The first Tuesday in October dawned clear and sunny after a heavy ground frost. Frank had lain awake most of the night, careful not to toss and turn and thereby alert Diane to his case of nerves. Finally at six-thirty he rose and quietly shaved, and made coffee. He had no appetite; he felt like he had a ball of lead lodged in his stomach, although he had been calm up until now as they had made their preparations. The night he and Tom stole the motorcycle and transported it to McDermott's farm he hadn't felt nervous. They had hidden it under a brush pile in an unfrequented part of the bush and Frank had felt exhilarated doing so, having accomplished the first major step of their exploit. His stomach hadn't bothered him then, and maybe one he got moving this morning the activity would tap off the nervous energy and calm him some. He knew the coffee he was drinking probably made the problem worse, but he had too much time on his hands. He got his book and tried to read a few pages but his mind wouldn't focus on anything but the task ahead. Facts and details raced through his mind, he made mental notes and prepared lists of things they must do before they could set out this afternoon. Perhaps it was the burden of so much detail that was putting him off, and once they began to reduce it he would feel progressively more in control. He threw the book down in irritation, and dumped most of a fresh cup of coffee into the sink. He would have to find something to do until ten o'clock or he would be off the wall by the time they were to meet. He went out into the yard, but there were no chores at this time of year; he had already prepared the flower garden for winter. Where the sun had not yet warmed the grass the lawn wore a coat of silvery hoar-frost, so washing the car was out too; the hose would be frozen solid for another hour yet. Frank wandered about aimlessly in search of a project, then decided to work up the dead spots left on the front lawn by the neighbour's poodle, and re-seed them.

It took less time than he thought and he was soon at loose ends once more. Eight o'clock. If only he could do his usual Tuesday hike now, he would feel a lot better, but no, it was important to do everything according to his usual habit. He must remain there until after he saw the old lady, and she had gone home, before he left to meet his friends. It would have helped just to walk as far as Tom's and back, but they would have left already for the farm; probably they would be eating breakfast now, Frank figured.

When the frost had melted and the grass around the house was merely wet, he started the lawn mower and began making rapid circuits around the lawn. The space wasn't large, and in a short time the patch of uncut grass in the centre had shrunk to a small rectangle. He began to feel better as he warmed to the exercise, and then he heard Diane shrieking at him from the kitchen window. "Frank," she called several times while he pretended not to hear. Finally he turned a corner, and facing her, had no choice but to acknowledge her. "Are you crazy? Cutting the lawn at this hour while people are trying to sleep … and it doesn't even need cutting. Why don't you go for your nature walk or something, and quit being a pain in the ass." She slammed the window shut and shouted "Fool!" at him through the glass before disappearing from view.

Frank continued to cut the lawn, he was nearly finished anyway, and what the hell, he might as well start his campaign of ignoring and tormenting Diane now. When he had completed the back lawn he began to cut the front, carefully avoiding the bare spots he had scratched up with the garden rake and seeded down. When he finished he turned the mower on its side in the garden and scraped all the clippings from the under carriage before putting the machine away in the garden shed. Nine o'clock. Good enough, he had one errand to run this morning and he could do that now. Saying nothing to Diane, he got into the car and drove off, a smile playing around his eyes as he contemplated what would have taken place by the time he saw her again.

He drove to a large hardware store in the west end, not far from home. He loitered aimlessly through the sporting equipment and tool departments until he came to the tool boxes. He selected a deep one, with the top slanted front and back, and double clasps to keep it closed. He opened it and removed the tray. Then he saw one with a blue hammer-tone finish the same size and picked it up. The price was higher but he preferred the blue to the bright red one. He put the first one back together and replaced it on the shelf. Then he opened the second, removed the tray and placed it on the back of the bottom shelf, behind the merchandise. He paid for his purchase at the cash, disposed of the receipt in the garbage container in the car park, and stowed the tool box in the trunk of his car.

