Ashanti Gold

by James Crosbie

  The gold! he wanted to scream. You’ve forgotten the fucking gold!

  ‘Excuse me.’ He heard a voice and looked up to see a businessman standing in the aisle, preparing to move into the empty seat beside him.

  ‘Uh …? Oh yes … The seat’s vacant.’ He gathered his scrambled thoughts as the passenger took his seat. The gold? Where’s the fucking gold? Sick with disappointment, he sagged back in his seat staring at the space the gold should be occupying. Then the door of the plane thudded tight, the sound killing off any faint hope that the gold might still appear. The man beside him took a newspaper from his briefcase, crackled it open and fussily folded it at the shares price index. Colin recognised the Financial Times and the man who had first told him about the gold.

  He spoke as casually as he could. ‘No gold this trip, eh?’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘You told me a few weeks ago, remember? I thought it was ammunition and you told me it was gold. You said they always carried it on this plane.’

  The businessman tilted his head back to look at Colin, giving a slight nod to acknowledge recognition.

  ‘And so they did, up until three weeks ago.’ He answered with some asperity, as though he resented any implication that he might have been in error. ‘But the military authorities have stationed a helicopter unit here now and they have taken over the responsibility.’ He leant forward and looked past Colin to peer through the small window. ‘There,’ he said, stabbing with a vindicating finger.

  Colin turned his head and followed the direction of the pointing digit. Up until this moment he had nurtured a faint hope that this week was an accident; a one-off occurrence and things would return to normal next time. But there was no mistaking the scene that greeted his gaze across the airfield apron. Eyes widened in shocked disbelief, he saw a protective ring of soldiers guarding the armoured van as its cargo of gold bullion was loaded into the aggressive, shark-shaped silhouette of a heavily armed Lynx attack helicopter.

  23

  The week dragged by for Colin. Plans ruined, he found himself sinking into a morass of despondency. His comfortable vision of a crime-free future, with Lesley by his side, ripped apart by some faceless military bureaucrats. Bastards! He cursed them again, resentment festering deep inside him, as if he had been deprived of something already rightfully his. And the firm was due to arrive today – what would they have to say?

  ‘Come on,’ he heard George’s voice through a thick fog of thought. ‘Your breakfast is getting cold.’

  With a guilty start he became aware again, shrugging off his uncle’s look with a muttered complaint of a bad night’s sleep.

  ‘You’ve been having too many late nights, m’lad,’ George cautioned. ‘You’ve been running yourself ragged these last few weeks.’

  ‘I’m okay,’ Colin forced a smile. ‘Been travelling about a lot, that’s all. I suppose it’s more tiring than you realise out here … with the heat and humidity.’

  ‘And you’ve not been playing any golf,’ George accused. ‘A relaxing round in the afternoon would do you the world of good.’

  ‘Aye,’ Colin agreed. ‘As a matter of fact, I’m going off down the club this morning before it gets too hot. I’ll just laze about down there today and spend some time with Lesley.’

  ‘That’s the stuff! A day by the pool will work wonders for you.’

  As soon as George had left for the office, Colin took the suitcases from the shed, loaded them into the car and headed for town. Once there, he parked in a quiet side street and walked round to a garage to pick up a Ford Escort he had hired. He had decided to run through the day according to his original plan, if only to prove to the firm that he had carried out his part efficiently. There was also the possibility that they might manage to recoup some of the money spent on the parachutes in Accra, or else carry them back to London as baggage. It was a case now of salvaging what he could.

  *

  The flight information board at Accra International Airport told him the charter plane was on schedule and due to arrive in just over an hour. With time to kill, Colin drifted up to the observation deck on the roof of the single-storey terminal building. A Nigeria Airways Boeing 737 from Lagos had just landed and was taxi-ing towards its parking stand. Admiring the sleek jet liner, he watched the ramp lower from its door and looked on as the passengers slowly disembarked, giving a start of surprise when he saw Ray emerge into the bright sunlight. He recalled Ray saying he would make his own travel arrangements, but had imagined he would use the same agency as Bert and Doc, merely purchasing the ticket separately to achieve the appearance of non-association they sought. Quickly, he made his way downstairs to the arrivals hall.

