Ashanti Gold

by James Crosbie

  ‘Ten pounds, Johnny. We take you for shore – you pay ten pounds.’ It was a demand not a question.

  ‘I pay one pound,’ Colin decided to be generous. ‘Take me for shore.’ But his generosity was mistaken for weakness and the steersman became bold.

  ‘You have plenty money, Bruni.’ He used the native word for white man which, literally translated, meant white bastard.

  ‘Take me for shore!’ Colin disguised his misgivings by using what he hoped was an authoritative voice.

  The canoe’s prow swung away from the bank until it was pointing upriver.

  ‘Take me for shore!’ Colin turned, his sudden movement causing the canoe to ship water. ‘You take me for shore – Now! You bastard!’ His venom showed and the man’s eyes shifted uncertainly.

  ‘You no dash me money, you go for river.’ The steersman made a deliberate rocking motion, allowing a wave of river water to slop inboard.

  Christ! Colin thought. It would be worth a tenner to get ashore, but any weakness now would be a bad mistake, leading only to higher demands. He knew they would hesitate from drastic measures; the ship’s officer had seen them. But they could make things difficult – drop him miles away, or on the wrong side of the river. He could miss his plane.

  The steersman took his silence for fear and became bolder. ‘You dash me ten pounds, we take you for shore.’ The canoe rocked harder, shipping more water into the wallowing canoe. ‘You no dash me, you go for river.’

  The man in front turned his head to look coldly at Colin. ‘You no pay, you go swim for shore.’

  Colin knew they were both wound up as tight as watch-springs. London or Lagos, the mentality of the petty crook was the same – hoping against hope that their victim would give no trouble. Colin made up his mind to force their hand. Suddenly he rose in a crouch, his hands gripping both sides of the canoe. ‘Then we all go for river!’ he yelled, violently rocking the boat, allowing gallons of brown river water to rush over the low gunwales. ‘We all go for fucking river!’

  Suddenly paddles were churning the water into foam as the terrified boatmen sculled for the shore, the whites of their eyes bulging like hen’s eggs. Colin kept up the crazy rocking motion, threatening to totally swamp the flimsy craft. The canoe was awash, on the very point of sinking, when it grounded on a sandy beach just below a main road. The two boatmen leapt ashore, running fifty yards before stopping to glare back at the mad Bruni. Grinning at them, Colin squelched ashore. He knew that his clothes would soon dry, and one of the yellow-winged taxis already pulling up on the road above would take him to the airport.

  He had ten days to persuade his old firm to take on the job. Ten days to finalise his plan to steal the Ashanti gold.

  16

  With only hand baggage to carry, Colin strode through the green customs gate ahead of the other passengers. The duty men gave him the eye but let him pass unchallenged. One of the people waiting in the arrivals hall raised a hand and he saw the jaunty, leather-jacketed figure of Doc grinning at him in welcome.

  The two of them shook hands warmly, then Doc broke his grip and stepped back, eyes scanning Colin in approval.

  ‘Christ! You’re looking well,’ he finally said. ‘Brown as a fucking berry!’

  ‘Aye! And not from a lamp either,’ Colin grinned back at him.

  Doc waved a carefree dismissal. ‘That’s right – Ghana!’ he said. ‘We wondered where you’d got to after that cock-up in Kilburn.’

  ‘Aye, Doc. I got a bit of a fright there all right. Just out the nick and almost back in again, within a matter of days. I just took time to grab my gear from Bert’s and disappear. The evening paper said that no arrests had been made so I knew you’d all got away. But I was really pissed off, just out the jail and nearly back in again. Ghana suddenly seemed like a good place to be, so I took off running.’

  ‘You might have taken off running, Colin, but if you hadn’t spotted that stakeout team we’d all have been done bang to rights. As it was, you gave us just enough time to make a break. Anyway, you’re back now and ready for work, I’ll bet?’

  Colin nodded his head. ‘I’m ready for work all right, but not at the old blagging game. I’ve latched on to something that will set us up for life.’

  ‘Sounds interesting.’ Doc gave him a cavalier grin as they walked towards the car park. ‘Tell me about it in the car.’

  Doc’s casual demeanour deserted him and his car attracted angry horn blasts as it suddenly swerved across his lane. ‘Hi-fucking-jack a plane! Come on!’ He regained control of his driving and turned startled eyes on Colin. ‘You’ve got to be fucking joking!’

