McBride was surprised The back of the pickup was loaded with traffic cones, and fence posts, boards too. Or they could be notice boards. While they watched, two men climbed into the pickup, and it pulled on to the road, driving off away from McBride.
“Gone to trap the real secure Express van, I reckon,” said Miller.
“If I go a different route from last night, I reckon I can maybe forestall them,” said McBride.
“If you do, be careful, they may well be armed.”
“Okay, and you’ll follow the Secure Express van with Murphy in it, and I can catch up with you at Northern Bullion?”
“Keep your mobile handy. Anything can happen, and we don’t want to lose Murphy.” McBride got back in his car, and drove off fast.
He knew another route to enter the B road before the junction that Murphy and his boys were looking at last night. Trouble was that he would have to drive fast to cover the extra miles that this route comprised. Traffic was light, but McBride reflected that this would also help the Murphy boys as well, although he should be able to maintain a faster average in his car.
In the event, McBride arrived at the junction and the pickup was already there, and the men were unloading traffic cones. They waved him on, so McBride had to proceed, although he pulled into the same lay by that he had used the previous night. He was extremely surprised that the men were putting cones across the minor road, together with a large sign saying ‘road closed’ and an arrow pointing the way he had gone, as a diversionary route.
He sat in his car for a moment, confusion showing in his inaction. But there was little time to lose. He opened the door, got out of the car and jogged across the road. His plan was to go through the copse as he had done yesterday. He scrambled upwards through the trees, the ground damp from rain last night, the pungent smell of leaf humus. The sky was light blue, not a cloud in the sky. He descended towards the side road, and reached the verge, perhaps a hundred yards from the junction.
He stood there for a moment, hearing the sound of traffic cones scraping on the tarmac. He could see Murphy’s men working busily. Now they had moved cones to block the B road, and opened the left hand side of the lane. Next, they waved their arms to direct a vehicle towards him.
With a start he realised it was a Secure Express van, sparkling white in the sunshine, accelerating towards him. In the moment he had before the vehicle was on him, his brain worked overtime, calculating, no, guessing which vehicle this could be. Was it genuine, or Murphy’s?
He made the decision, ran into the road, flagged with his hands for it to stop. The driver stared at him and accelerated. Just before the vehicle was about to hit him, McBride hurled himself back onto the verge, tripped and was thrown flat with his own acceleration.
Almost immediately, there was an explosion. He realised he was deaf, could hear nothing but the blood surging in his ears, and a gale of air throwing debris, twigs and dust towards him. He lifted his face in time to see the Secure Express van thrown into the air on a pillar of flame, tumbling back again on to the road, bouncing twice before coming to rest on its wheels. The van was on fire, tyres burning furiously. As he watched, there was another explosion, blasting heat waves towards him.
The back of the van bulged, and a long tear appeared in the metal. Instead of white, the van was a charred greyish brown. A trickle of steaming water headed towards him.
McBride, dazed, struggled to stand up, brushing leaves and dust from his hair. The van was still burning, but with less flames. Black smoke rose into the still air, and there was no sound of birdsong.
McBride knew that the men inside could not have survived, but was still going to find out for sure, if he could get close enough. The heat, even when he was a couple of feet from the van, drove him back, and he had to admit defeat.
Suddenly panicking, he swung round to look up to the road junction for Murphy’s men. But no-one was in view. The cones were scattered, some on their sides, presumably moved by the blast.
Carefully, feeling aches in every bone he walked to the junction. To the right, on the B road, there were more cones, mostly on the edge of the road, and a sign still in middle of the tarmac, ‘ROAD CLOSED use diversion’ in white on a red background. Of Murphy’s pick up and the men, there was no sign.
