She's Out

by Lynda La Plante

  With a dog’s lead, Gloria and Ester headed for the bridge, looking like innocent walkers, calling out for the fictional lost dog. They returned to the house, mission accomplished. Each reported to Dolly and she ticked the jobs as they were done while Gloria collected the shotguns and cleaned and polished them.

  Gloves, hats and boots were laid out in the kitchen. Norma’s police cape and hat were in readiness for Julia. The hours ticked by slowly. Eventually dusk came, and Dolly asked if anyone felt hungry. Nobody did.

  Mike parked the car and eased the old rowing boat silently into the water. He was wearing a black polo-necked sweater, black ski pants and sneakers, and a black woolen hat. He had a fishing rod and a bag with him, nothing else. He rowed across the lake to the opposite side. The lake was black, the bridge in darkness, lit only by the flash of the signals as a train passed across and on into the distance. He tied up the boat alongside the small wooden jetty and crossed to the anchored speedboat. He pulled back the canopy and climbed inside, checking the ignition and wiring. That accomplished, he went into the woods and searched for the lights. His gloves were sodden but he didn’t remove them. He had to pull away the bracken and twigs hiding the gear before carrying each item to the end of the jetty, where he set up the high-powered spotlight. The silence was unnerving, nothing moved and the lake remained still and dark. He could not risk testing the spotlight, just hoped to God it would work. If it didn’t, there was nothing he could do about it.

  By nine thirty, the women were anxiously waiting for the signal to begin. They didn’t speak but the atmosphere was very tense. Connie kept clearing her throat until Gloria said she should have a drink of water as it was getting on her nerves.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “That’s all right, love. Just a sip, mind—remember what I said about you drinking.” Dolly was reading a magazine.

  “I hope we can trust him,” Ester said for the umpteenth time. Dolly ignored her but she wasn’t really seeing any of the magazine pages of knit-yourself-a-bolero or the new-fashion beachwear either. She knew Mike had a hell of a lot to lose: two kids, a wife and a future, to put it plainly, but she didn’t bother saying anything to Ester. She’d said it before and knew it was just Ester’s nerves talking.

  Gloria crossed and uncrossed her legs, just as she had been doing for the last half-hour. They were almost at breaking point.

  “Time to get dressed,” Julia said, walking out. Connie sprang up and Dolly tossed aside the magazine.

  “We’ve got a while yet, Connie, just relax.”

  Julia pulled on her boots, put on a thick sweater over her shirt and began to do up the big rain cape. Like an omen, there was a sudden roll of thunder.

  “Oh shit,” Ester said, running to the window. “That’s all we need.”

  “Never mind the rain,” Dolly said calmly. “If it’s raining the cops won’t hang around.”

  “If there’s a storm the horses will freak,” Julia said as she picked up Norma’s police hat. “If the thunder makes them edgy, pull the reins in tight,” she said, putting on the hat and turning to the kitchen door.

  “Where are you going?” Ester said sharply.

  “Just to take a leak,” Julia said, slipping out.

  “You’ve already been,” Ester said, following.

  “Let her go,” Dolly said quietly.

  Ester drew Dolly aside.

  She whispered, “She’ll be snorting coke.”

  “I know, but if she needs it to straighten out, then let her do it.” Dolly ignored the other women’s gasps, and looked out of the window. “It’s coming down hard. The ground will be slippery.”

  “Oh Christ,” Connie said, panting with nerves.

  Dolly opened a bottle of Scotch and got down some mugs. “For those that need a bit of Dutch courage.”

  Upstairs Julia knocked back half a tumbler of vodka and then snorted two thick lines of coke, the last of it, but, then, this might be her last night. She stared at her reflection in the dressing-table mirror. She looked huge in the big cape and boots, and she put on the hat, pulling it down low over her face, tucking in her hair. She had a black scarf round her neck, and she practiced pulling it over her face. She looked at her reflection for a long time and then held out her hand in front of her. It was steady. She smiled. “Okay, you can do this.”

