Wyatt - 05 - Port Vila Blues (4 page)

Niekirk flicked a switch on the
lantern. A weak, localised glow illuminated the door of the vault. He searched
the walls and skirting board. There was a power point in the corridor outside
the grille door. He plugged in the two leads, switched on the power and said
softly: Ready.

Riggs pulled the drill trigger
experimentally. The motor whirred, muted and powerful. He rested the drill on
the floor again then heaved to his feet, holding the drill-stand in both hands.
He eyed the combination lock assessingly for half a minute, then pressed the
leading edge of the electromagnet against the vault door. Metal slammed against
metal, clamping the drill-stand to the face of the vault like an ugly handle.
Finally he fitted the drill with a diamond-studded bit.

Neither man said anything for the
next fifteen minutes. While Niekirk watched and listened, Riggs drilled three
holes through the Swedish steel door of the vault. Guided by the
electromagnetic drill-stand, he was assured of being accurate to within five
millimetres of the crucial point in the locking mechanism, just above the
tumblers. Metal filings curled to the floor, smoke wisps rose from the hot tip
of the drill, and even with wax plugs in their ears the sound seemed to tear
each man open.

After fifteen minutes Riggs undamped
the drill-stand and rested it on the floor. He glanced at Niekirk, who said
into the radio: Anything?

Mansells voice crackled: All
clear.

Riggs fished in his bag for a small
tin. It held powdered chalk, which he rubbed into the palms of his hands, the
sound dry and satisfied. Then he took out another of his special tools. This
was an aptoscope, used by urologists to examine the human bladder. He crouched
at the drill holes, positioned the aptoscope, and began to examine the tumblers
inside the lock. After a while he breathed, You little fucking beauty, and
started to poke and probe with a lock pick. Two minutes later, he had the door
open.

Niekirk bent his mouth to the radio.
Were in.

They worked quickly. Riggs repacked
his bag while Niekirk stepped into the vault and began to empty it. Their first
job, back in February, had involved hitting the safety-deposit boxes of a bank
in suburban Brighton, seizing bonds, cash, jewellery; this time the orders were
cleartake the money only. The money was in small plastic containers similar to
margarine tubs, stacked neatly along a shelf. As Niekirk piled them outside the
vault, Riggs carried them away to the rear door of the bank, next to his tools.

Then things began to go wrong.
Mansell came on the air and said, A security patrol van just pulled in behind
the bank.

Hes early, Niekirk said.

Ill keep you posted.

Niekirk joined Riggs at the steel
door. They heard a handbrake crank on just outside, heard a car door slam, and
footsteps approached the bank. A moment later the door was rattled
experimentally and they heard a faint slither as the patrolman slipped a
calling card under the door. They expected the man to drive away then but
instead he seemed content to wait there for a while. They heard him urinate
against the wall, farting once with a sharp brap, and then a second vehicle
arrived. Niekirk and Riggs heard whispers, a giggle or two, and knew they were
stuck there inside the bank for the time being.

Niekirk walked back along the
corridor to a point where his voice wouldnt be heard outside the bank. Looks
like his girlfriend has just turned up. Well go with the other plan.

Right, Mansell said.

This was their third heist. The
newspapers had begun to call them the magnetic drill gang, stressing that
they stamped their raids with efficiency and professionalism. Part of that was
being ready whenever a situation reversed itself. Thats why they always had a
backup plan to put into place. Theyd each studied the bank earlier in the
week, defining the likely problems. How could they get out if their planned
route was blocked? The front door was no goodit faced the main street. They
couldnt burrow out or blast a hole in the wall, so that left the roof.

Working swiftly and silently, Riggs
and Niekirk dragged desks and chairs to the centre of the main room and built a
tower. Four desks placed together formed the base; two desks stacked on top of
them formed the second tier; a single desk formed the third. Niekirk climbed to
the top and reached up. His fingers brushed the ceiling, white acoustic
battens. He called Riggs to bring him a couple of chairs. Now he could slide
the battens away, giving him access to the space under the roof.

