He ran through the events of that morning in his mind. At no point had his face been revealed to the big man or the bikers, and he had been well clear of the scene before dumping his mask into the backpack. Of average height and build, Scowcroft was just one more twenty-something male in a city that held tens of thousands of them, so he considered it safe to walk the train. If he was on board, the courier was sure to be made conspicuous by his size. Likewise, the bearded man wouldn’t blend in amongst the increasingly irritated businessmen and parties of tourists.
Scowcroft moved from one carriage to the next, finally coming to one that served as a dining carriage. Scowcroft bought half a dozen packets of sandwiches and bottles of water. The cost made him baulk, and then the young man laughed, remembering that three million pounds’ worth of precious stones were taped to his chest.
‘You can keep the change, love,’ he told the server with a smile, and moved back to rejoin the others, the sound of the stag party reaching him long before he entered the carriage.
‘Long time for a piss,’ Charlotte snorted.
‘I got these,’ Scowcroft explained, dumping the bag into Charlotte’s lap.
‘Shit,’ Barrett groaned.
‘What? You don’t like ham and cheese? It’s all they had, mate. Bloody French.’
‘No.’ Barrett shook his head, his face turning pale. ‘That.’
Scowcroft followed the man’s gaze, and the bread turned to ash in his mouth.
Two British policemen appeared to be casually walking the platform, but with a soldier’s instinct Barrett had recognised their fleeting glances at the train’s windows, and the hands that rested ready on the hilts of their extendable batons.
‘They’re looking for us,’ Barrett almost sighed.
‘How can you be sure?’ Charlotte pressed, desperate for him to be wrong.
‘The insignia. Those aren’t transport police. They’re the Met.’
‘Bollocks,’ Scowcroft hissed. ‘Over by the escalators. There’s another one there. That must be why the big lad and his mate have done one.’
‘They’re putting the nets out,’ Barrett assessed.
‘So what do we do?’ Charlotte asked.
‘We get off the train,’ Barrett answered, and Scowcroft nodded in agreement.
‘But first . . .’ the younger man said, tapping his chest to still their questions.
Scowcroft left the carriage and moved to the closest toilet. It was open, but splattered with vomit. The thief had no time to notice. The sight of the police had sent his heart beating fast against the stones. He knew the time had come to divide them. He took eight from the pouch, placing four in each of his trouser pockets. He was about to retape the remaining four to his chest, but another idea came to him.
Scowcroft would swallow the stones. If the big man and his friends were to catch him, then they’d have to gut him before Scowcroft failed his brother.
He swallowed, washing down the diamonds with handfuls of water from the washbasin.
‘Here,’ he told Charlotte and Barrett when he got back to their seats, handing them the diamonds beneath the table. ‘Swallow them. Right now. Don’t mess around.’
Neither did, knocking back the small rocks with bottles of water.
‘Christ!’ Charlotte gasped.
‘Hey,’ one of the stag party grinned, his voice conspiratorial. ‘Is that Mandy?’ he asked – meaning ecstasy.
‘Travel sickness pills,’ Scowcroft replied. ‘Sorry, mate.’
‘Oh,’ the man said sadly, before his eyes brightened up. ‘Guess I’ll stick to the coke then.’ The size of his grin suggested much of the powder had already been consumed.
‘This is the best place you found for us to sit, yeah?’ Scowcroft whispered to Charlotte.
‘You don’t have to be a Scowcroft to make a decision,’ she replied. ‘If trouble comes, you’ll be glad I did. You’ll see.’
‘Wait. You feel that?’ Barrett cut in, smiling. ‘The table’s vibrating! We’re ready to go!’ The conductor’s whistles on the platform were closely followed by cheers from the stag party.
‘Thank God,’ Charlotte sighed, seeing the police making no effort to board. ‘We’re clear.’
She couldn’t have known about the man entering the station, and how desperate he was to prove her wrong.
CHAPTER 16
DETECTIVE INSPECTOR HILL sprinted across St Pancras station’s concourse, the uniformed sergeant beside him struggling to match the pace.
