Henri Charrière - Banco - the Further Adventures of Papillon

He was right. Ten hours later we reached the town we were aiming for. Paulo dropped us at the end of a road with villas on either side.

"Take the pavement on the right. The villa's called Mi Amor; it's along there. Walk in like you owned it, and inside you'll find Auguste."

There was a yard bordered with flowers, and a neat path leading to the door of a pretty little house. The door was shut; we knocked.

"Hi there, brothers, come right in," said Auguste, opening the door. He was in shirtsleeves; he was covered with sweat, and his hairy arms had earth on them. We told him Paulo had gone to park the car at the other end of the town. It made sense not to have a Venezuelan license plate seen too often in the road.

"Did you have a good trip?"

"Yes."

No more than that. We sat down in the dining room. I felt the decisive moment was coming, and I was rather tense. Gaston had no more idea than I what the job was all about. "It's a matter of trust," Paulo had said in Caracas. "Either you come along or you don't. Take it or leave it. Just one thing: it means more liquid cash than you've ever dreamed of." Okay, but now it was all going to have to be clear, open and exact.

Auguste gave us coffee. Aside from a few questions about our journey and how we were, there wasn't a word that shed any light at all. They were prudent, tight-mouthed, in this family.

I heard a car door slam in front of the house. It must be Paulo, who'd hired a car with local plates. Just so.

"Here we are," Paulo cried, coming in and taking off his leather jacket. "Everything's going just fine, boys." Calmly he drank his coffee. I said nothing; I was waiting. He asked Auguste to put the cognac bottle on the table. Without any hurry, and still looking thoroughly pleased with life, he poured some for us; and then at last he came to the point. "Well, boys, here you are on the spot; this is where we work. Listen, now: just in front of this little house, on the other side of the street you came by, there's the back of a bank. Its main entrance is on the big avenue that runs parallel with our little road. And the reason why you see Auguste's arms all covered with clay is because he knew you were idle, good-for-nothing bums, and he set to work so there would be less for you to do."

"Do what?" asked Gaston, who was no fool but still wasn't very quick on the uptake.

"Not much," said Paulo, smiling. "Just dig a tunnel. It starts in the room next to this; it'll go under the yard, then under the street and come out just beneath the bank's vault. If my calculations are right. If they're not, then maybe we'll find ourselves nearer the street side. If that happens, we go deeper and try again for under the very middle of the vault." A short silence; and then he said, "What do you say about it?"

"Just a second, man. Give me time to think. It's not quite the kind of job I was expecting."

"Is it a big bank?" Gaston asked; this was not one of his brighter days. If Paulo had set all this going, and on such a scale, it was certainly not just for three packs of licorice.

"You walk by the bank tomorrow, and you'll have something to say," Paulo said, roaring with laughter. "Get this: there are eight cashiers. That gives you some idea of what they must handle by way of bills in the course of a day."

"Christ!" said Gaston, slapping his thigh. "So it's a real bank! Well, I am pleased. For once I'll be in on a big-time job, in keeping with my title of big-time crook."

Still with his broad grin of happiness, Paulo turned to me. "You got nothing to say, Papillon?"

"I don't need any titles. I'd rather stay just plain mister with enough dough to carry out a job I have in mind. I don't need millions. I'll tell you what I think, Paulo: it's a prodigious job, and if it comes off-_when_ it comes off, I should say, because you must always believe in a job-we're set up for the rest of our lives with enough for the rent and the telephone. But.. – there are a good many buts to get around. I can ask questions, boss?"

"As many as you like, Papi. I meant to talk over every part of the job with you anyhow. For although I'm the top man, since it was me who worked it out, each one of us is risking his freedom and maybe his life. So ask all the questions you want."

"Right. The first is this: from the room next door, where the shaft is, how far is it to the pavement on this side of the road?"

"Exactly eighteen yards."

"Second, how far from the edge of the pavement to the bank?"

"Ten yards."

"Third, inside the bank, have you worked out exactly where the door to the vault is?"

"Yes. I've hired a box in the safe-deposit room. It's just next to the bank's own vault and separated from it by an armored door with two combination locks. There's only one way in, and that's from the safe-deposit room. You go from there into the main vault. One day, after I'd been down there a good many times, I was waiting for them to give me the second key to my safe and I saw the armored door open. As it swung around, I caught a glimpse of the vault and the big safes lined up all round it."

"Could you get an idea of how thick the wall was between the two rooms?"

"It was hard to tell on account of the steel casing."

"How many steps down to the vault door?"

"Twelve."

"So the floor of the vault is about ten feet below street level. What's your plan?"

"We must try and hit just under the wall between the two rooms. We can guide ourselves by the bolts under the floor of the vault-the ones that hold the safes. That way we get into both rooms at once with just one hole."

"Yes, but since the safes stand right against the wall, you're likely to come out under one of them."

"I hadn't thought of that. If that happens, all you have to do is make the hole larger toward the middle of the room."

"I think two holes would be better: one in each room, and each in the middle, if possible."

"I think so, too, now," said Auguste.

"Okay, Papi. We aren't there yet, you know, but it's just as well to think of these things well ahead. What next?"

"How deep's the tunnel going to be?"

"Three yards."

"How wide?"

"Two feet six. You have to be able to turn around inside."

"Have you reckoned the height?"

"A yard."

"The height and the width are fine; but I don't agree with the depth. Six feet of earth overhead isn't solid enough. If a heavy truck goes by, or a steamroller, it might collapse."

"I dare say, Papi; but there's no reason why trucks or heavy stuff should come along this street."

"Sure. But it doesn't cost us anything to make the shaft four yards deep. You do that, and you've got three yards of earth between the top of the tunnel and the street. Any objection? The only extra work is digging the shaft a yard deeper. It doesn't change anything about the tunnel itself. Then four yards down, you're almost certain of reaching the bank at the level of its foundations or even lower. How many stories in the building?"

"Ground floor and one over it."

"The foundations can't be very deep, then."

"You're right, Papi. We'll go down to four yards."

"How are you going to cope with the vault? What about the alarm system?"

"As I see it, Papi, that's the main snag. Still, looking at it logically, systems are set up _outside_ bank vaults. So long as you don't touch a door, either of the bank or of the vault itself, it shouldn't go off. And there can hardly be one right inside the rooms. Still, I think we'd better not touch the safes on either side of the door to the safe-deposit room or the ones by the armored door."

"I agree with you. There is one risk, of course, and that is when you get to work on the safes the vibration might set things off. But taking precautions like you said, we've a pretty good chance."