The World in My Pocket Read online

  Catching the urgency in his voice, Kitson, bewildered, not knowing what had happened, ran over to the caravan and pulled out the coupling pin.

  Morgan yelled at Bleck: ‘Help him! Come on! Come on! Get the caravan turned around. You, Ginny, get the Buick behind the truck!’

  As Kitson and Bleck manhandled the caravan, Ginny drove the Buick past the truck, then reversed back so the Buick’s rear bumper came into contact with the truck’s rear bumper. Kitson and Bleck dragged the caravan close to the front of the truck.

  ‘Block the wheels so it can’t shift,’ Morgan said. ‘Get those crowbars, Ed! Use them to keep the front from tipping.’

  Working with desperate speed, Kitson collected several big rocks and piled them against the wheels of the caravan while Bleck dug the end of the crowbars into the road, wedging them against the chassis of the caravan so it couldn’t tip forward.

  ‘Okay,’ Morgan said, waving to Ginny.

  Kitson came to the front of the truck and stood by as Morgan opened the back of the caravan.

  ‘Take it steady,’ Morgan called.

  Ginny began to move the Buick against the truck. Although the truck’s handbrake was on, the steady pressure from the Buick began to shift the truck.

  Kitson and Bleck kept kicking the front wheels, steering the truck up the ramp of the caravan. Slowly, the truck moved into the caravan. The front wheels of the Buick mounted the ramp as it pushed the truck right inside.

  ‘Stop!’ Morgan called. ‘That’s got it! Ed, get the crowbars and the rifle. Kitson, couple up the caravan! Hurry! We haven’t a minute to waste!’

  Ginny manoeuvred the Buick past the caravan, then turned and backed to the coupling pin which Kitson dropped into the slots.

  She slid out of the driver’s seat and Kitson got in under the wheel. He turned the Buick and the caravan to face down the road.

  Morgan and Bleck got into the caravan.

  Both men were startled to see how much space the truck took up in the caravan. There was only about eighteen inches of clearance either side and two feet at the back. They had reckoned on sitting in the cab of the truck and it was obvious the travelling in this small space was going to be uncomfortable. If Kitson took a bend too fast the truck might shift and crush either of them.

  ‘Watch it,’ Morgan said as he got in. ‘If this damn truck shifts.’

  Kitson nodded.

  ‘I’ll watch it.’

  ‘Hadn’t we better block the wheels?’ Bleck asked, hesitating at the door.

  ‘Get in, damn you!’ Morgan snarled. ‘There’s no time for that! Get going, Kitson!’

  Kitson closed the back of the caravan, then ran to the driver’s seat and slid under the wheel.

  Ginny had taken off her bloodstained skirt and blouse and was struggling into another grey skirt.

  Kitson looked quickly at her, seeing how deadly pale she was.

  Engaging gear, he drove fast down the road, feeling the sluggish response of the Buick as it dragged the great weight behind it.

  As Ginny pulled up the zipper on the side of her skirt, he asked, ‘What happened?’

  Briefly, her voice unsteady, she told him.

  ‘You mean there’s a dead man in the truck?’ Kitson asked, horrified.

  ‘If he’s not dead,’ Ginny said, ‘he’ll be radioing for help and we’ll be in trouble. Morgan said he had killed him.’

  ‘We’re going to this caravan camp with him in there?’

  ‘Oh, stop talking!’ Ginny said, her voice breaking. She turned away from him and hid her face in her hands.

  Inside the caravan, Morgan sat with his back against the wall of the caravan, his feet braced against the rear wheel of the truck. He was thinking: Well, I’ve got it! Now I’ve got to hang on to it. I’ve killed two men for this. That was their luck. They had a lot of guts. Especially the driver. He knew I’d kill him if he moved and he did move. He had more guts than I’ve got. I wouldn’t have moved. I wouldn’t have tried for those buttons, not with a gun within a foot of my face, but he did it and he got the shutters shut. This puts us in a hell of a jam. We’re landed with his body. We’ve got to break into the truck and get him out. I hope he’s dead. If he comes to and gets that radio signal working, we’ll be sunk.

