Roberts asked:

‘Any thoughts?’

Brant leaned forward, said:

‘He sounded pretty confident.’

Roberts nodded and then Porter Nash said:

‘So, we deliver the money, stake out the place and then follow the pick-up — what’s wrong with that picture?’

Brant said:

‘It’s too fucking simple. I hate it when it’s too easy.’

They outlined various strategies and all had the feeling it was a waste of time. They thrashed out the numerous things that could go wrong and finally Roberts assigned the team to their roles. He then turned to Brant, asked:

‘What’s your gut feeling?’

‘That we’re going to lose the money and the gang.’

The officers returned with the bag, the word ‘Swag’ in huge white letters on the side.

Roberts went over the arrangements again and said:

‘I’d better go.’

Brant said:

‘I’ll drive you.’

As they left the station, the rank and file were in the corridor to watch them go, the sight of the bag causing huge merriment until Roberts shouted:

‘Get back to work.’

Traffic was heavy and Brant made some reckless moves to make time. After he’d cut up a taxi, Roberts pleaded:

‘Jeez, take it easy.’

‘No sweat, guv, I know what I’m doing.’

Roberts glanced at him, thought he looked positively demonic. To distract himself, he asked:

‘Is everything in place?’

Brant began to light a cig, taking both hands off the wheel to do so, then actually shrugged, said:

‘We have people watching the front and back, we’re setting up a camera, pulling records on the staff, and you know what? It’s all pissing in the wind.’

When they got to Waterloo, Brant pulled up in the no-parking zone just as his phone went.

He answered, said:

‘Uh, oh, mmmph, gotcha.’

And clicked off.