Frank's next stop was the parking lot where he began his weekly hike. He was a little early but that wouldn't matter. He couldn't leave until after the old lady did anyway. "Of course, seeing how it's important, she'll probably find something to delay her today," he thought wryly. But no, he met her on the trail after about twenty minutes and once he had greeted her and passed, he stopped, waited for about five minutes and then followed after her. He kept a good distance behind, so he wouldn't alert the dog, and when he neared the parking lot he heard the distinctive sound of the Volkswagen beetle as it roared into life and then quickly subsided into the distance. "Good old gal," he chuckled slyly, "I must remember to chat her up next week and remind her how we haven't missed seeing each other a single Tuesday all summer." He wasn't sure which direction the Volkswagen had taken so he waited a couple more minutes before he started his own car. He stopped at the exit to fasten his seat belt and then observed the speed limit scrupulously. He felt good then, relaxed once more, and his appetite had returned. He was ravenous, but he hadn't time to eat. He stopped at the bakery in East Wessen and picked up a half dozen chocolate doughnuts, which he devoured over the next eight miles. He was delayed once by a road crew, and waited patiently for a young woman in cut-offs and a fluorescent vest to turn her long-handled sign from STOP to SLOW. He continued on the pavement for another two miles and then followed the gravel road for six miles until he reached the back end of McDermott's farm. Tom had already removed the set of rails that permitted access to the wood- cutting trail he now followed, and he knew he and Leila would be already at work preparing the vehicle. Frank took his car only far enough to hide it from any prying eyes travelling the road and then walked the short distance to the white Ford pick-up; a new model to which Leila was busy affixing wide strips of red and orange fluorescent tape. These had been previously cut to form the familiar pattern one sees across the hood and tailgate on Ontario Hydro service trucks. Tom was creating a similar disguise on the driver's door, this one more elaborate since it recreated the familiar logo; he worked carefully from a diagram and a list of numbered cut-out sections. He peeled the pieces of release paper from each part in turn, and then placed the refuse in a green garbage bag. Leila was taking similar precautions. They acknowledged him as he approached but didn't pause from their work. Preparing the truck would take almost an hour Frank knew, and they would have no time to waste.

"You had no trouble getting the truck?"

"No, I picked it up this morning and drove straight here. Leila followed in my truck and we were here in time for breakfast."

"Gee, you left it late enough. I thought you were going to do that last night."

"I know, but I thought it would be best to make only the one trip, and this way the truck hasn't been here overnight for somebody to find. Things went perfectly, it wasn't even locked. I hammered a screwdriver into the ignition switch just before daylight and drove it directly here. I had an hour to kill before Leila got here but I didn't want to start dressing it up yet. Just in case."

"You did good Tom. I'm going to dig out the equipment and load it. Then one of us had better get started on make-up."

Frank followed the car-track until it emptied into a little stump-covered clearing littered with piles of barren slash, through which wild raspberry canes grew in profusion. He donned a pair of white cotton gloves and began to pull the branches off one pile, throwing them to one side until he had uncovered a small-wheeled motorcycle with full fenders and highway lights. Beside it lay an assortment of items which he began to carry to the truck. He started with four wooden trestles, two in each hand; the uprights for the barricades. There were eight of them in all, and four two-by-six bars with yellow flasher-lights. They too went into the back of the service truck. Next he dug out a metal car-top carrier to which they had attached a yellow rotating light. He placed it on the roof of the truck and secured it to the rain gutters with the straps provided, then ran wires from the light down the windshield frame and disguised them with white tape. He passed them under the hood and along the inner fender to the battery. The wire ends had been stripped of insulation to a distance of about four inches, and Frank wrapped one of these around the ground cable of the battery. When he touched the other wire to the live side, the connection snapped as the motor cut in, and the bright caution light began to turn. He released the wire, allowed it to drop beside the battery and closed the hood. Next he stowed away a coil of half-inch rope (which they had pains-takingly painted black), several road-signs and a cardboard box. All that remained were the motorcycle, and two bundles wrapped in green plastic, which he left where they lay.

Leila had finished taping the tail-gate and Frank began to do the front. "Let me finish this, Lee. You start getting ready. We'll need you to help with ours." He began the careful job of peeling and sticking the tape as Leila took off in the direction from which he had come. "How's it coming, Tom?" he called out over the truck hood.

"Almost done one side. The other will go a lot quicker now that I've done it once."

