That was the heart of their case against me, after all. The shipment of currency from the Washington mint to New York consisted of forty million dollars in common bills, a paper volume that filled a medium-sized armored truck. Why the G had made me for the heist was simple—I had pulled similar scores twice, during the war, getting troopmovement plans and coordinates on German blockhouses from their armored cars—utilizing booby-trap gimmicks to stop vehicles at given points, D-Y gas to knock out the drivers and passengers, with the means of entry a compact torch unit the Allied command had executed for me from my schematics. Complicated heists, requiring six-man teams. Those two hits provided the template for the money truck score, right down to the torch. So all these years later, a grateful government sent me to maximum security...only they hadn’t been able to keep me there; and the next time the “militia” had caught up with me had been dumb luck on their part, and rotten luck on mine.