  He stared up at the massive steel truck, thinking that just beyond that steel wall was a million dollars. The nagging, hot pain in his side meant nothing to him beside the excitement he felt as he thought of all that money so close to him now. On the other side of the truck, out of Morgan’s sight, Bleck squatted on the floor watching the truck, uneasy that it might shift and crush him. He had recovered his nerve now and he had got his second wind.

  They had got the truck and he hadn’t been forced to kill a man. He had sidestepped the final step in his criminal career, and he realized now it was the thought of this step that had broken up his nerves. Now he was ready to tackle anything. He wasn’t after all a man apart, but he knew Morgan wouldn’t ever trust him again and he would have to watch him in case he tried to gyp him out of his share.

  When Kitson had driven a couple of miles, he saw Gypo walking fast up the road towards the approaching Buick.

  Kitson pulled up and Gypo ran towards him.

  ‘Have you got it?’ he asked, his eyes round. ‘It went all right?’

  ‘Yes,’ Kitson said. ‘Come on: get in the back!’

  He got out and opened the back of the caravan. He went around with Gypo and looked inside.

  ‘Okay?’ he said to Morgan, who looked pale, his mouth drawn down with pain.

  ‘Yeah. get going!’ Morgan growled. ‘Come on in, Gypo!’

  Gypo stared, coming to an abrupt stop.

  ‘What are you doing there? Why aren’t you riding in the truck?’

  ‘Get in!’ Morgan snarled. ‘We’ve got to get moving.’

  ‘I’m not getting in like that!’ Gypo said, his voice shooting up a note. ‘If that truck shifts, you’ll be squashed like a fly!’

  Morgan pulled his .45 from his shoulder holster. As he did so, his coat opened and Gypo could see the bloodstained bandage across his chest.

  ‘Get in!’ Morgan said.

  Kitson grabbed Gypo and shoved him into the caravan, then he ran around and pulled the lever down, shutting the back.

  He got into the driving seat.

  The car and the caravan headed fast towards the highway.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  I

  Gypo stood with his broad back pressed hard against the wall of the swaying caravan, his eyes goggling at the steel wall of the truck that was only a few inches from his protruding stomach.

  Bleck had come around the truck and was standing at the back of it, looking down the side where Morgan and Gypo were standing.

  The three men were bracing themselves as the caravan swayed and bumped behind the fast-moving Buick.

  ‘Santa Maria!’ Gypo exclaimed. ‘Then there’s a man in there?’

  ‘Yeah, but he won’t worry you,’ Morgan said. ‘He’s dead. Now look, Gypo, you’ve got to get that shutter open. We’ve got to be sure he hasn’t the radio signal on.’

  Bleck came out with his first constructive suggestion since the job began.

  ‘The radio is run from the battery,’ he said. ‘Can’t we get under the truck and cut the leads?’

  ‘That’s it!’ Morgan said. ‘Get under there, Gypo, and find the leads. Get going!’

  ‘I don’t want to get under there. The truck might shift and crush me,’ Gypo said, his face sagging.

  ‘You heard what I said!’ Morgan snarled. ‘Hurry!’

  Muttering, Gypo opened the cupboard door where he kept his tools, took from it a pair of wire cutters and a screwdriver. Morgan glanced through the curtain that covered the window on his side.

  They were now on the secondary road, and Kitson was driving fast. The caravan was swaying about dangerously. If there was a traffic cop around, he would be after them. There was no way to warn Kitson to slow down. Morg
an hoped he would cut his speed before they reached the highway.

  Gypo was down on the floor, struggling to get under the truck. It was a tight fit and he was badly scared. He finally got himself under and Morgan handed him a flashlight. As he edged himself under the truck’s engine, Gypo saw on the floor boards, a few inches from his face, a big patch of red and even as he recognized it to be blood, some of it dripped down on him, hot and sticky against his neck.

  He heaved his body away from it, shuddering, knowing the dead man was only separated from him by the thinness of the boards.

  His hands shaking, his body quivering, he strove desperately to locate the battery leads. If it hadn’t been for Morgan who was kneeling and peering under the truck at him, Gypo would have declared he had cut the leads, but with Morgan’s eyes on him, he didn’t dare do that. Finally he spotted one of the leads, but it was well out of his reach ‘I can’t get at it, Frank,’ he panted. ‘We’ll have to do it from the top.’

