“Number of other occupants in the Cortina?” Kingston asked.

  “The informant can only see the nearside of the vehicle and states two people, believed male, and wearing dark clothing, but there may be three including the driver.”

  Kingston ran his hand through his hair. “There could be a robbery about to take place, M.P. We and Central 887 are armed gunships. Our ETA is about four minutes, so tell uniform to hold back until we get there.”

  “Received and understood . . . we will advise you of any developments . . . M.P. over.”

  Jane felt uneasy. As it was her first day on the infamous “Sweeney,” she wasn’t sure what was expected of her, especially if DI Kingston was right in thinking an armed robbery was about to take place.

  The driver of the Cortina returned to the car. “She’s coming,” he said, as he got in the car and put on a full-face balaclava, which had a mouth and eye holes cut out. The two men in the back also put on balaclavas, but the man in the front passenger seat pulled a light brown stocking over his head, which distorted the features of his face. Having adjusted the stocking so it was comfortable, he reached into his jacket pocket and took out a Second World War 9mm German Luger, then pulled back the toggle, which loaded a bullet from the magazine into the chamber.

  The four men sat and watched as the blue Ford transit Securicor van pulled up outside the bank. The driver remained in the van while his colleague went to the rear and looked up and down the High Road, before knocking three times, pausing and then knocking twice.

  The passenger from the front of the Cortina and the two men from the back got out of the car and strode with purpose toward the bank. The men knew exactly what they had to do, as everything had been well planned thanks to the information they had received about the cash in transit delivery. They knew from experience that robbing the Securicor van should take no more than a minute. As the cash box appeared in the chute at the rear of the van, the three men pounced with military style precision.

  Jane was beginning to feel nauseous due to the speed Cam was driving and the way he was skidding the car around corners and roundabouts in the rain. She’d been in police pursuits before, but never encountered high-speed driving as dangerous as this.

  “This is our new WDS, Jane Tennison,” Kingston told the others, as he lit a cigarette and handed one to the Colonel.

  “Hello,” Jane said.

  “You really been posted to the squad?” the Colonel asked as he lit his cigarette.

  “Yes, Sir.” She put her hand out to shake his.

  He didn’t reciprocate. “Well, you’ve got a bit more essence than most plonks.”

  Jane didn’t have a clue what he meant by essence and wasn’t sure she should ask.

  Kingston laughed, “Gorman’s not an officer; he’s an ex-military Corporal and a DC, who thinks you’re better looking than most female officers.”

  Jane blushed, feeling embarrassed that the Colonel thought she was “essence.” The rim of his cap cast a shadow over his steely eyes and accentuated his high cheek bones and a dimpled chin. She noticed part of a tattoo, below his t-shirt sleeve, on his right upper arm. There was a globe with a laurel wreath either side and an anchor at the bottom with the Latin words Per Mare, Per Terram underneath.

  “Is that an army tattoo on your arm?” she asked.

  The Colonel looked offended. “No, it is not! I was a Marine Commando in the Royal Navy before I joined the Met. My name’s Ken, but this bunch of nob heads decided to call me the Colonel. The tattoo is the Marines insignia and the Latin means ‘By Sea, By Land.’”

  “Ironic really as he can’t swim,” Cam laughed.

  “Shut up, O.F.D,” the Colonel said, and looked at Jane. “In case you’re wondering, O.F.D means ‘only the fucking driver,’ as he’s a lowly PC.”

  “I like to think of myself as a shit hot taxi driver without whom they’d get nowhere,” Cam replied, as he went the wrong way around a roundabout to turn right.

  Kingston smiled. “As much as we all hate to admit it, Constable Cameron Murray is the best Class 1 driver in the Met. He even souped-up this car’s engine himself so it outperforms every other Flying Squad vehicle.”

  Jane could sense the mutual bond of respect and comradery amongst the officers and felt a bit of an outsider. She instinctively knew that she would have to prove herself a capable detective if she wanted to become part of the team.

  “What should I do when we get there?” she asked, wanting to show her enthusiasm.

  “Stay in the car with Cam,” Kingston and the Colonel said in unison.

  “Central 888 from M.P., receiving, over.” The same male voice from the Met’s control room asked over the radio.

