Hatton Garden | The Cabinet | 2
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Just a warning before we begin this episode, it does contain strong language, Alice. I might not have heard some of these words before. I think I've heard you use all of them.

Morning, Matt. Morning, Alice. How's your research coming on into the Hatton Garden job? Actually really fascinating. I've been talking to some of the key players. It's pretty mad stuff. Oh, great. Beautiful diamond necklace you've got, by the way. Oh, gosh, thank you. And where did you get it? Get it? I got it from a shop. You got it from a shop? Yeah, I bought it from a shop. You paid money for it? Yeah. Do you know where the shop is? The shop that this is from? I just feel like this questioning has very quickly turned into an interrogation. It's a very...

Rare to see you walking around with that amount of heavy jewellery on. You look like Kate Winslet in Titanic. Shall we get on with the episode? Hmm. April the 13th, 2015. Greenwich, London. Brian Reader stares across the flat stretch of brown water. His hands grip the embankments railing tightly. Dark clouds are floating up the Thames and a low mist hangs over the river.

Behind him, the twin domes of the old Royal Naval College rise through the gloom. Reader heads north, against the flow of the slow-moving water. He tracks a police helicopter sweeping along the far bank. When it disappears, he lets his body relax. As he walks, memories come flooding back to him. The wail of air raid sirens marked his early childhood during the Second World War. His dad abandoned the family when he was in his teens, and Reader became the breadwinner.

A tour guide leading a gaggle of sightseers streams past, their cameras poised for a shot of the Cutty Sark. These days, London seems more like a glossy tourist attraction than a city where normal people live. Growing up around the docks, thieving was a cottage industry. Everyone had a scam.

Reader joined a generation of working-class thieves using their wits and cunning to make a living. And it wasn't long before he moved on to banks and businesses for bigger paydays. Nice to know there's career progression, even in the underworld. Yeah, the ladder you don't think about, do you? From shop floor to CEO. Where do you see yourself in five years' time? Not in prison. Good answer. He sees an evening standard out of the corner of his eye. Police hunt for Britain's biggest burglars. Reader smiles.

thinks about the riches being pulled from their hiding places in the vault, wonders where they are now. He reaches a bench and takes a seat. Perkins is late. He expected that. He takes out a white handkerchief and wraps it around his hand. So that he can punch him for being late. After a few minutes, a figure looms into view, blocking the sun. Neither man looks at each other. Reader knows he's taking a huge risk meeting Perkins after the heist. The police are all over the vault.

But he needs to say his piece. After all, it was all his idea. Perkins knows that. He wouldn't be here without him. Reader raises the handkerchief to his mouth. Police lip readers could already be watching. Gathering evidence, he keeps his voice low. I want what's mine. There's silence. Reader feels his body tense. From his peripheral vision, he can see Perkins take a sip from a coffee cup. Eventually, Perkins answers.

You're getting fuck all. Hang on a minute, I thought these two were best mates, so what's going on? Literal partners in crime, well, let's see. With that, Perkins stands and walks away. Reader is stunned. An impotent rage bubbles inside him. He stares out into the murky river. He doesn't yet know what'll happen, but he's going to do whatever it takes to get his share of the money.

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OK, so Matt, the Hatton Garden heist. What a sprightly, inspiring bunch of OAPs. They're an amazing group of blokes.

All coming together for one last job, this hardened group of old criminals trying to pull off the biggest burglary in British history right in the centre of London. Yeah, it's a tricky one. I say inspiring tongue-in-cheek because we do oscillate between being so impressed by them and then remembering, obviously, this is a criminal master plan. Yeah, I don't agree with what they did, but I am curious as to how they did it. And I think that's where a lot of the pleasure in this story is contained. And it does feel cinematic. It's like Ocean's Eleven, but...

Ocean 70. Yes, exactly. And like any of those films, it doesn't necessarily go completely smoothly. OK, so there might be a few obstacles. There may well be, like as contained in the title of this episode. This is episode two, The Cabinet. Two weeks earlier, April 2nd, 2015. Hatton Gardens safe deposit, 9.30pm.

Terry Perkins scans the road as he drags a wheelie bin to the safe deposit's rear entrance. Good of him to do the recycling in the middle of a diamond heist. Yeah, tidy house, tidy mind. He can hear the clamour of drinkers outside the Argyle pub nearby. The bank holiday is in full swing, but Perkins has work to do. Basil almost getting caught spooked the team. For an hour they waited until the last of the building's occupants left.

