The Heist

by Shaun Jeffrey

  Underneath was a series of numbers:

  (-7,3) (-8,3) (-9,3) (-10,3) (-10,2) (-10,1) (-10,0)(-10,-1) (-10,-2), (-10,-3) (-10,-1) (-10,-2) (-10,-3) (-9,-3) (-8,-3) (-7,-3)

  (-4,-3)(-2,0) (0,3) (2,0) (4,-3)

  (7,-3) (7,-2) (7,-1) (7,0) (7,1) (7,2) (7,3) (8,3) (9,3)(10,3) (10,2) (10,1) (10,0) (9,0) (8,0) (7,0) (10,-3)

  “How?” Emma mumbled. “How did they know you’d find the original cache and follow the clues?”

  Kurt looked at his wife and stared back along the trail. He didn’t doubt the note’s authenticity, but how much of a lead did they have? In case the warning was wrong, he took out his phone, exhaling slowly when he found no signal.

  “Kurt, talk to me. How did they know, out of all the caches we could have gone looking for, we’d pick this one?”

  “I’ve been set up.”

  Kurt was the detective in charge of the investigation of the theme park massacre. The senseless killing enraged the whole country, but so far, his task force hadn’t found any trace of the perpetrators. The bombing acted as a smokescreen to help them escape with the money, and amid the confusion, the plan had worked a treat.

  “Caleb, we need to make our way back to the car.”

  “Aw, Dad, we haven’t found the treasure.”

  “We’ll find the cache another day. Come on, you can lead the way, but don’t go the way we came, go this way.” He pointed ahead.

  As Caleb trudged off, Kurt pulled Emma aside. “I don’t want to scare him, so let’s keep this between us.” He shoved the clue into his pocket.

  “Why not head back the way we came?” Although she tried to put on a brave face, Emma’s voice trembled.

  “Because according to the piece of paper, the people responsible for the bombing and robbery will be coming after us from that direction.”

  “How did they plan this? Where did you hear about the cache?” she whispered.

  “Someone posted a printout of this site through the letterbox. I thought someone who realised I was interested in geocaching had done it, you know.” He shuddered as the reality hit home. While he had tracked the murderer, the murderer had tracked him too, but with much more success.

  They started walking behind Caleb who had run on ahead.

  “Don’t go too fast,” Kurt shouted.

  “How would they figure out you were interested in geocaching?”

  Kurt pursed his lips as he tried to think. “I’m guessing someone read my updates on Facebook. That’s the only place I can think of where I ever posted anything about the hobby, as the site was linked to my geocaching account so when I logged a find, it updated my profile.”

  “And you didn’t have your profile set to private?”

  Kurt exhaled furiously. “No. No I didn’t. As long as I never talked about work, I thought it’d be safe, you know.”

  Featured many times on the news and in the newspapers, it had been no secret Kurt led the investigation, but he couldn’t believe the information had been used against him, and now he was the target. When he thought about it, he guessed when someone had your name, it wasn’t too hard, in this technological age, to find out more about you. Nearly everybody’s lives were on a computer somewhere.

  “So how did they find our address?”

  “They probably used the electoral register.” Kurt’s heart drummed a rapid beat. He tried to swallow, but his dry throat made the movement difficult. He couldn’t understand what was going on. Why would the robbers/killers be tracking their own money? Surely they remembered where the stash was if they had put it there, unless they had left the money safely in the hands of one member. But why involve Kurt? Why not direct the robbers to the money without involving him?

  He checked his phone again, but unlike back at the statue, still no signal. He held his phone up and angled it around, praying to see at least a single bar indicating he had reception, but the screen remained blank.

  “How can we find our way back when we don’t know where we are?” Emma asked, the tremor in her voice growing more pronounced.

  Kurt reached out and took hold of her hand. He squeezed. “I may not have a signal, but I’ve still got GPS and maps on my phone. We’ll be okay. Don’t worry. And as soon as I’ve got a signal, I’ll ring for backup. Besides, how can anyone expect to find us out here?” He forced a chuckle that sounded as hollow as he felt.

