‘Brown Bread: Dead. One London criminal is known admiringly among his peers as Brown Bread Fread after the number of bodies, rightly or wongly, attributed to him.’
Gang Slang, A Dictionary of Criminal Slang.
‘People do get over familiar. I was at a boxing show and a guy said: “Hi Fred. Have you killed anyone recently?” I just stopped and looked at him. I said, “The night is not over yet.”’
Freddie Foreman, The Book of Criminal Quotations
CONTENTS
Title Page
PROLOGUE
1 THE EARLY YEARS
2 HARD TIME
3 YOUR COUNTRY NEEDS YOU
4 THE JUMP-UP
5 FIRM FRIENDS
6 EAST ENDERS
7 THE PERFECT TEAM
8 BATTLE OF BOW
9 ‘GOT ANY GOLD BARS DOWN THERE, FRED?’
10 PANAMA GOLD
11 ‘GIVE ME A NAME’
12 BUILDING THE EMPIRE
13 THE MAD AXEMAN
14 MUDDY WATERS
15 BANGED UP
16 SNOOKERED
17 OPERATION WRECKER
18 BREAKING AMERICA
19 SECURITY EXPRESS
20 KIDNAPPED
21 TRIALS AND TRIBULATIONS
22 FREDDIE TODAY
23 TIME TELLS ALL
EPILOGUE
Copyright
The 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. They’d carefully pinpointed the section of wall unscrutinised by the electronic gaze of closed-circuit television, and dropped over. They’d calculated that they could hide inside this fortress – known to locals as ‘Fort Knox’ – completely undetected. And, most importantly, they had learned that one man’s 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 London’s 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.
‘What’s the time?’ whispered one man, for a third time.
‘Nearly four o’clock,’ 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.
‘It’s still nearly four o’clock.’
‘For fuck’s 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 gang’s 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 country’s 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 he’d 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 Thatcher’s 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