Now the coast is clear, they can get to work. Yeah, so last time they almost get caught, and they're in the van, and Basil's in the building, and there's someone else there. Yeah, we get that call on the walkie-talkie, and we realise he's not alone. The crew assemble outside the gate on Greville Street. Basil opens the door from the inside, and they cross a small courtyard and enter the building through the fire escape. Perkins feels the familiar thrill of being on a job as part of a crew, like a fire igniting in his belly. Doesn't sound like a very nice feeling. LAUGHTER

Quite uncomfortable, in fact. I love hanging around with you guys. I feel like I'm literally on fire. That could also be a number of other things. You might have gastroenteritis. Perkins follows Basil and Carl Wood, the muscle man, to the first floor. He uses a crowbar to open the lift shaft doors. Above, he can see the lift being held on the second floor. He calls out to Wood. Don't let that lift move, Carl. We're heading down. From a hold-all, Basil unfolds a steel cable ladder.

Securing it in place, he begins to climb down the shaft. Perkins switches on his head torch and follows him down. At their age, it must have taken them ages. Imagine all the clicks from the arthritis. Oh, bloody hell! And a bit of me, when he went into the holdall, thought that Basil was going to take out one of those folding chairs and just have a little sit down. I made a flask of tea. I can't do my job until I've had a little biscuit and a little rest.

At the bottom, he wedges a car jack under the metal shutters and pumps the handle. The metal creaks and warps until there's a gap a foot high. Through the opening, he can see the alarm system blinking on the wall opposite. He turns to Basil. Time to work your magic. In silence, Basil assembles his tools.

He takes a deep breath and slides under the shutters. Immediately, a high-pitched beeping fills the corridor. Perkins wiggles under the shutters and stands behind Basil with his hands over his ears. You've set the alarm off. Let's get out of here. Basil shouts back over the beeping. That just means it's armed. We have a minute to kill it. In the dim light, Perkins can see Basil's hands moving swiftly through a series of manoeuvres. The beeping is getting quicker. Perkins feels like it's growing louder too.

Oh, man. Oh, man.

When I say, snap this aerial off, OK? Perkins nods. He places a hand on it. Basil makes one more snip. Now! Perkins snaps the aerial off and the alarm stops. The two men stand in the dark, readjusting to the silence. Gripped by a wave of euphoria, Perkins pulls in Basil for a hug. Well done, my son. The old instincts that have been dormant for so long suddenly come flooding back.

He feels buoyed by their success, but knows this is only stage one. They head to the entrance, where Rita and Jones are waiting. Perkins presses the door release button, and the men file in. He was born to do this, and he'll do everything he can to pull it off. He vows not to let anything get between him and his payday. Unless it's a big set of stairs. Hours later, April 3rd, 2015. Hatton Garden, 1am.

Kenny Collins chases a chip around a polystyrene tray with a plastic fork. Oh, tell me about it. He's perched on an office chair in front of a large window. From his position, he sees the corner of Hatton Garden and Greville Street. The front door and side gate of the safe deposit building are both in his view.

Collins knows he took a risk going to buy fish and chips, but he needs something to stave off the waves of drowsiness washing over him. Fish and chips! That would make you more drowsy. Please! Have a banana or a coffee, man. You need slow release. I really need a bit of energy. Could I have mashed potato, a big pie and some fish, please? And can you batter it? He's only been at his post for a few hours, but he's already jolted himself awake half a dozen times.

The last time, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He spun round to be confronted by Basil, looking down at him. Jesus, Kenny, I'm not going to prison because you couldn't keep your eyes open. I was just resting, do me a favour. Say, was the radio playing up? Collins balls up the greaseproof paper and tosses it in the corner. He peers down at the road. London's nightlife is in full swing. Pockets of revellers weave their way along Hatton Garden, looking to keep the party going. Little do they know what's going on beneath them.

As a car turns onto Hatton Garden, the room is illuminated by the sweep of headlights. Collins feels a jolt of panic. Despite the frequent foot traffic, the road has been empty of cars. With growing anxiety, he watches it pull up outside 88 to 90. A figure gets out, then walks up to the front door and pushes his weight against it, crouches down and peers through the letterbox. Collins' heart begins to pound. With trembling hands, he fumbles for the button on his radio.

Come in. Hello? What is it? This guy from Deliveroo? He says you've ordered some fish and chips. Who the fuck?

I think he's a security guard. He's talking to someone on the phone. Collins creeps down the stairs to the front door. Through the spy hole, he can see the guard still moving around. He thinks about the crew trapped underground. He needs to cause a distraction, give the men a chance to escape. Collins cracks open the front door and peers through the gap. He's about to step out into the street when, to his relief, he sees the guard get back into his car. Collins whispers into the radio. It looks like he's leaving. He's leaving.