  CHAPTER 7

  Armstrong smiled to himself as he peered through his binoculars. He watched the copper and his family head away from the cache site, heading towards the ancient wood on the horizon. If his comrades in arms weren’t as stupid as they looked, hopefully they wouldn’t be too far behind. He only hoped he hadn’t made the clues too difficult for them to crack.

  When he pressed the button to blow up the rollercoaster, he’d felt empowered, invincible ... Godlike. Having that sort of command was like a drug. The best drug in the world.

  He lowered the binoculars and ran down the hill towards the cache. He needed to replace the message with a new one. Then he would sit back and watch the game unfold.

  The holster dug into his chest as he ran, the gun a reassuring weight. He liked guns. Liked the fear they elicited in people. Liked the way they made him feel when he pulled the trigger. He wished they weren’t so bloody hard to acquire in the UK. The good old US of A was lucky with their right to keep and bear arms. But where there was a will, as they say, and Armstrong acquired a pretty large arsenal over the years including machine pistols, rifles, and handguns. A rife criminal underground existed where, for the right price, anything might be bought. His military history meant he’d become well acquainted with guns; he’d been taught by the best, so he had no problem stripping and maintaining his collection. In his previous life, a well maintained gun could mean the difference between life and death. That point struck home when out on patrol in one of the many conflicts he had been sent to. They had come across a couple of insurgents trying to set up an IED in the road to blow up one of the regular patrols travelling the highway.

  The insurgents opened fire straight away, and Armstrong and his men dived for cover in a dusty ditch before returning fire themselves. Pinned down as they were, they decided they needed to create a diversion, allowing a couple of men to circle around and take them out.

  Armstrong volunteered to be one of the men. As his comrades laid down covering fire, Armstrong and a young recruit called Jones scurried along the ditch, moving far enough away before going over the top. They made their way through the scrub dotted, arid landscape the baking sun had fractured into enormous puzzle pieces, and circled around the enemy. But cracks of gunfire filled the air, and puffs of dust erupted all around them as their ploy was uncovered.

  Knowing they wouldn’t stand a chance if they stayed in the open, Armstrong launched himself to his feet and charged headlong at the two men. He fired as he ran, spraying bullets across the landscape. One of the men was struck, dropping to the ground like a sack of potatoes. The other man returned fire. Bullets whizzed past Armstrong before silence descended. The man jabbered and shouted in his native tongue, then started shaking and banging his automatic weapon.

  Armstrong skidded to a halt. The man’s gun had jammed. He smiled to himself, slowly raised his own weapon, took careful aim, and pulled the trigger. He stitched a line of bullets across the man’s torso, killing him instantly.

  From that moment on, Armstrong realised the importance of preparation and planning, and how being prepared might mean the difference between life and death.

  Now, having planned the crime so well, the police hadn’t got a clue. Literally. There had been no leads. No witnesses who could identify them. Nothing. And he intended for things to stay that way.

  So far everything had gone to plan. A plan Armstrong had orchestrated over the months. And this was just the beginning.

  CHAPTER 8

  “It’s here,” Rogers said as he pulled the container out. He snapped the lid off, pulled out a sheet of paper and read the note to himself.


  “What’s it say?” Conner asked.

  Rogers frowned. “This one don’t make much sense.”

  “Let me have a look.” Conner snatched the piece of paper from him and read the words out loud. “The hunted are now the hunters. To lead the investigation you need to study the crime. Head for the woods as your final clue is on the move, and don’t dilly dally on the way.” A square grid sat underneath the clue:

  “What the fuck’s that mean?” Williams spat.

  Conner read the note again, slowly, to himself. “‘The hunted are now the hunters.’ He’s probably referring to us, as we were being hunted, but obviously now we’re hunting for something instead.”

  “We already know we’re hunting for something—our bloody money,” Rogers said.

