A Perfect Inside Job

The engine was idling nicely as I got myself ready for the burst of action that was soon to come. Every moment that passed was stressful because I was worried that something had gone wrong and I would have to leave the scene in a hurry without my friends and criminal partners. I chain-smoked too, lighting the end of every fresh cigarette with the ember of the last and then ditching it into the road.

My name is Roberto but I prefer to stick to Rob. I was born about ten miles south of Milan and moved to the UK when I was small. I suppose in a way that I am proud of my Italian heritage but I consider myself British in every respect other than birthplace. Last year saw me enter my thirties and because of this I have been questioning what exactly I’m going to do with the rest of my life, what is my purpose and what is going to be my legacy. I drifted through secondary school and college, achieving grades that were bang average for every possible career but I had absolutely no idea what that was going to be. Sometimes, usually when alone and at my most complentative, I thought that my father could’ve helped a lot more and shown me a lot more but he had ended up having very little influence on my life, preferring to bore me to death with stories of how he had handled himself at my age and completely ignoring the fact that times and the world in general have moved on.

I sat at the wheel of a three-year-old Volkswagen Transporter van that we had stolen two days ago from a second-hand forecourt in Falmouth. It had been quite tense doing this because for me it was the first time that I had actually taken part in a crime, rather than just thinking that I could or talking about it. I had got the mechanic talking by feigning an interest in buying the vehicle and had got him to start the engine and then show me under the bonnet. My friend then jumped in and slammed it into reverse before making off at high speed. The only remaining thing that I had to do was make my own getaway which was easy because the salesman’s natural instinct was to chase the van, leaving me to run in the opposite direction.

We knew that the van would be traced easily enough and that we didn’t have much time to complete our robbery, probably just a single day or even less. It was worth changing the number plates to false ones but realistically this would only buy us a short amount of extra time because the law would be on the lookout for any similar looking vans and would probably perform vehicle recognition checks on every single one that they saw.

So here was me, Rob, sat outside the bank with the engine idling waiting for my three colleagues to exit and pile into the back. Our first destination was going to be Chingford Overland Railway which was about four miles away, there we had already planted a car change. From there we planned to drive south towards Ashford International Train Station and board the Eurostar Train to Paris. The main reason that we wanted to ditch the van so quickly was really quite obvious, the moment that we left the bank would be the moment that the alarm would be raised and the law would most likely be on the scene and hunting us in a very short time. We had selected Ashford International to board the train because it is the last stop that anyone can board in the UK and is therefore that much closer to freedom. It did mean that I would have to use the M25 ring road that circles the capital but I would much rather do that than attempt to drive through the centre of London and its congestion.

It’s fair to say that even though I didn’t excel at school, I didn’t for a moment ever think that I would end up being a getaway driver for a group of armed robbers. Anybody who thinks that when they are school has either a very vivid imagination or has completely lost any grasp on any reality whatsoever. But in the end a lot of people like me, those with no real sense of purpose or idea of what they really want to do with their lives end up being sold an idea of great wealth with just a little risk. The same idea could be said of those who work the worldwide stock exchanges, with a little risk comes a great reward. Those folks, for the most part though, are not committing a crime that comes with certain long-term incarceration. These are all thoughts that went around in my head as I sat behind the wheel of the van, chain smoking and gently revving the engine to keep it hot.

2:20pm showed on the dashboard clock and I felt an instant hit of adrenaline surge through me. The guys were due out in less than a minute with our booty and we would be away leaving the scene of chaos and confusion behind us. I imagined high-fives and whoops of delight as we went and much laughing and joviality. The day was warm but still offered some cloud cover and the London traffic (Romford is classed as a part of Greater London, even though it’s actually in the county of Essex) was seemingly on our side too. The roads weren’t clear, that would be a sight to behold in a bustling city of 9 million people, but traffic flowed freely and at a decent speed too. The seconds ticked by alongside my heartbeat as I wiped sweat from my brow.