McBride realised that the police must have been alerted, either by the explosion, or informed by Express Secure that their van had vanished. If McBride was still around when the police arrived, he would be pulled in for questioning, and could be detained all day.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The communications room at Secure Express housed eight computer screens. It was a long low room, no widows. There were three men scanning the screens, one, the supervisor, whose sole job it was, and always two relief drivers. The screens each showed GPS maps, one for each van, the van number on the top of the screen. There were phones by each screen, and radio phones, too. That made three ways each van was in touch with base. If there was going to be trouble, and that was very, very rarely, it was when a van was loaded, and someone tried to hijack it for the contents. If the GPS contact was lost, the computer gave an audible alarm.
At 9.34a.m on Thursday morning, the men in the communications room were sipping their first coffee of the day, and discussing last night’s football match.
The audible warning startled them, and each scanned their bank of computers.
“Number three down, super!” shouted one of the drivers. He picked up the phone, speed dialled the van’s mobile number. The call failed to connect. A call by radiophone also failed.
The supervisor was worried. “Do you have the last position on screen?” he called. Already he had his phone in his hand, dialling the number to their police contact. First he gave the van details, registration number, then the last known latitude and longitude.
“B1293, it is on screen here, at a junction, C road, on the right heading south west. In fact they weren’t on the B1293, but about 150 yards up the unclassified lane. That was an unauthorised detour.”
“Just a moment,” said the traffic policeman, “we’ve got another message in, explosion in that vicinity. We’ve a car in the area. Just hold on…” The supervisor could hear the policeman talking to somebody else. “Bad explosion, IED, looks like. It’s your van, doesn’t look as though there are survivors. We’ll phone back shortly when we’ve got more details. What was the cargo? It doesn’t look as though anyone has had time to get into the vehicle.”
“That’s what’s surprising, it was empty – going to a pick up.”
“Where was it going?”
“Northern Bullion.”
“We’ve got a police presence scheduled there.”
“I’ll phone Northern and reschedule.”
“I’ll get someone round to your office when we’ve sorted it out”
The supervisor put the phone down, looked up the number for Northern Bullion, asked for despatch supervisor.
“Speaking”, said Jim, to the surprise of the Secure Express man. He told him about rescheduling for the next day, and Jim readily agreed that would be okay. The supervisor was puzzled. Northern Bullion usually went ballistic if any changes were suggested.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Northern Bullion was on the edge of the modern industrial estate. It was modern, but not so modern that there was sufficient car parking space for all the employees. Each road was chock-a-block with vehicles on both sides of the estate roads. Northern Bullion itself was housed in a classy low brick building, single storey, with slate roof. Low, because they didn’t need cranes inside to lift the goods. Everything was moved by forklift trucks, on pallets. In the front was a deep tarmac yard, staff cars parked off to the left. There was plenty of space to the centre and right for trucks to swing round, and then reverse to the main shutter door. For extra security there were a row of steel pillars in front of the doors, so that no-one could use a vehicle as a battering ram on them to gain access. When a collection was ready, the steel posts sank into
the ground, actuated from inside the building. Further steel posts all round the building remained immovable
Inspector Nolan parked his Vauxhall Vectra in front of the offices, where there were three marked out rectangles, each labelled ‘visitor’. His car was painted in blue and yellow squares, with the word ‘police’ on the rear panel, and also across the bonnet. He was angled so that he could look through the offside mirror to the yard entrance. There was a tic in his cheek, his normal showing of nerves, His fingers drummed on the steering wheel, until he became aware of what he was doing, and forced his hand on to his lap. He was dressed in uniform, his cap on the front passenger seat, to be picked up and worn when he left the car.
At a couple of minutes before ten, the Secure Express van turned into the yard. It looked so smart, and was driven so decorously, that for one awful moment Inspector Nolan thought it might be the genuine article. As it got closer, he saw Murphy driving and O’Connor in the passenger seat. Both looked smart, white collars, and ties neatly centred and knotted. Nolan’s heart lifted. Maybe it would all go off without incident, and get him off the hook.
The van executed a clockwise circle, and reversed up to the posts in front of the roller doors.