With Riggs passing to him from
below, Niekirk stacked the money in the ceiling. Then he climbed down and both
men ranged quickly through the bank, flashing the pencil torch at all the
doors. They chose the storeroom door; it was long and sturdy and lifted free of
its hinges as though it had been oiled for just that purpose. They went back to
the desk tower. Niekirk climbed to the top, took the door from Riggs and slid
it up into the ceiling.

It was warm and airless under the
roof. Using the rafters for support, and working with the aid of the camping light,
the two men carted the money and the door to the wall opposite the side wall of
the radio station. The roof was steeply pitched here and they had to carry out
the next stage doubled over. Removing the terracotta roof tiles one by one,
stacking them silently, they opened a gap to the sky. Cool air poured in;
clouds drifted across the face of the moon.

The roof of Radio 3UY was a little
lower and less than two metres away from the roof of the bank. It was also
flat. Niekirk saw a tarred surface, an airconditioning shack and a manhole
cover. Using the storeroom door as a bridge, he crossed to the other side. For
the next two minutes he stacked the money as Riggs slid the containers across
to him. He could feel vibrations under his feet. Radio 3UY was blasting the
night away.

They took the disc jockey with .38s
in their hands and balaclavas over their faces. The DJ was playing an early
Animals track, running his fingertips over an imaginary organ keyboard. He
gulped when he saw the two men. He moved to cut the song and yelp into the
microphone but Riggs moved first, smashing the edge of his gun across the DJs
throat.

It was hard and vicious and
unnecessary. Steady, Niekirk said.

That was all he said. He had
electrical tape in his pocket. He bound the man to his studio chair, then
tipped man and chair onto the floor. The song finished. Both men froze. But it
was an album. Another song started.

Songs had been short in the sixties
and seventies. Niekirk guessed that he and Riggs had about two and a half
minutes. He put his mouth to the radio: Come and get us.

Mansell backed the Telecom van onto
the radio stations forecourt. Parked like that it obscured the foyer doors
from the street. The three men worked quickly, forming a chain, Riggs passing
the money to Niekirk at the doors, Niekirk passing to Mansell, who stacked the
containers in the rear of the van.

Another song started, Sky Pilot,
droning from a speaker mounted to the wall above the reception desk. Good, a longish
song, seven minutes at least. Niekirk kept the money moving, knowing there was
no guarantee that the DJ wouldnt free himself. There was no guarantee that
loyal listeners wouldnt investigate when 3UY went off the air soon, either.

Then they were loaded and Mansell
was driving them out of there, Riggs in the passenger seat, Niekirk with the
money in the rear of the van, just as Sky Pilot ended, nothing following it,
only a speaker hiss like a mute presence at the end of an open phone line.

Mansell turned left onto the main
street, accelerating smoothly. A late cruising taxi cut in around them but
otherwise the town was dark and deserted. Voices murmured on the police band: a
domestic in Eltham; suspected prowler in St Andrews.

Theyd parked the Range Rover at the
rear of a used-car lot in Warrandyte, sale stickers plastered across its
windscreen. The entrance to the yard itself was a simple driveway with a hefty
padlocked chain across it. Niekirk picked the lock, waited while Mansell drove
in, looped the chain across the driveway again, and followed on foot to the
rear of the lot.

Mansell parked in shadows next to
the Range Rover. The three men got out and then stopped still and stared at one
another. There was always this moment of uncertainty. If there was going to be
a cross, this was the time and the place for it. They each carried guns and
they stood with their gun-hands curled ready to snatch and fire, a standoff
that could collapse into pain and blood.

Mansell broke it. He moved next to
Niekirk and said, looking levelly at Riggs, the risky one: Weve been paid. Its
time we werent here.

