Robert Ryan - Signal Red

'I already have. And spent the bleedin' money,'Jim Hussey replied.

'Not on that shirt, did ya? Fuck me, it looks like the test card.'

Jim looked down at his black-and-white patterned top. Then he pointed at Tommy's slacks and cardigan ensemble. 'Hark at Beau Brummell there.'

'What about you, Bruce?' Bob Welch asked. 'What will you do with your whack?'

Bruce scratched his ear. He knew what he wanted: a trip to America. That Austin Healey. Something nice for Franny. But after that, some land in the country. Bit of shooting, perhaps. Holland & Holland guns, tweeds – he'd always wanted a jacket with the leather elbow pads and 'action' pleats in the back – breeks, garters, shooting brakes, the lot. But all he said was, 'Mustn't count our chickens, Bobby.'

'I am going to buy Bond Street,' Tony announced, reaching for the relevant card and sorting out his £320 purchase price.

There was a pause before Jimmy White said, 'Bugger me, Tony. I don't think there's going to be that much on the train.'

'OK, you gannets, grub's up,' announced Buster. 'You grab a plate, a knife and fork and we'll serve you. And first one to make a crack about dinner ladies gets a fork in the eye. Clear?'

Bruce looked at his watch. 'And gentlemen, the Travelling Post Office Up train to Euston will have just left Glasgow.'

A ragged cheer of relief went up. At least it had begun now, the countdown to what should be a mighty tickle. In six hours, the convoy of thieves and heavies would be ready to roll.

There was another collective sigh of relief when Gordon Goody and Brian Field arrived, completing the firm. Gordy, who wore posh silk gloves, incongruous on a man of his bulk, had brought two bottles of Bushmills from his Irish jaunt. Brian, although nobody noticed at first, brought a long face.

The group was all sitting around the long kitchen table, having tea or instant coffee, a low cloud of cigarette smoke coalescing above their heads. The conversation was bright and breezy, sometimes bordering on the hysterical, heavy with tongue-in-cheek insults. The only sour note of the evening had been when Bobby Welch had discovered that nobody had thought to bring brown sauce. 'You can't have ketchup with a Fray Bentos steak and kidney,' he had said. 'It's a fuckin' crime.' He failed to see the funny side of this outburst.

'We saved you some food, boys,' said Buster to the new arrivals as they walked in. 'Although I had to stab Jim to stop him scoffing it.'

Charlie, though, had noticed the two men's glum demeanour. 'What is it, Gordy? You called Glasgow?'

The big man nodded. 'Train left OK, but with hardly any bags. Our man estimates it can't be more than a hundred grand.'

There was a low groan. The entire firm had been building themselves up over the past hours to seeing serious cash, and the deflating of the atmosphere was palpable and rapid. Ronnie ripped his gloves off and threw them down on the table. Roger looked as if he might cry. Charlie gazed at Bruce, deep in thought, and said, 'Hold on, boys. It's not over yet.'

He knew that some of the crew weren't convinced they could pull this off, and some had not warmed to Bruce's methods and leadership. Charlie wasn't one of them. Bruce dressed things up in a load of old wank sometimes – the movies, the clothes, the bloody jazz music – but beneath it all was rock-solid planning. Pockets of urgent conversation had broken out. 'Just listen up, will you?' rumbled Charlie, in the kind of voice that made people pay attention. The murmuring stopped abruptly. 'Bruce? What do you think?'

'Is it worth it for a reduced take?' Bruce looked around the room and did the mental arithmetic. To a firm of this calibre that kind of money was hardly worth getting out of bed for, what with the amount of cash already laid down. None of these lads were doing this to be left with seven or eight grand. It would be the airport all over again – big risks, meagre takings. 'No, I think it is worth waiting at least two more nights, maybe three.' He saw some faces pulled. 'Come on, we've come this far. Fuck me, even D-Day was postponed once, you cunts.'

That got some laughs and the tension eased.

'There's something else,' said Gordy. 'They've put the three new HVP coaches on.'

'Shit,' hissed Bruce to himself. 'That's earlier than expected. Couldn't the bastards making them have gone on strike or something?'

'Can't we get into them, then?' asked Tiny Dave Thompson, who hadn't heard that there was a new, more heavily armoured type of coach due into service

Bruce waved a hand. 'Yeah, yeah, but it adds twenty minutes or more. That's a lot. And there is the chance there will be more sorters in there, because the new ones connect to the rest of the train by a corridor. Bollocks.'

Brian spoke up, his voice even and calm. 'Bruce. Our man in Glasgow says he can take one HVP out, and that we should do the same to the one down here. There's only three been delivered. But it has to look like a fault, not sabotage, he says. Otherwise little alarm bells might ring.'

'Why the fuck didn't your bloke know these were coming on line?' asked Roger.

'I dunno,' said Gordy. 'Said he'd had to take a few days off. Personal problems.'

'Well, now we got personal problems of our own,' grumbled Jim Hussey.

'Be quiet, Jim, you great nancy,' said Roy to the big man, stinging him into silence. Bruce hid a grin. David and Goliath. The diminutive driver turned to Gordy. 'Did he say how? How to put the coach out of action?'

Gordy shook his head. 'No. Just said he had a couple of blokes he could bung a drink up there to make sure the new ones weren't available for a few days.'

'The brakes.' The two words were followed by a rattling cough.

All eyes turned to the new voice. It was Stan, spitting stray strands of tobacco from his lower lip as he placed a fresh roll- up between them.

'What about them?' asked Bruce.

'You need to fuck with the brakes. There's always teething troubles with these new models. So it won't seem suspicious if both go out of action. Always happens. You block one of the pipes with what looks like debris. Not the main one, but the feeders to the wheels. Iron filings work, and carborundum paste. Just looks like someone connected the pipes without cleaning them properly and the rubbish built up.'

'How do you know that?' asked Jim.

'Used to teach it during the war. At Beaulieu. To the saboteurs being parachuted in to France.' Everyone looked at the skeletal old man with a fresh set of eyes. 'You know where they lay up the coaches between runs, don't you?'

'Wembley,' confirmed Roy. 'I could go and do it in the afternoon. They sit there for three hours or more then. Be back here by the evening.'

'No,' said Bruce firmly. 'Not you. You need to be here to uncouple the coach.'

'Jimmy can do that,' objected Roy, pointing to Jim White, who nodded his agreement.

'Which is why he stays, too. Back-up on everything.'

'And Tony knows how.'

'Apart from that,' Charlie Wilson, who had been brooding on the change of plans, spoke up, 'did he say why there are

so few bags? Have we been rumbled? Someone talked out of turn?' He scanned the room accusingly.

'No, Charlie, calm down. He says the banks obviously haven't collected all the cash yet,' said Brian. 'Tomorrow might be better, or the next day. But not tonight.'

Bruce reached a decision. 'Tony?'

'Yeah?'

'You think you could mess with the brakes? You've been doing this uncoupling lark with Roy.'

'Sure I can. If Stan and Roy give us a few clues.'

'Piece of cake,' said Stan.

'Take Tiny Dave with you. Just in case there's trouble.'

Tiny Dave shrugged. It was all the same to him. Better a day off the farm than sitting cooped up for another twenty- four hours solid with a load of sweaty blaggers.