The car lights flash on and it moves away from the curb. Collins returns to the window and watches until the car is out of sight. He radios in. He's gone. They must think it's a false alarm. Reader sounds hesitant. Let me know immediately if he comes back.

Collins breathes a deep sigh of relief. His stomach aches when he thinks of his wife, Millie. She's away for the night and has no idea what he's up to. He's told her his days of breaking the law are behind him. If they get caught and he goes to jail, it'll probably kill her. Collins pushes the chair away and stands to the side in the shadows. No more relaxing. He needs to stay awake.

A few hours later, Hatton Garden Safe Deposit, 6am. Brian Reader lowers his ear defenders as the sound of the drill dies away.

Across the room, Jones and Wood struggle to remove the massive drill bit from inside the reinforced concrete wall. I mean, at their age, they must be so deaf. I'm surprised they need ear defenders. Yeah, let's not worry about health and safety right now. If anything, they need hearing aids. I want to be able to hear that drill. Tell me when the drill starts. It started. Reader checks his watch. They're well behind schedule. But the concrete is so dense, they can't run the drill at full speed.

In three hours, they've only made two holes in the half-metre thick wall. And they've got one more to go. Through the holes, Reeder can see the back of one of the huge cabinets that house the safe deposit boxes in the vault. He reaches his arm through and brushes his fingers against the cold metal, pictures the treasures just inches from his grasp. One more hole and the shaft will be big enough for a person to slide through. Reeder watches Jones and Wood tip the drill bit.

The smooth concrete course slowly slides out and hits the ground with a thud. The men look tired, and Reeder knows that at their age, energy stores are severely limited. Right, shepherd's pie for everyone now. Even though it's a bank holiday, there's a risk of someone coming back and stumbling upon them. He replaces his ear defenders as Jones resumes his position behind the drill. Come on, we need this one to be quicker.

An hour and a half later, Reader sees the spinning drum jolt forward. They're through the wall. He feels a shot of adrenaline, readies himself for the next step.

With three joined up holes, the gap is about half a metre wide and 25 centimetres high. Big enough for them to climb through. But first, they need to push the cabinet away from the wall so they can get into the vault. Jones begins assembling two long metal poles and a pump. One pole has a square plate at the end. Reader calls Perkins over. This needs to be flush against the back of the cabinet. Hold it still. Reader gives the other end to Wood. Anchor this against the wall, still as you can.

In the middle, Jones crouches over the pump. Reader puts a hand on his shoulder. Smooth, steady bursts. It's not a race. Jones begins working the pump handle. Slowly, the pressure builds and the poles expand outwards. Reader can hear the creak of the cabinet straining against the ramp. So they've drilled a hole in the wall, but there's now a cabinet blocking their way. Isn't it always the way?

And that is so heavy that they need this almost hydraulic equipment to get it out of the way. Yeah, exactly. If they knock that over, then they can actually crawl through. The sound of creaking metal intensifies. A tingle of excitement ripples through Reader. He shoots a glance at wood. Keep it steady, Carl. If those poles buckle, we've had it.

With each compression of the pump, Reader looks expectantly into the hole. The cabinet should at least be tilted, but it's holding firm. Almost like it's some sort of vault that has security measures. It's like if you ever try to move something that somebody else has tried to move, you're like, watch out, I've got this. Basically, I'm like, lift from the knees, watch out. And then I'm like, and the only thing that goes is two of my vertebrae.

Perkins shouts over his shoulder. It's not moving. It must be bolted down. Reader feels a pang of dread creep over him. If the cabinet is bolted in place, their small pump won't be able to topple it.

And if they can't move the cabinet, they'll be stuck outside the vault. Reader rips off his hard hat. They can't stop now. Carl, hold it steady. Keep going, Danny. Jones throws his weight against the pump handle. Reader hears the sound of the metal cabinet warping. Then a loud crack and a deafening hiss fills the room. Reader looks at the pump. The handle is broken off. For a moment, the room is silent. Then Perkins erupts.

Jesus Christ, what are we going to do now? Reader feels an ache in the pit of his stomach. He stares at the hole in the wall. Hours of work, years of planning. To get this far and miss out because of a cheap pump. It's almost comical. Perkins approaches. Listen, we can get another pump, come back later. Reader shakes his head. Bitter experience has taught him to know when to walk. Once you deviate from a plan, you're making it up as you go.