‘Can’t they stop it?’ Hill demanded of the man as the pair flashed identification at the border officials.
‘We’ve got no cause, sir,’ the sergeant told Hill for the third time. ‘Three robbery suspects is not enough to hold an already delayed international train. We’re not even sure they’re on there.’
‘They’re on there,’ Hill declared, trusting his gut and pushing his way through a group of startled tourists.
‘Where are your officers? How many are on the train?’
‘Well, none, sir,’ the sergeant told him, fighting for air. ‘They can’t go to Europe.’
Hill swore beneath his breath, scanning the scene about him. Whistles rang along the platform. Hill knew the train’s doors would close in a second, and with them his chances of catching the thieves.
‘My car’s pulled up across the front!’ he shouted at the sergeant, tossing him the BMW’s keys as he leapt through the open door and onto the train. The closing door cut off the sergeant’s shocked reply.
‘You can’t do this, sir,’ Hill lip-read. He smiled as he waved the man goodbye.
The train lurched forwards. There was no turning back now. Either he would come out of this a champion or a disgrace. He knew he was placing his redundancy package – and therefore the future of his business – in jeopardy, but Hill believed in bold strokes, and he trusted his gut. The thieves, and Slate’s diamonds, were on this train.
After a few moments to collect his thoughts, Hill pulled out his phone.
‘Now, don’t get angry,’ he said into it after Vaughn answered, ‘but I’m on the Eurostar.’
‘Yes, I just bloody heard from the sergeant! What the hell are you doing, Hill? Get yourself off there at the first stop. If you’re lucky, maybe we can keep the IPCC out of this.’
‘I’m going to Amsterdam, boss, but I’ll be back tomorrow.’
‘You’ve got no jurisdiction to operate on the Continent, you stupid git!’
‘I know that, boss. That’s why I’m calling you to let you know I’m taking tomorrow off as leave. Pretty sure I’ve got a couple of days left in the bank, and I was already pushing into overtime today. This is just an above-board day break across the Channel.’
‘Right, but all that goes to shit when you find these thieves of yours.’
‘Exactly. When I find them,’ Hill smiled. ‘These thieves scream amateur to me, boss, and they’ve bitten the hand of one of the shadiest men in London. If I don’t find them before his crew does, then we’ll have an international murder enquiry on our hands.’
‘Christ. OK. I’ll call ahead to a friend of mine in Amsterdam. I’ll write it up as a familiarisation visit.’
‘You’re a good bobby, boss,’ Hill told Vaughn, and meant it.
‘Save the arse-kissing, Hill. Just find those thieves before they’re corpses.’
CHAPTER 17
OPENING THE EMAIL Vaughn had sent him, Hill once again studied the faces of the three thieves he was tracking. State-of-the-art, anti-terror surveillance software had matched the images, but to a human eye the photo stills were distorted and blurry, and there was little Hill could gain from the photos except the knowledge that he was tracking two men and a woman. Luckily for him, he’d spent the last thirteen years of his life spotting people breaking the law, and he had come to recognise the signs. The thieves would make a mistake, or somehow show their hand, he was sure of it.
So Hill began a slow inspection through the carriages. He had to assume his
suspects would have split up for the journey, so anyone who could match their description had to be studied. Hill knew the trio had been fit and able enough to beat off the attack of the bikers, so he kept his eyes peeled for healthy but potentially bruised individuals.
Hill’s searching drew several comments from passengers, but the detective let them wash over him. He may be causing some slight offence, but he hoped he was doing nothing to attract the kind of attention that would jeopardise his search.
He was wrong.
‘Sir?’ A conductor stopped him in the passageway between carriages, the man’s English accented by French. ‘May I see your ticket, please?’
Hill’s eyes were drawn through the glass door to where a rowdy stag do were bawling football chants.
‘Sir?’ the Frenchman pressed.
‘I don’t have one,’ Hill confessed, reaching for his wallet. ‘Amsterdam, please. One way.’
‘Sir, I’m afraid you cannot purchase a ticket on board the train. You should not have been allowed to board without one. May I see your passport?’
