Chapter 30
It didn’t take Dolly long to get from the market traders’ underground car park to her start point, about two minutes away from the security firm’s depot in Battersea. She was now parked up in a side street with the engine running. She could see the depot entrance from where she was and, as the heavy iron gates opened, she knew the security wagon would come out, turn right and then right again at the end of the road toward her. The sky was clear, the roads were clear — conditions were perfect. The rush hour traffic was just getting out of bed and London had no idea what was about to happen.
Timing was imperative, as the gap between the security wagon and the car in front of it widened — this was where Dolly’s laundry van had to end up. There could be nothing in between them.
The security wagon was forty yards away, then thirty. At twenty yards, Dolly calmly pulled out into the road. She had timed it perfectly. The security wagon didn’t even have to brake to let her out.
As they traveled along York Road toward Waterloo Bridge roundabout, Dolly realized how important it had been to get the route plan. It would only be a matter of minutes now before they turned left at the roundabout and northward over Waterloo Bridge toward the Strand underpass. Dolly hoped to God the girls had left the lock-up and were in position.
As they headed toward the Strand underpass, Dolly moved out slightly to get a better view in her nearside mirror. Linda was in position, behind the security wagon. Dolly moved back into lane and slowed to twenty miles per hour to allow the vehicles in front to pull away from her. Then she pressed her foot hard down on the accelerator and watched the speedometer.
The laundry van picked up speed quicker than she expected — thirty, thirty-five, forty, as they entered the underpass. Dolly glanced in the wing mirror; the security wagon was right behind her, right on her tail. Dolly pressed the accelerator further; as the speedometer reached fifty, she saw the glimmer of light at the end of the underpass and pulled her balaclava down over her face. She glanced in the wing mirror again and, judging that the gap between her and the security wagon was just right, she slammed on the brakes. The security wagon smashed into the back of the laundry van, the front of the wagon totally crumpling as it was brought to an instant halt. Dolly was thrown forward, but the harness protected her from the full force of the impact.
Grinding the van’s gear into first, she moved sharply forward a few feet and then hard into reverse, slamming the laundry van’s rear bumper into the crippled wagon. Dolly could hear the crunch of metal, the shattering of glass and then the sound of hissing steam coming from the wagon’s radiator. She thanked God for the harness — she’d been jerked about so hard she thought her chest would crack open. Undoing the buckle, she grabbed the gas mask from the gear stick and dived into the back of the van. She stood at the rear door, gas mask on, shotgun hanging by her side from the makeshift belt, sledgehammer in hand. Then she kicked the back doors of the van wide open and threw the sledgehammer right at the center of the security wagon’s windscreen. The reinforced glass didn’t even crack. Dolly swung her shotgun up into position, chest high, and pointed it directly at the two stunned, panic-stricken security guards.
‘DON’T MOVE!’ she screamed. Her voice sounding deep, distorted and frightening.
The security guards lifted their hands above their heads. One shouted to the guard in the back: ‘They’re armed!’
At exactly the same time, Shirley flung open the back doors of their follow van and hurled two smoke canisters at the cars behind them. Instantly, the smoke began to billow and hiss, clouding visibility. She then clambered on top of the security wagon and, removing wire cutters from her pocket, cut the radio aerial.
Grabbing the sawed-off from under the passenger seat, Linda took up position at the rear of the follow van. A man was getting out of his Fiat, but when Linda raised the gun and waved it at him, he quickly got back in and locked the doors, just as another car slammed into the back of him. The second driver put her car into reverse, but it stalled. Linda ran over and smashed the windscreen with the butt of the shotgun. The terrified woman screamed and covered her face, giving Linda plenty of time to grab the ignition keys and throw them away. Then she stepped back to her initial position and stood, legs apart, with the shotgun raised.
Bella leapt from the follow van behind Shirley, ran to the nearside of the security wagon and started up the chainsaw. Hot sparks flew around the side of the van as the saw cut through the metal like butter.
Inside the back of the van, the sound was deafening and the guard trembled in fear as he watched the blade emerge through the metal. He had no idea what was on the other side, no idea what or who was coming through at him, no idea if he was going to live or die.
It took less than thirty seconds for Bella to make a cut big enough to peel the metal back. Shirley handed Bella her shotgun and she stuck it through the hole she’d cut. She waved the barrel of the gun toward the rear doors and the guard opened up.
As Bella stepped into the back of the security wagon, the terrified guard unlocked the money cabinet. She then forced him out of the van. Linda pointed her shotgun at him and indicated that he should lie on the ground. Shaking with fear, the guard did exactly as he was told.
Shirley climbed into the back of the security wagon and started to cut through the interior wire cage with her cutters. This was the slowest part of the process and, after a few seconds, Bella nudged Shirley out of the way, fired up the chainsaw again and, with one swipe, cut enough of the wire cage away to access the money bags. Shirley then began stuffing them into the open rucksack on Bella’s back and, as soon as it was full, she slapped Bella on the shoulder.
Terrified members of the public watched from the safety of their cars as Bella took over from Linda. Holding the shotgun up to keep the public and the guards at bay, Linda ran to the wagon so Shirley could fill her rucksack. Linda’s breath heaved, and her wet ski-mask dragged in and out of her mouth. As Shirley filled her rucksack, Linda could feel it getting heavier. Once it was full, she stuffed the rest of the money into Shirley’s rucksack.
As Linda and Shirley jumped out of the security wagon, Shirley caught her rucksack on the door latch and dangled there like a rag doll. Linda was already sprinting toward the exit of the underpass on the Strand side, but Bella was quickly at Shirley’s side. Once she was unhooked, they both followed Linda as fast as their legs could carry them under the cumbersome weight of a third of a million pounds each.
Dolly still stood in position in the rear of the laundry van, her heart beating like mad as first Linda and then Bella ran past her. She looked out of the van and saw two men running quickly behind Shirley. One of them dived forward and rugby-tackled her to the ground with a heavy thud. Her padding cushioned her fall, but she twisted her ankle.
Quick as a flash, Dolly leapt from the back of the laundry van and fired a shot into the air. Both have-a-go heroes hurled themselves flat on their stomachs with their hands covering their heads as shattered ceiling tiles from the underpass showered down on them. A shard of tile lodged itself into the neck of one of them and he started screaming that he’d been shot.
Shirley clambered to her feet and ran precariously toward the exit of the underpass. She only managed a few steps before she was in trouble and started to hobble from the pain and instant swelling in her ankle. But she carried on and didn’t look back.
Dolly looked at the carnage they were leaving behind and thanked God that they’d not seriously hurt anyone. She’d never been so scared in her entire life. Members of the public were lying down across the front seats of their cars; the guard from the back of the security wagon was face down on the ground, as were the have-a-go heroes. The power was exhilarating — but she had to get the hell out of there.