‘You Tennison?’
‘Yes, sir,’ she replied, sensing his air of authority.
‘I’m DI Kingston. We’re short on the ground today as some of the team are out with the surveillance squad on another job, so you may as well come with us.’
‘What, to Leytonstone?’
‘No, to a tea party,’ he replied, drily.
‘DCI Murphy was expecting—’
‘He’s not back from Scotland Yard yet, so come on, shift your backside.’
Kingston had the swagger of a confident man and Jane followed him out to the street, where she saw Stanley sitting in the front of a dark green four-door Triumph 2500S, which had a blue magnetic flashing light on top of it. A black man was driving and Bax was in the back, with a diminutive-looking man wearing dark glasses next to him. Behind the Triumph, Cam was in the driver’s seat of a four-door black BMW 525i, again with a flashing light on the roof and its engine running.
‘We’re in the Beamer,’ Kingston told her.
‘Come on, Guv!’ the man in the white T-shirt shouted from the back seat of the BMW.
Kingston got in the front passenger seat as Jane ran around the back of the car and got in behind Cam, but there was little room for her legs as the driver’s seat was almost as far back as it would go. No sooner was she in the car than Cam pulled the automatic gearstick to drive, and pushed the accelerator pedal to the floor. The car took off at high speed, causing Jane to jolt backwards, and it felt like someone had pushed her hard in the chest as her back slammed against the seat. As Cam braked at the T-junction, she felt her body lurch forward, but just managed to get her hands on the back of his seat to brace herself before her head hit it. The Colonel had his feet firmly propped up against the front passenger seat and a large London A-Z open on his lap.
‘Fastest route is left onto Lea Bridge Road, then right—’
‘I’ve worked this manor for years, so I know how to get there, Colonel,’ Cam said calmly, and turned the siren on.
Kingston opened the glove box and picked up the radio mike.
‘MP from Central 888, receiving, over?’
‘Yes, go ahead, Central 888, MP, over,’ a male voice replied.
‘We are en route with Central 887 to Aylmer Road and the men acting suspiciously near Barclays Bank. Any updates?’
‘The vehicle is still in situ. It’s a brown Mark 4 Ford Cortina, 1.6 liter saloon, index plate Sierra Lima Mike 273 Romeo. The vehicle is not reported stolen and may have false plates as the PNC shows a blue Mark 4, 1.6 GL saloon with a registered keeper in Sussex.’
‘Can you give me the informant’s details, please?’ Kingston got out his pocket notebook and pen.
‘Fiona Simpson. She’s the landlady of the Crown public house on the High Road and corner of Aylmer. She lives on the premises and noticed the suspect vehicle parked up with its engine running and wipers on. The driver has left the vehicle and turned right into the High Road, out of sight of the informant. He’s wearing a gray cap, black donkey jacket and blue overalls.’
‘Number of other occupants in the Cortina?’ Kingston asked.
‘The informant can only see the nearside of the vehicle. One male in the front passenger seat and another male behind him, both wearing dark clothing.’
Kingston ran his hand through his hair.
‘There could be a robbery about to take place, MP. We and Central 887 are armed gunships. Our ETA is about four minutes, so tell uniform to hold back until we get there.’
‘Received and understood... we will advise you of any developments... MP, over.’
Jane felt uneasy. As it was her first day on the infamous ‘Sweeney,’ she wasn’t sure what was expected of her, especially if DI Kingston was right in thinking an armed robbery was about to take place.
The driver of the Cortina returned to the car.
‘She’s coming,’ he said, as he got in the car and put on a full-face balaclava, which had a mouth and eye holes cut out.
The two men in the back also put on balaclavas, but the man in the front passenger seat pulled a light brown stocking over his head, which distorted the features of his face. Having adjusted the stocking so it was comfortable, he reached into his jacket pocket and took out a Second World War 9mm German Luger, then pulled back the toggle, which loaded a bullet from the magazine into the chamber.
The four men sat and watched as the blue Ford Transit Securicor van pulled up outside the bank. The driver remained in the van while his colleague went to the rear and looked up and down the High Road, before knocking three times, pausing and then knocking twice.
The passenger from the front of the Cortina and the two men from the back got out of the car and strode with purpose toward the bank. The men knew exactly what they had to do, as everything had been well planned thanks to the information they had received about the cash-in-transit delivery. They knew from experience that robbing the Securicor van should take no more than a minute. As the cash box appeared in the chute at the rear of the van, the three men pounced with military precision.
Jane was beginning to feel nauseous due to the speed Cam was driving and the way he was skidding the car around corners and roundabouts in the rain. She’d been in police pursuits before, but never encountered high-speed driving as dangerous as this.
‘This is our new WDS, Jane Tennison,’ Kingston told the others, as he lit a cigarette and handed one to the Colonel.
The rim of the Colonel’s cap cast a shadow over his steely eyes and accentuated his high cheekbones and dimpled chin.
‘Hello,’ Jane said.
‘You really been posted to the squad?’ the Colonel asked as he lit his cigarette.
‘Yes, sir.’ She put her hand out to shake his.
He didn’t reciprocate. ‘Well, you’ve got a bit more essence than most plonks.’
Jane didn’t have a clue what he meant by ‘essence’ and wasn’t sure she should ask.
Kingston laughed. ‘Gorman’s not an officer — he’s an ex-corporal and just a lowly DC, who thinks you’re better looking than most female officers.’
Jane blushed, embarrassed that the Colonel thought she had ‘essence.’
‘My father was a soldier and served in the Second World War.’
He glared at her as he pulled up the sleeve of his T-shirt, revealing a globe with a laurel wreath on either side and an anchor at the bottom, with the Latin words Per Mare, Per Terram underneath.
‘I’m a Bootneck not a Pongo! I was a Marine Commando in the Royal Navy before I joined the Met. My name’s Ken, but this bunch of knobheads decided to call me the Colonel. The tattoo is the Marines’ insignia and the Latin means “By Sea, By Land”.’
‘Ironic really as he can’t swim,’ Cam laughed.
‘Shut up, OFD,’ the Colonel said, and looked at Jane. ‘In case you’re wondering, OFD means “only the fucking driver”, and he’s only a temporary DC.’
‘I like to think of myself as a shit-hot taxi driver without whom they’d get nowhere,’ Cam replied, as he went the wrong way around a roundabout to turn right.
Kingston smiled. ‘As much as we all hate to admit it, Constable Cameron Murray is the best Class 1 driver in the Met. He even souped up this car’s engine himself so it outperforms every other Flying Squad vehicle.’
Jane could sense the mutual bond of respect and camaraderie among the officers and felt a bit of an outsider. She instinctively knew that she would have to prove herself a capable detective if she wanted to become part of the team.
‘What should I do when we get there?’ she asked, wanting to show her enthusiasm.