He collapses into a chair, his head spinning. Perkins' voice is thick with frustration. Come on, Brian, you can't be serious. We're almost there. Reader feels a sudden flash of anger. Don't question me, Terry. This is how you end up in prison. He surveys the room. He sees the bitterness in Perkins' eyes. Job's over, lads. Now we walk. Two hours later, Friday, April 3rd, 2015, 8am.

Perkins yanks open the van door and flings his holdall into the back. Behind him, Wood and Collins trudge up the steps. Pale morning sun is washing over the streets. Perkins blinks in the daylight. What a fucking waste of time. We've all had nights like that. Wood lights a cigarette and takes a deep drag.

I had a feeling something would go wrong. Perkins and Jones scowl at him, their dust-stained faces etched with lines, dark bags under their eyes. Behind the steering wheel, Collins looks well-rested. Oh, man. What's going on? Why are we leaving? I've just ordered some cake. Reader emerges onto the street and climbs into the van. As he does, Perkins heads back to the fire escape. He calls over his shoulder. I'll let Brian fill you in.

Back at Collins' house, the men sit around the kitchen table, nursing mugs of tea. Upstairs, Perkins can hear Reader taking a shower. He looks at Jones. Would that cabinet have come down with a different pump? Jones considers for a moment. Yeah, with something more heavy-duty, no problem. Perkins feels a surge of frustration. It could be the lack of sleep, but he doesn't understand why they can't go back and finish the job.

Reader will be down any moment. Perkins lowers his voice. Senses an opportunity. There's another four days before anyone comes back. That vote is still waiting to be taken. I don't think we should give up now. I obviously disagree with them doing the diamond heist. But once they're in this situation, I think they're absolutely right to go back and give it another go. You've invested. Yeah. And Matt, you're no quitter. No, absolutely.

Basil drains his cup nervously, glances at the stairs. I think we should trust Brian's judgement on this, Terry. Perkins glares at him. Who's Basil to tell him anything? He's about to reply when Reader enters the room, a towel draped around his neck. What have I missed? Perkins clears his throat. I just think it might be a bit hasty to call it a day, Brian. We've done the hard part. Why not finish the job? Reader's face clouds over.

He narrows his eyes. Listen to me, Terry. If we go back now, mistakes will be made. Mark my words. Perkins knows he's taking a risk by questioning Reader. But he recently promised his eldest daughter the deposit for a house. Oh, Dad, you robbed the diamond place for me? Daddy's little girl, so proud of you.

Not if we stick to the plan. The same plan, just a second go. Reader strides across the room. He jabs a finger into Perkins' chest. His face red with fury. One night, that is all we had, in and out. It's called discipline. It's what's kept me out of prison all these years. But I don't expect a second-rate stick-up merchant like you to understand that, Terry. I planned this job. I got us in there. Now I'm telling you, it's fucking over.

Rita storms out of the kitchen to a stunned silence. Perkins blushes, but in that moment, he makes a decision. He's going to finish the job. This time, he's the boss. And if he succeeds, Rita isn't getting a penny.

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Later that same morning, Friday the 3rd of April, 2015. Enfield, North London, 11am. What a day! Knackered. Terry Perkins chomps down on a bacon butty, then slurps back a mouthful of tea. Ketchup leaks from the corner of his mouth. His cheeks bulge with food as he raises a fork overflowing with quivering scrambled egg to his mouth. Sitting opposite him, Jones is working on a thick slice of black pudding. This is making me so hungry. With

Would that be your go-to? I love black pudding. I never understand. You know when people say, oh, I don't like black pudding because it's dried blood, but I'll have a sausage. You're like, that's not far off, mate. Don't think about what's in that then. I wish our ad reads were more food-based. Hey, UK listeners, this is from Baxter's Butchers. You can get thick back bacon for just £2.99. We'd also have it covered because you'd be like, black pudding's on offer and I'd be like, this beautiful corn cutlet.

Around them, waitresses bus plates to customers nursing hangovers from the bank holiday revelries. Perkins leans back in his seat. Although he's in desperate need of sleep, he can feel his energy returning.

He digs a silver teaspoon into a pot of sugar, lifts it and watches the white crystals cascade back into the bowl. We were this close, Dan. I could almost taste it. It could have gone either way. Jones looks up from his plate. If I'd have known the bloody thing was bolted, I'd have brought a better pump. Brian was supposed to be the brains. He should have known that. Perkins allows the thought to hang in the air. He leans forward. He says, are you finished with that black pudding? HE GIGGLES

It's not as if Reader even needs the money. Have you seen that pile he lives in? Between mouthfuls, Jones shakes his head. Perkins can tell he doesn't hold much affection for Reader. The two couldn't be more different. Reader is pensive and contained. Jones doesn't have an understated bone in his body. Perkins senses that Jones felt condescended by Reader and his pretensions of being a master jewel thief.

