Monday 7:00 am 

It was still dark when one man in a suit and three men in blue overalls were waiting at a loading dock in Gresham Street at the back of the Bank of England. 

One of the overalled men flicked away a cigarette end and said to the man in the man in the suit, “This is really weird. I’ve been working here for fifteen years and we’ve never had a pick up like this before.” 

“I know,” said the man in the suit. “I’ve been head of security for ten years and this is the strangest thing that’s happened in my time here. But it’s all on the level. I’ve been on to the Deputy Governor and she’s been to see the Governor twice to check the paperwork and the details of the transfer. Apparently, the Governor called on Friday night to make sure that everything was in place for a smooth transfer.”

He held up the paperwork. “Thirty-six gold bars to be picked up at 7:00am from loading dock 3C by a black unmarked van. We are to check that they have all the original paperwork and load the bars. Crazy!”  

Tony had been waiting in the van around the corner. He checked the paperwork for the tenth time. All the official documents sealed and signed by the Governor of the Bank of England; the signatures of Styles, the solicitor; and himself, the accountant. A personal letter from The Governor approving pick up from the B of E.

It was time to move. He saw the four Bank of England employees waiting at dock 3C. He reversed the van into the loading bay and got out. He said “Good morning,” and handed his paperwork to the man in the suit.

“You are not on your own, are you?” asked the head of security. 

“God, no!” Tony answered. “We have two unmarked cars in the next street—less conspicuous. They be escorting me to the bank.” 

“Well, this all seems to be in order,” he said to Tony as he handed back the documents. He nodded to the men in overalls and the door of the loading bay opened. A fork-lift truck carrying twelve boxes strapped on a wooden pallet was loaded onto the van. Tony tried to keep calm as two of the men positioned the pallet in the van. 

When all was loaded and the back door locked, he walked towards the front of the van to drive away.

“Wait, you can’t go yet,” yelled one of the men.

“Oh no, what now.” he thought.

When he turned around he was the man waving a pen and clipboard at him.

He tried to stop his hand shaking as he signed the documents before slowly driving away.

He had to drive for only ten minutes to reach the lock-up garage he had rented on Commercial Road near Limehouse Station. There was nobody around when he opened up the garage and drove the van into the garage. After locking the door, he dropped to the floor. He was flat on his back for five minutes before opening his eyes. He smiled as he imagined Carlos’s men waiting to meet him near the Bank of England at 9 o’clock. Although he was sure they would arrive at least an hour earlier to check things out.

He jumped up to his feet. He had a lot of work to do. Waiting in the garage was a horse box, together with a Mitsubishi L200 Warrior four-wheel drive, that he’d bought on the weekend. The horse box was stacked with bales of hay. He had calculated that it would take him about an hour to transfer all the boxes and hide them in the middle of the hay bales. Each box contained three gold bars and weighed about 90 pounds but by the time he had loaded the final box it felt like it weighed twice that.

He stripped off and threw his sweaty clothes into the back of the van and after a quick wash, dressed in a crisp white shirt and a smart suit. Before he drove off, he disguised himself with a fake mustache and dark glasses. 

By 8:30 he was carefully driving north up the M1 Motorway with £8 million worth of gold bars behind him.