Freddie Foreman - Freddie Foreman--The Godfather of British Crime

T he snowfall began late on Good Friday. Blanketing the hills of north-east England and the Midlands, by Saturday it had painted white the entire eastern side of Britain, from Scotland to Norfolk. As Sunday slowly became Easter Monday, light snowflakes began to drift across east London dissolving into the tarmac of Curtain Road, and scattering across the yard of the famous Security Express depot.

The air was as crisp as a 5 note, and, while snow at this time of year was most unusual, for the five men crouched behind the walls and buildings of that yard, it was the only part of the morning that was unplanned. Theyd carefully pinpointed the section of wall unscrutinised by the electronic gaze of closed-circuit television, and dropped over. Theyd calculated that they could hide inside this fortress known to locals as Fort Knox completely undetected. And, most importantly, they had learned that one mans routine of an early-morning cuppa would leave the entire alarm system temporarily disabled, and the treasures locked deep inside the building open for the taking.

As these five men sat waiting through the night, they contemplated what would be the most audacious crime ever undertaken in Londons Square Mile: to rob the headquarters of Security Express of 7 million in cash. The redbrick complex had 12-foot-high walls and steel-shuttered doors. Alarms and cameras were strategically placed around the entire building and it was considered impenetrable. The next most difficult job would have been to relieve the Tower of London of the Crown Jewels.

Whats the time? whispered one man, for a third time.

Nearly four oclock, was the hushed reply.

The floor was ice-cold beneath them, and the wait almost unbearable.

As is normal on a holiday weekend, the City of London was a ghost town, yet the Firm were alert to every sound. Goods trains rumbled along the steel tracks, their brakes screeching along the approach to nearby Liverpool Street Station. The mild hum of a motorbike would occasionally zoom down the adjoining Great Eastern Street, while distant sirens caused the more nervous members of the gang to prick up their ears, their minds racing with images of squad cars, armed response units and dogs.

What time is it now? the voice came again.

Its still nearly four oclock.

For fucks sake, shut up! came another voice in the darkness. As the figure leaned forward into the sodium light, all that was visible was a plastic fancy-dress party mask in his right hand.

No one said a word for the next few hours. They knew that escape routes had been planned, vehicles assembled, safe houses prepared and route familiarisation practised. The Firm were at work on a regular basis, so tools were constantly in use and were already at hand, but strict instructions had been given that nobody should get hurt. Threatened, yes. But no physical violence. Everyone involved would wear face masks and gloves and everything brought inside the premises would be taken away. This included cigarette butts, apple cores and even tissue paper. No clues would be left behind for forensic examination.

Above the gangs hiding place, high above the floodlights that cast deep shadows across the yard, stood a derelict office block, once owned by Security Express. Ironically, it was from there that the Firm had kept watch on the premises of the countrys leading security firm for several months. They had been shown around by estate agents and had taken imprints of the keys. There, with sleeping bags and thermoses, they had taken it in turns to watch the comings and goings of the bright-yellow-and-green armoured vehicles by day and night.

We should have just done the vans hissed another voice in the dark, but he was shushed before hed finished.

Months previously, in the early stages of planning this job, there was talk that they should simply jump over and steal bags of silver coins from the vans left overnight. But careful observation and planning revealed there was a much greater prize on offer.

This weekend, the vaults would be overflowing with five tons of cash in silver and paper money. The country was enjoying an economic boom under Margaret Thatchers Conservative government, and the City of London was swimming with cash. But, with no banks open, much of it including profits from the Daily Mail Ideal Homes Exhibition sat idle in the vaults.

Patiently, the gang waited three more freezing hours for the door to open. They knew it would open. And it did, at just after 7am. The golden opportunity came as guard Greg Counsell took over from the nightshift man. He had poured steaming water over the teabag in his brown mug, and now walked through the compound to fetch a pint of milk left at the front gate. Thinking he was perfectly safe, he left the door to the back of the building open, meaning that he had to switch the entire alarm system off.

The Firm heard the heavy bolt slide along, and knew it was time for action. They listened intently as his keys jangled, playing like a tambourine against his thigh with every step, getting louder and louder. For a minute, Counsell hesitated. Perhaps he had noticed something unusual. But it was too late: now a figure swiftly jumped out of the shadows and took him hostage. Keep your head to the fucking floor! he shouted. Look down!

It was on. Adrenaline pumping inside them, the other raiders raced inside the building. Two members of the Firm were disguised with monkey masks; the rest wore balaclavas. All wore boiler suits and gloves and were tooled up. Counsell did the sensible thing for someone at the wrong end of a shotgun he cooperated. He opened the glass doors of the main reception area, allowing the Firm inside.

How many of you are there in here? snarled one of the gang, through the hole in his balaclava.

Just me, came Counsells shaking reply.

Dont fucking lie to us! shouted another voice from behind them. It was hard to believe, but Counsell was telling the truth: there was, in fact, just one guard on duty.

With the preliminaries successfully completed, the gang now had to wait several hours for the timer to release some of the locking mechanisms on three of the main underground vaults. After that, it would require the cooperation of several guards holding passwords and keys before the vaults could be opened. A further seven employees were due to arrive during the course of the afternoon and they would have to be taken care of one by one and cooperate fully with the Firm.

The second employee to arrive that day came in soon after 1pm. Counsell was told to sit at his desk and not even look at the man. A flicker of the eye, one little mistake, and he could give away the whole game. One of the Firm lay concealed under his desk, poking a shotgun into Counsells bollocks to persuade him he should follow their advice.

One by one, the guards were wrapped up with womens stockings and a plaster put over their mouths and, by 2pm, all staff had been accounted for. The task of waiting for them had been long and arduous and required strong nerves. The Firm could not afford to make a single mistake.

Now came the delicate task of opening the vaults without setting off alarms. When turning a lock, it had to be opened in a prescribed sequence. One wrong turn and the bells would ring. Keys also had to be put into locks in the right sequence. It would require the cooperation of two members of staff, each of whom held a required key. With time on their hands, the Firm were able to rehearse the lock-opening procedure with the guards to make sure they were not given wrong information. The guards were told to repeat the methods and codes over and over again. Experience had taught the Firm that, by separating employees first, they would reveal everything but they wouldnt while others were listening. When theyd got all the information they needed, they made the guards lie down together. If any further problems arose, the man responsible would be taken out on his own and asked to repeat codes and numbers and procedures until they got it right.