Blood Money (23 page)

John leaves his flat and heads for the square mile using the local bus service to arrive at St Pauls.

The walk along Cheapside makes him feel highly self-conscious and a lot more nervous than he'd anticipated. His anxiety only increases as he gets closer. When he enters Lombard Street his heartbeat is pounding so loudly he feels sure people who pass by will hear it beating. As he gets even closer he becomes paranoid that either Eddie or Alexis will come out of 60 Lombard Street just as he is walking past their front door. Unable to shake such thoughts from his head, by the time he's just yards away from the bank's corner entrance he feels like a quivering wreck.

Turning left he takes a short walk up Birchin Lane, making sure he gives the bank's roller-door garage entrance a quick examination as he passes it.

Grabbing something to eat from the ‘Birchin Lane Sandwich and Snack Shop', he makes only brief eye-contact with the proprietor and refuses to engage with her in any small-talk. Should he be caught committing some crime against Kronos then he must assume that anyone and everyone he meets might be asked to give witness against him. The more anonymous he can remain the better. Leaving the shop with his lunch he walks just a little further along before disappearing right, down Bengal Alley, a tiny passage that comes off Birchin Lane to then reappear round the back near to The George and Vulture Pub and out into George Yard. Here the crowded office buildings open out into a quiet bit of public space. Scattered within the paved yard there are five large cylindrical air-vents, each circled by wooden seating to give office workers somewhere to park themselves whilst taking their lunch breaks. With the imposing curved towers of Twenty Gracechurch looking down on him, John sits on one of these benches and eats his ham-roll whilst contemplating the situation. Sitting just a stone's throw away from the bank, he feels the adrenaline coursing through his veins.

Facing him on the other side of Lombard Street is The Lamb and Lion public house, from which the audacious tunnel had been dug to mount the previous attack on the PSB bank vault. Just thinking about it sends a wave of trepidation through Gibson's mind.

Just as he finishes his last mouthful of sandwich, a lorry from Woodhalls Brewery slowly and noisily rolls up outside. Jumping down from the cab, the delivery driver enters the pub. Moments later he's back outside again and begins pulling back the curtain-side.

This is definitely worth a closer inspection, so John tosses the sandwich packaging into a nearby bin and gets to his feet. Leaving George Yard, he firstly walks further up the street before crossing the road so he can walk slowly back along the pavement, maximising the time he has to study the proceedings. Barriers have now been put-up around the pavement cellar-hatch and the stocky drayman wearing a thick leather apron and gloves begins to wrestle the heavy kegs to the side of the lorry before dropping them down onto a fat wad of sack cloth. He then rolls them over to the open hatch before sending them down the slide-way. One after another, the aluminium casks are dropped down into the cellar below.

Once John reaches the back of the Woodhalls truck he's forced to re-cross Lombard Street and walking diagonally over to the pavement on the other side he estimates that the road and pavements combine to no more that ten yards across. Not far, not far at all. He really wants to take a closer look at the cellar, so he needs to think up a plausible way to blag his way down there.

To the right of the bank stands a small baroque-style Church. Typical of many of the City of London's places of worship it sits hemmed-in between more recently built office buildings and its entrance door comes directly out onto the pavement. The left hand side of the Church actually abuts with the old PSB headquarters and the right hand side forms one of the boundaries of George Yard where he's just been sitting. To the left and right of the church doorway are plaques, one wooden, one stone and on both name of the church, ‘St Gregory the Great' is written. Outside the open doorway there are two small A-frame notice boards, inviting passers-by to enter.

Welcome to

The City of London Spirituality Bookshop

Opening Hours:

10am – 6pm Monday to Friday

Browse our extensive literature

We've something for everyone

Free coffee inside

Unaccustomed to churches, John Gibson peers apprehensively inside. It does indeed look more like a religious bookshop than a church and it'd be better to go inside rather than to conspicuously loiter out on the street whilst thinking of a way to talk his way down into the pub cellar opposite. And after all, it's another building that neighbours the bank next door so he should definitely check it out.