  “888 receiving,” Kingston replied.

  “A Securicor van has pulled up at the bank and three men dressed in blue boiler suits, donkey jackets and head masks have just left the vehicle.”

  “They’re going to rob the van, not the bank,” Kingston said calmly. “We’re about two minutes away and approaching silent,” he replied, as Cam switched off the car’s siren.

  The man with the sawed-off shotgun tapped the Securicor driver’s window with the barrel and rotated his finger, indicating to him to wind it down, which the driver quickly did. The man leaned in to the van and pulled the key from the ignition, then spoke in a deep tone to disguise his natural voice.

  “Keep your hands on the steering wheel. You so much as twitch toward the horn or alarm and I’ll blow your fucking head off.”

  The Securicor driver shook with fear as he nodded and gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white.

  The man with the Luger was at the back of the van, pushing the barrel of the gun in to the neck of the other Securicor Guard, who was frozen to the spot. The unarmed robber grabbed the metal case with the money in it from the guard’s hand and pushed him down on to his knees. He leaned forward and whispered, so as not to alert the security guard in the back of the van.

  “Tell him to put the other case in the chute.”

  The guard’s voice trembled as he said, “there’s only the one.”

  The robber shook his head. “Don’t lie, son . . . I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if . . .”

  “Frank, George . . . What’s happening out there? Is everything all right?” The third guard shouted from inside the van.

  The man with the Luger moved round and put the gun to the forehead of the kneeling guard. “Last chance, son . . . tell him to put the fucking case in the chute.” The guard was unable to stop shaking and the fear in his voice was evident. “Everything’s fine. You can send out the other case.”

  Suddenly the van’s alarm went off, closely followed by the sound of a shotgun being fired once. The two robbers at the back of the van ran to the front and saw their colleague standing over a young man lying on the ground clutching his stomach and crying out in pain.

  The robber with the shotgun was breathing heavily, causing a white foam of spittle to build up around the mouth hole of his balaclava. “The fucking idiot tried to get the shotgun off me.” The unarmed man raised his hand to shut his colleague up. The man with the Luger turned and headed back to the rear of the van, intent on getting the second cash box. The unarmed robber grabbed him by the arm, shook his head and pulled him toward the Cortina, which skidded to a halt beside the Securicor van.

  “Central 888 from M.P., receiving over.”

  “Go ahead 888, over,” Kingston replied.

  “Sounds of gunshots heard outside the bank. Local uniform units requesting permission to move in.”

  “ETA, Cam?” a concerned looking Kingston asked.

  Cam hit the accelerator. “A minute, tops, Guv.”

  “M.P. from 888 local units can move in. Is India 99 in the air?” Kingston asked, referring to the police helicopters call sign.

  “No, at present 99 is refueling, but should be airborne shortly.”

  Kingston threw the radio mike against the dashboard. “Fuck it. They’ll be well on their toes before we get there!”

  “Central 888, update from M.P. Call received for an ambulance to Barclay’s bank, Leytonstone . . . one man shot in stomach by an armed suspect.”

  The Colonel punched the roof of the car. “Bastards. If I get my hands on em I’ll fuckin kill em!”

  As the three robbers jumped into the Cortina, they could hear the police sirens getting closer. The unarmed man put the Securicor cash box in a travel bag on the back of the vehicle and got in. The driver knew from experience the “Old Bill” would use the main streets, so he decided to take the back roads and drive within the speed limit. As he indicated right, to turn into Grove Road from the High Road, two uniform officers in a marked Rover 3500 V8 police car came flying past in the opposite direction, sirens blaring and blue lights flashing. The unarmed man looked over his shoulder, out of the rear window, and saw the brake lights of the police car come on as it skidded to a sudden halt and started to do a U-turn.

  “They’ve seen us . . . put your foot down and get us out of here,” he said calmly to the driver, who pressed the accelerator hard and turned right across the path of an oncoming car, which swerved across the road and hit another vehicle head on in the inside lane.

  “This car’s not as powerful as theirs. Maybe we should take a side street down here and bail out while they can’t see us,” the man with the shotgun suggested.

  As the driver approached the junction with Mornington Road he looked in his rear-view mirror and saw the police car in the distance.