  Julia returned as the women were pulling on their boots. No one spoke. She walked through the kitchen and a roll of thunder heralded her opening the back door. They could see the rain coming down in sheets outside.

  “Well, take care. Hold the reins in tight, let them know who’s boss, especially over the jumps.”

  They all nodded, and Ester reached up to kiss her. “Take care, Julia, for Chrissakes. Take care on that live rail.”

  Julia smiled. “It’s Helen that’s got to take care. I don’t want her thrown up into a tree, do I?”

  Connie moaned softly. She was chalk-white but at least she’d stopped coughing. One good belt of Scotch had stopped that.

  “See you later.” Julia went into the stable to saddle up Helen. She was the only one not to have her hoofs clad as Julia would not be riding on the road. She was to head to the far side of the bridge over the fields. They all had their coats on when they heard Julia moving out. The clock said ten thirty.

  Mike blew into his gloves. His hands were freezing and he was already sodden through from the downpour. A bolt of lightning lit up the bridge and lake for a second and he just hoped to God it had not lit him. There was still no sign of a living soul.

  The convoy was halfway to its destination. The heavy rain did nothing to slow it down and the armored security wagon was sandwiched between two police cars as it continued toward the station.

  Colin was at the wheel, maintaining radio contact between all three vehicles. The empty mail train had left Marylebone Station. The carriage to be used for the collection of the mailbags was at the center of the four-carriage train. It looked like an ordinary passenger train except for the blacked-out windows. The three guards sat inside playing cards, a good hour to go before they had to pick up the money bags. “I’ll be glad when tonight’s over. I hope to God they don’t make this a regular thing, I hate getting home this late. Anyone know the next route they’re gonna take?” one of the guards asked.

  “No one does.”

  “Bloody train’s clapped out. You’d think carrying this much dough they’d have some kind of high-powered armor-plated job, wouldn’t you?”

  The rain splattered onto the carriage windows. “Your deal, mate, and let’s hope this doesn’t turn into a fuckin’ storm, we’ll be soaked.”

  “I won’t. I’m staying here. Let the security blokes carry the gear in. Right, aces wild, this one’s dealer’s choice.”

  His two friends groaned as they heard an ominous distant roll of thunder.

  Julia moved slowly across the field, concerned to see the thick mud forming in some of the ditches. She opened two gates in readiness, pulling them out of old tractor ruts where they were stuck. She checked the time; the gates had already delayed her by three or four minutes and she’d have to get a move on. Julia urged the horse on through the darkness. She had a long ride ahead to get back to the far end of the bridge, right round the far side of the lake and then up a dangerous high bank to take Helen onto a narrow ledge before moving down onto the line itself. The route didn’t worry her—she’d been doing it for weeks—but she felt uneasy about the heavy rain. The steep bank was slippery and Helen could stumble or, worse, she might inadvertently hit the high-voltage cable.

  The women parked the Mini in a narrow field-gateway. They kept to the grass verge as they headed toward the stables, passing two small cottages. Lights were on in both and they moved silently in single file: Dolly, Gloria, Ester and, coming up at the rear, Connie.

  They saw no one: there was only one street-light to worry them, almost directly outside the cottages. They carried the cladding and saddlebags between them, Gloria, Ester and Dolly w
ith the shotguns. They found the stable key and unlocked the main doors. By torchlight they began to clad the horses’ hoofs in the thick sacking bags. It was eleven fifteen; they had three quarters of an hour before the train was due.

  When the horses were ready, they rode out one by one, the rain still pelting down. They hoped the sacking would give them some more grip in the mud.