  ‘No joke. I’m serious.’ Colin spoke confidently. ‘You, me and the rest of the old firm – we’re going to hijack a plane. I’ve got it all worked out.’

  ‘C’mon, Colin. Who’re you kidding? That’s not our game. Besides, the old firm’s split up. Eddie’s chucked it. That cashier turned him in and he’s looking at a five-stretch. He’s out on bail and set himself up in the taxi business, trying to make it look good for when he goes to court. There’s only me and Bert now; that’s the reason we were so chuffed to get your telegram.’

  ‘Only the two of you?’ Colin turned to him. ‘That means I’ll have to find another man. Might even be a good thing; give us a chance to find the sort of man we need.’

  ‘It’s hard to find good men,’ Doc went on. ‘And we’ve been quiet since Eddie got nicked.’

  ‘Never had any bother yourself? After they got Eddie I mean?’

  ‘Bit of hassle,’ Doc admitted. ‘That bastard, Detective Inspector Lambert, gave me and Bert heavy spins; section two’d us as well and held us for the whole six hours trying to break our alibis. Even now he’s still lurking about trying to get something against us. He’s a snooping bastard!’

  ‘My name crop up at all?’

  ‘Nah. He didn’t even know you were out.’

  ‘What happened? I mean … How did you get away? It looked bang-to-rights to me.’

  ‘We all got away at the time! When they charged after you we went over a wall and through the service door at the rear of the supermarket. Eddie only got done later on because the cashier caved in under questioning. The coppers guessed it was an inside job, and once they found out about his gambling debts they dragged him in. Just as well he didn’t know any of us or our names.’

  ‘Aye, lucky there,’ Colin acknowledged. ‘Eddie kept schtum?’ It was more of a statement than a question.

  ‘Took it like a man,’ Doc said nodding in appreciation. ‘No comment right down the line. Denied everything! Even denied knowing the cashier.’

  ‘Did they swallow it?’

  ‘Course not!’ Doc gave a guffaw. ‘But a jury might.’

  ‘Well, good luck to him. I wouldn’t like to see him ending up in Wandsworth. I was never so glad to get out of anywhere in my life.’

  ‘And now you want to go hijacking a plane!’

  ‘It can be done,’ Colin spoke seriously. ‘Not easy, mind you. But with the right preparation and a good team on the job, it definitely can be done.’

  ‘I’ll believe that when I see it.’

  ‘I’m telling you, Doc. It can be done!’

  ‘You couldn’t get a team out there?’

  ‘You must be joking! I want the old firm on this one, so here I am.’

  Doc shook his head. ‘Hijacking?’ He sucked air into his lungs and released it in a long, thoughtful whoosh. ‘I can’t see Bert going for that.’

  *

  Bert was there to meet them at his flat in Eustace Road and greeted Colin with a strong handshake. ‘The disappearing man, eh?’ he joked. ‘Come on in and have a drink.’

  Eddie was reported as ‘doing well’ with the minicab business he had started up. Getting charged with the Kilburn job, spending a month on remand in grimy Brixton prison before being released on bail, followed by continuous hassling by the Robbery Squad, had finally persuaded him to go straight. With up to two years to wa
it before his trial, he was busy building up the image of an honest, hardworking businessman. Bert was still operating four tipper lorries from a small office in the North End Road and Doc was having trouble with ‘cowboy’ window cleaners encroaching on his territory. Very little had changed.

  ‘And now you’re back.’ Bert brought him completely up to date and got down to business, looking at Colin with his lugubrious, bulldog expression. ‘You back on the firm now, or what?’

  Colin stared into his glass, drinking in the atmosphere of the room; the furniture, the wallpaper, the carpets, even the ubiquitous ‘Crying Child’ looking tearfully down on them. This was civilisation – his civilisation. This was the real world. Suddenly, even to himself, his vision seemed preposterous.

  ‘Aye,’ he nodded his head, trying to rekindle enthusiasm. ‘I’m back on the firm.’

  ‘Good!’ Bert leant forward, his chubby grocer’s face taking on a calculating look. ‘That gives us a working team again, and we’ve been looking at a nice little earner over …’

  ‘I’ve found an earner,’ Colin interrupted, putting his real world aside for the chance at a better future. ‘How would you like to steal three million pounds’ worth of gold bullion?’

  ‘What did you say?’ Bert’s mouth fell open.