  “That ain’t an option, they’re closing on us.” He drove straight across the junction into Woodville Road without stopping.

  An oncoming car clipped the rear of the Cortina, knocking the bumper off and causing the car to judder and swerve erratically. The driver gripped the steering wheel hard to maintain control, but the Cortina side-swiped a parked car and careered across the road. Left with no alternative, the driver hit the brakes hard and skidded across the road, toward a parked car. The four men lurched forward as the car came to an abrupt halt inches from another vehicle. The man with the Luger smashed his head on the front windscreen, causing a deep cut to his forehead, which began to bleed heavily through his stocking mask.

  “Fuck dis for a game of soldiers,” he said, in a broad Irish accent, and got out of the car.

  “Get back in or I’ll go without you,” the driver shouted, but was ignored, so he leaned over and pulled the front passenger door closed, then reversed to straighten the car up and drive off.

  “Stop!” the unarmed man snarled, then grabbed the shotgun from his colleague’s lap and opened the car door.

  “Central 888 from M.P. receiving, over.”

  Kingston picked up the radio mike. “We’re a mile away at the Langthorne Park end of the High Road and nearly on scene, M.P.”

  “Received . . . I’m linking you up with Juliet 1, who are in pursuit of suspect vehicle Sierra Lima Mike 273 Romeo,” the radio operator replied.

  “Listen up for their location, Colonel, and find it in the A–Z,” said Cam.

  The calm voice of the PC in Juliet 1 came over the radio. “Suspect vehicle has turned right into Grove Road . . . heading toward junction with Mornington Road.”

  “Got it. Cam, Grove Road is the next right after Aylmer Road. Your best bet to catch up is a right into Lister Road, which leads into Mornington Road. I’ll tell you when Lister is coming up,” the Colonel said.

  “Thanks, mate.” Cam was now swerving in and out of the inside lane to the offside lane to overtake other vehicles.

  Jane was clutching the back of the driver’s seat with one hand, and the door pull with the other, to stop herself from being flung about the back seat. Although the speed and manner of Cam’s driving scared her, the adrenalin rush to her body was strangely stimulating. She felt excited to be involved in the apprehension of four armed robbers on her first day with the Flying Squad.

  The radio operator on Juliet 1 came back on the radio, the pitch of his voice becoming slightly higher as the pursuit progressed.

  “Suspect vehicle accelerating. Forty . . . forty-five . . . fifty miles per hour. Jesus Christ he’s gone straight across the junction without stopping.” There was a brief pause before the officer continued, “Suspect vehicle has been hit by another car and now stopped in Woodville Road.”

  “We’re gonna get the bastards. Next right, Cam,” the Colonel said, and Cam turned into Lister Road.

  “They’re probably about to bail out and do a runner,” Kingston surmised.

  “They won’t get far if Teflon’s after them . . . he’s quicker than Allan Wells,” Cam replied, referring to the British and Commonwealth sprint champion.

  “All units from Juliet 1 . . . a suspect is decamping from the front passenger seat toward the rear of the vehicle.”

  The man with the Luger stood in the road as the police car approached, then raised the gun to eye level and started firing. As a bullet penetrated the windscreen, the radio operator continued his commentary.

  “Lima one under attack, suspect armed and firing at us!” he shouted, and the distress in his voice was obvious to everyone listening in.

  The sound of gun fire could be heard over the radio, as well as the impact thud of the bullet as it penetrated the windscreen. Ducking to avoid the shots, the police driver was finding it hard to see where he was going, but his intention was to run the armed robber over.

  “I’ve been hit . . . I’ve been hit!” the radio operator cried out.

  Next there was the sound of a loud bang, followed by screeching tires, then a sickening crunch of metal and breaking glass before the radio went dead. It was clear the police vehicle had come to an abrupt halt after a serious crash.

  “That sounded like a shotgun going off,” Cam remarked, and the Colonel nodded.

  “Let’s hope they’re both alive.” Kingston replied, but feared the worst.

  From the creator of the award-winning TV series PRIME SUSPECT, discover JANE TENNISON’S story, from rookie police officer to fully-fledged detective.

  TENNISON

  HIDDEN KILLERS

  GOOD FRIDAY

  MURDER MILE

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