The supervisor was forced upstairs to the control room and tied to a chair. The man with the deep voice spoke to him, while his colleague held the shotgun to his head. The third man with them watched the monitor in case anyone came to the gates.

‘What’s the code for the safe dat holds the vault keys?’

‘I don’t know,’ he said nervously.

‘Don’t fuck me about, son, or I’ll be toasting yer fuckin’ head.’

‘I swear to God, I don’t know the code – only the depot manager does and he’s not in today.’

‘Well, I’m the god of hellfire,’ he said menacingly.

He got a can of lighter fluid out of his boiler suit pocket and squeezed the flammable liquid over the supervisor’s head. The terrified hostage could smell the fluid as it trickled down his face. He began to shake uncontrollably as the man got a gold lighter out of his pocket and flicked the top open.

‘Believe me, son, this is gonna hurt. And you’ll be disfigured for life.’

He flicked the friction wheel with his thumb, releasing a spark, which lit up the tiny stream of butane gas. He moved the flame towards the supervisor’s head.

‘All right, all right, please don’t burn me! It’s 200258.’

He flicked the lighter lid back down and lightly patted the supervisor’s cheek.

‘Good boy . . . Now ye can go be with your friends in the shithouse.’

The man with the shotgun then duct-taped the supervisor’s mouth, put a pillowcase over his head and dragged him to the toilet. The priest stayed with the guards, while one man watched the TV monitor and the other two got the keys from the safe, then opened the vault.

‘Jesus Christ, there has got to be millions here!’ the man with the sawn-off said with delight.

‘I told you there would be – most of it’ll be from the Ideal Home Exhibition,’ the man with the deep voice said. ‘Open the loading bay door and get the holdalls from the van.’

His colleague did as he was told and quickly returned with six large holdalls. They hurriedly filled them with cash and the man with the deep voice looked at his watch.

‘One more each and we gotta go,’ he said.

‘There’s still loads here.’

‘It’s too risky, we need to do everything to plan and stick to my timing. We’ve got enough to make us rich for life.’

‘The Costa Brava, champagne and caviar, what more could a criminal want?’ The man with the sawn-off chuckled.

Once they had loaded the bags in the van, one of the men went to get his two colleagues and the priest warned the guards they were still being watched before quietly leaving the toilet. Before leaving they ripped the false Security Express signs off the side of the Transit van and threw them in the back.

*