They completed the work on the truck before Leila returned, and walked to meet her, carrying garbage bags with them. She had disappeared, and in her place a young man now stood, clad in overalls, checkered bush shirt and yellow hard-hat. He wore his dark hair in long side-burns and his moustache and bushy eyebrows were dark as well. He was heavy-set, with full cheeks and dark complexion. The tan work boots were new.

"Better put some dust on our boots when we get there," Tom suggested. "Those boots have never seen a day's work. You look great, Lee, but are you going to be all right on the bike like that?"

"Oh sure, I picked up an old full-face helmet so my make-up will be okay. These theatre props I picked up in Toronto last week are the real thing, you know. They won't just fall off or anything. Come on Tom, I'll get you ready first, then you can dress while I get Frank made up. Do you realize we're exactly on time? What professionals!"

Tom was quickly disguised in a red beard, which matched his hair well enough to be acceptable from a distance. A pair of eyeglass frames completed his costume. Meanwhile Frank had removed his boots and windbreaker and rolled them into a tight bundle. He pulled on a pair of khaki coveralls, buttoning them almost to the neck. The quilting Leila had sewn into the garment filled it out and made him appear to weigh two hundred pounds or more. His face took more time, for his would be most critical. He would come face to face with the driver. Most difficult were the eyes, for he had never worn contact lenses, the coloured irises Leila used to change his eye colour were difficult to put in. They had practised this before-hand but inserting them was a tricky manoeuvre and Frank lost time trying to do it himself. Finally Leila assisted and together they were successful. She began now to darken his skin as she had her own and she gave him inserts to place in his cheeks. All of the hair that would show beneath his hardhat was darkened and a very bushy, droopy black moustache completed the effect. He looked into the mirror Leila held for him, smoothed out the moustache with the back of his hand and grunted in satisfaction.

He threw what was left of their makeup materials into a garbage bag and checked for anything else left lying about. He examined his partners carefully, but he could see nothing out of place. He switched on the key and kick-started the motorcycle for Leila.

"See you shortly." She signalled thumbs-up to them before she drove off.

Next Frank backed his car out of the narrow lane, Tom following directly behind in the Hydro truck, and he watched in the rear-view as he drove away. Tom had taken the time to replace the bars in the fence opening. They left some distance between them so they wouldn't appear to be together. After fifteen minutes of back country driving they arrived at the spot where they had planned to leave his car. It was about five miles from the target site and appeared natural enough, parked under a large elm, off the road by a small bridge: Somebody gone fishing. Frank carefully locked all four doors, then he put two bundles, containing his and Tom's boots and windbreakers in the trunk. Tom pulled up alongside him in the service truck, Frank got in without comment, and they drove the next five miles in grim silence, each man's attention fixed on the matter at hand and the importance of playing his own role to perfection.

The truck followed the highway briefly, then turned off at the next exit, marked "Upton, eight miles." Frank saw no sign of Leila ahead but she would be there, out of sight amongst the maple trees. As they slowed down near the corner she stepped into view and they began unloading one set of barricades into the ditch, Tom quickly driving a single nail into each to permit them to be picked up and moved in one piece. Frank handed Leila her hardhat and a highway stop sign attached to a five-foot length of steel pipe.

"Let's hope you won't need this, that way no-one will even see you. Give us the signal, stay out of sight 'til they go by, then seal her off, okay? Be sure to keep the second barricade far enough onto the road for us to get by quickly."

"Okay, then I'm out of here, right?"

"Right. See you at home later," Frank added, thinking how strange it was to hear her voice coming from the young man before him. As they drove away he checked his side mirror to see her slip into the forest once again.

Next they stopped at the farmer's gate where Tom got out and removed the rope, the lineman's spurs and a long belt, which he threw on the ground. He reached into the cardboard box and removed a walkie-talkie transmitter; half a small set they had purchased in a toy store. He banged on the tailgate twice and began to put on his climbing equipment as Frank drove on. He shook out the rope and, leaving one end in the ditch, he began to climb the pole with the other end hooked through his belt. When Frank stopped the truck he could see Tom slowly inching his way up the pole. The homemade spurs they had fabricated at the farm worked fine but Tom was unused to them, and despite some practice before-hand he found the climbing difficult. One slip could mean a painful fall and a bungled robbery attempt.

