Signal Red

Gordy shook his head. 'No. Just said he had a couple of blokes he could bung a drink up there to make sure the new ones weren't available for a few days.'

'The brakes.' The two words were followed by a rattling cough.

All eyes turned to the new voice. It was Stan, spitting stray strands of tobacco from his lower lip as he placed a fresh roll- up between them.

'What about them?' asked Bruce.

'You need to fuck with the brakes. There's always teething troubles with these new models. So it won't seem suspicious if both go out of action. Always happens. You block one of the pipes with what looks like debris. Not the main one, but the feeders to the wheels. Iron filings work, and carborundum paste. Just looks like someone connected the pipes without cleaning them properly and the rubbish built up.'

'How do you know that?' asked Jim.

'Used to teach it during the war. At Beaulieu. To the saboteurs being parachuted in to France.' Everyone looked at the skeletal old man with a fresh set of eyes. 'You know where they lay up the coaches between runs, don't you?'

'Wembley,' confirmed Roy. 'I could go and do it in the afternoon. They sit there for three hours or more then. Be back here by the evening.'

'No,' said Bruce firmly. 'Not you. You need to be here to uncouple the coach.'

'Jimmy can do that,' objected Roy, pointing to Jim White, who nodded his agreement.

'Which is why he stays, too. Back-up on everything.'

'And Tony knows how.'

'Apart from that,' Charlie Wilson, who had been brooding on the change of plans, spoke up, 'did he say why there are

so few bags? Have we been rumbled? Someone talked out of turn?' He scanned the room accusingly.

'No, Charlie, calm down. He says the banks obviously haven't collected all the cash yet,' said Brian. 'Tomorrow might be better, or the next day. But not tonight.'

Bruce reached a decision. 'Tony?'

'Yeah?'

'You think you could mess with the brakes? You've been doing this uncoupling lark with Roy.'

'Sure I can. If Stan and Roy give us a few clues.'

'Piece of cake,' said Stan.

'Take Tiny Dave with you. Just in case there's trouble.'

Tiny Dave shrugged. It was all the same to him. Better a day off the farm than sitting cooped up for another twenty- four hours solid with a load of sweaty blaggers.

'OK,' said Bruce with fresh enthusiasm. 'So it's still on. Full steam ahead. Or full diesel in our case. We might get to be rich bastards, after all.' He picked up one of the bottles of Bushmills and unscrewed the top. 'But I suppose there's no harm in a little drink now. Get the uniforms off, I don't want you sleepin' in them, and grab a glass. And keep the bleedin' gloves on. Ronnie, that means you.'

'Oi, and boys,' said Bobby to Tony and Tiny Dave, 'if you are going back in town, pick us up a bottle or two of HP sauce, will you?'

'And some Kit-e-Kat.' It was Roy.

Bruce ignored him and concentrated on Tony and Tiny Dave. 'Apart from all that, keep your noses clean. You go in, bugger up the HVP coach, get back here. OK? Good. That's settled, then. Gordy, there's inflatable mattresses pumped up upstairs. Grab yourself a corner. We might as well get some sleep.'

Bruce waited until everyone else was busy, then signalled to Gordy and Brian to follow him outside. He stood looking up at the stars and a blurred, hazy moon, his mind racing. When he was aware they were behind him, he said, 'How much, Brian?'

'For what?'

'This drink. To take out the HVPs.'

'Ten.'

Bruce spun on his heel. 'Ten grand?'

'Per carriage. They've got a spare up there, remember.'

Bruce was speechless. The Glasgow link was already being well remunerated. He examined Brian's face, masked though most of it was by shadows, for signs of deviousness or naked avarice. He wouldn't be the first thief to pad his expenses.

Brian could read Bruce's expression. 'That's what they said, Bruce. They said if they were caught they'd be sacked. Had to be enough to make losing their job worthwhile.'

'How much do BR pay these days then?' Bruce snapped. 'Maybe we should just get a job on the rails.'

Brian spread his hands out, palms up. 'They'll have money to lay out too. Watchmen to be paid off for turning a blind eye.'

'So it begins,' said Gordy. 'The shape of things to come.'

Gordy was right. Once they got a sniff of a big payday, the jackals all appeared. The price of everything went through the roof. Especially Blind Eyes. It would be even worse when they had the actual cash in their hands. 'We haven't got much choice, have we? Tell them to go ahead.'

Brian showed a nervous flicker of teeth in the moonlight. 'I already have.'

'Hello, is that the police? Yes, my name is Charmian Biggs. Look, I'm sorry to bother you, but I don't quite know what else to do.

I'm at my wit's end. Sorry, I'm a bit tearful. Just a second. I'll have to blow my nose. This is a call concerning my husband, Ronnie Biggs. Ronald Biggs, yes. The thing is, he has gone off chopping wood in Wiltshire for some firm. No, it's just an odd job; he normally does painting and decorating. This is just a few days' casual work – well paid, he said. But I've just heard that his brother has died. So we are really keen to get hold of him, as you can imagine. No, Ronnie didn't even know he was ill, otherwise he wouldn't have gone. He is – was – very close to his brother. So I wondered, is there any way you can check on any woodcutting firms in Wiltshire? I'm sure that's where he said it was. Thank you, that's very kind. No, I'm sure you'll find him, and when you do I'm certain he'll be very grateful.'

Forty-two

London, 6 August 1963

'Charlie Delta Three to Foxtrot Delta Control. Have contact with silver Jaguar from the all-car message regarding a smash and grab. Proceeding along Langton Terrace. Over.' 'Roger that, Charlie Delta Three.'

'Control, I have with me DC William Naughton and DS Leonard Haslam. We are now turning into Keating Close. It's them, all right; he's seen us and he's put his foot down. Turning left into Baker Rise.'

'Charlie Delta Three, you're now car-to-car. All cars in Number One division switch to Channel Five. Repeat, Channel Five.'

'Control, this is DC Naughton. George, our driver, has his hands…Jesus!… his hands full at the moment. I shall transmit the details.'

'Very well, Charlie Delta Three.'

'The car vehicle identification on the Jaguar is bravo yankee romeo five zero two alpha. He's taking a hard right into Yates Street. He's really throwing it around now.

Ugh – sorry, dropped the handset. He's going mad… so are we.'

'Anyone able to lend assistance to Charlie Delta Three, now pursuing suspect Jaguar from all-car message one-one- nine-six towards Kilburn against the traffic?'

'This is Tango Bravo Two, am heading down Abercorn Place to try and intercept.'

'He's kerbed it. Lost a hubcap. He's back on track. Trying to lose us on these corners. Just into Foster Place. Repeat, Foster Place. Fifty yards behind now. There's a bloody wood- entop standing in the road trying to wave him down. They'll have him. Jump, you idiot! Bloody hell. Hello, Control? Unknown PC managed to get a truncheon into their screen. Repeat, Jaguar now has no windscreen. They've punched it out. You should find that silly bugger and give him a commendation.'

'Roger that, Charlie Delta Three.'

'Into the tunnel at Finlay Street, touching seventy now. Going to lose radio cont- Hang on, one of the bastards has jumped out.'

'Please observe on-air protocol, Charlie Delta Three.'

'Charlie Delta Three to Control. One of the bastards exited the vehicle at the eastern end of the Finlay Street Tunnel. Suggest you send unit to search the area. He's probably hurt himself after coming out at that speed. Oh Lord, there's a school crossing. Lollipop man. Get out the way, you old fool! Jesus, he's going to hit him. Watch out, George… Watch out for the kids.'

'Charlie Delta Three? This is Control. Come in, Charlie Delta Three.'