  ‘The hood’s locked,’ Morgan said. ‘Hang on a moment.’

  He went to the tool cupboard and found a pair of long handled metal shears.

  ‘You’ll reach it with this,’ he said, pushing the shears under the truck.

  Gypo had to put his flashlight down to handle the shears.

  After some trouble he managed to get them into position, but by then he had lost sight of the lead.

  ‘I’ve got to have a light,’ he panted.

  ‘Get under there and hold the light for him,’ Morgan said to Bleck, making room for him Bleck easily slid under the truck. He held the flashlight, grimacing as he saw the blood on the floor boards and on Gypo’s panic-stricken face.

  Gypo cut the lead.

  ‘That’s it,’ he said. ‘Let me get out of here.’

  As Bleck began to slide out from under the truck, he heard a sound that made the hairs on the nape of his neck bristle. A sighing groan came through the floor boards, followed by a slight scratching sound. He flinched back, half expecting something to touch him.

  ‘Santa Maria!’ Gypo gasped. ‘Let me out of here!’

  He was in such a panic that he started to kick Bleck, trying to get past him.

  Snarling, Bleck thumped him in the ribs, making him gasp.

  ‘Cut it out!’

  He pulled himself from under the truck and stood up, straightening his coat.

  ‘What’s up?’ Morgan demanded, seeing how white he was.

  Gypo squirmed out, tearing his shirt on the truck as he did so.

  He stood up, his face ghastly; blood that had dripped down on him making a smear down his cheek and neck.

  ‘He’s alive!’ he gasped. ‘I heard him! He’s moving!’

  Morgan stiffened.

  ‘He can’t use the radio now and he can’t scramble the lock. Those buttons must work from the battery — they must do! Come on, Gypo, get that shutter open. We’ve got to get at this guy!’

  ‘Not me!’ Gypo said cringing away. ‘He’s got a gun, hasn’t he? When I open the shutter, he’ll kill me!’

  Morgan hesitated. He looked out of the window again. They were slowing down at the intersection of the secondary road and the highway. As Kitson brought the Buick to a stop, Morgan could see the highway ahead of them, crowded with fast-moving cars.

  If that guy in there started to shoot, the shots would be heard.

  This was a problem he didn’t know how to solve.

  Bleck said, ‘Better wait, Frank. That highway is always lousy with cops. If there’s any shooting.’

  ‘Yeah. Okay, well wait.’

  Gypo drew in a shuddering breath of relief and squatted down, taking out his handkerchief and wiping the blood off his neck and face.

  Morgan went up to the truck and, putting his ear against the steel panel guarding the window, he listened. He couldn’t hear anything. He remained like that for some moments, then he looked at Bleck.

  ‘Nothing. Are you sure you heard him?’

  ‘Yes, and he was moving.’

  ‘Gypo!’ Morgan swung around. ‘Don’t damn well sit there! Take a look at the back of the truck. The sooner you get working on it the quicker we’ll get the dough!’

  Gypo dragged himself upright and pushed past Morgan to the back of the truck.

  The Buick was on the move again and peering out of the window, Morgan saw cars overtaking them on the busy six-lane highway. He was relieved to see Kitson wasn’t driving faster than thirty miles an hour. The caravan was riding easily over the even surface of the road.

  Gypo examined the back of the truck and his heart sank. It was as he thought: this was an expert job. The door fitted so closely there was no hope of blowing it. In the centre of the door was a dial, similar to that fitted to any ordinary safe. By the dial was a tiny window, protected by armoured glass. Gypo could see a number through the glass. He knew if he revolved the dial, the number would change. To open the door he would have to find the exact combination of numbers, and this meant sensitive listening and still more sensitive and above all steady fingers.

  ‘What’s it look like?’ Morgan asked, corning around to the back of the truck and standing at Gypo’s side.

  ‘It’s tough all right,’ Gypo said. ‘To hit on the right combination will take time like I said.’

  ‘Any chance of blowing the door?’

  ‘No. Look at the stuff it’s made of. That’s not going to blow. Maybe I could cut into it if I had time.’

  ‘Try for the combination,’ Morgan said. ‘We’ve got another forty minutes before we reach the caravan camp. Start now.’