Frank removed the barricades from the truck and began nailing them together. As he completed the first one he heard a shrill whistle.

That couldn't be the signal! They had at least fifteen minutes yet! Frank hesitated only a fraction of a second; he had to move quickly. The first barricade moved readily into place, but when he lifted the cross-bar on the second it collapsed onto the highway, the two trestles being unfastened. Frank threw the two-by-six into the highway and scrambled to gather up the fallen A-frames. He ran into the roadway, held one trestle upright and slipped the cross-piece into its slot. The barricade now stood crazily up on one end, the other on the pavement. When Frank lifted that end the first piece threatened to collapse again. His heart slammed into his throat, he could hear the frightening mad pounding of it, as it threatened to hammer its way out of his abdominal cavity. His knees turned to jelly, yet his limbs continued to function as he commanded them, his hands shaking crazily yet able somehow to set the second upright in place and carefully return it to the ground without upsetting the structure once more. He ran now to the truck and jammed it into drive without closing the door. It was important to have the truck in place before the guards could see what was happening! Everything rode on their being completely deceived, if only for a few seconds, and Frank had lost valuable time. The truck accelerated quickly and as he passed the pole where Tom was perched he began to brake, and pulled across the approaching lane. He had forgotten to turn on the rotating light! No matter, there was no time for that now, the armoured truck was turning the corner.

Frank checked the front seat where the bomb and the robbery note lay. They weren't there! Another thing he hadn't had time to prepare. Oh, why hadn't he aborted when their plans had been pre-empted? He slammed the selector into park and jumped out. He reached into the cardboard box and removed the bulky apparatus. Hidden from view by the truck box he slipped it into the double-sized pocket sewn into the seat of his overalls. He reached once more into the box and retrieved a large scroll of cardboard, rolled up to resemble a set of blueprints. The armoured truck had now stopped, staying back about twenty feet from where Frank had blocked the road. The driver, an elderly grey-haired man eyed him impatiently. Frank walked toward him, slowly unrolling the paper in his hands. He managed a weak smile, but the driver didn't respond. Frank walked directly to the driver's door before reaching up and pressing the instructions onto the glass, where they adhered firmly, blocking him from view. Now, Frank moved quickly. The bomb had to be placed before the driver had time to react. He pulled the hidden device from his pocket and with one hand on the mirror and one foot on the running board he reached up and securely fastened it to the windshield. He dropped off the vehicle and sprinted back to the service truck where he crouched behind the box, as though seeking protection from the impending blast.

He watched the driver for what seemed like an eternity. He examined the explosive device, and then looked at Tom, atop the utility pole, who waved his walkie-talkie at him. He then began re-reading his instructions. Frank could hardly blame him. The bomb appeared to be a formidable one. Three sticks of dynamite had been constructed and taped together; then attached to these, with wires running from the tips of brass caps, was the little radio, well bound with electrical tape, with the tiny antenna fully extended. The contrivance was securely pressed against the bullet-proof glass, strips of windshield mastic seal had ensured a good bond. Frank watched the driver reach to the centre of the dash and knew he was complying with instruction number one: TURN OFF RADIO TRANSMITTER.

"So far, so good." He sucked in a cool draught of air and released it slowly. This was the hardest part; waiting, his legs shaking so badly they would barely support his weight. "Good thing he can't see that," Frank admitted, but then he was struck by something, something was going terribly wrong, he sensed it but he couldn't figure out what it was. He looked at Tom, leaning back on the heavy belt as he watched anxiously, the phoney downed wire running outward from the pole and into the ditch. Tom gave him the high sign, "Everything okay."

The driver was talking through the rear window into the back of the armoured car. After a moment Frank heard the cargo door open and he knew money bags would be dropping onto the pavement. He climbed into the driver's seat and put the pick-up in reverse. When he heard the door slam shut he backed up to allow room to pass. The truck moved slowly, the driver careful not to jostle the bomb, and as it passed Frank saw two faces watching him through the rear window. He moved quickly now, stopping the truck and jumping out in a flash, dropping money bags quickly into the back of the truck. He saw Tom running awkwardly toward him, encumbered by the spurs strapped to his feet and legs. He was gasping for breath, from the excitement and the mad scramble to escape quickly from his vulnerable position, and he shouted breathlessly as he approached. "Jesus, Frank, they're coming!"