As soon as John enters, an elderly man sporting a bushy grey beard and wearing a dull brown cardigan looks up and makes eye contact. John manages to take about six steps before the man gets to his feet and approaches him to offer-up a welcome.

He has kind eyes and a genuine smile and cheerily offers John a pamphlet. “Welcome! Always nice to see a new face. Please have a good look around; there's free coffee at the back. Take your time; we have a marvellous collection of books. You'll find something of interest I'm sure. If you need any help; feel free to give me a shout. I'll be right over here…” The man indicates to where he'd been sitting moments ago and his similarly dressed friends look up and offer an acknowledging glance.

“Sure, thanks.” John pauses, feeling like he should say something, but knowing that he needs to avoid getting drawn into unnecessary conversations. And before the man can engage him in small talk John breaks eye-contact and steps away, walking deeper into the church.

The leaflet that had been thrust into his hand describes (amongst other things) how the centre also offers religious discussion groups and courses in spiritual meditation. ‘How very multi-purpose…'

Not expecting to have long before he's approached once again by another overly keen volunteer John starts examining the fabric of the building. On either side at the far end of the church are two doors, both of which are fitted with keypad locks. With no space to hold any ‘workshops' in the main part of the church he has to assume that there must be some ‘meeting rooms' back there, perhaps a toilet, some storage space, that sort of thing. Failing to find any other doors, John turns his attention to the wooden floor. Maybe there's some sort of basement underneath but after a quick look around he can't see any point of access. Disappointed, John approaches the area behind the far left bookshelf where the coffee equipment is laid out. If it had been a flask of hot water and a jar of instant granules he'd of passed it by, but it smells enticingly like good quality filter coffee and still needing somewhere to think up a plan he rationalises he's got time for a quick drink.

The full cup he's now holding is too hot to sip at present and it may take several minutes before the thing's cool enough to drink.

It's not in his nature to just stand still and do nothing; so Gibson can't help but take a browse at the book titles on the shelves next to where he's standing. They range from ‘Finding God' and ‘How to be a Good Christian' to ‘Releasing Your Inner Spirituality' and ‘The Serpent's Promise: The Bible Retold as Science.'

Religion is most definitely not John's bag, and he's starting to have regrets about coming in here. He tries to take a small sip of the coffee but only succeeds in scalding his throat.

Aimlessly, he walks across to the next bookcase and sees something that really does grab his attention. Down on the floor between the 2nd and 3rd bookcases there is a recessed brass pull-ring, no bigger than a fifty pence piece. His eyes take-in the rectangular shape of a floor hatch, complete with flush-fitted brass hinges. A voice emanates from right behind him “Found anything interesting?”

This time John is cornered, and unavoidably he finds himself being forced to listen to a monologue about some World War I era vicar called Woodbine Willie and descriptions of how the building was damaged during the blitz. John can only sip his coffee, nod and occasionally feign mild interest. But as soon he's drained the cup, he makes good his excuses, leaving the bearded volunteer genuinely delighted at having had someone new to talk to.

As he walks away, John uses these final few moments to look high-up on the walls to check for PIR motion detectors and finally he pauses to re-tie a shoe lace in the porch, buying him the time to assess the security at the entrance. There's a pair of inner glass doors (with no locks) and there are two substantial external oak doors. The one on the right has two enormous shoot bolts top and bottom and its opposite leaf has a single but substantial antique lock mounted onto it, undoubtedly requiring an equally large antique key. With security measures as slack as these, no wonder churches make such easy targets for unscrupulous thieves wanting to nick an armful of antique brass or some lead sheeting off the roof.

Outside, it looks to be turning into a sunny spring afternoon. The brewery truck has now gone and the cellar hatch is closed once more. John still wants to get a good look down in that cellar and he's managed to think-up a pretty lame idea that'll require him to improvise on his feet. Briefly rehearsing what he plans to say and keeping it as brief and simple as possible, he gets into character, working himself up into a feeling of panic and upset.

Entering The Lamb and Lion in bit of a rush, John approaches the bar directly. Fortunately the place is pretty empty, so John gets the attention of the heavily tattooed barman almost immediately.