  Dolly was first out. She walked her horse down the lane, then made for the woods. It was inky black and not a light could be seen until she broke from the cover of the trees and headed toward the railway line below. She had to cross a small bridge about half a mile from the signal box. She winced as the horse’s hoofs thudded on the wooden-planked bridge. She held the reins tightly, keeping to the narrow grass verge, and started to make her way along the side of the tracks. She slipped off the horse and tied him up securely. She began to be glad of the rain as it was really pelting down and would keep potential busybodies indoors. Dolly squeezed under the protective wired fence, already cut in readiness, and moved inch by inch toward the station car park. Above was the signal box, lit up, with Jim inside. Dolly crept beneath it, taking out the wire-clippers and the razor-sharp hatchet. Now she would have to wait and hope to God nobody walked by the slip road and saw her horse tethered there. In the practice runs no one had ever passed even close to it, but maybe tonight would be the night. Half an hour suddenly seemed like a very long time.

  Connie and Gloria, using a different route to Julia, also rode to the far side of the bridge. The horses slithered a little in the mud but, on the whole, were steady as they galloped. They had one riderless horse, Ester’s, as she had already gone to her designated position, on the other side of the bridge. Once there, with the shotgun ready and loaded, she was to wait for the train. They were going to blow it halfway across the bridge, further down the track, the old railway sign Ester’s only protection if too much Semtex was used. She prayed that Gloria now knew the right amount.

  Dolly could hear the distant rumble of the train. It was still so far down the tracks she couldn’t see it but she tensed up in anticipation, praying that the others were in their positions and ready.

  Connie and Gloria tied up the three horses. They were a bit frisky, not liking the heavy rain. Connie followed Gloria as they passed the jetty and Mike appeared. He did no more than look toward them, signal, and start to move to the end of the jetty. He then crouched low, waiting. There was still about twenty minutes to go before the train was due at the station.

  Gloria and Connie moved to the end of the bridge, along the railway line, in the opposite direction from Ester. Gloria motioned to Connie to remain behind as she bent low and, keeping pressed to the small parapet at the edge of the rail, checked that the wires and the plastic-covered packages were all intact. She worked quickly and only hesitated once as she double-checked the live and earthed wires. She had gone over it so many times she now closed her eyes tight and swore. “Please, dear God, have I got it right? Red into the right socket, blue into the left and the earth between them?” She pictured the neat drawings Mike had made that Dolly had told her to burn, wishing she still had them.

  “You can do it blindfolded. Come on, gel, don’t lose your bottle now.”

  Gloria inched her way back toward Connie, who was holding her shotgun. She whispered, “Can you see him? Is he in position?”

  Connie screwed up her eyes to peer over the bridge and looked twenty-five feet down. It was pitch black. “I can see something at the end of the jetty.”

  Gloria nodded. They were under strict instructions not to speak, not to say one word throughout the robbery. She could just make out the outline of the tethered horses by the trees.

  Julia had a tough time riding Helen down the steep bank. The horse didn’t like it one bit and kicked out with her back hoofs as Julia held on like grim death. She gritted her teeth as they slid further toward the track. Helen tossed and jerked her head but they were on the narrow edge before the line itself so Julia eased Helen forward, one hoof at a time, onto the center plank. Either side were the live cables but there was an eight-inch-high border and she began to move Helen slowly down the precarious narrow plank. Patted and encouraged, she was as dainty as a ballerina as they got closer and closer to the spot Julia had rehearsed for stopping the train. Now came the really dangerous move: she had to turn Helen to stand sideways on, blocking the entire rail. A roll of thunder made her freeze as Helen tossed her head. Not liking the narrow ledge, the horse lifted one foreleg and almost came down on the cable but Julia shouted sharply. “Still,” a police command, and the wonderful old horse froze her position. Julia waited for her to settle before turning her and moving slowly sideways again.

  Mike brought the boat further round. He had the spotlight switch in his hand. He could see none of the women, but knew they must be in position because the horses were tethered.

  The lead police patrol car pulled into the station forecourt, and an attendant switched on the exterior lights. The platform was lit up in readiness as the train approached, the level-crossing gates clanging shut. The rear police patrol car remained just behind the security van as the guards waited for the go-ahead to begin moving the money bags onto the train. The rain was bucketing down. Two officers had not got their raincoats with them so they took shelter under the platform awning.