  ‘Three million in gold – just waiting to be plucked.’ Colin committed himself to his plan.

  Doc shot his cuffs, flashing a gold bracelet, and moved to the edge of his seat. He hadn’t heard this part of the story. ‘Set us up for life, that would,’ he agreed. ‘Hey, Bert, old son. D’you want into three million quid?’

  ‘I think we better listen a bit more,’ Bert cautioned. ‘Three million pounds’ worth of gold doesn’t grow on trees, you know.’

  ‘It’s in gold bullion, and it’s in transit,’ Colin told them. ‘All we’ve got to do is take it away from them.’

  ‘Been done often enough before,’ Bert agreed, wrinkling his eyes in consideration. ‘Van job, is it?’

  ‘Plane job,’ Colin stated quietly. ‘The gold’s on an aeroplane.’

  Bert’s interested expression changed to one of astonishment. ‘On a fucking aeroplane!’

  ‘That’s right. A plane with three million pounds’ worth of gold bullion on board, just begging for someone to come along and take it.’ Colin sat back, knowing what was coming.

  ‘Hijack a plane?’ Bert spoke carefully, as if to be certain he had not misunderstood. ‘I suppose you mean in this Ghana place you’ve been to?’

  ‘That’s right. You see …’

  ‘Forget it!’ Bert growled. ‘You’ve been out in the sun too long, mate. Hijack a plane? What d’you take us for?’

  ‘I want you to listen to me, Bert. You too, Doc. I know it sounds fantastic – I couldn’t believe it myself at first. But I’ve seen it with my own eyes. Sat next to the stuff. Practically touched it.’

  ‘C’mon,’ Doc shook his head. ‘I told you it wasn’t our sort of thing.’

  ‘You both know me,’ Colin appealed. ‘I’ve always been able to sort them out. Remember the Goodyear job? I set that up all right, didn’t I?’

  ‘That was here,’ Bert threw up a hand in exasperation. ‘And it was on the fucking pavement, not miles high in the sky!’ But Colin spoke through his interruption.

  ‘I wouldn’t come all the way back here and lay a load of nonsense on you – you know that,’ he argued.

  ‘Well … okay,’ Bert agreed. ‘I’ll admit you’ve always done well in the past. But that was mainly fiddles, scams, the old credit card game and even the odd blag. And when we did go on a blag it was always a set-up, with a good inside man helping out. But hijacking a plane!’ His cheeks swelled and he grunted dismissively. ‘Nah,’ he said. ‘You’re talking guns here … maybe even shooting people! C’mon, Colin, you know we’re not into that sort of stuff.’ He looked at Doc for agreement.

  ‘I’m with Bert on that, Colin,’ Doc spoke out. ‘I mean, I might be tempted on a heavy blag as long as everything was set up, no danger of hurting anyone. But shooters? Hijacking a plane? That’s a bit over the top for our little firm.’

  ‘We’re just not into that sort of stuff,’ Bert broke in again. ‘Not here, and definitely not in fucking Africa! And we’re not taking the chance of shooting anyone, not even for a load of gold. You should know that yourself by now, old son.’

  ‘Of course I know that,’ Colin answered. ‘But there’s no danger of anyone being shot. That’s why I want you to hear me out on this. Believe me, you’ll have a different opinion once you’ve heard the tale.’

  Bert glanced at Doc, who simply shrugged and said, ‘Don’t suppose it’d do any harm to listen. We can always knock it back if we don’t like it.’

  ‘Okay,’ Bert agreed, ‘we’ll listen. As long as you’re not talking shooters, we’ll give you a hearing. But don’t go holding your breath on us.’

  ‘Look, if I’d come along in sixty-three and suggested holding up the Glasgow-to-London mail train you’d have been in stitches – remember that one?’ he asked them.

  ‘I remember they got thirty years apiece,’ Bert observed. ‘And that was in this country.’

  ‘But they still pulled it off,’ Colin argued. ‘They were let down afterwards by other people. Just listen to the tale,’ he went on. ‘It’s not perfect yet, but you’ll see the potential.’

  Sitting on the edge of his chair he related his experience at the mine and his stumbling across the gold shipment at Kumasi. ‘Once the plane lands at Accra the gold is taken away under military escort again. But in the air, anyone could take it.’

  ‘Yeah!’ Bert’s voice was derisive. ‘With armed soldiers guarding it?’