Perkins tips a mound of sugar into his tea. He stirs slowly. If Brian doesn't want to finish it off, that's up to him. It just means more for us. Jones lowers his knife and fork and stares at Perkins. Are you talking about going back in? Perkins flashes him a mischievous grin. If I was, would you be in? For a second, Jones looks doubtful. Perkins hears the sound of cutlery hitting plates, the crackle of the deep fat fryer.

He knows he needs Jones on board to work the pump. The thing Brian said about deviating from the plan, it does feel risky. It'll be less risky this time. We'll be in and out in a couple of hours. In truth, he's unsure how long it will take. But as he's thinking, he can see Jones coming around. Can you get hold of a new pump? One that'll actually finish the job? Don't worry, Tel. I know just the one.

Perkins raises his mug and tips it towards Jones, who brings his own in to cheers. With Jones on board, he knows Wood will follow suit. That's two of the four. But still, he needs to win the trust of the others if he's going to make this work. Perkins takes a sip of tea. To a job well done.

The next day, Saturday, April 4th, 2015. Highbury Fields, Islington. 9am. Basil plunges his hands into his pockets and tucks his chin into his chest. Heavy pellets of rain drum against the leaves as he shelters beneath a tall tree. Around him, people scatter from the open lawn. Basil feels his sock grow damp. Water is soaking into his worn-out boots.

He toyed with the idea of investing in a new wardrobe after the robbery, but now it's a moot point. Once the rain eases, he rejoins the path. His head aches. He should have slept like a baby, but he awoke in the early hours, his mind going over the night in the safe deposit. Despite how nervous he felt, he's proud of his performance and disappointed there's nothing to show for it. As he approaches the benches by the tennis court, he spots a familiar face. Andy Murray. Yeah.

Panic grips him. Perkins stands as he approaches. I remember you said this was your morning route. I'm a creature of habit myself. What are you doing here? We're not supposed to be in contact anymore. Basil moves past, but Perkins picks up his pace to join him. I've been in this game a long time, mate. I thought I'd seen it all, but your work on that alarm blew me away.

Basil welcomes the boost to his self-esteem, but he tries not to let it show. You didn't come here to tell me that. Perkins stops and fixes him with a sly look. His voice is hushed. I'm here as a courtesy to let you know we're going back and I want you to come with us. Say this for these burglars. They are very courteous men. Very respectful, very polite.

Does Brian know about this? He's made his position very clear. Basil sensed Perkins' frustration at Reader's decision to pull the plug, but he's shocked he thinks he can overrule it. I got involved because of Brian. I don't think it would be right. Courteous, they're well-mannered, they've got strong values. I'm reassessing these guys. I finally know what a role model is. Perkins chuckles. Do you think he'd do the same for you? You've no idea who he really is.

Basil feels glued to the spot. He knows he should trust Rita's instinct and his own and walk away. But it feels wrong not to have something to show for their efforts. I mean, I would think that. I think I'm probably in trouble anyway because I've drilled a massive hole in the wall and I've pushed a big cabinet over. I might as well try and get some diamonds out of it. Technically, what crime is that? Three men were sentenced today for pushing a big cabinet over. LAUGHTER

As if sensing his hesitation, Perkins gives him a thin-lipped smile. We're going back tonight, with or without you. He turns and walks back the way they came. As Basil watches him go, he runs some calculations in his head. Apart from the pump, the plan was going well, and the circumstances of the job haven't changed drastically. Basil knows that if he doesn't finish the job, he'll always wonder, what if? He feels his damp sock chilling the tips of his toes.

He turns and heads after Perkins. Perkins, wait! He's going to get what he's already earned. But he knows he no longer has Reader's protection. Now, it's every man for himself. That's always a bad sign, isn't it? It's every man for himself means we're all going to die. Or at least spend a lot of time in prison. That night, Saturday, April 4th, 2015. Hatton Garden Safe Deposit, 10.30pm.

48 hours after they first entered the building, Perkins directs Collins as he reverses up to the fire escape on Greville Street. I take it Collins didn't need any persuading then? Just a bag of chips? Fish supper and he's like, let's go. Perkins bangs on the side of the van. Jones and Wood jump out to unload the equipment. The area is deserted.

