Doctor Who_ Attack of the Cybermen - Eric Saward [5]
The drive to Hatton Garden was slow and tedious. The traffic was heavy and its movement sluggish. The car’s noisy windscreen wiper sounded exaggerated in the tense silence. Neither was the atmosphere helped by Joe’s chain-smoking. This had reached horrendous proportions as he now seemed to smoke a whole cigarette in two or three enormous inhalations, then immediately light another the moment it was finished. At one stage, Charlie was convinced he was actually smoking two at once, but as the visibility inside the car had become so poor, he assumed it must be an illusion. Quickly, Charlie fumbled for the electric switch on his door and lowered the window a few inches. Cool, moist air flooded in. Although the four men now breathed a little easier, still no one spoke. When they finally reached Hatton Garden, the silence continued until they had driven the length of the road several times.
Then suddenly it was over.
‘There you are, gentlemen...’ said Lytton, indicating a dull grey tower block ahead of them. ‘Ten million pounds.’
As the car drew level with the building, each man strained to read the nameplate alongside the main entrance: The London Diamond Exchange.
Joe Payne and Charlie Griffiths exchanged a quick glance. They couldn’t believe what was being proposed.
‘Very tasty,’ cooed Payne at last.
‘Oh, yes, very tasty,’ echoed Griffiths.
Russell remained silent.
‘Nothing to say?’ inquired Lytton.
Russell stroked his upper lip. ‘Not really,’ he said at last.
‘Not until I know how you’re planning to get in.’
Lytton smiled. ‘You’ll see...’ Then before any more questions could be asked, he ordered Payne to drive to Farringdon Road.
The mood in the car was now bright and cheerful.
Things were beginning to happen. Already Griffiths and Payne, in their imagination, had started to spend their share of the money. Even Russell was excited by the idea of the robbery. For him it meant the conclusion to weeks of exhaustive work. Soon the mystery concerning Lytton would be solved.
At least that’s what he thought.
As the Granada entered Farringdon Road, Lytton ordered Joe to cruise slowly. Satisfied that they weren’t being followed, he indicated that they should turn left and they found themselves in a well-kept residential road lined with Victorian terraced houses.
Payne continued to drive until they came to a cul-de-sac, which they entered, stopping outside a boarded-up car repair shop. All but Payne quickly clambered out of the vehicle. ‘Loose it,’ muttered Lytton, banging the roof with the flat of his hand.
Charlie felt uneasy not having a convenient set of wheels, but no one was listening to him complain. Instead Lytton unlocked the heavy padlock on the garage door, entered the gloomy workshop and switched on the light.
This seemed to make little difference, as its tiny output was swallowed by the black, copious oil stains covering the floor.
Neither did the place smell very nice.
Casting a last worried glance after the disappearing Granada, Charlie followed Russell into the workshop. The combination of gloom and dirt had an instant and depressing effect on their mood. It was as though the building was telling them it was old and tired and had been neglected for too long.
Charlie glanced around the workshop. To one side was an old fashioned mechanic’s inspection pit covered by a row of wooden railway sleepers. Next to it was a tidy pile of clay and soil, as though someone had been excavating. At the far end of the room was an extendable, aluminium ladder and a couple of battered