Stefan Plaas aimed high and let off a single shotgun blast into the ceiling of the bank before making his way out, across the pavement and into the back of my waiting van. He assured me later that this was purely for effect and as a scare tactic rather than being aimed at anyone in particular. The brothers Thomas and Andrew Harvey followed in quick succession and my foot was on the accelerator pedal in the same split second as the rear door slammed shut. I managed to keep the tyre squeal to an absolute minimum, with the front tires releasing just a minor chirrup as they span and caught traction. I guided the van into traffic, which was thankfully still free flowing and quite light, and set my mental route map for heading west towards Chingford. As the van moved away, Stefan took a look through the rear window and saw at least ten people spill from the bank in quick succession. They all looked dazed and confused and actually quite scared, the fact that they had been held hostage for a few short minutes, cooperated and now were free to continue with their everyday lives was yet to dawn on them. Stefan also glimpsed the bank manager run out onto the pavement and look both ways up and down the road frantically. He was obviously trying to spot the getaway vehicle to give as much information to the law as he could but seemed much keener to do this than to actually raise the alarm first.

In terms of timescale, the first police responder arrived at the bank at the same time as I guided the van into the Chingford Station carpark. Whilst we were travelling, Stefan had got the three bags of loot and had emptied them onto the van floor. He laughed as he did so because the haul looked to be a lot more than had originally been touted. He counted the full amount easily as they were in neat £1000 bundles and then did it again to be sure, the total was £250,000 in used £20 notes whereas we had been told that there was about £200,000 there just waiting to be had. Stefan got the four rucksacks that he had stashed in the back of the van before we set off and set about making four piles of cash and then loading the piles into the bags. I kept a casual eye on what he was doing with frequent checks in my rear-view mirror but I also knew that he could be trusted and wouldn’t try and fiddle any of us.

*

As expected, the first patrol car skidded to a halt outside the bank with a very thrilling screech of it tyres that was reminiscent of American Cop TV shows. What happened next was anything but though as two rather portly, middle-aged police constables struggled to get themselves out of the car at all rather than leaping and sliding across the bonnet a la Starsky and Hutch. Neither were there any guns drawn at this point as the UK Government tends to prefer the police to be shot at first and to then surrender rather than piss off a few ranging lunatics who admonish violence of any kind. The two PCs then proceeded to break every unwritten (and written) rule of police work by walking straight into the bank without checking and securing the scene.

More patrol cars arrived from the other direction a few moments later and then a couple of vans. There was a growing crowd of pedestrians by now and some of the new arrivals went to work on securing the area and shooing those wanting a look away to at least a safe distance. There was much radio chatter and shouting of orders going on too but there was also a distinct lack of organisation in evidence because nobody seemed sure if they were doing the shouting or being shouted at.

Inside the bank the first two officers on the scene had luckily walked into an aftermath rather than a crime in progress. People there had gotten to their feet and were dusting themselves down and checking to see if everyone was hurt. There were lots of dazed and confused looks, including those on the faces of PC Daniel Wade and PC Jeremiah Arthur, who were stood in the centre of the bank’s entrance lobby with neither wishing to make the first move. What forced them both into movement was the approaching figure of what they presumed to be The Bank Manager. He looked extremely dishevelled and was sporting a nasty little cut to his forehead that had bled heavily but was now under control.

“Officers!” he called as he approached. “There were three of them. I think they have taken a huge deposit that was made this morning. They had shotguns and looked very professional.”

Wade looked at Arthur and then decided that he needed to empty his stomach. He signalled as to what was about to happen and the Bank Manager pointed towards the customer toilet that was at the rear. Wade sped off, rather carelessly it has to be said, in that direction. Arthur got on his radio and requested information as to how to proceed and who was in charge. The response that he got from his radio told him to just calm everyone down, check for injuries and to try and gain some perspective. He relaxed at this because since he had started in the job, a week ago last Monday to be exact, the only thing that he done was traffic. Wade returned a few moments later looking rather sheepish and apologetic and Arthur filled him in on their responsibilities.