  *

  ‘Thought it safer to travel by a different route altogether,’ Ray explained as they sat over coffee in the arrivals lounge. ‘I booked tickets via Lagos and I’ll be travelling home by the same route a couple of days after the fight. That way we’re well separated. It could be important after we’ve finished our business.’

  ‘There isn’t going to be any business.’ Colin’s statement was blunt. He had expected to have the three of them together when he broke his news about the job, but Ray’s unexpected arrival had upset his plans, and he could see no reason for subtlety.

  Ray straightened in his chair, grey eyes fixed enquiringly on Colin’s face. ‘Say again?’ he slipped easily into military jargon.

  ‘There isn’t going to be any business,’ Colin repeated tersely. ‘The job’s a bummer.’

  Tensing muscles squared Ray’s chin. ‘What happened?’ he asked, disappointment clear in his voice. ‘Someone rumble what you were up to?’

  ‘Nothing like that,’ Colin spoke sharply, annoyed that Ray could have jumped to such a conclusion. ‘The fucking army brought in a helicopter, that’s what.’ He went on to explain the new set-up at Kumasi.

  ‘You’re certain of this?’

  ‘I did a dry run last week as a final check and saw the helicopter myself. Even saw them loading the gold.’ He shrugged. ‘It’s a bummer all right.’ A long sigh escaped him. ‘A real earner. Enough to set us all up for life. Jesus!’ He thumped the table in disgust.

  Ray’s eyes turned flint as he thought. Elbows on the table, he put his thumbs under his chin and rubbed both index fingers up and down the sides of his nose. Colin watched him, wondering what was going on in his mind.

  ‘How long has the helicopter been doing the run?’ Ray finally asked.

  ‘Three weeks now, according to the guy I spoke to.’

  ‘No problems since it began?’

  Colin looked at him curiously. ‘No problems? I wouldn’t know. What d’you mean exactly?’

  ‘Just that. We used helicopters a lot in the SAS and they were right temperamental bastards, always acting up on us, especially in these climates. Even the fuel is unbelievable in places like this.’

  ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘Well …’ Ray spread his hands. ‘There’s always the chance the chopper could be out of commission. It might even be assigned to some other duty.’

  ‘Instead of carrying the gold, you mean?’ Colin looked at him doubtfully. ‘Why would they do that?’

  ‘I’m an army man, Colin. I know they haven’t stationed a valuable helicopter in Kumasi simply to operate a milk run to Accra once a week. The gold will be very much a secondary operation. If the chopper is unserviceable or otherwise engaged, the chances are they’ll put the gold back on the DC-3.’

  ‘You’re clutching at straws.’

  ‘Bit stronger than a straw,’ Ray disagreed. ‘You’ve already told me that you watched them load the gold into the helicopter last week, right?’

  ‘Aye … When I made my last dry run.’

  ‘And that didn’t tell you anything?’

  Colin began to get red in the face. ‘What is this Ray, a fucking quiz show? Make your point.’

  ‘It means that the gold runs to a schedule. Probably some deal with the Treasury. T
hat gold’s been getting delivered every Wednesday for years and it’s become routine. If the helicopter’s out of commission, the gold will go straight aboard the original plane. If I was still in the army I’d stake my tapes on it.’

  ‘Out of commission on the one and only Wednesday we want to hijack it? C’mon, Ray. Straw! You’re not even clutching air!’

  ‘Maybe,’ Ray’s voice became firm. ‘But no position’s hopeless until it’s been overrun. Even if there’s only an odds-on chance of the gold being on that DC-3, we’d be stupid not to consider it. After all, everything is prepared on our side.’

  ‘You want to go ahead with the plan?’

  ‘Well … we’re all set up, aren’t we? And if the gold isn’t on the plane we wouldn’t be any worse off than we are right now, would we?’

  Colin looked at him thoughtfully. ‘It is all laid on,’ he finally said. ‘And I’ve got all the gear outside in my car.’