  Gypo stared at him as if he thought he had gone crazy.

  ‘Now? How can I with all this movement and noise?’ he said feverishly. ‘I’ve got to listen. I can’t hear a thing with all this traffic.’

  Morgan made an impatient gesture, but controlled himself.

  The pain in his side was getting worse and it worried him. He knew it would be fatal to rush Gypo too soon. His mind moved to the driver in the truck. There were too many complications piling up, he thought as he squatted down on the floor. This job might prove even tougher than he had imagined.

  He thumped the steel side of the truck with his clenched fist.

  ‘There’s a million bucks in here,’ he said. ‘Think of it! Just beyond this goddamn wall! A million bucks! Well, we’re going to get it! If it’s the last thing we do!’

  Kitson had been too occupied in holding the Buick to the curves in the road while he was driving fast to the highway to have time to pay any attention to Ginny, but once he had nosed the Buick on to the highway and had the broad straight road under his wheels, he relaxed a little.

  Ginny was leaning back, looking out at the faster traffic sweeping past them. She was still very pale, and she kept her hands between her knees to hide the fact that she was trembling. Kitson kept thinking of the man in the truck. It horrified him to think they would have to get into the truck and get his body out. Had he managed to set off the radio signal? Were they driving straight into a police trap?

  ‘If that guy started his radio signal,’ he said, unable to keep this thought silent any longer, ‘we could be driving into trouble.’

  Ginny hunched her shoulders.

  ‘There’s nothing we can do about it.’

  ‘No,’ Kitson said, not comforted. ‘Well, I’m glad I’m not travelling in the caravan. It must be pretty rugged in there.’

  ‘Listen!’ she said sharply.

  Kitson felt his heart give a lurch as he heard in the far distance the faint sound of an approaching police siren. The cars moving on the fast lane automatically switched over to the slower lane, clearing the way. The noise of the siren grew louder. Then Kitson saw the first police car coming towards them. It was followed by four patrol cops on motorcycles, then by two more police cars. They blasted their way through the traffic, travelling at well over eighty miles an hour.

  Ginny and Kitson exchanged glances.

  ‘I guess we got off that road just in tim
e,’ Kitson said huskily.

  Ginny nodded.

  They drove on. After a few miles they became aware that the steady flow of traffic was slowing down, and far ahead of them they could see a long line of cars coming to a crawl.

  ‘Road block,’ Kitson said, his heart beginning to pound. ‘This could sink us.’

  ‘Don’t lose your nerve,’ Ginny said.

  The cars ahead of the Buick slowed to a crawl, then finally stopped.

  There was a long wait, then they began to move again.

  Slowly, Kitson crept the Buick behind the long line of cars, his hands clammy. He could see the road block ahead of him. There were two police cars across the road, cutting the up traffic into a narrow stream. Six patrol officers stood by the cars. One of them leaned into each car as it came to a stop. He had a brief word with the driver, then waved him on.

  Ginny said, ‘I’ll talk to him. Leave it to me.’

  He looked quickly at her, marvelling at her nerve. He wondered what the three in the caravan were thinking. They couldn’t see the road block and they must be wondering why they were scarcely moving. Again he was thankful he wasn’t back there, and he hoped Gypo wouldn’t do something stupid.

  Ten minutes later — minutes that stretched Kitson’s nerves to breaking point — they drew up at the road block.

  Ginny deliberately pulled her skirt above her knees, crossing her legs. She leaned out of the car window.

  The patrol officer who came over to her looked from her face to her knees, and his leathery red face split into an appreciative grin. He didn’t even look at Kitson.

  ‘Where have you come from, miss?’ he asked, leaning against the side of the Buick, staring at her, admiration in his eyes.

  ‘From Dukas,’ Ginny said. ‘We’re on our honeymoon. What’s all the excitement about?’

  ‘Did you see a Welling Armoured truck on the road?’ the officer asked. ‘You couldn’t have missed it if you had seen it. It has a big sign on the back.’

  ‘Why, no,’ Ginny said and turning, she said to Kitson. ‘We didn’t see any truck, did we, honey?’

  Kitson shook his head. His heart was thumping so violently he was scared the cop would hear it.