Riggs studied both men narrowly,
then suddenly grinned. Moving carefully, he took out his gun and handed it to
Mansell, butt first. Mansell was the quartermaster. The gun hadnt been fired;
he would issue it again, issue it for job after job until the time one of them
fired it, and if that happened he would dump it in a river.

Then Mansell collected Niekirks gun
and after that they loaded the money into a pair of small gym bags. Finally,
still watching one another warily, the three men stripped off their overalls,
gloves and balaclavas, Mansell bundling the clothing into a garbage bag, ready
for burning. The clothing was evidence against them. When you went into a place
you left part of yourself behind, and when you left a place you carried part of
it with you. The forensic boys knew that, too.

The job was done. Mansell and Riggs
were ready to leave but still Niekirk was wary. If Mansell and Riggs had the
opportunity to drive away with half a million, why should they be satisfied
with the twenty-five thousand dollar fee that De Lisle had paid into their
accounts?

The silence stretched between them,
Niekirk at ease with it, Mansell beginning to show signs of strain. It was
always like that. There didnt seem to be an end point to Niekirks eyes, only
darkness, and no one ever endured his stare for long. Mansell turned and got
into the drivers seat of the car.

But Riggs seemed to think that he
had something to prove. He winked at Niekirk, an expression edged with
contempt. See you on the next job, he said, climbing into the passenger seat.

Mansell fired up the engine. The
Range Rover began to creep across the car yard. Niekirk watched it burble away,
on to the road and into the darkness.

* * * *

Five

Springett
and Lillecrapp worked the surveillance using a pair of Honda 750s, not cars,
wanting speed, ease and concealment on the tight mountain roads. They
maintained contact on a little-used emergency band, restricting themselves to clipped
commands that might almost have been static, and kept well back, lights off,
when they tailed the Telecom van from the bank to the car yard.

Lillecrapp went on ahead to an unlit
service station with instructions to tail the Range Rover. Springett watched
Niekirk, Riggs and Mansell make the transfer with night binoculars, stationing
himself on rising ground behind the car yard.

So far, hed seen nothing iffybut
that didnt mean anything. Niekirk and his men could easily have been skimming
off some of the money while they were in the bank itself, let alone in the van.
Surely the temptation was there. No one had known to the last dollar how big
the take would be, after all. As soon as Springett had got word that the money
would be in the bank hed briefed De Lisle in Sydney, and De Lisle had arranged
the hit. Niekirk, Riggs and Mansell were De Lisles men, not his.

If they were crookedand someone had
to be, given that the Tiffany brooch had suddenly shown up again then
Springett wanted to be sure of his facts.

He took the glasses away from his
face, blinked and rubbed his eyes, focused on the yard again. The Range Rover
was leaving. Lillecrapp would pick it up farther along the road and tail it.
Springetts instructions had been clear: Stay with the vehicle until you get
an idea of where its headed. Theres no need to follow it all the way to
Sydney. What Im interested in is if they stash something somewhere along the
way, meet with someone, unaccountably double back, that kind of thing.

Lillecrapp had blinked uncertainly,
brushing his ill-cut fringe away from his forehead. You dont want me to stop
them? Heavy them?

Christ, no. Just do what youre
told.

Niekirk stayed behind after the
Range Rover left. Springett watched him. The man was thorough, giving the van a
final check. Springett knew thered be no joy there for forensic technicians.
The three men had worn gloves, so thered be no prints to give them away. They
hadnt smoked; they hadnt had anything to eat or drink. They might have left
clothing fibres or shoe grit behind at the bank, but soon there wouldnt be any
clothing or shoes available for a match, only ash somewhere. These guys were
pros.

Finally Niekirk wheeled out a big
motorcycle that had been stashed behind a rubbish skip and packed the gym bags
into the panniers. It was one-thirty in the morning when he left the yard.
Springett stayed well behind him. The roads out of the hills and down onto the
coastal plain were fast and quiet, yet Niekirk kept to the speed limit all the
way.