"Coming?" he shrieked hysterically, "What the fuck do you mean they're coming? They were supposed to stay in that truck until they got to Upton."

The two men dove into the truck. "There they are, they've got their guns out, Frank. Jesus."

Frank threw the truck into gear and the two guards soon dropped away into the distance. "Okay, they've stopped chasing us now," Tom informed him as they swung into the curve, the tires squealing. The barricade approached quickly and Frank slowed down and squeezed past. "Leila's gone, that's good," said Tom as they drove by. Things were beginning to look good.

"What happened back there?" Frank shouted, incapable of moderating his voice.

"I don't know. The truck didn't knock over the second barricade like it was supposed to, it stopped instead. The back door opened and two guys jumped out. They started running toward me, and I was stuck up the pole; then when I got to the ground, I had trouble getting my belt undone. Ever try to run for your life in a pair of these Frank? Jesus, that was close!" Tom shuddered.

"Yeah, well we're nearly there now Bud!" But still something nagged at him. They had covered another half-mile before he realized what it was. The tires screeched, and Tom was slammed violently into the windshield as Frank applied the brakes. He checked the rear view mirror, then looked over his shoulder to be certain. A figure stood waving frantically at them by the side of the road. "We're going back!"

"Back? Are you crazy?" Tom was screaming now, wild-eyed, as Frank made a furious three-point turn. He was incoherent, making no sense whatever, as he tried to wrest the wheel from Frank's hands. Frank pushed him hard, from the shoulder, the strength in one arm sufficient to throw his partner, like a rag doll, against the passenger door.

"Leila's back there! I knew there was something wrong. I never heard the bike start up!"

Tom's eyes registered comprehension slowly, the mind unwilling to accept the unwanted news. Frank tramped the accelerator to the floor. He saw Leila cross the road to the passenger side, and as he slowed down Tom opened the door and dragged her into the moving vehicle. Instead of reversing direction again he turned right onto the gravel concession road and trod the pedal to the floor. The truck began to fishtail now, threatening to go out of control, so he had to lessen speed once more. As the scene of the crime receded into the rear-view he practised deep breathing, letting the air out slowly. He reduced speed even more until they were maintaining a smooth reasonable pace.

"Now, we're on the wrong road Tom, how do we get back to my car? I should take the first right I think."

"Yeah, then left at the next corner. Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Frank, that was close!"

Leila had her head down and was sobbing quietly. Frank drove in silence.

"It had to be that god-damn motorcycle," Tom declared bitterly. "Of all the times for something to break down."

"No," sobbed Leila. She held her breath a moment and then went on. "I did it. I turned on the gas, and then kicked it about four times before I realized I hadn't turned on the key. Then of course it was flooded. I kicked, and kicked and kicked the fucking thing but it wouldn't start. So I started running for the road. I was waving as you went by, but you didn't see me. God, I was so scared! She broke down and cried quite openly then, her head on Tom's shoulder.

Frank pulled the truck in behind his car and stepped out and checked traffic in both directions. The money was rapidly transferred to his trunk, each person shifting a double handful of bags, and then Frank started the car. Tom backed the truck up to allow room to manoeuvre and drove on ahead. They proceeded thus past three intersections and abandoned the truck, Tom piling in through the rear door.

"Maybe you should stay down in the back seat Tom," Leila suggested, "I'm going to get some of this stuff off. That way there's only a man and a woman in the car, if anyone notices us." "Good idea", he replied, and soon Frank saw legs kicking upward in the mirror as he pulled off spurs, boots and coveralls. Frank felt vulnerable as he continued in his disguised appearance, while his friends shed theirs. They were halfway home however, had passed only one car, and would soon be safely out of sight among the trees at McDermott's farm.

