Eamonn sipped his café au lait while glancing at the front page of the Daily Telegraph. He’d already read it from front to back on the short train ride from Folkestone, under the English Channel, to Calais. He perused it again in the taxi to the Calais ferry terminal and admired, in particular, the page one headline one more time sitting here, at the Le Calais Douvres restaurant, across from the Europcar rental office.
Daring Irish Bank Heists screamed the page one banner. Five branches in Dublin hit simultaneously. The Gardaí surmised the robberies were linked, but no further details had yet been released. Estimates placed the total haul, informally, at €1.4 million. Eamonn knew, unequivocally, they were – give or take a few bills – €265,000 short of the mark.
Just a short walk from his table at the restaurant, the third member of his team collected their rental from the Enterprise office, while the fourth parked his Peugeot and entered the Europcar office. The fifth and remaining agent, according to the locator application on his phone, passed through border control moments earlier and would arrive shortly. Eamonn’s instructions informed each which departure of the Eurotunnel shuttle to catch, and all five – being the experienced soldiers they were – followed orders to the letter.
Eamonn ordered another coffee from the surly waitress and once again ran through yesterday’s events. He searched for the tiniest of imperfections within his plan he may have overlooked. But try as he may, not even the minutest of errors was apparent to his well-trained eye. He thought the security checkpoints may have caused a problem, but at both Holyhead and Calais the checks were cursory at best. All five vehicles waved through with nary a glance.
Just as Eamonn envisioned, his group were moving against the flow and into the oncoming tide of humanity. Border guards, more concerned with stopping the flow of refugees into Great Britain, paid those travelling east little attention. When searching for illegal aliens or terrorist threats, white, middle-aged, couples were the least of their concerns. The image brought a smile to his face, it was not so long ago his people were the terrorist du jour.
By now, Eamonn assumed, his five agents would’ve seen a television newscast, heard reports on the radio, or read a newspaper. Therefore, each knew their robbery was not a solitary act. But they were professionals, and he expected them to act as such. Though doubts did creep into the corners of his mind with regards to their wives, and the five accomplices. Wives he could control. However, he was less sure about the accomplices. He made a mental note to call his associates and have the accomplices shadowed for the next few weeks. The payment of two thousand euros for five hour’s work should ensure each kept their mouths shut, especially knowing betrayal meant a swift execution, but you couldn’t be too careful. Eamonn planned on this being the gift that kept on giving.
A battered Ford Cortina entered the parking lot to his right, cruised slowly up and back through three rows of cars before finding an open space. The last of his agents, with wife and luggage in tow, made his way slowly along the pedestrian walkway and through the sliding glass doors of the Europcar office.
Eamonn shook his head from side to side and whistled softly.
The change of vehicles in Calais, just another small part within his elaborate plan. Not only would a left-hand drive vehicle attract less attention, but reliability also needed to be considered. Though it couldn’t entirely be ruled out, he could little afford to have one of the vehicles break down somewhere out in the Continent’s countryside.
Under a bright blue sky, the last of the five agents packed his luggage into the new mid-size Citroen sedan while his wife made herself comfortable in the passenger seat. Two full days of driving faced each couple before reaching their final destination. For Eamonn, a Ryanair flight from Brussels later in the afternoon awaited, getting him to the final meeting point well ahead of time. His cut from this first operation came to almost €40,000, more money than he’d ever earned in a year, let alone in a single day. And the blueprint established for further operations.
Eamonn stood, folded the paper under his arm and slipped on his Red Sox baseball cap. Digging in his pocket, he found a few coins lurking and tossed them on the table. He then remembered what an irritating pain in the arse the young waitress was, so retrieved three of the five and put them back in his pocket.
Old habits die hard, he mused, as he sauntered off to hail a taxi.