by H G White
I did. We carried on and it wasn't long before we reached the bridge. As we arrived at the designated spot to get Vaughan's gear on board, Peach and Neil were already waiting. Betty was very soon at rest, tethered to dry land. The four of us got the stuff out of the van and down the embankment as quickly and as quietly as we could while Vaughan stayed on the boat, keeping a look-out. Within a few minutes we had the gear safely on the boat – including Vaughan’s specially adapted trolley for getting heavy loads up steps. As soon as this was done, Vaughan started her engine, and she was heading back in the other direction to her mooring for the night.
Neil and I set off in the van with Peach riding shotgun. He directed us to the chosen parking spot. About half a mile away from the bridge there was an old disused petrol station. The pumps had gone but the forecourt and the little garage shop situated to the rear still remained. It had been boarded up and tastefully decorated with public information messages, one of which read: Skinny and Monkey are Shaging Abby. Could it be possible that Monkey was actually a real monkey? In which case was this some sort of homo-simian ménage à trois? And what about Skinny, how skinny was he? I certainly hoped for Abby’s sake that his shagging was better than his spelling, assuming he was the one responsible for the graffiti. As I sat there trying to envisage this unwholesome threesome, my thoughts were rudely interrupted by Peach barking orders at Neil. ‘Take it round the back.’
Neil scowled, ‘What do you mean, take it round the back?’
‘Drive round the back of the building and keep it in tight. We can leave it here for the night. As long as you keep tight in, it can't be seen from the road.’
As Neil drove the van around the building, he had to negotiate some pretty rough ground. It was hard-standing but it looked like somebody had started to break it up with a digger and had then had second thoughts.
Neil moved the van, and kept it tight. So tight in fact, we couldn't open the passenger door. He had to back the van up and retry the manoeuvre. Peach and I got out, Neil switched the engine off.
All three of us were now on the forecourt. ‘Right Will, walk over there until you come to that bend.’ He pointed to where the road changed course. ‘Check you can't see the van. Neil and I will go this way.’ I did as I was told.
I checked; the van was hidden from view. I made my way back towards the others, catching them up just before reaching the bridge where we’d put Vaughan's gear aboard. Carefully, we edged down the embankment and seconds later found ourselves on the towpath. A ten-minute walk and we were at the boat. Another ten minutes, and we were enjoying a cuppa.
Under Peach's direction, Vaughan had got dinner underway. There was a leg of lamb, infused with rosemary and garlic roasting in the oven. It smelled deee-lish. If all super criminals lived like this then a change of career was most definitely on the cards. As the lamb cooked, we started discussing the events that would take place the following evening. Vaughan had acquired black clothing for us. He apologised in advance if any of the stuff didn't fit. There was no need really though, the gear was pretty much OK. The trousers were joggers, and they were elasticated, so no problem there. The only minor slip-up was with Neil’s height; he came up an inch or two short, but other than that, it was more or less a case of one size fits all.
Vaughan showed us the heavy bars he’d be taking. They were made out of super-strength steel and could be used as crowbars, and any thing else that required a bit of leverage. The radios had a three-mile range and, providing they were fully charged, would be more than adequate for Vaughan to give Neil the go-ahead for when to dump the trolley and cut the gate chain.
The plan was to moor-up the following afternoon at the target. That’s when Phil would show me the grounds. We’d walk along the towpath and have a look at the property from the outskirts. Vaughan had already seen this and so would stay on board with Peach. His leg had been giving him some pain. Since he’d done more burglaries than we'd had hot dinners, for him a second recce before the operation wouldn’t be necessary.
By the time we tucked into our roast dinner everyone was excited. I almost felt sorry for Neil because he was not going into the house itself; it kind of felt like he was being left out. But then again – it would be safer that way, and his contribution was vital in making sure that any subsequent investigation stayed well clear of the canal.