  ‘So we go ahead and chance it!’

  Colin looked at his wristwatch. ‘Bert and Doc are due to land in half an hour. I’ll put it to them and hear what they have to say about it.’

  ‘No!’ Ray emphatically shook his head. ‘They’re edgy enough about this job as it is. Telling them about the helicopter could turn them off completely.’

  ‘But they’ll have to be told about the new set-up.’

  ‘No they won’t! They don’t have to be told anything.’ Ray’s voice was firm as he took control of the conversation. ‘As far as they know the job is still on. Let them keep thinking that. If the gold isn’t on the plane they’ll moan about their bad luck for ten minutes then sit back and enjoy the flight. Telling them achieves nothing. In fact, you could put them off completely.’

  ‘But they should be told,’ Colin’s voice was uncertain. ‘We’ve always been straight with one another about any job.’

  ‘If the helicopter could give us problems I’d be the first to agree,’ Ray said earnestly, forestalling Colin’s arguments. ‘But don’t you see … If the gold isn’t on the plane, the job’s simply cancelled. It’s not as if you’re putting them at any risk by not telling them.’

  Colin drummed his fingers against the hard surface of the table. He hadn’t thought things out the way Ray had, but he realised that the strain of not knowing whether or not the job was on until literally the last minute could break the nerve of the staunchest man. Ray, with his military training, could cope with the uncertainty. But Bert and Doc … ? He gave the table a last decisive rap. Ray was right. If there was one chance in a hundred of the Dakota carrying the gold, he had to take it. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘We’ll play it your way.’

  ‘Good man,’ Ray’s eyes lightened, as if a weight had been lifted from his mind. ‘We’ll give it our best shot. And remember,’ he grinned wolfishly, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm: ‘Who dares wins.’

  Twenty minutes later they watched the chartered 707 land and they waited until they spotted Bert and Doc leaving the plane. Satisfied that they had arrived safely, Colin led Ray to his car and headed towards Accra city centre.

  It was almost an hour before the first coaches cleared the airport and bore the fight fans off to their hotels. Knowing in advance that Bert and Doc were booked into the four-star Ambassador, Colin waited in the hotel’s car park where they had arranged to meet. Ray had already taken a taxi to his hotel in another part of the city and would make his way back as soon as he had checked in. Colin looked anxiously at his watch. It was well after midday and they had a lot of ground to cover.

  Once again Ray was the first to arrive, his smaller hotel having sorted out its rooming arrangements more quickly than the larger and more sedately run Ambassador. Wearing faded military-style trousers, with cotton shirt open at the neck exposing his tanned chest, and his bronzed face healthy under an army-length haircut, he looked well, the very picture of fitness. His step had an athletic spring to it, pleasing Colin as he watched him approach.

  ‘Checked in okay?’ he asked as Ray settled into the seat beside him.

  ‘No problem.’ He got a thumbs-up from the smiling Ray.

  ‘It went right out my head earlier,’ Colin said, ‘but supposing we do strike lucky tomorrow … Have you done the flying bit all right?’

  ‘I’ve got in thirty-four hours. It’s no sweat.’

  ‘Thirty-four hours! Is that all?’

  ‘Plenty for what we’ll need,’ Ray told him confidently. ‘I know it doesn’t sound much, but it’s surprising how long it takes to accumulate flying time, especially when you’re just learning. It’s not like driving around in a car. Once you reach the solo stage it becomes easier, but the first twelve – fifteen hours takes about two weeks to get in. Once you’ve got hold of the basics you can work a bit faster.’

  ‘You can fly solo then?’

  ‘No bother! Went solo in ten hours – two better than anyone else on the course.’

  ‘Reckon you can handle this DC-3 plane all right?’

  ‘Definitely!’ Ray was emphatic. ‘One of the reasons I’ve only got the thirty-four hours in is that I decided to spend a fair bit of money putting time in on a twin-engine job – a Piper Aztec. It’s small, but I reckoned it would give me useful experience with the twin throttles and dual instrumentation. I got quite good at it,’ he added, with a self-satisfied smile.