As Roberto and the others joined the M25 Motorway in their new chariot, a five-year-old Silver Audi A4 that looked as non-descript as anything else on the road and that Roberto had stolen from a carpark that very morning, DI Tony Haddock arrived at the bank and took over complete control. He was a very experienced copper who was still trying his best to adhere the police rules that had changed in the 1990’s and failing miserably. Wade and Arthur were dismissed from the scene and placed on crowd control after Wade had told him the information that the Manager had told them first.

“OK, Where’s the Bank Manager please?” he called.

The manager raised his hand and then approached, still holding his hankie to the cut on his head.

“Paul Bennington.” He said holding out a shaking hand.

“DI Tony Haddock. Romford CID.” Haddock replied curtly, waving his warrant card around briefly before repocketing it.

“So, I have the report that the first two PCs took but now I need details. Can you describe any of the attackers? Height, Weight, Distinguishing features?”

Paul thought for a moment.

“The main man was over six feet tall. He was also rather large; I mean not fat but just large. He also must’ve been left-handed because that’s the hand he held his shotgun with.”

Haddock looked at him.

“Interesting theory!” he laughed. “Now, what is this about a large deposit?”

“We had a delivery this morning from our head-office couriers. We are not a holding bank in that the most you would usually find on site would be around the ten-grand sort of figure. This morning there was three-hundred and twenty-five grand here.”

Haddock gave a low, under his breath type whistle. “Show me!” he said.

Paul nodded and ushered him towards the rear of the bank, wrestling in his pocket for a set of keys as he went. Haddock followed a little way behind; his eyes were scanning around to look for CCTV locations that may be able to help identify the robbers. If this turned out to be true then it would be a robbery that was worthy of the BBC News, not just the regional variation. Paul Bennington stopped at a metal door and waited for Haddock to catch him up, the wound on his head had slowed to a trickle and he took to mopping it up.

“I’ve not seen in here myself yet.” He said nervously, “I was face down and eating carpet in my office whilst the whole thing was going on. The big guy bopped me on the head to get me to hand over these keys.”

“And the door is locked again?” Haddock muttered, mostly to himself. “This is going to be interesting!”

The manager and the DI entered the vault in single file with the manager leading. Once inside he reached in and turned on the lights. Haddock was very suspicious now, had these guys taken the time to sweep and mop up too?

Once their eyes had adjusted to the bright neon lights, both men stood and stared at the neatly piled stacks of cash that stood on the shelf in front of them. Bennington gasped and began to exhale violently and reached for his inhaler. Haddock was in stunned silence. Both men took turns to look at each other and then back again at the seemingly undisturbed cash deposit.

“Okaaay!!...” Haddock drawled with an emphasis on the vowel.

Bennington looked absolutely stunned. He went over and reached out to touch the bundles of cash but Haddock caught him in time by reaching and grabbing his wrist.

“Evidence, dear boy. Evidence.” He stated as he did so.

Both men went back onto the main floor of the bank and headed for Paul’s office. The scene on the floor was a lot calmer now, all of the remaining customers had been removed and the front doors locked. Once inside the office, Paul sat in front of his PC monitor and fired up the CCTV program. The screen split into six sections, each showing a different view of the bank. Paul pressed the rewind button and then the play again and both men watched as the three armed men entered the bank and played out their robbery on camera. All three men wore facemasks and black clothing and looked to know exactly what they were doing. The one thing that Haddock did notice was that all three already had backpacks on and they looked heavy and full. He watched the screen for a further ten minutes, right up to the point where Stefan had taken aim and fired his shotgun into ceiling before departing. He noted the silent screams and the looks of shock on the customers faces as they cowered where they had been told to. Haddock asked Bennington to replay it one more time and paid special attention to their backpacks, studying hard to try and find out what these packs contained and whether it was relevant.

“Do you have a disk of this?” he asked Paul suddenly, catching him a bit unawares.

Paul jumped slightly in his seat. “I can make you a copy from the original disk.” He replied, “The recording equipment is in the back room.”

