The pirates lair located right under the nose of the Royal Naval Dockyards. Their attack vessel a dual-hull Ghost Stealth 100, invisible on the water and capable of up to 50 knots in 10 foot sea’s. Their target? wealthy yachtsmen who could be bribed, tortured, blackmailed or simply eradicated in the vast expanse of ocean. It was the perfect crime.

 

I began this business with funds from a previous venture in the 1960’s plus it was a nice place to live. Half of the crew were ‘old boys’ plus we hired some young tech-heads along the way. I’d have to say it’s probably the most brilliant idea I’ve ever come up with. Head out to sea in a high powered stealth ship, hijack and ransack a multi-million dollar yacht, murder its crew, dispose of the bodies at sea then bring the stolen yacht back in the darkness of night before ‘rebirthing’, this consisted of stripping down the vessel and re-painting it, changing markings and registration plates etc. Only a one week process before we’d sail the newly born craft off to an exotic port to its new unsuspecting owner. We even stole yachts to order although, this took longer as we’d have to co-ordinate reconnaissance teams on the ground to locate the targets. Twelve successful years and millions of dollars extorted before the Interpol sting that took down our gang.

 

This was my recollection…

 

I enlisted in the Royal Air Force in 1947 but was handed a dishonourable discharge for desertion. I’d been in and out of prison for years, started out as a small time thief robbing a Chemist followed by the theft of a car. I had a failed attempt at robbing a bookmaker which provided me with free rent in Her Majesty’s Prison Wandsworth for two years.

 

In 1963 I went for the big one and was caught and imprisoned again, escaping prison in 1965 and stowing away on an overnight ferry to Brussels, from there I made my way into France and made contact with my wife in UK. The money from the job was laundered and available in full about four weeks later. We managed to steal £2.6m which today would translate to approx. £40m and although we had to split that between 15 of us, it was still a pretty penny back then.

 

I can’t recall how much it cost but, in Paris I had plastic surgery to change my appearance and grew facial hair.  Eventually I made my way to Australia in 1966 and started a new life there before being tracked down again by Interpol about 3 years later. Using an altered passport I fled the Port of Melbourne on a passenger liner headed for Panama, only two weeks later I flew on a private jet to Brazil. I met up with my old mates Buster Edwards and Jimmy White and headed to Caracas in Venezuela, from there we came up with the brilliant plan of how to fund the remainder of our lives.

 

We based ourselves on the island of Bermuda in the town of Cambridge Beaches, Basically we knew we could steal expensive yachts, rebirth them and blame it all on the Bermuda Triangle which is exactly what we did for 12 years until a few weeks ago when Buster decided to spend the weekend in Miami with his fancy piece and was recognised by a British tourist. It all turned to shit from there.

 

None of it matters now anyway as I only have months to live but, it’s been a lot of fun, I’ve kept the bastards on their toes for over 40 years. Looking back I wouldn’t change a thing. Well, In hindsight I might have rubbed my fingerprints off the sauce bottle before leaving the farmhouse, that got me banged up in 63. Although, it was only 15 months before I’d scaled the walls of Wandsworth Prison via a rope ladder and into a waiting removal van. I remember that like it was yesterday. The smell of freshly cut grass as I crawled under the first fence and dragged myself up that rope. My heart was pounding because I knew if the guards in the tower spotted me it was all over. I’d been working out in preparation for months. It did pay off though, All those chin-ups and push-ups I mean. Made scaling that wall a piece of piss. I remember singing ‘The Night Before’ by the Beatles as I was scurrying across the final 50 metres to the van. I couldn’t believe I’d done it. I’d escaped one of Britain’s most high security prisons.

 

Buster ended up being extradited back to the UK to face charges stemming back to the 1963 job. I was also returned home to UK but released on compassionate grounds with only months to live. My health has improved since being released and I now spend my days sipping pints at Margate pub and watching my beloved football team.

 

I will be remembered for the 1963 Great Train Robbery although living on the island of Bermuda and stealing yachts and blaming the Bermuda Triangle is so unbelievable its laughable. Then again stealing £40m Pounds from the Royal Mail train on its way to London from Glasgow is a feat. They do say that the truth is stranger than fiction.

 

“Wow, that’s some story, Do you have anything further to add Mr Biggs?” said the reporter.

‘Order us another pint will you please lad’ Said Ronald.

 

THE END

(a 1000 word Short Story)