Chapter 27
It’d gone eleven when Neil and I ambled off down the towpath and back to the van for the night. As we sauntered along, I could hear an owl hooting in the distance. I wasn't looking forward to spending the night on the floor of the van, but then at least I had Neil for company. I just hoped no light-fingered opportunist stumbled across it and tried to break-in. With so many dishonest people about I was glad Peach had made us park so close to the back of the building.
The night’s sleep wasn't half as bad as expected, surprisingly warm – apart from a couple of moments when Neil opened the back door to answer the call of nature and then again when he reopened it to come back in. I was saving all my calls up and intended to make one very long call in the morning, at a proper toilet.
When morning eventually arrived, we made our way back to the boat for some breakfast. Neil and Peach had to take the van somewhere else (a location preselected by Peach). Here it would remain until the robbery took place. This meant that they had to walk well over a mile and a half to return to the boat. Neil would of course have to repeat the same distance again at night, once the operation was underway. While they busied themselves relocating the van, Phil, Vaughan and I set off with Betty, our next stop – Shoreborough.
We passed little traffic on the way in comparison to that which we’d encountered around Rugeley – the weather taking a turn for the worse might have had something to do with it. If it was a choice between fewer people around and bad weather, or lots of spectators and good – the bad weather would win every time.
We approached the spot Vaughan and Peach had chosen to tie up Betty. Phil jumped off and took care of the mooring procedure. We soon had the kettle on. Within forty minutes Neil and Peach were back with us. Everything was going according to plan at this point. Peach decided it was time Phil and I took a stroll, in order for me to familiarise myself with the surroundings.
Betty’s mooring was just a short distance along from another boat. Untidy and old, with a substantial amount of rust that required attention, her name was Glorious Charity, but she looked anything but glorious. There were a couple of bikes on the roof and washing hanging from a makeshift line. The occupants were nowhere to be seen. This was good. We carried on, walking past and up to the edge of the estate grounds.
Phil showed me where we would be entering the property. I had a good fifteen minutes look-around. He pointed to where we would take cover while he was dealing with the door. As I stared at the house. I was starting to get tingles, knowing that we would be going in after nightfall.
I looked at Phil. ‘What do you think?’ I asked.
‘Honestly?’
‘Yes, honestly’
He paused. ‘I'm shitting myself.’
‘Me too. Do you want to back out?’
‘Yes and no.’
I knew what he meant. If we backed out now, we wouldn't go to jail but the chance would be gone, probably lost forever. And if we went through with it? It was mind blowing!
Phil looked at me. ‘Come on, it'll be all right. There are risks with everything you do in life. Let's get back to the others.’
As Phil and I walked back to the boat, heading towards us on the towpath was a very odd-looking bloke. If I had to compartmentalise him, he would be in the New Age Traveller section. He had his hair up in dreadlocks and looked pretty dirty. He was wearing sandals and holding a long thick string to which was attached an English bull terrier.
As he came nearer, he greeted us, smiling, ‘Good afternoon to you.’ He sounded like he was from the west country. Phil and I grunted a good afternoon back, hoping that's where the exchange would end. It
didn't.
‘I am Ezekiel, your neighbour.’
His announcement demanded a response. I hadn't thought about false names so I just said the first name that came into my head. Unfortunately I came out with ‘I'm Marcel and this is ...’
‘... Austin.’ Before I’d had the chance to give Phil a new name, he’d beaten me to it. By his choice, he was having the same sort of mental block I was in concocting a believable name.
Ezekiel didn't seem to bat an eyelid. ‘I am here with Miranda.’
I realised he wasn't talking about the bull terrier when it turned round to look at something that had caught its attention, and in so doing displayed an overly-large pair of taut pink testicles.
‘What's the dog's name, Zeke?’ I asked.
‘Ezekiel is the name my good parents blessed me with, and Ezekiel is the form of address I prefer to be used, thank you. The dog's name is Ronald.’
I looked at Phil. His expression said ‘Fucking stroll-on, we've got a right one here!’.