On the drive over, Wood described the havoc that nerves were wreaking on his irritable bowels. Perkins reassured the crew they were now doing a smash and grab and could be out in a few hours. Though in truth, he doesn't know what to expect. Whilst Wood frets, Perkins runs through the stages of the plan in his head. With the purchase of a reliable pump, they should be able to pick up where they left off. Perkins hears Basil's voice through the radio. I'm in the building. No sign anyone's been in.

Oh, no. What do you mean, someone? I ain't walking into no trap. Oh.

For a moment, Perkins considers how it could have happened. He tries to sound authoritative. Basil would have said if someone was inside, it must have swung closed. Perkins hopes he's right, for his sake as much as the others. No, no, no, this ain't right. Something's off. We should walk.

Jones starts after him. His voice grows louder. Don't you do this, Carl. We need you. Don't mug me off. For international listeners, the worst thing you can do to a man from the south of England is mug him off. Never mug him off. Fearing a scene, Perkins intervenes. Calm down, OK? Nothing's changed. Basil's in there. If something was up, we'd already know about it. Wood cradles his stomach. His expression is one of intense discomfort.

I love that his IBS has almost become sentient and can predict trouble. Perkins watches him turn into Hatton Garden and disappear.

It's not the start he was hoping for. Being two men down will seriously limit what they can take out. But on the other hand, what they steal will be theirs. A 25% share for each man. Basil's voice cuts through the quiet. Perkins picks up Wood's bag. With nerves fraying, he's got to keep it together. As long as they stick to the plan, he stands to reap the rewards of his gamble.

The family holiday he's planned, property investments he stands to make. Basil's head appears around the door. It's time to find out how great that reward is. I think what they're doing is wrong, but I am excited to see how much they get. They deserve every penny apart from the fact that it's a massive crime. Just before midnight that same evening, Hatton Gardens safe deposit. Perkins focuses on the rhythmic compression of the pump. He glances nervously at the poles stretched across the room, taut with force.

The dull sound of metal under pressure echoes through the hole in the wall. Three sets of eyes peer anxiously into the dark opening. With a wrenching pop, something inside the hole gives way. Perkins crouches next to Jones, whose face is slick with sweat. We're almost there, just a bit more. Jones grits his teeth. His muscles strain as they force the handle down again. Then the agonizing roar of the cabinet tearing loose from its moorings fills the room.

For a second, there's silence. Then, an almighty bang. Perkins dashes to the hole. Through a cloud of dust, he can see through to the inside of the vault. Row upon row of shiny lockers stare back. We did it! We're in! Yay! But also, no, I wish you hadn't. As the others rush to join him, a wave of euphoria takes hold. He recalls Rita's dismissive words, the finger in his chest.

Perkins knows this moment changes everything. Now he's the master. Stick it up your arse, Brian! Turning, he sees Jones' legs disappearing through the wall. Basil crouches and follows. Perkins shouts after them. Force the lockers, open the boxes and pass them through, quick as you can. He rolls the empty wheelie bins over to the hole as the first box comes through.

It's 5am. Perkins' hands shake as he takes hold of another long black box from inside the vault. With just two men inside, they've only removed a fraction of the 999 boxes. The signs of physical strain on the team are evident. Jones' face appears at the hole.

I'm beat, Terry. Loads of these are empty. It's a waste of time. I think we should call it a night. Behind him, Perkins sees Basil leaning heavily against the wall, catching his breath. I'll get like this at Bowles on a Wednesday. I'll be all right. He scans the vault. Hundreds of lockers remain untouched. Dozens of empty boxes litter the floor. There's no way of knowing which contains valuables.

Perkins opens the box in front of him. Inside is a bundle of letters tied with a ribbon. Fuck's sake. Some share certificates and a gold locket. He tosses the papers to one side and flings the necklace into a bin.

Then he throws the metal box across the room at a mound of others. I mean, this is the thing with robberies like this. It's easy to see diamonds as just the preserve of the wealthy, but this is people's private, personal stuff. Yeah, and possibly they have one engagement ring that was their grandmother's that they've put into safekeeping. Do you know what? I don't think these are good guys. I knew you'd come round. At his feet, the discarded contents form a thick carpet.

Yellowing newspaper cuttings, photographs and personal letters, items of clothing and diaries. He calls back to Jones. Give it half an hour. This is our one shot, Dan. Let's get all we can. Despite his pep talk, Perkins isn't sure he's got the energy to keep going. But he's seen enough to know a vast fortune still awaits. With sluggish arms, he watches Jones raise his crowbar to a locker and force it open.

