If sleep would not come, perhaps he could catch some rugby on Sky Sports. Michael tiptoed to the door to head downstairs. He opened the bedroom door to the sight of two men standing before him in the hallway; dressed head to toe in black and wearing balaclavas. For a moment, it was unclear who was the more surprised, but numbers and the brief flash of a weapon quickly settled the argument.
The shorter of the two men clamped a gloved hand over Michael’s mouth and pointed a pistol at his face before he was able to make a sound. Then deftly spinning him around, slipped zip-ties over his wrists and pushed him back into the bedroom. The other man, armed with a sawn-off shotgun, followed close behind and knelt by the bed next to Siobhan. He extracted a roll of duct tape from a jacket pocket and tore off a small piece. Siobhan awoke to the tearing sound. The adhesive strip roughly placed over her mouth quickly muted her scream. Zip-ties for her wrists followed, then another piece of tape was applied over Michael’s mouth.
Right then. Let’s see to the kiddies, shall we?
The shorter man wore a headset distorting his voice, the microphone hard-pressed against his mouth. The words sounding scratchy and robotic. With the command, his partner left the bedroom to secure the still sleeping children. A minute later the children, crying and squirming, were carried back into the bedroom like sacks of potatoes and dropped onto the bed with their mother.
So, Mr Barry, you are probably wondering what this is all about. We mean you and your family no harm, just so long as you follow our instructions to the letter. Do you understand?
Michael Barry, eyes wide, struggling to comprehend what was happening, shook his head in the affirmative.
You and I will take a short drive to your place of work at the usual time. My friend here will stay with your lovely wife and little ones. Once there, you will allow me into the branch after completing the opening procedures with that young female teller. I believe her name is Emma if memory serves.
The realisation of his situation hit home like a gut punch. Michael’s mind flashed back to the security videos he’d watched in training. Of the precautions to take driving to and from work. The same videos he’d required his staff to watch, but he’d so carelessly disregarded.
He looked down at the prone figure of his wife, the look of fear palpable on her face. His children were snuggled up close to their mother and hiding their faces as if to make it all go away.
Then you will open the vault and I will take the contents. I will then leave both you and Emma tied up and be on my way. Assuming you’ve played along nicely and not done anything stupid, after I’ve left, I will call my friend here, and he will leave your home and family in plenty of time for you to catch your flight to Ibiza. Yes, Mr Barry, we are well informed.
As the man spoke Michael sized up the two assailants; one eight to ten centimetres taller than the other, the taller man lean and imposing, the shorter man older and wiry. They appeared disciplined, professional, and definitely not your typical Irish punks out for a bit of fun after a night on the piss.
Any questions?
The shorter of the two men, the one doing all the talking, ripped the tape from Michael’s mouth. Staring into his cold brown eyes, Michael placed him as middle-aged, but with his voice sounding like a miniature Darth Vader, he couldn’t even be sure it was an Irish accent.
You’ll never get away with this.
How did I know you were going to say that? However, Mr Barry, you better pray that we do, otherwise you’ll be a very young widower. Now, who’d like a nice cup of tea?
Two hours later, Michael, showered and dressed, waited impatiently to leave for work. Siobhan – mouth still taped – and the kids sat on the couch in the family room staring at the television. They were tied together, left wrist to right wrist. Sarah had laid her head down on her mother’s lap and fallen asleep. Michael Junior sat stoically, alternating his stare between the taller man and the television broadcasting cartoons. The taller of the two men sat on a kitchen chair angled to face both the television and the couch; the sawn-off shotgun rested on his knees. The only sound he made was an occasional muffled laugh at the coyote being out-foxed yet again by the roadrunner.
The shorter man had not left Michael’s side.
Are we ready, Mr Barry? You do look lovely in your suit today. That shade of blue brings out the colour in your cheeks.
Michael seethed with anger but was powerless to do anything. Once they left the house, he couldn’t dare to make a move, to raise the alarm would only place his family’s lives at risk. He was their pawn and could only hope and pray everything went to plan and the man with the robotic voice kept his word.
The Dublin morning was cold and grey to match Michael’s mood. He walked from the front step to the driveway, unlocked the family’s 2008 Skoda and climbed in behind the wheel, the shorter man moved quickly to the rear door and lay down across the back foot-space. The children’s car seats claimed the seating area.
I’m counting on you now to have placed a very high value on your family’s heads. No stupid mistakes, okay?
I understand.
Nothing out of the ordinary, no distress signals to Emma, no triggering silent alarms, we will know.
I told you I understand.
Such venom in your voice, Michael. Just think, you get through today and it’s off to Ibiza with your lovely wife tonight.
Without another word, Michael slipped the gearshift into reverse and backed out into Edenvale Road. The headlights of the Skoda washed over his family’s prison before plunging its façade back into darkness as he turned towards his workplace just a short three kilometres away.