Frank waited until Tom removed the bars from the gap, then he drove his car along the track to where it had been parked less than an hour ago. He removed his coveralls and boots and Tom stuffed them into the plastic bag with the rest of the disguise materials. Leila walked to the brush pile and returned with a small handbag containing solvents to remove the makeup. Frank opened the trunk. He and Tom removed the canvas bags first, dropping them to the ground, then removed their windbreakers and boots. When they were dressed Frank pulled the blue tool box to him, leaving it open in the trunk and Tom began cutting the bags open with a sharp knife. Leila walked around the car to where they were, and watched in fascination as the two men dumped the contents of the bags one at a time into the car trunk and separated the contents; cancelled cheques, Chargex slips, and other paper-work went into the garbage, the money was stacked neatly in the tool box. She continued to wipe her face, and checked it in a small mirror.

"Come here, Frank," she giggled. He had discarded all the removable parts of his costume, revealing dark hair and skin topped by his own fairer colouring. The contacts were still in place. Leila worked at his face and hairline and assisted in removing the coloured lenses.

"I can't get it all off, Frank. We need soap and water. Maybe we should walk over to the swimming hole and clean up there."

"No, I haven't got time. It's important to get back to town right away. Just get most of it off and I'll use a service station washroom to clean up the rest."

Tom finished with the money bags and carefully tied three garbage bags shut, twisting the tops into two strands and knotting them together. The bags contained the evidence of their day's work and it was Tom's responsibility to get rid of them.

"How much do you think we got, Frank?" he asked as he slammed the trunk shut.

"It's hard to say. I didn't look at all the slips, but there has to be close to a hundred thousand in there. Have a look around Tom, and make sure we didn't leave anything lying around." He slid behind the wheel of the car. A pair of work gloves lay on the seat. He passed these out to Tom and reversed the car out of the narrow lane.

"Go ahead Frank, I'll get the gat," Tom shouted to his partner as the car entered the roadway. The operation was complete. They were in the clear.

Approaching the city from the west, as he would be, there would be nothing to fear from police. He made no stops, drove directly to the parking lot where he was supposed to have been hiking for the past three hours. There was a yellow school bus parked in the lot, but there was no sign of the driver. Frank took the tool box from the trunk and entered the forest. He could hear the chatter of children's voices somewhere off to his right. Good, they were on the other side of the trail, he wouldn't encounter them, provided they were all together. He hadn't far to go anyway before he would leave the main path.

Frank followed the rail fence, too excited and in too much of a hurry to enjoy the autumn foliage. He had a few loose ends to tie up still, but he was no longer frightened. The job had gone badly in some respects, but they had been successful after all, and he felt certain they would never be connected with the robbery in anyone's mind. He arrived finally at the fallen basswood tree and went directly to the hollow end. The tool box fit easily into the cavity, with room to spare, and he pushed it in as far as he could reach. Then he searched along the fence for a rail that wasn't securely wired down, and removed it. He used it to push the box further into the log. It moved easily at first, for another few feet, then the space grew more narrow and the corners dug stubbornly into the wood. Unable to retrieve it, he began to tamp it with the pole, the box moving slowly forward, and Frank gradually had to increase the force of the blows to achieve any further distance. In the end he had to batter it, trying to hit the corners and sides where the structure was strongest, for fear of buckling in the end of the box. Finally he was satisfied it would go no further.

He walked backwards with the fence rail, removing it, and marked with his hands how far into the tree it had been. Eyeing the distance, he judged he had achieved about ten feet. He now began to tamp leaves and punky fibres from inside the tree against the box so that it could no longer be seen from the opening. Content at last, he replaced the rail on the fence, securing it with wire. He noticed the end was marked with blue paint, and took a moment to remove the stained wood with a stone. One more task completed.

He drove to a west-end car wash and had his car cleaned inside and out while he used the bathroom facilities to scrub his face and hairline. While he was drying his face with a yard of paper towel he was interrupted by a man who looked at him strangely while using the urinal, but Frank was beyond worrying about anything so trivial. He paid the bill and stepped outside as a few final traces of water were being wiped from his car. Next he went to the library, took out two books he had selected a week ago. When he returned home it was three o'clock; he had been gone a little less than six hours.