This is more like it.

Shimmering precious stones, smooth bars of gold, neat bricks of cash wrapped in plastic. He's barely had time to examine each piece. Perkins doesn't know how much any of it's worth. But surveying the hall, he's in no doubt they're about to be very rich. Multi-millionaires, at least. He shouts into the vault. Right, we're moving out. That's enough. They've done what they set out to do. The biggest burglary in British history.

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Terry Perkins fights against a wave of fatigue forcing his eyelids closed. For the hundredth time during the short ride to Collins' house, he glances at the stuffed wheelie bins sitting in the back of the van. What's inside is going to change his life forever. The atmosphere in the van is triumphant, like a football team returning from an important win. Individual performances are singled out and praised. The

The giddy crescendo of a gruelling night's work. Yeah, Terry was great on the drill, to be fair. You know, he came into the team late, but he's played a blinder there, and I think that's why the fans love him. At the end of the day, they worked as a team and that paid off. But now the sun's up, the world is coming back to life. The night's delirium is fading and everyone is exhausted. Outside Collins' small council house, Perkins, Jones and Basil wait for Collins to come back with the all-clear.

The plan is to stash the loot at his flat and till the carve-up. But when Collins finally reappears, he looks concerned. I'm sorry, but you can't leave it here. Millie's awake. She doesn't know anything about this. Perkins is furious. But that's the plan, Kenny. You can't change it now. Collins holds firm. That was on Friday. She was away then. But today is Sunday. She's home. There's no way. Perkins can't believe what he's hearing. They need to stash the haul somewhere and fast.

Basil peers out of the van's back window, at the bins dotting the estate. When do your bin men come? Collins thinks for a moment. Uh, Fridays. They've just been. Then we can leave them outside your house. No one will think to look in your bins. Perkins considers the idea. There's no reason to think anyone would take them. Then he sees a woman walking a dog. A small bag bulging with poo swings from her hand.

It's too risky. What if someone opens one to chuck something away and sees what's inside? What if the neighbours nick your bin? That always happens on my street. Always. What are they up to? Collins dashes back into the house and emerges after a minute. He hands Perkins a tube of superglue. This should solve that problem. Moments later, Perkins watches Basil apply a thick layer of glue to the rim of a bin.

He pushes his weight against the closed lid for a few minutes, then rattles it to show it's fastened tightly. Perkins sighs and rubs his eyes. But that doesn't mean it can't be nicked. It just means they'd have trouble opening the lid. But I guess why would you nick a wheelie bin? Bored? I don't know, but it's just sod's law, isn't it? When you're so meticulous about everything, just leaving it in a bin outside seems so reckless. I mean, I'm with you. I can't believe we're doing this. They agree to come back the next day at 11am for the divvy-up.

And Kenny? Make sure the house is empty. Perkins takes one more look at the bins. Could somebody at least maybe stay on watch? He hates to leave it to chance, but his concerns are swiftly replaced by tiredness. He's desperate to go through the hall, but for now, he's going to have to wait. Tomorrow, he'll be back to get his share of the loot. Monday, April the 6th, 2015. Bledsoe Walk, Hoxton, 11am.

It's going to look like El Dorado in here.

Gold bars gleam under paper packets full of gemstones. Jones is right. It's like something from an adventure story. Arranged in a square on the floor, the men start sifting through the hall.

Perkins has handled enough jewellery over the years to know there's close to £10 million worth in front of him. And that's not counting the golden cash. Oh, my word. I mean, when you hear this part of it, it does sound like it's worth doing. He opens an elegant box and shows the others the diamond earrings set inside. Take whatever catches your eye. But by the end, each share should be roughly the same value. He snaps the box closed and tosses it on top of the pile.

Collins reaches forward to grab it. He taps his watch. We don't have long before Millie gets back, so quick as you can. For the next hour, the men root through the pile, steadily amassing their personal take. It's like boys with football stickers, like got, need, need. Honestly, now and again he steals a glance at what the others are collecting. He catches them eyeing his stash too, and feels a sense of distrust setting in.

In particular, he's noticed Basil searching out gold and cash, not jewellery like the others. He doesn't know what his motivation is, but he doesn't like it. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Jones make a grab for something on Basil's pile. Give me one of those. You can't have both. He's holding a box containing two jewel-encrusted watches. Basil looks flustered.

