EPILOGUE
The Letter – The Box Tops
So that, my friends, is all she wrote. Or he, or us, or me.
Smyth, or whatever his real name was, got away scot free. I didn’t care. No matter what s**t he’d got me into. No matter that he’d wound me up like a clockwork kipper, and let me go, I’d actually become quite fond of him.
As a footnote, the police van carrying the gems we’d hijacked was hijacked itself, and the lone driver was handcuffed to the steering wheel with his own bracelets. Nothing was ever recovered.
Smyth had said he was going to collect the loot.
Whoever, or whatever he was, he was something important in the Establishment. National Security, MI5, MI6, Special Branch, the Met. None of them liked one of their top men going rogue. Off the reservation. So they gathered their skirts