Parked waiting for his arrival was the ever-reliable Emma. He waved and forced a smile as he pulled into his assigned parking spot six car lengths away. Emma quickly left her vehicle and entered the branch. Michael and the shorter man patiently waited for her to turn off the alarms, search the premises and give the all-clear.
While she was out of view, the shorter man slipped from the car and took up a position, out of sight, close to the front door. A column of trees helped to block the entrance from the street, in the weak morning light he was invisible to the passing cars.
Michael watched the man in the balaclava take up a crouching position under the front window. Frozen to his seat, he held the steering wheel in a death grip. If Emma caught sight of the intruder she’d trigger the alarm, and Michael’s family would die.
Two minutes later, her inspection complete, Emma signalled to Michael the all-clear and kept watch at the front door while he made his approach. Michael willed himself forward, his knees refusing to unlock. The masked assailant remained unseen. As Michael neared the entrance, Emma unlocked the door. The sign for the shorter man to make his move. He rushed forward and barged inside behind Michael then wrestled the handheld alarm from Emma’s grasp. She fell awkwardly and slid across the tiled floor. The deposit stand in the middle of the lobby stopped her progress with a dull thud. While Michael rushed to her aid, the shorter man moved out of sight of the windows, all the while keeping his gun trained on them both.
The man in the balaclava made a quick check of the time to confirm he was on schedule. According to his instructions, the next employee wouldn’t arrive at the bank for another 30 minutes, he would be well on his way by then.
My apologies, Emma. I hope you weren’t hurt.
You bastard. Who the hell are you?
Michael, explain what is happening.
Michael helped Emma from the floor. She’d a good-sized bump on her head, but the hard knock hadn’t broken the skin.
Emma. They have my wife and the kids. We need to do as he says.
Bullshit. I’m not helping that bastard with anything.
Emma. Listen. They will kill Siobhan and the kids if we don’t do as they say. They broke into my house last night. Another man is there with them now.
The realisation of the position Michael was in slowly dawned on Emma. A look of resignation clouded her young face.<
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Oh, Michael.
The intruder, with gun outstretched and sounding like a cheap cartoon cyborg, shepherded them towards the vault room.
Right then. Let’s open the vault, shall we?
Emma punched in her five-digit code to the vault’s digital display. After a single beep of acknowledgement, Michael entered the second half of the code and opened the door. Cash from the previous day’s shipment sat in the original delivery bag. A rectangular air-tight slab slightly larger than a shoe box. Michael, for a moment, made a mental note to discipline the staff for not following procedure and unpacking the contents to verify the cash immediately until larger matters sprung to mind.
I believe that would be for me.
The shorter man pulled a small carryall from a pocket in his cargo pants, stuffed the plastic bag full of cash inside, then all remaining loose straps of notes. It was a snug fit, but with minimal effort, he closed the zipper on the carryall and sat it on the desk next to the vault.
Okay. Almost finished here. Let’s get you two tied up all nice and cosy and I’ll be on my way.
Less than 15 minutes elapsed from the time Emma entered the branch to when the man dressed in black slipped out the front door. Once clear of the bank’s security cameras he tore of the balaclava and headset. There was not a pedestrian in sight as he made his way around the corner to where a white Ford sedan, parked there the night before, waited. Traffic was light as he pulled out onto Ranelagh Road, the carryall sitting on the passenger seat beside him. He pulled out a mobile phone and called the pre-set number.
All clear on this end. Make sure they are tied up securely. And keep your gloves on until you are well clear of the house. Mission accomplished, boyo.
The taller man ended the call and placed the mobile phone back into the pocket on his vest. A small smile split his covered face, easiest money he’d ever made. He wasn’t sure who the smaller man was, a friend of a friend he’d been told. Best not to ask questions with the people issuing the orders. But so long as he got paid as agreed, he couldn’t give a tinker’s fart. After ensuring the wife and two kids were taped up securely, he slipped out the back door and into the laneway beyond. He’d still not uttered a single word.
Fifteen minutes later, the next scheduled employee entered the Ranelagh branch to find Michael and Emma tied up in the kitchen, and with looks of utter despair on their faces.
Moments later, at the Dublin call centre of An Garda Síochána, officers were alerted to the robbery. Before the Gardaí unit dispatched to Ranelagh left the yard, another call came in on the same emergency line from the AIB branch in Sandymount, then Smithfield, followed by a Bank of Ireland in Beaumont, then another in Drumcondra.
After dispatching officers to the Drumcondra location, the desk Sergeant swore silently to himself and hoped he’d heard the last of the calls. His next call was to his wife telling her to cancel their plans for the long weekend. He’d a hunch it would be all-hands-on-deck for the next few days.
A quick recap of his notes painted a sobering picture. Five bank robberies in all, by all accounts the same modus operandi used in each and not a whiff of hide nor hair from any of the culprits.
Melbourne, Australia
February 15, 2016
Put down the bloody newspaper and get your arse in here.