“Hey pal, yu'v gotta help me.” Pausing for a moment, John takes a few dramatic pants of breath before continuing. “I'm in a spotta bovver.” He takes a couple more gasps of air as if he's just been running. “Yu see, me pet snake got outa me pocket aht-side and went straight fu the crack in yu cellar ‘atch. He's a Black Viper. ‘Snot very big, but the fing is he's venomous, see? The faster I can get daan there the easier it'll be ta find ‘im, else e'll ‘av time t'find somewhere real good t‘ide, see?”

The barman is clearly angry at him. “You bloody idiot, what are you doing walking around with a poisonous snake in public?” John just looks ignorantly back at him, shrugging his shoulders apologetically.

“Shit!” the barman's face clearly looks like he's weighing-up what to do, his eyes dart left and right along the wooden bar as if he's searching for something. “You're fucking lucky the landlord's just popped out. He wouldn't be very happy about this, let me tell you.” Lifting-up the serving hatch the barman angrily ushers him through “Come on then, and be quick about it!”

John is led to a set of steps behind the bar that lead down into the darkness. The barman flicks a switch to turn the lights on in the cellar. “Get down there and get the bloody thing out of this pub before anyone gets hurt.” The barman seems disinclined to offer any help in the search, which was something John had been counting on. Most people don't like snakes, especially when they're poisonous.

“Ok pal, sorry ‘bout this, I'll be as quick as I can.” says John, before quickly descending. The barman shakes his head and John hears him mutter “Fucking prick!” under his breath before he turns away to go back to tending the bar.

John doesn't waste any time. He examines behind the kegs along the cellar wall closest to the road, expecting to find an obvious repair job. Instead he only just manages to identify the replaced brickwork. The men who patched it up had done a really good job by re-using the bricks that had been taken out and matching the mortar almost perfectly. John tries to picture the criminal gang, labouring in the cellar, and can only imagine the amount of rubble and spoil that a man-sized tunnel some 50 feet or so in length would generate. If he were to try something similar on his own it would take months to complete, making it an unrealistic proposition even if he did somehow get long-term access to being down here. An angry voice suddenly booms down from the top of the steps.

“Oi! Fella! You found this bleedin snake then, or what?' -John freezes, and without talking or looking round he raises his left hand and waves it around a bit to signal to the man to stop talking and to keep his distance. With the man suitably hushed, John slips off his shoe and removes a sock. Then he walks behind a pillar so as to obstruct himself from view, and now slips off his belt also.

John crouches and moves slowly forward, reaching his arm down between two barrels. “Got ya, me little darlin!” momentarily John holds aloft his black leather belt by its buckle-end and quickly stuffs it into his sock until it bulges convincingly. “He'll quieten down now he's is in darkness. Job's a good ‘un!”

Whilst climbing back up the stairs Gibson expresses his gratitude and promises to be more careful in future, then he makes a sharp exit so the barman doesn't get a chance to ask questions or take a closer look at the bulging sock. Leaving the pub in haste, John returns across the road to George Yard and puts his sock and leather belt back on.

Interesting as it was to see inside the cellar, it all seems to have been a bit of a pointless exercise now. If he wants to copy the previous attempt at tunnelling into the vault, the flaw in the plan is twofold, the sheer effort involved being too great for one man and of course the fact is that he doesn't have free access to the cellar in the first place.

John takes a final walk around the surrounding streets and alleyways, making mental notes of where all the CCTV cameras are positioned and where they're all pointing. He pictures the blind-spots as dark areas and imagines how he would need to move down the street without stepping into the light. John's delighted to see that they're all old models, recording only black and white analogue pictures and from personal experience he knows that means they're pretty rubbish. The cameras are mainly trained on the entrances to the various banks (including 60 Lombard Street) as well as a sushi restaurant, a jewellery shop, the metro supermarket and of course the Lamb and Lion pub. Although most are fixed, a couple of the camera directions are able to be changed remotely back at the monitoring station, but he knows this will only occur if the monitoring staff have been tipped off and are actively following known criminals who are operating in the area.