As I tried to digest the phenomenon of Ezekiel, there was a voice calling. A girl approached. As she came closer I could see she had also misplaced the soap. It was Miranda.
‘Ezekiel your food's ready.’ She was a Cockney, or at least from somewhere in the southeast.
‘Miranda, come and say hello to Marcel and his partner Austin.’
Fuck me! Talk about jumping to conclusions. I looked at Phil. He had an expression of ‘Don't say anything’.
Miranda was now by Ezekiel's side. He looked at her lovingly. ‘What are we having my sweet?’
‘I’ve used the mushrooms you picked this morning and made a lentil and field-mushroom soup, Ezekiel.’
I couldn't resist asking. ‘What's Ronald having for his dinner?’
‘Ronald is a family member, and like us, has the same vegetarian beliefs. He will therefore be having the soup.’
I was thinking What a ridiculous way to speak. And a vegetarian bull terrier? What a load of bollocks. I was in no doubt that if Ron had a choice between a nice juicy sirloin steak or Mandy’s lentil and mushy soup, it would be a no-brainer.
Miranda looked at Ezekiel. ‘We’ve enough for Marcel and Austin if they want to join us for dinner.’
Ezekiel turned and faced us. ‘Would you like to come to dinner? Sharing is a wonderful experience.’
The way she asked him, rather than asking us direct, showed who was wearing the trousers (however dirty) in this relationship. And what was all that about sharing? I knew Ezekiel thought Phil and I were more than just good friends. Was he inviting us to a swingers’ party? It was time, as they say in those beer ads, to make a sharp exit.
‘Thanks Ezekiel, but we've got some urgent things to do on the boat.’ Ezekiel and Miranda gave us looks of disapproval. We walked on.
We boarded Betty. Over another cup of tea, Phil couldn't wait to tell the others all about Zeke, Mandy and their dog – our new and rather eccentric neighbours. Peach was a little concerned.
‘You say he introduced himself as “your neighbour”, so he must have seen you coming off the boat or mooring-up. Did he mention seeing anyone else apart from you two?’
‘No,’ Phil answered.
‘Well that's good. We’ve got to try and keep it that way. Hopefully when the weather gets worse he'll stay inside and keep his curtains drawn.'
I had a thought. ‘If you do bump into him Peach, whatever you do, don't call him Zeke. He doesn't like it. He might set Ronald on you!’ Peach didn’t look amused; he was obviously still suffering from the dog phobia.
'And that's another thing. We're going to have to get past that bucket without disturbing Ron. So just in case any of you need reminding – a wide berth and complete silence, fifty yards either side of that boat.’ Everyone nodded agreement.
Vaughan had decided that we would go in during the wee small hours. Any security staff we encountered would not be as alert, having been on duty for some time.
The radio equipment Phil had brought had now been fully tested. Everyone would wear a headset allowing us to stay hands-free. We also had different call signs and code words for the robbery, the idea being that if anyone stumbled across our transmissions by accident they wouldn't have a clue what we were talking about – that was the theory anyway.
Unless a specific team member was mentioned, any ‘to-all’ messages were to be answered by Vaughan. That way we wouldn't have several people trying to answer the initiator of a transmission. Only transmissions that were part of the operation were allowed. There were two reasons for this: to conserve battery power and, the less time we were on air, the more chance we had of our broadcasts remaining undetected by amateur radio hams.
***
It was just after 1 a.m. when Neil set off for the van. His call sign was Caretaker. Once he reached the van he would let us know. That would be our ‘go’ signal. He had taken along a rucksack with tubs of doctored meat prepared by Denise, and a silent dog whistle.
Neil would make his way to the van and, as he did so, place the tubs at intervals along the boundary of the estate. He’d blow the whistle every time a tub was laid. The hope was that curiosity would get the better of the dogs and they’d try to locate the sound source, coming across the tubs of meat in the process.
Before he left, I questioned Neil, ‘So what is this stuff you’re sticking down?’
‘Phenobarbitone.’ he answered.