‘My passport?’ Hill asked, incredulous. ‘You don’t have that authority.’
‘Then please accompany me to the police officer at the front of the train, sir. They do.’
‘I am a police officer.’ Hill spoke quietly, discreetly showing his badge.
‘Are you on duty?’ the Frenchman asked.
‘I’m not, no.’
‘Then I must ask you to accompany me, sir. You will be required to pay a fine.’
At least comforted by the knowledge that his thieves had no way of leaving the train before him, and not wishing to cause a scene that could draw attention, Hill turned to follow the conductor.
Then, as he stepped out of the gangway connection, Hill heard the flushing of the toilet, and its door unlocked. With the overactive senses of an officer, Hill turned to look as a man emerged from within.
A man with a broken nose.
‘All right,’ the Englishman said, catching Hill’s eye.
‘All right,’ Hill replied, attempting to control his compulsion to act.
He succeeded, and after an awkward pause the broken-nosed Englishman stepped into the stag party’s carriage, and Hill stepped into the other. Then, losing the battle with his twitching muscles, Hill finally smiled.
Because he’d found his thieves.
CHAPTER 18
‘WAKE UP.’ BARRETT prodded Scowcroft. ‘Amsterdam.’
Scowcroft opened his eyes and saw the Amstel river – from which the city of Amsterdam takes its name – stretching out beside the tracks.
‘You didn’t sleep?’ Scowcroft asked, rubbing at his eyes as the train slowed into the city centre rail hub of Centraal station.
‘Kept my eye on things,’ Barrett replied, not wanting to admit that he was rattled. Though he couldn’t place a finger on what was bothering him, the tripwire of his veteran’s instinct had been triggered. ‘We’re all good,’ he said aloud to reassure himself.
The Eurostar came to a final stop and the stag party let loose a mighty roar that drowned out the bilingual tannoy announcements.
‘About bloody time!’ one of the party shouted. ‘We’re out of drink!’
‘You coming with us?’ another of the men slurred at Charlotte.
‘Course I am, babe,’ she smiled back, before whispering to her partners, ‘We can use them as cover to leave the station. It’ll be easy enough to ditch them outside.’
Barrett liked the idea, but Scowcroft kept silent, reluctant to admit that Charlotte had found them a brilliant disguise for their journey from London.
‘Let’s go!’ shouted the best man, the bikini-clad groom draped over his shoulder.
The thieves followed, pressing themselves into the group. As they stepped onto the platform and Dutch soil, Charlotte and Barrett put on big smiles, acting every part the travelling British lager louts. Scowcroft scowled.
This was usual for him, the young man full of fire and bitterness, but at that moment Scowcroft scowled because of what he saw ahead of them.
Dutch police officers. A pair at every exit.
His heart beat faster.
‘They can’t be here for us,’ Barrett whispered, keeping up his smile. ‘Look who they’re stopping.’
Scowcroft did, and saw that the police were stopping mainly young people in gaudy neon outfits.
‘They’re looking for drugs,’ Charlotte assessed, relief in her voice.
‘No.’ Scowcroft shook his head. ‘You don’t bring drugs into Amsterdam. Even the bloody police have to know that. It’s a cover, so they don’t spook us.’
‘It’s not. Just be calm, mate. It’s fine.’ Barrett was trying to reassure the younger man, noticing the sweat beading on Scowcroft’s forehead.
‘I’m gonna do something,’ Scowcroft suddenly declared.
‘Alex, don’t,’ Barrett pleaded.
‘Don’t you fucking dare,’ Charlotte hissed, her eyes ablaze.
But he did.
Scowcroft had already seen his chance – a loud-mouthed member of the stag party who was strutting along the platform as if he had bales of hay under his arms. Scowcroft moved forwards and shoved a businessman hard in the back, and the middle-aged man slammed into the drunken Brit, who spilled lager on his white trainers.
‘Prick!’ the lout shouted into the businessman’s face, rounding on him and shunting him backwards.
The businessman tried to open his mouth, but before he could protest his innocence, the Brit threw what was left of his beer into the man’s face. Then the businessman surprised even Scowcroft by replying with a quick right hook into the loudmouth’s jaw, sending him reeling.