But they come as a pair. I don't care. That's mine. It's so childish that even when they're arguing over millions of pounds worth of loot, they're still getting jealous of each other. Perkins knows Jones is chancing his arm and testing the other man. To his surprise, Basil hands over one of the watches.

He realises that Basil is afraid of Jones. Without Reader as an ally, he's out of his depth. The recollection of Reader and Basil's bond stirs an anger in Perkins. He turns to Basil. Oh, I think you've got more than your fair share there. Maybe it's time for you to go. Basil looks like he's going to say something, but the expression on Perkins' face makes him reconsider.

He looks from Jones to Perkins in silence, gradually realises what's happening. With trembling hands, he shovels his stash into a hole door and gets to his feet. Perkins follows him out. As Basil opens the front door, Perkins stops it with his foot.

He leans in close and growls. I doubt our paths will ever cross again. All the best. He steps back and watches Basil squeeze around the door and out of the house. Perkins knows that in less than 24 hours, the break-in will be discovered and a huge manhunt will be launched. The time is right to lay low and watch his back. He decides they should reconvene to divvy up the remaining loot in six months' time.

No communication between now and then. You got that? In truth, he'd be happy if he never had to see them again. But he also knows once Brian Reader hears about what they've been up to, he isn't going to take it lying down. And he has to be prepared for retaliation. Monday, April the 6th, 2015. Dartford, Kent, 4pm. Brian Reader pours a mound of seed onto his bird table and stalks back across the lawn. I'm surprised he doesn't feed them bacon and sausages. LAUGHTER

Keeps him nice and strong. Above him, an occasional white cloud drifts across the deep blue sky. Closing his eyes, he feels gentle rays of the sun on his face. Breathes in the scent of spring. Back in his spacious kitchen, he starts to fill the kettle when he hears his phone ring. The contact isn't in his phone, but he recognises the number. One of Basil's untraceable temporary SIM cards. Rita hesitates before answering. You know we shouldn't be talking. I can only imagine it's important.

There's a long pause before Basil speaks. There's something I need to tell you. The Hatton Garden job. It's been done. The guys went back. It takes a second for Reader to make sense of the words. Then his voice catches in his throat. Basil's voice is hesitant. Are you there, Brian? Anger wells up inside Reader like a volcano.

I said the job was done. Who decided to go back? It was Terry's idea. He got everyone back on side. Rita feels the blood drain from his face. He stares into his large manicured back garden, recounts the hours spent painstakingly planning the job, the years of waiting until the time was right. Everyone, even you. Brian, I'm sorry. It was a bad call. I regret not telling you.

You backstabbing little prick! I brought you in on this job, remember? Reader hangs up the phone and throws it across the room. He feels betrayed. But it isn't the lost money that's burning him up inside. It's the thought that someone like Terry Perkins thinks he can ride his coattails and take all the glory. And the realisation that without him there to direct them, it's highly likely mistakes were made.

If that's the case, there's only a few hours until the police follow the clues all the way to his door. He picks up his car keys and rushes out of the house. All he can do now is get to his share of the loot and go on the run. Terry Perkins did this. And now, if the police are onto them, he'll do whatever it takes to make sure it's Terry's neck on the line, not his. ♪

This is the second episode in our series, The Hatton Garden Heist. A quick note about our dialogue. In most cases, we can't know exactly what was said.

But all our dramatisations are based on historical research. If you'd like to know more about this story, you can read One Last Job by Tom Pettifor and Nick Summerland, or The Last Job by Dan Bilefsky. I'm Matt Ford. And I'm Alice Levine. Jack McKay wrote this episode. Additional writing by Alice Levine and Matt Ford. Our sound design is by Rich Evans. Script editing by James Magniac. Our associate producer is Francesca Gilardi Quadrio Corzio.

Our senior producer is Joe Sykes. Our executive producers are Jenny Beckman, Stephanie Jens and Marshall Louis for Wondery. Wondery.

Hey, I'm Mike Corey, the host of Wondery's podcast, Against the Odds. In each episode, we share thrilling true stories of survival, putting you in the shoes of the people who live to tell the tale. In our next season, it's July 6th, 1988, and workers are settling into the night shift aboard Piper Alpha, the world's largest offshore oil rig.

Home to 226 men, the rig is stationed in the stormy North Sea off the coast of Scotland. At around 10 p.m., workers accidentally trigger a gas leak that leads to an explosion and a fire. As they wait to be rescued, the workers soon realize that Piper Alpha has transformed into a death trap. Follow Against the Odds wherever you get your podcasts. You can listen ad-free on Amazon Music or the Wondery app.