Vaughan nodded his head, as if endorsing the choice of drug.
I looked at Vaughan. ‘Do you know anything about this?’
Vaughan smiled. ‘It’s a sedative used to treat canine epilepsy.’
‘What if the dogs aren’t epileptics?’ I asked.
Vaughan laughed at my question. I felt like a half-wit.
Neil looked at me. ‘Epilepsy isn’t the issue. All you need to know is that it’ll do the job.’
According to Neil, each tub contained 3 grams of phenobarbitone, powdered and mixed-in with the meat. It was so potent that any dog eating it would, after fifteen to twenty minutes, become so off-its-face, that the only thing the dog would be capable of was sleep.
I had my reservations. What if a fox or another wild animal came across the meat and ate it before the dog had the chance? Neil said he remained supremely confident and not to worry.
In addition to Neil, we would also be carrying containers, and be placing ours along our route to the Mansion House. I had wondered about the possibility of the dogs eating all the meat from every tub and overdosing. Neil told us this could not happen.
‘After they've had one load they won't be in the mood to go looking for another.’ He’d assured us it was pretty fast-acting stuff.
***
At around 2.25 a.m. our headsets received a signal. ‘Caretaker to all.’
Vaughan responded. ‘Go ahead Caretaker.’
‘Caretaker on site,’ Neil answered.
This was the message we’d been waiting for. ‘Thank you Caretaker. We’re on our way.’
Chapter 28
The night was rough, with the wind gusting hard. The good part about this was it would help disguise any noise we made. I just hoped that the dogs would hear Neil’s silent whistle.
Peach and Phil got the trolley off. I would be carrying it with Phil rather than wheeling it along. After about twenty yards, it dawned on me just how heavy the bloody thing was.
We kept our distance from Zeke's boat. The wind was still howling as we crept by; all the lights on his boat were off. Hopefully they were very deep in the land of Nod. The half-moon afforded us a moderate light when it wasn't obscured by passing cloud.
We were soon on the boundary of the estate. There was a metal gate, nothing like the huge structure on the main road that Neil would be leaving open. It may have been small, but it was padlocked.
Vaughan grabbed my hand. ‘Be a good chap and hold this like so for me, would you?’
I held the padlock back-side down on my palm and kept it in the forty-five degree p
osition. Vaughan took a small leather wallet from his pocket and extracted several pieces of metal; each had bends of some shape or other. By the directional light from his headlamp he fiddled away for what seemed like ages. Whenever I'd seen people picking locks in the movies they always seemed to do it in seconds. I was starting to wonder if Vaughan knew what he was doing.
Suddenly there was a little click from the lock. Vaughan took away the pieces of metal and folded back the U-shaped arm that kept the device closed. He looked up at me and his eyebrows did a little up-down movement. He smiled a That's-how-you-do-it smile. My confidence in him had been restored.
The gate was stiff and squeaked. Peach pulled it open and we went through. Vaughan stopped and signalled Peach to pull the gate closed. To anyone not looking closely it would look like the gate hadn't been touched. Vaughan then spoke quietly into his headset. ‘Principal to Caretaker.’
Neil answered. ‘Go ahead Principal.’
Vaughan gave Neil the update. ‘We are on the school grounds.’
‘Thank you Principal.’ With the transmission over, the sortie resumed. Peach took a tub from his rucksack, removed the lid and placed it on the ground. We moved on.
We crossed a bridge over the river that ran near the canal. As we approached the house we kept to the right, hugging the bushes and trees, keeping any exposure of our silhouettes to a bare minimum. Peach put another tub down. We were now within spitting-distance of the house.
The massive ten-columned portico guarded the front door, and at the foot of the half dozen or so steps descending from it, was a Guardian Security Services van. Its custodian – somewhere inside the palatial residence.
We weren't going in through the front. We needed to go right of the building and round the back to the far side, where there was an entrance with an electronic key-coded door. My nerves were getting to me.