So much for a peaceful start to the new work week. I paused mid-sentence in reading the latest story on the Euro Bandits, dropped the newspaper next to my keyboard and high-tailed it into Eric’s office.
The Euro Bandits – as dubbed by the press – had struck again. The prior week’s robberies in the Belgian city of Bruges their 8th bank heist across Europe over the past 16 months. On this occasion, four separate branches all hit simultaneously. And all in the same fashion: A bank employee’s home invaded the night before, and the family held hostage. The employee forced to shepherd one of the assailants into the branch the next morning, the vault quickly emptied and the robbers melting away long before opening time. Interpol was at a loss for leads, none of the descriptions of the masked men ever seemed to tally, and none of the stolen bills resurfacing. And by using voice distortion technology, even detecting an accent became an impossibility, the only similarity being they each spoke English.
What were you reading?
Eric Mullane reclined in his office chair, propped his feet on the corner of his desk, and plucked a cricket ball from its display stand on the credenza. He studied the signature for a moment – a recently retired Australian cricketer – then began tossing it gently overhand into the air.
About the bank robberies in Europe. The group struck again last week. In Belgium, this time.
Bloody amazing, they haven’t caught them yet. Usually, it’s the cops being able to trace serial numbers that does them in.
I was wondering about that. How come you think none of the cash has shown up?
Got to be some serious professionals laundering it for them. Still, though, bloody dinosaurs in today’s age.
I sat on the other side of the desk watching the flight of the ball. Each throw reached the top of its arc centimetres from the ceiling tile before dropping back into his open palm.
How do you mean?
Eric caught the ball, dropped his feet to the floor and sat forward.
Sixteen months they’ve been at it and got, how much? Close to ten million? And think of all the moving parts involved. All it takes is one slip-up. One person gets greedy and decides to freelance, or shoots his mouth off to his mates at the pub. One hostage gets free and calls the cops. One old bastard out walking their dog sees something suspicious.
Eric was concentrating on the seam of the cricket ball, turning it over and over in his hand.
Mark my words, it won’t end well for them. How much money do you think we move in a day?
The question caught me by surprise.
How do you mean?
You’re doing wire transfers, right?
Sure.
And how much in total are you moving about each day?
It varied, but it could be as much as $2 million. And I was just one of five assistants. Eric didn’t wait for my answer.
See what I mean. Technology rules in today’s world. Like I said, only dinosaurs rob banks these days. Bloody amateurs still living in the past.
Eric’s feet were back on the edge of the desk, and the cricket ball recommenced its skyward adventures.
Now, where were we?
His rhetorical question aimed more towards the cricket ball than me.
Right. Take this down.
I edged forward on my seat, pen poised over the page. The history lesson was over.
If you want to make money in this game, you have to look after one person. Yourself.
Today, was the much anticipated “talk”. Eric’s promised lecture on how the business of banking worked in the real world.
And when I say game, that’s exactly what it is. If you’re in this for the “client”…
He wiggled his fingers either side of his head, shaped like rabbit ears, to make his point.
… you may become the most loved banker in Melbourne. But, you’ll also be eternally poor and a wasted burn-out in ten years. If… If you still have a job.
I nodded my head and wrote How to be a Dick at the top of the page.
Eric continued talking to the ceiling, assuming I furiously transcribed his every word. His introduction to banking wasn’t shaping up as anything like the college course of the same name.
Your clients will expect you to be a cut-throat bastard to everyone else but them. They won’t mind if you push the shit stock to another bloke to make your money, just so long as you save the choice opportunities for them. And your job is to make them feel that that is exactly the way you operate.
He must have guessed there was a question forming in my mind and cut me off before I could utter the first syllable.
Yeah, yeah, yeah, you are judged here based on client numbers, balances, yadda, yadda
, yadda. I’m not saying don’t pay attention to those things, but it isn’t how you get rich.
Every few minutes I nodded my head in acknowledgement, just in case he glanced my way, but Eric was safely ensconced in the cosy cocoon making up the wonderful world of Eric. He was basking in “Eric land” – where it was all Eric, and nothing but Eric, all day long.
So, pay attention and get this down.
Eric dropped his feet to the floor, sat up straighter, leant forward and placed his elbows on the desk. He steepled his hands in front of his face, rubbed the sides of his chin with his thumbs for a moment then pointed directly at me with both index fingers. I almost threw up my hands in surrender. The cricket ball rolled across the desk’s surface before coming to a stop next to his appointment book. The image of the kookaburra on the side of the ball stared up at me as if to say, do you believe this bullshit?
You make a small percentage with new deposits each month. If you don’t continue to add to a client’s net worth, you don’t make shit. So, if you’re going to take on a client you better make sure they don’t give you everything at once. Ask for just a small amount, to gain their trust. Makes it easier for them to trust you. Unless, of course, you’re going to be actively trading them. Then go for the kill.
Turn A Blind Eye Page 9