  Conner nodded. “I know, but I think he’s referring to us as people now.”

  “So what about the next line?” Williams asked. “All the crime stuff.”

  “’To lead the investigation you need to study the crime.’” Conner read aloud. “Do you think he’s talking about our crime, the robbery?”

  Williams shrugged.

  “Well we’re not leading the investigation into ourselves,” Rogers said. “That’d be stupid. That Vaughn bloke’s looking for us, so what’s he got to do with anything?”

  Conner read the next line about the clue being on the move. “If the clue’s on the move, he must be talking about someone such as the person looking for the cache in front of us.”

  “Well this clue wouldn’t make much sense to them,” Williams said.

  “No, this one wouldn’t. Not unless this is a new clue written specifically for us.” Conner glanced up and scanned their surroundings. “Armstrong,” he shouted. “Come out you bastard. Where the fuck are you?”

  “You mean he’s here?” Rogers said.

  Conner nodded. “Must be. This clue’s for us alone.”

  Rogers’ face flushed with colour and he started shouting out Armstrong’s name, his hands cupped around his mouth. Eventually, he stopped and sagged against the trunk of the tree. “Wait till I see that bastard again. I’ll fuckin’ kill ‘im for messin’ us around like this.”

  “You and me both,” Williams said. He pulled a pistol from his jacket pocket and checked the action.

  “Well, first we’ll have to do what the note said and head for the woods.”

  “Then what are we waitin’ for?” Rogers stomped off towards the trees like a petulant child. Williams and Conner followed, Conner pulling the collar of his jacket up against the cold and the rain.

  The trees helped shield them from the worst of the weather, but with no idea which way to head, they followed a rough path which lead through the ferns and foliage. It appeared to have been created by animals and might have been a rabbit run, but Conner noticed some snapped ferns higher up. He was no tracker, but he guessed they were fresh breaks, probably broken by those they pursued.

  “Looks like we’re on the right path,” he said, lifting up a broken frond.

  “And since when have you been Indiana fuckin’ Jones?” Rogers said as he trampled through the undergrowth. “This is bullshit with a capital B.”

  Conner didn’t reply, but he agreed the situation was bollocks. He wanted to get his hands on the money so he could spend it, starting with a holiday somewhere warm. The news reports put the sum they stole at just under 2 million pounds, meaning they would each receive around 500k, far more than any of them were expecting.

  None of them knew Armstrong was going to blow the rollercoaster up. Conner had assumed the explosive threat was a deterrent, but a deterrent was only any good if used, especially if nobody believed it was real. But now, the robbery paled in comparison to the mass murder for which they were wanted.

  Armstrong was a sick individual. And that made him dangerous.

  Rain pattered against the leaves, the air filled with the aroma of the foliage. Conner kept his eyes peeled for any further signs of fresh breakage but he also spotted the occasional footprint in patches of muddy ground. As the area seemed off the beaten track, he assumed they were still on their quarry’s tail.

  A raucous din originated up ahead as a murder of crows took flight. “You hear that?” Conner stared up and spotted the crows circling the trees overhead, cawing loudly.

  Rogers shrugged. “It’s some birds. So what?”

  “Something’s spooked them. I’m guessing it’s whoever we’re following.”

  “Well shit a brick, let’s get a move on.” Rogers started running before he finished his sentence, withdrawing his gun as he did so.

  Conner and Williams followed on his heels.

  “Hold fire if you get there first,” Conner shouted. “The person’s the clue, remember.” Rogers didn’t acknowledge him, so he hoped he had heard.

  Sweeping the ferns aside, Conner ran as fast as he could to keep up, but stayed wary of tripping on something hidden beneath the undergrowth. An injury was the last thing he needed.

  Up ahead, Rogers slowed down and Conner and Williams caught up. Rogers was panting slightly, a sheen of sweat covering his bald head and face. He pointed through the trees. Conner spied movement, a flash of purple and yellow, brightly coloured waterproof jackets worn by at least two people.