  ‘I’d bet my share their guns aren’t even loaded,’ Colin stated soberly.

  ‘Not loaded?’

  ‘They were 303s, Bert. Old British Army rifles, far too powerful to discharge in an aircraft. They’ve got specially designed weapons for that nowadays – powerful enough to kill someone without risking structural damage to the plane.’

  Bert gave careful consideration to this information. ‘Makes sense,’ he admitted. ‘What d’you think, Doc?’

  ‘He’s right. If they were really expecting to fire guns on board they’d have the proper weapons.’

  ‘Okay, so the guards are unarmed,’ Bert agreed. ‘But we’re still stuck in a plane miles high in the sky. What do we do now?’

  ‘We take over the plane. There’ll be no opposition, just a matter of producing shooters and …’

  ‘Hey, hey, hey …’ Bert’s hand went up like a policeman stopping traffic. ‘I’ve just told you; we don’t go in for the shooting business.’

  ‘Not real shooters,’ Colin retorted. ‘Replicas. That’s all we’d need on a job like this. Once you pull a gun on a plane, you’re in charge. Believe me, people on board a plane will do exactly what they’re told when they see a gun. Any kind of gun! Fuck me, planes have been hijacked with a match and a bottle of petrol before now.’

  ‘And supposing we do hijack a planeload of gold,’ Bert butted in, derisively. ‘Where the fuck do we go with it? Cuba?’

  ‘We don’t go anywhere.’ Colin took a deep breath. ‘We off-load the gold and follow it down by para-chute. Wait! Wait!’ He motioned a rapidly rising Bert back to his seat. ‘You’ve got old age pensioners leaping out of aeroplanes for charity nowadays. It’s not as crazy as it sounds.’

  ‘Nah,’ Bert shook his head. ‘C’mon Colin. Hijacking! It’s just not on. There’s plenty of work in London for us. Why should we take on a job in Ghana? Christ! We don’t even know where the place is. I can think of hundreds of reasons against it.’

  ‘Give them to me,’ Colin demanded. ‘You raise objections and I’ll try and overcome them. That way we’ll end up with a plan.’

  ‘Well, in the first place, you’re talking about Ghana,’ Doc said. ‘We can’t just stroll over there, hijack a plane and simply disappear. We’d stick out like a zack on a Zulu’s arse!’

>   ‘And what would we do with the gold, supposing we did get it?’ demanded Bert. ‘It would be hard enough to get rid of it here, never mind bloody Ghana!’

  ‘And I’m willing to bet this Ghana place is no Costa Del Sol,’ Doc cut in. ‘I mean, there can’t be that many tourists arriving there that they can’t keep tabs on them.’

  ‘Is that all?’ Colin disconcerted them with his question.

  ‘No, it’s not!’ Bert finally found his voice. ‘We’re not some kind of high-flying terrorists. We’re blaggers … pavement artists. We work best at ground level. And besides, this parachuting business? I don’t know the first thing about it. How about you, Doc?’

  ‘Not me,’ Doc shook his head. ‘I’ve never even seen a parachute, except in the movies.’

  ‘Least of your problems,’ Colin insisted. ‘It’s a big sport nowadays. Clubs all over the place.’

  ‘Well … I suppose you’re right about that.’ Bert reluctantly agreed. ‘But what about getting into Ghana? And then getting rid of the gold, supposing we did get it?’

  ‘You don’t need to worry about the gold. I can handle that. Once we get the gold off the plane you can forget about it until I get it to London.’

  ‘You could handle that?’ Bert queried, the first faint flicker of interest showing on his face.

  ‘I’ve got the perfect set-up. And as for getting into Ghana,’ Colin drew a newspaper cutting from his pocket. ‘We use this as cover.’

  ‘You mean … go in with the supporters?’ Bert read the boxing announcement and passed the cutting to Doc.

  ‘That’s it! Cooper has a fantastic following in London and they’re already offering package deals at some travel agents. You go with the crowd – in and out. They’ve even waived visa requirements for the fight fans.’

  ‘How does the fight date fit in with the gold movement?’

  ‘Same day,’ Colin enthused. ‘That’s what makes it perfect. Everything fits into place like a Cluedo set. It’s almost as if it was meant to happen.’

  ‘At least it’s beginning to sound a bit more practical,’ Bert grudgingly acknowledged, his spectacles glinting across at Colin.