  ‘Is it anything like a DC-3?’

  ‘It’s nothing like a DC-3 as regards size,’ Ray admitted. ‘But the basic flying instruments are almost identical, and that’s what I was after … getting used to twin-engine controls and instruments.’

  ‘And you can definitely handle this plane tomorrow if things work out for us?’

  Ray’s voice was suddenly dead serious. ‘Let’s not kid ourselves that I’m suddenly a hot-shot pilot, but I’ve worked hard and paid attention. On top of that I’ve managed to log in about four hours on an actual DC-3. I found out that a small airline flew one-manoperated cargo flights from Southend to Ostend in Belgium. One of the pilots happened to be a part-time flying instructor with the club. I offered him instructor’s rates to let me sit with him for experience. He was glad of the money and took me on three round-trips doing his instructor bit. I learned a lot from him, including how to operate the autopilot.’

  ‘Jesus Christ, that’s terrific!’ Colin said, before smothering his enthusiasm with a frown. ‘Everything’s working out for us except for that fucking helicopter.’

  ‘Yeah, well …’ Ray looked thoughtful. ‘I still reckon we’re in with a good shout. And if they do use the plane and we get control of it, I’ll manage. As long as the weather is clear, I have a horizon and I can see the ground, I’ll be able to hold or alter course, maintain height or lose height. I could even manage gentle turns. But if visibility is bad, or there’s high winds or turbulence – it won’t be on.’

  ‘Jesus,’ Colin blew his cheeks out and shook his head. ‘We’re asking for an awful lot of luck on this job all right.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Ray agreed, ‘I know that. But at least we’re ready, and if everything works out we can go ahead.’

  ‘Aye,’ Colin agreed. ‘We’re ready. And here come Bert and Doc,’ he pointed at two men who had just walked into view. ‘At least …’ he hesitated, ‘I recognise Doc, but …’ He eyed the unfamiliar figure accompanying him.

  ‘It’s Bert all right,’ Ray assured him. ‘He’s shaved his head completely bald. It puts years on him and makes him look thinner in the face; all part of his smother. He’s been practising like a quick change artist for weeks.’

  Colin got out of the car and waved, attracting their attention.

  ‘Good to see you.’ They exchanged subdued greetings, both Bert and Doc looking more serious than their usual cheery selves.

  ‘Look,’ Colin flashed his watch as he ushered them into the car, getting Ray to move into the rear seat so as to make room for Doc in the front. ‘We haven’t got time to waste, so we’ll do our talking on the move, okay?’ He turned to Doc. ‘And I want you to pay atten
tion to the route we’re taking. You’ll be driving this motor back after we’ve done the business tomorrow.’ The car rolled into motion as he spoke. ‘You two happy with the parachute jumping?’ he asked when the car was out of the main road.

  ‘Great!’ Doc enthused. ‘Really great! I’ve done over twenty jumps already. It’s no bother.’

  ‘Don’t hear you saying much,’ Colin looked in his rear-view mirror, trying not to smile at Bert’s sweating dome.

  ‘I’ll manage,’ he snuffled, rubbing nervously at his nose. ‘I’ve done the basic course and enough jumps to know the business.’

  ‘You don’t sound too keen.’

  ‘I’m not “too keen” as you put it,’ Bert growled. ‘Leaping out of a perfectly good plane miles up in the sky isn’t exactly my idea of having a good time.’

  ‘You’ll be all right, old mate.’ Doc annoyed him by reaching back and patting affectionately at the top of his head, grinning and fending off a clumsy retaliation. ‘Eight jumps he’s done,’ he told Colin. ‘He’ll be fine.’

  ‘Only because of the gold,’ Bert snapped at him. ‘You wouldn’t get me doing it for fun.’

  ‘But you are happy about it?’ Colin pursued him. ‘You are confident enough?’

  ‘Yeah, yeah. Nothing to it,’ Bert finally admitted, glaring angrily at an unrepentant Doc. ‘It’s only a matter of pulling the ripcord and the parachute does the rest.’