Both men opened their van doors, got out and walked towards the office. Nolan got out of the police car, put on his uniform cap, and fell in behind them. Murphy was holding the paperwork that Nolan had given him a couple of days before.
The door opened inwards, and they all stepped into a fair size carpeted lobby, a counter to keep the customers out of the back office. Behind the counter which was chest height, stood a burly man, himself in uniform. Some sort of security, Nolan reckoned. Behind the man a couple of cubicles, glazed from waist height up to head height, open ended towards the main counter. Two young women studied computers, never looked up.
The security man obviously recognised Murphy’s uniform. “You here to collect the consignment of platinum for Manchester Airport?” he asked. Murphy nodded, thought: easier than he expected. He stopped being nervous.
“Yes, got the papers here.” Put them on the counter. Nolan stood to one side, still wearing his hat, hands joined behind him. Standing at ease. O’Connor was on Murphy’s right.
The security man looked at their neck tags.
“What is the password?” That always put them in a panic, on their first visit. The security guy loved his practical jokes. This was going to be the last one, as he soon found out.
“Password,” repeated Murphy, swung round to Nolan, who looked back without emotion.
Murphy saw no help from him.
“Fuck you,” said Murphy, pulled out a gun and shot the security man in the chest. He went down forward to hang over the counter, his breath, rasping.
“Just a minute,” said Nolan, incredulous, seeing everything evaporate, his career, his life. Yes, very likely his life.
Murphy turned to him, the pistol in his hand. “Sorry mate,” and shot Nolan in the head. Across the room, behind the counter, the women on the computers had turned and were
staring at Murphy, open mouthed, faces white.
Murphy beckoned the elder one by waving his gun at her. “Come over here a minute,” he called. The woman just sat there like a statue. “Come on, I’m not going to shoot you.”
Slowly she got to her feet and took a few paces toward the counter.
“Good,” said Murphy. “Now, my friend here,” he nodded at O’Connor, “wants to get behind the counter. How does he get there?”
Still mute she pointed at a door on Murphy’s side of the counter, on the right hand wall.
“And that connects with that door?” Murphy pointed at a door immediately behind the counter. The girl nodded.
“Okay,” Murphy said to O’Connor, “take these.” He reached into his jacket, pulled out a dozen long cable ties, put them on the counter in front of him. “Tie their hands behind them, and their feet as well.” O’Connor, opened the door, went through. A moment later, he re-appeared on the other side.
“Now young lady,” continued Murphy, “how many people are there in the building besides you lot here?”
“Three. They’re in the loading bay.”
“Can you speak to them on the internal phone?” asked Murphy. The girl nodded. “Well, hurry up, get one of them on the phone, and ask all of them to come straight here. Chop, chop.”
The girl returned to her desk picked up the phone, pressed an extension number, said: “Can all three of you come into the office now?”
The tension mounted while they waited. O’Connor motioned to the first girl to stand up and turn round. He crossed her arms behind her, said, “Stay still”, threaded a cable tie, and pulled it tight.
As he was performing the operation, the door O’Connor had used opened again and three men in smart overalls came in. Murphy shouted, “Don’t move!”
They looked at Murphy, saw the gun he was waving at them, took in the body slumped on the counter, although they couldn’t see the body of Inspector Nolan from where they were standing.
Murphy said, “None of you will get hurt if you do as I say. You can see that I’m not afraid to use the gun. All I want you to do, you men, is to get the van loaded with the platinum. Here’s the note.” He held the document out, and one of the men took it. “The van’s outside."
“Just get it loaded up, we’ll go on our way, and everything will be hunky dory.”
He gestured at O’Connor, who had now tied up both women. “Get your gun out and cover them for a moment, while I get to your side.”
When O’Connor had his own gun on the three, Murphy went through the door on his side, re-appeared in the other door, gesturing with his gun at the three men, stood to one side, said, “Come on guys, lead the way, and I’ll follow, with my finger on the trigger.” They emerged from the corridor adjacent to the office on to the storeroom floor.
