FORTY-THREE
The old man told him, when he came up with the idea, it would be the one place nobody would ever dream of looking and Carson had to admit, it was fairly clever. A frayed wire dangled from the ceiling, the dust-covered bulb masking most of its glare when he switched it on. He opened up the cistern and pulled out the hefty plastic bag and weighed it in his hands. “Damn your b****y eyes,” he said, chuckling. Two million pounds worth of precious gems. Diamonds mainly, but plenty of rubies, sapphires and emeralds to keep a jeweller busy for any number of years.
He went back into the night.
The blow, from a thick, heavy wooden object, struck him square in the guts. Bent double, he staggered backwards, croaking out his breath, hand held out in a pathetic, desperate attempt to ward
