Kit Handsome and the Mysterious Strangers 4

"So let me get this straight," said Anderson when Kit phoned him asking for reinforcements from the mainland. "You think the mysterious strangers that have been reported are bank robbers, who are using an abandoned coal mine to tunnel into a bank."​

​"It's a cream mine, not a coal mine. We've never had coal on Boonhill. We're a wood burning island."​

​"Cream mine? What's a cream mine?"​

​"It was an April fools joke in the Boonhill Gazette. Only people took it seriuosly and build the mine."​

​"I might just tell head office a lie and say it's an old coal mine, if it's all the same to you, I can't justify overtime for fifty officers on the word of a population who believe that cream is dug out of the ground."​

​"I never believed it chief, I was one of the few people on the island who didn't invest in the mine."​

​"You reassure me no end, Kit. And you're sure that the raid will be tonight. I can't afford to have my offices over there every night for a month on the off chance. The cost for one thing, plus the risk that they might go native and start believing in cream mines. "​

​"They're only inches from the bank."​

​"Inches, that's units of approximately 2.5 centimetres isn't it Kit? Yes, that does sound close. Boonhill hasn't gone metric yet then?"​

"No we still use the old measurements, if we catch the robbers we can celebrate with an old fashioned pint in the local. I've no idea how they plan to get in the bank though. In the old days you could blast a hole through with dynamite and stroll in, but these days everything's alarmed, with censors everywhere, and even if you do get into the bank, the vault is protected by every security system conceivable."​

​"The modern bankrobber, Kit, is a very sophisticated criminal. They can break into any bank and avoid the most high-tech sensory equipment."​

​Anderson arrived early that evening, with what seemed the entire mainland police force.​

​"There'll be officers surrounding the bank and a group of a dozen ready to charge the front door on order. If you come with me and the rest of the men, we'll follow them into the bank and catch them red handed."​

​"How will we know when they're in the bank?"​

​"Sergeant Mandleson will be watching the bank through thermosenative lenses. As soon as they're in the bank itself he'll signal us."​

​Two of the officers walked alongside Kit and Anderson as they walked carefully through the tunnel. "This is Constable Singh, Kit, he speaks Urdo, Punjabi, Hindi, Gujari and Pashto. And this is constable Oromo, he speaks Swahili, Zula, Hausa and Yoruba."​

​"Nice to meet you," Kit said, sounding as confused as he felt. "You'll find that everyone on Boonhill speaks English, though admittedly some of them are pretty anglo-saxon in their word choices."​

​"I've brought them to interpret, Kit. Between them they speak over forty different languages."​

​"Interpret? Who with?"​

​"With the ethnically diverse criminal gang, Kit. We don't know whether they're african, Asian, Caribean."​

​"I don't think they're anything. They're just men in dark clothes."​

​"We can't take the chance Kit. A situation could arise where the prescence of a Yoruba speaker can literally save lives. Plus, Constable Oromo is teaching me French at the moment, we had a quick session on the journey here."​

​A mile into the tunnel Anderson signalled for them to stop.​

​"We'll wait here until they enter the bank, don't want to be too close in case they hear us.​

​They sat waiting for what seemed forever, in the dark, forboding abandoned mine.​

​"This reminds me of the Sherlock Holmes story the Red Headed League," said Kit. "Where they sit in the bank waiting for the robbers."​

 ​"You’re comparing yourself to the greatest ever fictional detective?" Anderson said. “Just one word Kit, ‘Halibut’."​

 ​“Even Holmes had his failures – Irene Adler outwitted him.”​

 ​“You’d be outwitted by Irene Handle, Kit.”​

​Eventually, after what seemed like the entire night, though it's hard to tell these things when you're sitting in a coalmine, a message came through from Mandelson.​

"They're in the bank. Move forward."​

​The squad of policemen, translation team included, slowly and quiety progressed the mile or so until the end of the tunnel, and the ladder leading upwardsinto the bank.​

With Anderson leading they climbed up the ladder and into the bank through the small hole the robbers had cut.  Once they had all assembled they messaged Mandelson that they were in position.​

 ​What's that noise, said Kit. It sounds like music of some kind.​

​It sounds like a flute, said Anderson. My youngest is learning to play at the moment. From the sound of it the robber's at a similar level.​

​"Who'd bring a flute on a bank raid?" ​

​"At this stage Kit, I'm more concerned with getting the gang safely bang to rights than in their musical influences."​

​"That's not what I meant."​

​"Shush Kit, there's movement. Look."​​

"It's a bird. There's a big bird flying about in the bank."​

​"It's an owl, Kit. Tawny if I'm not mistaken."​

​"You said that the modern bankrobber is a very sophisticated criminal."​

​"They have to be Kit, the bank's alarms systems would catch anyone but the best."​

​"Explain to me why we have this sophistical gang using the most hi-tech counter security techniques includes someone playing the flute and an owl flying around everywhere. ​

​"I don't need to explain Kit, we'll catch the criminals then ask them to explain. THat's the difference between the two of us Kit, you sit there wondering about owls and flirtists whereas I just want to catch villains."​

​A message came through on the radio. It was Mandelson."​

​"All good to go chief."​

​"Roger that, Mandelson."​

​"Okay lads," Anderson turned and addressed the officers behind him. All ready to go. We need at least two men on each gang member, use any force necessary, we have every reason to belive this is a gang of ruthless, seasoned criminals who will use any means to escape arrest."​

​"I'll go after the man with the flute," said Kit.​

​"That's right Kit, you go for the one who isn't armed.​

​I chose him because he seems likely to be the leader." ​

​"Even three-piece folk bands comprising two flute players don't choose a flirtist as leader Kit. The last people to follow a piper were the children of Hamelin and we know what happened to them."​

Kit, of course, had absolutely no idea what happened to the children of Hamelin. Boonhilliers have their own folk tales, in which the villains are usually mainlanders and if children go missing it's because a crate of whisky has been washed ashore from a shipwreck and they've drunk themselves into oblivion. There was a strong realist thread to Boonhillier folk tales.​

​"On the count of three," said Anderson into his radio. "Three, two one, now. Go."​

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