Murphy could see that they already had a forklift waiting behind the shutter door, its forks in a pallet stacked with small wooden cases.
One of the men peeled away to open the doors, pressing a button on a plate on the wall. As the shutter slowly rose, at the same time the protective posts began to sink into the ground.
Murphy tossed a set of keys to the guy operating the door.
“Open the van!” he ordered. “Start loading.” One man used the keys to open the van, and then handed the keys back to Murphy. Another of the other men jumped on to the forklift.
The van doors open, he expertly drove the forklift, depositing the pallet neatly on the van floor, without touching the sides. He backed the truck forks clear of the van, back through the shutter doors. Without slowing down, he spun the steering wheel and the truck arced round, the rear end catching O’Connor, and throwing him back into the corner by the doors. Murphy was too quick and leaped outside as he realised what was happening, stumbling in his haste to get out of range of the forklift.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
As he drove, McBride telephoned Miller.
“Dusty, I’m just heading for Northern Bullion. Is that where you are?”
“Yes, Murphy’s inside, Just arrived there a minute ago. The police car’s outside, too.
Nolan was in it, he’s gone in with Murphy and his sidekick. I’m parked down Severn Road. There are one or two parking spaces left. How long will you be?”
“I think about seven or eight minutes.”
“I won’t move until you’ve got here. The bug’s still on the van.”
“The Secure van was blown up, you know. No survivors, as near as I could get. It was still on fire.”
McBride swept down Severn Road, and nearly shot past Miller’s car, saw him at the last minute, and managed to pull into a space one behind. He jumped out of his car, wrenched Miller’s passenger door open, and climbed in.
Miller grinned at him. “They’ve been in there seven and one half minutes already. Think maybe something’s wrong. The door’s not been opened yet to load the van. What do you thi
nk we should do?”
“Creep up, and prepare to enter ourselves. Trouble is, there could be shooting.”
They both got out of Miller’s car, and walked across the road. The estate was quiet, as estates always are during working hours. They walked along the pavement up to the entrance. The shutter doors had opened as they were leaving the car. Now they could see a forklift, putting a pallet in the van. They saw it reverse suddenly, and Murphy leap from the doorway. He looked round, saw them and immediately jumped into the van, and took off past them skidding violently as he pulled the van round the corner to leave the estate. He obviously recognised McBride.
Since they couldn’t chase Murphy on foot, both men ran to the shutter door, still open and the forklift skewed in the entrance. As they approached, two men in overalls looked out.
“Everything okay?” shouted McBride
“Hardly. They’ve killed some staff. But we caught one.”
McBride and Miller came up to the forklift. One of the men pointed. O’Connor was trapped in the corner by the rear of the forklift, unable to escape. McBride quickly looked at the floor. About ten feet away was a pistol lying on the ground, maybe knocked out of O’Connor’s hand when the truck struck. McBride ran over and picked it up.
“Where is everybody?” said Miller to the two men. “Well there’s Jack on the floor just here. He got hit when I reversed the fork lift, I was after the robber and didn’t see Jack standing there.” He was in the internal doorway from the office. Miller bent down and examined him. “He’ll be okay, just knocked out. In fact, he’s coming round now. One of you phone 999 and get the police and ambulance.”
One of the men said, “The phone lines are down.” Miller tossed him his mobile. “Use this,” he said and followed McBride, who had gone outside and was running to the office entrance.
They pulled open the office door. Inspector Nolan, was stretched out on the floor, face up. Very little blood, but a terrible exit wound spilling out around his head. McBride stood up. Miller was examining the body slumped over the counter. “Dead,” he said. There was a pool of blood spreading across the countertop. McBride glanced across the counter. The two girls looked at him.
One of them spoke. “We’re tied up. Can you help us?”
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