing it on the back seat. Any other man would have looked fairly ridiculous standing there half undressed, but there was something neat and organized about the way he changed into his tracksuit.
‘We’ll try the explosives,’ Harry said, bending down to tie up his plimsolls.
Terry took a small sampler over to the dummy security wagon, stuck the explosives to the side of it and lit the short fuse. He stepped round the side of the van, out of the way — and BOOM. It was over and done within a matter of seconds, leaving a nice round hole the size of a fist in the side of the vehicle. Terry walked back, grinning.
‘When I use the proper amount,’ he said, ‘it’ll leave a hole big enough to get me granny through, and she’s a big old trout, Harry.’
Harry went over the instructions with the team, quietly but with precision and attention to detail. When he finished, each man put a rucksack on and Joe got the shotguns. Harry handed Jimmy the stopwatch to time the run through.
‘The whole raid has to take less than four minutes from start to finish,’ he said.
All three vans were in position. The bread truck was up front, the fake security wagon was in the middle and the van Terry had driven there was at the back. The convoy was set up as though the security wagon was now trapped in the Strand underpass. Jimmy was standing next to the bread truck so he could see Harry’s signal to start the stopwatch, Harry was in the driver’s seat of the rear van, with Joe and Terry in the back.
‘He don’t look like he’s got it in him,’ Joe said, pointing at Jimmy.
‘He has, Joe. I promise he has.’ Terry said.
‘When you’re nervous, the old trigger finger gets shaky and suddenly — bang! We’re all looking at life for murder.’
‘That’s why we’re here today.’ Harry interrupted. ‘He’s up there counting the seconds till I give the order. Is he winding himself up into a useless frenzy or is he as cool as ice? We’ll soon find out.’ Harry raised his hand and Jimmy raised the stopwatch in acknowledgment.
When Harry’s hand came down, Jimmy started the stopwatch and the men moved like lightning. Joe leapt out of the van and stood with his shotgun held toward the imaginary traffic behind. Terry slammed the explosives onto the side of the fake security wagon and Harry climbed onto its bonnet, pointing his shotgun at the imaginary security driver and passenger. ‘Get out of the wagon!’ he screamed, his deep voice echoing round the quarry. The intention was that the two guards in the cab would get out and be forced to lie on the ground in front of Joe.
BOOM! A large Harry-sized hole was blown in the side of the fake security wagon; Harry crawled in, followed by Terry. Harry quickly loaded Terry’s haversack with accurately weighted bags before shouting ‘Go!’ Terry and Joe then switched places, Terry pointing the shotgun at the non-existent traffic and the imaginary guards while Joe’s haversack was filled. Joe then filled Harry’s haversack and all three men raced toward the getaway car parked exactly fifty yards away.
It was a slick operation and, as Jimmy watched them run, he couldn’t wait to learn more about the job.
Dolly sipped tea from the lid of her thermos, listening to Linda and Shirley argue over the last chicken sandwich. Shirley felt that the two slices of pork pie Linda ate meant that the sandwich should really be hers; but Linda argued that you can’t legitimately compare a pie to a sandwich. While they bickered, Bella grabbed it and ate it herself.
‘Shut your gobs,’ she said.
Dolly, who’d eaten nothing, got to her feet. She handed a ‘shotgun’ stick to Shirley and kept the other for herself. ‘Let’s do just the run; see how long it takes.’ Bella jumped up and ran off to the far end of the beach with her stopwatch. When Linda stood up, she was clearly in some pain from where she’d dropped the chainsaw on her foot.
‘I don’t think I can do it, Dolly,’ she whimpered.
‘Is that what you’re gonna say if something happens on the day?’ Dolly asked, ‘Or are you gonna run for your life anyway?’
Linda shut up and the three of them stood, rucksacks on their backs, ready for the cue from Bella.
From fifty yards away, Bella thought they looked like a right old mishmash of mums doing the parents’ egg and spoon race at sports day. Dolly in her bright-pink tracksuit, Shirley in her catwalk-style jumpsuit and Linda looking like a tramp. She shook her head. ‘Ready!’ she shouted. Dolly gave her the thumbs up. ‘One, two, three. GO!’
No matter how many times they did the run, Dolly always lagged behind. She didn’t have the energy or the fitness level of the other three, and began puffing and gasping for breath after the first twenty yards. Every time they made it to the finishing line, she paused, clasped her side, heaved for breath and asked what time they had done. It was obvious she’d never be able to complete the run in the required time. But Dolly wouldn’t give up: time and time again she turned and walked back up the beach to the old Morris. After the fourth time, Linda felt that she had to say something.