Dunbar pressed in his entry code to the vault and began to turn the wheel. There were sounds of heavy-duty clicking and beeping before he was able to ease the massive iron door open with the assistance of Bradfield. Kath was transfixed as she looked around the inside of the pristine shiny vault. She’d never seen anything like it before and could understand why Dunbar was rather arrogant about the security. In the enclosed vault his voice echoed and the shiny steel floor made their footsteps resound. There was row upon row of deposit boxes, whose locks and handles glinted in the bright overhead lights. Dunbar assumed a superior attitude, holding both arms aloft as he pointed to the array of precious locked items. There was a large steel safe built into the side almost two feet in height and width, with a locking number dial on it.
‘Excuse me, sir, there appears to be another safe within the vault. What does that contain?’
Dunbar explained the contents belonged to a member of the Saudi Arabian royal family who had paid for it to be built in for his personal belongings.
Bradfield shook Mr Dunbar’s hand, thanking him for his time and patience. It seemed that they were mistaken about the TSB being the target and he apologized for troubling him.
Bradfield looked at Kath as they got in the car.
‘You reckon he’s a woofter?’
‘Who?’ Kath asked.
‘Dunbar. It’s the red bow tie and hanky. They say woofters use hankies as a gay code and he spoke like he had something stuck up his arse.’
‘I wouldn’t know,’ Kath replied, shaking her head.
Jane ached all over. No one had entered or left the Bentleys’ flat, and sitting hunched up looking through a small hole for hours had given her a cricked neck and terrible headache.
She sat back and stretched as Stanley, who had snored for nearly three hours, stirred himself. She physically jumped when the rear door of the van was knocked on in the standard coded manner.
Stanley scuttled to the double doors to look in a gap of the blacked-out window, then opened one door for Bradfield to jump inside.
‘Jesus Christ, Stanley, it stinks in here! Dear God, don’t you ever toss out your rotting food?’
‘Listen, I was in a static op last night and collected the van from the drug squad this morning, so it ain’t all my mess. Nothing has moved all day, so we don’t even know if the targets are in their flat – and I need a leak,’ he said, leaning over to lift up the hatch for the pee hole.
Bradfield put his foot on the hatch. ‘Not in here, it stinks enough. You can go and stretch your legs and get a bite to eat, Stanley, discreetly – as only an officer so highly trained and skilled as yourself can do!’
‘Very funny, guv,’ Stanley said, and pulled on a donkey jacket. ‘You and Tennison want anything?’ he asked.
Bradfield said he was only paying a flying visit and Jane asked if she could have a cheese sandwich and a bottle of water.
Stanley crouched at the back doors and waited for Jane and Bradfield to give the all-clear before jumping out.
Bradfield sat on the bench close to Jane who was still keeping observation on the Bentleys’ flat, unsure what to say or why he had come. He sat with his raincoat buttoned up and lit a cigarette.
‘How long have you been here?’ he asked.
‘Nearly three hours.’
‘I’d say punishment enough.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Time spent in this dilapidated stink-hole van is punishment. And in case you’re wondering, fuck all has happened at any of the observation points and it’s looking like we got the wrong bank.’
‘You make it sound as if it’s my fault.’
‘We wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t put John Bentley in the frame. Ashley Brennan’s heard nothing further on his poxy radio, and we have nothing suspicious occurring at Silas’s café.’
‘Maybe Bentley realized he was being tailed and called it off.’
‘Even if he hadn’t they’d need a fucking atomic bomb to blast open the bank vault. According to the pompous prat of a bank manager it is completely impenetrable with a massive concrete and steel base and James Bond shutters to lock in any intruder.’
She stared out from the peephole, trying hard not to show how distressed she was that he appeared to be blaming her.
‘I only met him once, but I still believe it was John Bentley’s voice on the tape. If you want me to change my mind, or suggest it has been my fault then-’
‘Fault?’ he snapped, interrupting her. ‘I’m here because I don’t want you to take any flack. If we have the wrong bank then that’s down to me, but we both know something is going down and I have a gut feeling-’
‘That I’m right?’
‘Not about that – my gut tells me that we’re close but time is running out, and if they are planning to rob a bank we may have screwed up because we’ve concentrated on Silas’s café.’
Jane turned to face him, watching as he sighed, rubbed his hair and shrugged his shoulders.
‘You must be exhausted,’ she said.
