The Getaway - By Tom Barber Page 0,27

kind of like Tate, but had black hair instead of brown and more stubble.

‘That’s Brown. The wheelman. Another local kid from the block. He’ll lift a getaway car a couple hours before the job, then after they hit the bank or truck, Brown will get them the hell out of there. We’ve been trying to work out where they’re dumping the bent cars, but so far, no luck. It’s like the damn things are vanishing into mid-air. Hard to run forensics over a stolen getaway car when you can’t even find it.’

Gerrard shook his head and finished his coffee as Archer scanned each file again, one-by-one.

‘They are eight jobs down with a 100 per cent success rate,’ Gerrard told him. ‘One hundred per cent. Five trucks, three banks. Totalled up, they’ve snatched close to three million dollars.’

‘Are they working for anyone higher up?’ Archer asked. ‘Someone who’s setting up the jobs, buying off information, providing truck rotas, blueprints of the banks?’

Gerrard shook his head.

‘For the most part, they seem to be working alone,’ he said. ‘They do their research, and I’m sure they’re paying people off to give them the info you just mentioned. They’re smart and slick as hell. They’re always disguised, and they know our response times and security measures. They take Tate as a pretend hostage so no one moves, and are five miles away before anyone face-down inside the bank so much as coughs. They always leave the bait money and dye packs and always work to the clock.’

Archer looked up at him, confused.

‘You said they use Tate as a fake hostage? Witnesses can’t ID him later?’

‘He’s always disguised, shades and baseball cap. Not enough to alert suspicion, but enough to cover his face and head. The crew are never there long enough for the witnesses to get a good look, and that’s not including the fact that everyone inside is shit scared and face-down on the floor. We’ve tried perp walks, but no one we’ve brought in has ever been able to make an I.D.’ He paused. ‘But I thought we made a breakthrough ten days ago.’

‘How so?’

‘I got Brown talking.’

‘How?’

‘He’s got a kid. List of charges against him would take his boy away forever if we wanted to contact child services. I dialled the number in front of him, and pressed Call. It opened him up straight away.’

‘What did he tell you?’

Gerrard checked over his shoulder, making sure they weren’t being overheard. They were speaking in lowered tones already, but he spoke even quieter.

He leaned forward over the table.

‘A week today, there’s a world title fight at MSG,’ he said. ‘Welterweight strap. Biggest fight of the year. Brown said Farrell’s planning to hit the place during the fight.’

‘MSG? As in Madison Square Garden?’

‘The very same.’

Archer turned and looked out of the window over his shoulder. The Garden was a two minute walk from here, on the corner of 33and 8.

‘Hit it how?’ he asked.

‘Get in the stash room. There’s a big rock concert taking place the night before, this coming Friday night. The money rooms will be packed from the concession stands. There will be millions of dollars in there, easy, and it’s not scheduled to be transported out of there until Sunday. They’ll find a way of getting inside, or will pay someone off at that gate, and will head straight for those rooms.’

Archer thought about it for a moment, then all of a sudden realised they’d drifted off topic. He’d been too swept up in what Gerry was telling him. He turned back to Farrell’s file, and examined the man’s harsh photo again, memorising his features, trying to picture him in his head doing the deed, pulling the trigger of the shotgun against his father’s head.

He pointed at the file. ‘So you think he’s the one who murdered my father?’

Gerrard nodded.

‘Yes. Or someone in his crew did. Let’s just say they all fit the bill.’

‘But that makes no sense. My father was based in D.C. This is your gig. How the hell would he get dragged into this?’

‘An Assistant Director sent him up here. I didn’t know about it until later, but apparently he was ordered to see what the hell was going on with my team. Observe my five agents and me from a distance and report back what he saw to the offices in Washington. Like I told you, the clearance rates are published in national reports every three months. New York’s stats are bringing a shitload of shame and