Haddock signalled that he should go and do this pronto before pulling out his mobile phone. Bennington left his office quickly.

“I want a specialist in CCTV and an expert in counterfeit cash on the scene here asap. I’m on scene at the Barclays Bank robbery just off Exchange Street in Romford. I have a hunch that this was an inside job.”

Haddock closed his phone and returned it to his jacket pocket. He sat behind the desk looking at the screen for a few minutes, processing what he had seen over the last few minutes. He clicked on the computer mouse and the CCTV returned to playing the up-to-date images. Haddock didn’t pay attention to this for a moment, he was more interested in something else. When he and Bennington had entered the office, ‘Eagle Eye’ Haddock had spotted a bundle of keys on the desk which were now missing. He started violently, it had all been played out to perfection right under his nose! He grabbed for his mobile phone again but his eye then caught the computer screen. There was Paul Bennington leaving by the rear of the building and carrying a full backpack. Haddock scrambled up out of the chair and ran from the office. He couldn’t believe that he had been made such a fool of.

Paul Bennington exited the bank using his master keys and locked the door behind him. He walked casually because he knew that there was no police patrol around this side, they had become the victims of the perfect smoke and mirror trick. Inside the backpack that Paul carried was the remaining £75,000 of real money that had just been withdrawn without using the correct paperwork. He got into his car, reversed out and began to make his own way to Ashford International Station. The train he wanted was due to leave in just over an hour but he had the advantage now of all of the surrounding main roads being blocked by police cordons. Within ten minutes he had made it onto the M25 heading east and began motoring his way south.

*

Myself, Stefan and the Harvey Brothers were already aboard the train when Paul arrived. He parked his car carefully, just enough spaces away from the Audi that we had used to get here and made his way to the train. He produced his ticket for the inspector and complied in every way with being a regular businessman making the trip to Paris. Less than ten minutes later the train jolted and began to move off, Paul sat at our table and feigned an out of breath gasp. We all laughed at this and Paul joined in, we had surely succeeded with our little plan and in about two hours would go our separate ways.

The main question to ask is why would we go through such intricate planning and details for what is ultimately a quite small amount of booty. I mean, don’t get me wrong, £62,500 is not be laughed at but you can’t exactly head to Monaco with that. If you did, you’d be laughed out of the first restaurant that you went into! The reasoning is very simple. Paul Bennington has built up an extensive list of clients and contacts who know where to invest and what is going on with the world markets. The sum of money that we each now have will allow us to play these markets and make a considerable fortune each. I don’t really know, or care frankly, what the others are going to do with their cuts but I am going to make sure that I have a better life than I did before. Not a bad little deal for a former Bar Supervisor who was lucky to take home about £300 a week. Drive a van for a few miles and then a car for a few more to earn a real chance at becoming a bit of a player.

DI Tony Haddock was left holding the can in the end. He couldn’t prove that Paul Bennington had been in the robbery because when he had left his office and gone to get the DVD copy, he had deleted the files from the master computer. In the end all Haddock had was hearsay and circumstantial evidence that everyone knew would be kicked out of court in a millisecond. Barclays Bank themselves couldn’t have cared less about losing £325,000, they are one of the biggest banks in the world that make that in profit about every 40 seconds. Plus, the fact that they have insurance in place to cover these incidences meaning that all they really had to do was pay out themselves.

The counterfeit cash that we had brought into the bank as part of our deceit was burned in the end by the order of the local Police Super-Intendant, who was busily trying to earn himself an OBE for services to reducing crime. Tony Haddock went on to solve many more crimes around the borough but he would always demand that anyone who spoke of the ones who got away changed the subject.

I’m retelling this story to you now from the galleried living room of own apartment somewhere in the Caribbean Sea. It costs a small fortune to rent each month, I do so on a rolling contract, but I struck lucky on some investments and have no money worries whatsoever. I’m completely confident that by the time anyone catches up with me then I would have enough notice to disappear again. I’m off the radar totally, I’m single and happy in my own little world and as long as they leave me alone, I will do the same to them.