At that moment, the platform turned to anarchy as the rest of the stag party jumped on the businessman. The police were forced to bolt from their positions to intervene, leaving the thieves an open exit into the city.
They took it.
And at the end of the platform, one man watched it all.
CHAPTER 19
DETECTIVE INSPECTOR HILL had been in no rush to leave the train. He’d seen the police waiting by the exits – why, he didn’t know, but he wasn’t about to question good luck – and he was certain his thieves would try to lose themselves in the crush of passengers.
So Hill had stepped from the train, walked to the back of the platform and made a call.
‘Hello, babe.’
‘I thought you were dead,’ Deb replied. ‘My phone hasn’t been going off every two minutes. At least not from you, anyway,’ she teased.
‘That’s because I don’t want a horrific phone bill. I’m in Amsterdam.’ Hill’s eyes scanned the passengers that began to emerge from the train’s doors.
‘What? Why?’
‘Calm down, Deb. I had to deliver some confidential docs.’
‘You’re not a bloody postman,’ Deb moaned.
‘I’ll make it up to you,’ Hill promised, eager to be off the phone before his wife’s temper took over. ‘Listen, babe, I’ve got to go, but I’ll call you tomorrow, OK? Love you.’
‘Love you too, but stay away from red lights, or I’ll cut your bits off.’
Shaking his head, Hill hung up the phone and readied himself to move.
This was the time.
A steady flow of passengers were coming down the platform now. The police were searching the bags and persons of young adults, causing a bottleneck at the exits. Hill guessed the police action was an anti-drugs gesture, though why anyone would bring their own drugs with them to Amsterdam was beyond him. Doubtless a politician or high-ranking officer had thought it a great idea.
Hill now saw the stag party amongst the mix, the men launching into a lewd chant that Hill was well acquainted with from his rugby-playing days. Perhaps it was due to someone taking offence at the obscenities that a fight suddenly broke out, and in the space of one breath the platform turned into a mess of flying fists and chaos.
Then amongst all that chaos, Hill saw them
.
He saw his thieves.
CHAPTER 20
‘LEG IT!’ SCOWCROFT shouted, grabbing his partners by the arms and tugging them clear of the melee. ‘Come on!’ he hustled as the police entered the fray. ‘The exit’s clear!’
‘You stupid arse!’ Charlotte chided him as they passed through the exit and onto the busy pavement.
‘It worked, didn’t it?’ Scowcroft snarled.
‘We should walk,’ Barrett cut in. ‘It’s one thing running clear of a fight, but we should walk.’
Around them, other passengers who had run from the trouble had slowed their pace to breathless gaits. Amongst them, Barrett saw the old lady whose bags he’d helped place into the train’s overhead storage.
‘Are you all right, love?’ he asked her, seeing her face was flushed. ‘Come on, I’ll carry your bags to the taxi for you.’
Scowcroft glared as the woman gave her thanks, but Barrett ignored his younger accomplice and turned to pick up the lady’s suitcase.
And that’s when he saw him – the man who’d looked into his eyes outside the toilet. The man who had studied his face, his broken nose. The man who, Barrett now knew, was the reason his soldier’s survival instinct had been triggered. Whoever he was, the athletic man glided around the side of the melee at a slow trot, avoiding the flying fists and police batons with ease. Clear of the fight, he didn’t slow down.
He was coming straight for them.
‘I’m sorry, love!’ Barrett shouted the apology as he hurled the woman’s baggage into the man’s path. It didn’t collide with him, but it sent other travellers scattering. The fast-approaching man crashed into a young woman, sending them both sprawling to the ground, the woman crying out in pain.
‘Go! Go!’ Barrett shouted, but the others were already running.
Barrett chanced to look over his shoulder. He saw the man leap to his feet, unharmed, but the woman lay prone, and Barrett could see his pursuer was torn between tending to her and continuing his pursuit.
‘He’s police,’ Barrett said as he caught up with the other two. ‘He stopped to help that girl.’
Heist: BookShots Page 5
