Ron's own thumb pressing the talk button on the microphone as he said 'Obadiah Mayd-'; the small bomb that looked like a cricket ball hitting the windshield and exploding, sending toughened glass fragments into the air in a shower; and then the physical blow as the shock wave hit and the quiet darkness of unconsciousness.
Sergeant Wilkinson heard the call sign 'Obadiah' from the currency shipment, but he ignored it. It had been a busy morning, with three major traffic hold-ups, a cross-London chase after a hit-and-run driver, two serious accidents, a warehouse fire, and an impromptu demonstration in Downing Street by a group of anarchists. When the call came in he was taking a cup of instant coffee and a ham roll from a young West Indian girl and saying: 'What does your husband think about you coming to work with no bra?'
The girl, who had a large bust, said: 'He doesn't notice,' and giggled.
Constable Jones, on the other side of the console, said: 'There you are, Dave, take the hint.'
Wilkinson said: 'What are you doing tonight?'
She laughed, knowing he was not serious. 'Working,' she said.
The radio said: 'Mobile to Obadiah Control. Come in, please.'
Wilkinson said: 'Another job? What?'
'I'm a go-go dancer in a pub.'
'Topless?'
'You'll have to come along and see, won't you?' the girl said, and she pushed her trolley on.
The radio said: 'Mayd-' then there was a muffled bang, like a burst of static, or an explosion.
The grin faded rapidly from Wilkinson's young face. He flicked a switch and spoke into the microphone. 'Obadiah Control, come in, Mobile.'
There was no reply. Wilkinson called to his supervisor, putting a note of urgency into his voice. 'Guvnor!'
Inspector 'Harry' Harrison came across to Wilkinson's position. A tall man, he had been running his hands through his thinning hair, and now he looked more distraught than he was. He said: 'Everything under control, Sergeant?'
'I think I caught a Mayday from Obadiah, guv.'
Harrison snapped: 'What do you mean, think?'
Wilkinson had not made sergeant by admitting his mistakes. He said: 'Distorted message, sir.'
Harrison picked up the mike. 'Obadiah Control to Mobile, do you read? Over.' He waited, then repeated the message. There was no reply. He said to Wilkinson: 'A distorted message, then they go off the air. We've got to treat it as a hijack. That's all I need.' He had the air of a man to whom Fate has been not merely unjust but positively vindictive.
Wilkinson said: 'I didn't get a location.'
They both turned to look at the giant map of London on the wall.
Wilkinson said: 'They took the river route. Last time they checked in was at Aldgate. Traffic's normal, so they must be somewhere like, say, Dagenham.'
'Great,' Harrison said sarcastically. He thought for a moment. 'Put out an all-cars alert. Then detach three from East London patrols and send them on a search. Alert Essex, and make sure those idle sods know how much bloody money is in that van. All right, on your bike.'
Wilkinson began to make the calls. Harrison stood behind him for a few moments, deep in thought. 'We should get a call before too long-someone must have seen it happen,' he muttered. He thought a bit more. 'But then, if chummy is clever enough to knock the radio out before the boys can call in, he's clever enough to do the job somewhere quiet.' There was a longer pause. Finally Harrison said: 'Personally, I don't think we stand a sodding chance.'
It was going like a dream, Jacko thought. The currency van had been hoisted over the wall and gently set down beside the cutting gear. The four police motorcycles had been tossed aboard the transporter, which had then reversed into the yard. The riders now lay in a neat line, each of them handcuffed hand and foot, and the yard gates were shut.
Two of the boys, wearing goggles over their stocking masks, made a man-sized hole in the side of the currency van while another plain blue van was backed up. A large rectangle of steel fell away, and a uniformed guard jumped out with his hands above his head. Jesse handcuffed him and made him lie down beside the police escort.
The cutting gear was wheeled away rapidly and two more men got into the currency van and began to pass the chests out. They were put straight into the second van.
Jacko cast an eye over the prisoners. They had all been bashed about a bit, but not seriously. All were conscious. Jacko was perspiring under the mask, but he dared not take it off.
There was a shout from the cabin of the crane, where one of the boys was keeping watch. Jacko looked up. At the same time, he heard the sound of a siren.
He looked around. It couldn't be true! The whole idea was that they should knock the guards out before they had time to radio for help. He cursed. The men were looking to him for guidance.
The transporter had backed behind a pile of a tires, so the white motorcycles could not be seen. The two vans and the crane looked innocent enough. Jacko shouted: 'Everybody get under cover!' Then he remembered the prisoners. No time to drag them out of the way. His eye lit upon a tarpaulin. He pulled it over the five bodies, then dived behind a skip.
The siren came nearer. The car was traveling very fast. He heard the squeal of tires as it swung under the railway arch, then the scream of the engine as the car touched seventy in third before changing up. The sound got louder; then suddenly the pitch of the siren dropped and the noise began to recede. Jacko breathed a sigh of relief, then heard the second siren. He yelled: 'Stay down!'
The second car passed, and he heard a third. There was the same squeal under the arch, the same third- gear burst after the corner-but this time the car slowed outside the gate.
Everything seemed very quiet. Jacko's face was unbearably hot under the nylon. He felt he was going to suffocate. He heard a sound like policeman's boots scraping on the gate. One of them must be climbing up to have a look over. Suddenly Jacko remembered that there were two more guards in the cab of the van. He hoped to Christ they didn't come round just now.
What was the copper up to? He hadn't climbed right over, but he hadn't fallen back, either. If they came in for a good look, it would all be up. No, don't panic, he thought, ten of us can see to a carful of wollies. But it would take time, and they might have left one in the car, who could radio for reinforcementsJacko could almost feel all that money slipping through his fingers. He wanted to risk a peep around the side of the skip, but he told himself there was no point: he would know when they left by the sound of the car.
What were they doing?
He looked again at the currency van. Jesus, one of the blokes was moving. Jacko hefted his shotgun. It was going to come to a fight. He whispered: 'Oh, bollocks.'
There was a noise from the van-a hoarse yell. Jacko scrambled to his feet and stepped around the skip with his gun ready.
There was nobody there.
Then he heard the car pull away with a screech of tires. Its siren started up again and faded into the distance.
Deaf Willie emerged from behind the rusty shell of a Mercedes taxi. Together, they went toward the van. Willie said: 'Jolly good fun, ain't it?'
'Yes,' Jacko said sourly. 'Better than watching the bloody television.' They looked inside the van. The driver was groaning, but he did not look badly hurt. 'Out you come, Grandad,' Jacko said through the broken window. 'Tea break's over.'
The voice had a calming effect on Ron Biggins. Until then he had been dazed and panicky. He did not seem to be hearing properly, there was a pain in his head, and when he put his hand up to his face he touched something sticky.
The sight of a man in a stocking mask was curiously bracing. It was all very clear. An extremely efficient raid- in fact, Ron was somewhat awed by the smoothness of the operation. They had known the route, and the timing, of the currency van's trip. He began to feel angry. No doubt a percentage of the haul would find its way into the secret bank account of a corrupt detective. Like most police and security workers, he hated bent coppers even more than villains.
