Albany Street Police Station was now a quiet sub-divisional base on the larger Kentish Town division. The station yard was used as a store for unclaimed stolen vehicles.
As we ran through the yard, I saw the young PC station officer standing on his own, checking the cars against some form of paperwork. He looked up from his clipboard as we ran in and Kevin started the security-gate closure mechanism. As he sprinted towards the opposite end of the yard, I heard Kevin say something to the lad before leaping onto the bonnet and roof of one of the cars and then scrambling onto the rear wall.
Kevin pulled his Browning from beneath his jacket and pointed it towards me at the gate. I waited for what seemed an age as the shutters closed and then threw the lock switch to prevent the mechanism being operated from outside. The delay would buy us vital seconds.
I jumped up onto the car next to Kevin and threw him my bergen. He caught it neatly, dropped it over the far side of the wall and then extended a hand to pull me up.
‘What did you say to him?’ I asked.
Kevin said nothing until we were both safely on the ground, the pursuing police now hidden and delayed. ‘I told him we were filming The Bill,’ he said.
I laughed, it was a crazy thing to do given the dire situation we were in.
As we shoved the remaining masks and Kevin’s pistol into the bergens, the sound of loud voices came over the wall from the yard. Kevin quickly pulled off his jacket and reversed it. Where it had been black, it was now green.
‘Keep together for now and follow me,’ I replied, as I swung my heavy bergen on to my back. ‘Right … let’s go.’
With only a few precious moments to put as much space between our pursuers and us as we could, we ran like Olympic sprinters.
To our distinct advantage, the estate behind the police station was a maze of houses, blocks of flats and recreation areas. Despite our advancing years, adrenaline gave strength to our legs. In less than a minute, we covered over four hundred yards, twisting and turning around corners as we attempted to make ourselves impossible to find. I gambled that our pursuers would be much slower. Fearing ambush, they would move cautiously. Four hundred yards was a lot of ground to cover when facing the possibility of a gunman around every corner.
The council estate streets were deserted, the pavements, dusty and strewn with litter. Loud music and television sounds poured out from many of the open windows. Nobody looked out or took any interest in two men running passed their doors.
Reaching Hampstead Road, on the opposite side of the estate, we reduced pace to a fast walk. It was now a more public area and anyone running was bound to become the focus of police eyes. I checked the sky.
‘Listen out for India nine-nine,’ said Kevin.
I nodded. Our certain undoing would be the speed with which the police helicopter crew could be mobilised. If they were already in the air and nearby we would need to keep hidden.
Lady Luck chose that very moment to deal us a kind hand. An old Routemaster bus was pulling into the stop opposite. But it was going the wrong way, back into town. Kevin pointed towards it, the quizzical expression on his face asking a question of me. I nodded again as I struggled to draw breath. It was the best I could manage, all form of speech now completely out of the question. Kevin got the message. It was time to take yet another chance. Just as we settled into seats near the open doorway, two ARVs roared past, sirens blaring, headed towards the estate.
We were both soaked with sweat.
‘I’m getting too old for all this,’ Kevin laughed.
‘We’re not out of the woods yet. You got any money to pay the bus fare?’ I asked.
‘Nope, you said don’t carry anything traceable or which we might drop.’
I did my best to think quickly. ‘I’ve got a couple of blueys in my waist band,’ I said. But then I had a better idea. ‘Right,’ I said. ‘Conductor’s upstairs. When the bus stops at the lights, that’s Drummond Street. We’re off. Short walk to Euston BR and we’re away. OK?’
‘Sounds good to me.’
We were quiet for a moment, getting our breath back. I suppressed a chuckle.
‘What’s the joke?’ asked Kevin.
‘The Bill. That was a nice touch.’
Kevin laughed too. ‘And did you see the look on his face?’
We laughed together. A moment of relief after the tension of the last few minutes.
Soon it was time to jump from the bus at Drummond Street and walk to Euston British Rail station. I changed my mind again at that point, remembering the closed circuit TV cameras that covered the concourse. Instead, we crossed Euston Road, ignored the obvious opportunity at Warren Street and headed for the quieter tube station at Goodge Street.
I glanced back as we headed south, away from the traffic of the main road. We were just in time. On the far side of Euston Road, where we had just been standing, I saw the local area car pull up outside and drop off two young policemen to keep watch on everyone entering the rail station.