  “I’ll circle around,” Conner said. “And come in from the front. You two can move up from behind, so we’ll have them trapped in the middle. But wait for my signal before moving in as we don’t want to give them the chance to escape. And whatever you do, don’t do anything stupid.” He glared at Rogers as he spoke, but Rogers had his gaze fixed on the figures ahead.

  “Get a move on,” Williams said. “There’s half a million pounds out here somewhere with my name on it.”

  CHAPTER 9

  Caleb whacked the ferns with the stick he had picked up a few minutes earlier. Some of the foliage stood almost as tall as he, and he had to keep looking back to make sure his parents were still behind him as he didn’t want to get lost in the woods. He didn’t understand what was going on, but his Mum seemed scared and she and his Dad kept whispering to each other.

  He was disappointed they hadn’t found any treasure in the geocache. He enjoyed finding the caches, but he enjoyed finding something good to swap inside them even more.

  The hood of his coat pulled up against the rain, he was starting to feel a little cold, so he hoped they got back to the car soon. Then he could continue playing the new game on his DS he had left in the glove box so nobody would see it to steal it, which is what his dad said would happen if he left the game on show.

  Movement drew his attention and he spotted a squirrel scampering up a tree about thirty metres in front. The animal stopped for a moment, clinging to the trunk and staring at him before continuing up into the branches.

  He ran on ahead, hoping he might spot the squirrel again.

  “Caleb, stay where we can see you,” his dad shouted.

  Caleb pulled his nose. He wasn’t going to run too far away from them. Leaves crunched underfoot and ferns whipped his face, forcing him to pull his hood further over his head as he continued running.

  “I can’t see him. Where’s he gone?” Emma asked, the panic showing in her voice. “Caleb, come back here!”

  Kurt peered across the ferns but couldn’t see his son anywhere. “He can’t have gone far. I’ll run on and find him.”

  “You’re not leaving me on my own.”

  She was right. He still wasn’t sure what was going on, but he couldn’t afford to take any risks.

  The crows cawing overhead made a hell of a racket as they circled like vultures. Kurt grabbed Emma’s hand and pulled her forwards.

  “Over there,” Emma said.

  Kurt looked where she pointed and spied his son standing beside a tree, staring up into the branches. Relief flooded his body and he exhaled slowly. Then he saw further movement, and a figure stepped out from behind the trunk and grabbed Caleb around the throat. He had a gun in his hand, the barrel pointing
at his son’s head.

  Caleb screamed, but before Kurt could react, two more figures crashed through the foliage behind him. Both armed with guns.

  CHAPTER 10

  Conner marched the lad towards his family. He didn’t take any pleasure in scaring him like he had, but it had done the job.

  As he approached the couple, he realised he recognised the man. “Shit.” He had seen him often enough on the television after the crime. He was the copper leading the investigation into finding them, Vaughn. He presumed the woman was his wife. Now the riddle Armstrong had left made more sense. This was the man who was hunting them, so the hunted had become the hunters.

  Rogers obviously recognised him too as he said, “Fuck me, look who it is.” He started laughing then ran forwards and smashed Vaughn over the head with the butt of his gun. Vaughn dropped to the ground and his wife let out a high-pitched squeal.

  What the hell is Armstrong playing at, Conner wondered, leading the copper to us?

  “Please. Stop.” the woman dropped down beside her husband and tended to him, wiping away the trickle of blood running down his forehead.

  Vaughn mumbled something incoherent and slowly opened his eyes. He blinked a couple of times and winced as he sat up and touched the spot where Rogers had clocked him.

  “Don’t hurt my son.” Vaughn glared at Conner.

  “Do as we say and I won’t.”

  “What do you want?”

  “We want you to tell us where the fuckin’ money is,” Rogers snarled.

  Vaughn frowned. “What money?”

  “Don’t play dumb with me. You know where the stash is.”

  Vaughn shook his head, wincing as he did so. “I don’t have a clue where the money is, but surely if you stole it, you already know where it is.”