  Jim, his hut lit up, watched the train hiss to a halt. He gave the thumbs-up to the driver who waved from the train cabin. He did not get out, simply waited in his cabin for the signal to move on.

  The guards opened the central carriage, carrying clipboards and documents. Two guards from the security wagon approached and checked their documents with the other guards and, as the police formed a protective line either side of them, they opened the wagon and began to carry the bags aboard the train. They moved fast, expertly, calling the identity number as each bag went aboard. It took no more than ten minutes for the train to be loaded. As the carriage doors closed, the security guards returned to their empty wagon and the police didn’t hang about either. They waited only for the signal from the signal box, and the engine hissed and began to move down the tracks, across the closed level crossing and onto the bridge.

  Dolly saw the security wagon move back the way it had come and then the two patrol cars draw away from the station. She was willing them to move off, out of sight, one hand on the electric power switch for the signal box, the other clenched around the hatchet for the alarm wires. She knew exactly which ones they were because this moment, like the entire raid, had been rehearsed over and over again. The mains box opened and closed four times. But when that power went out in the box, the moment of panic for Jim was only going to last a second or two before he hit that separate linked alarm switch. If that went off, the two cop cars could turn back within minutes and they’d have major problems. She had to pull the main switch and slash the wires within seconds of each other.

  The train passed, one carriage, a second, then the mail carriage, and the last one, and she said to herself, “Now, now, now.”

  The lights switched from red to off—perfect. The signal box went completely dark. Jim didn’t panic, went toward the emergency generator but, as he was about to switch it on, he heard something from beneath him. He couldn’t tell what it was, his eyes still unaccustomed to the dark.

  Dolly slashed down with the hatchet. The wires frayed and two or three remained intact. She slashed again and then pocketed the hatchet before clipping at the cables. One sprang away, then the second. She had four more to go as Jim began to panic. Dolly quickly put the live wires against the generator sides. If Jim tried to switch on up in the box he’d get quite a shock—not enough to kill him but enough to stop him trying it again in a hurry.

  Dolly ran under the fence, and was almost at her horse when she froze. Jim was hurtling down the signal-box steps, having almost been thrown across the signal box when he tried the emergency generator. He leaped down the steps, still semi-shocked, and fell to the ground. He moaned, clutching his
ankle, rolling in the grit of the signal-box forecourt. He couldn’t hear Dolly, let alone see her, as she mounted her horse and headed toward the bridge, the train moving slowly up ahead. But her horse was nowhere near as well trained as Julia’s—he was nervous and skittish and no matter how much she pressed him forward, he refused to go any faster.

  The guards aboard the mail carriage had no idea anything was wrong at the station. They could see nothing through the blacked-out windows. The bridge crossing was always slow, but they were moving and would soon pick up speed as usual, so there was no reason to be concerned.

  The train driver didn’t look back. He was used to the bridge crossing and could do it blindfolded. In fact, he looked over to the lake a moment before the flashlight swung from side to side twenty yards up ahead of him indicating for him to stop. He put his hand up to shield his eyes from the bright light. He began to brake in plenty of time, moving almost at a snail’s pace as he leaned out of his cab. All he could see was a police officer standing sideways across the track.

  “You fucking crazy?” he screamed. Now he rammed on the brakes but they were traveling so slowly it didn’t jolt or jar the rear carriages. The train just slowly eased to a halt. He assumed something had fallen across the tracks. The interphone rang from the center carriage. He picked it up. “There’s a problem on the line, let me get back to you.”

  He was still holding the phone as Julia carefully began to edge closer. He leaned even further out. “You’re taking one hell of a bloody risk—there are live cables under you,” he shouted.

  Still she waited. Then she switched on the flashlight again, shining it at the driver’s face as she eased the horse onto the narrow verge, moving away from the rail tracks, backing Helen precariously along the stone-flagged parapet toward safety.

  “What the hell is going on?” the driver yelled again. The guards were now lifting up the blinds on the covered windows. The train had been stationary for one and a half minutes.