The wheels were beginning to turn. From all parts of the country quiet, tough men slipped into the small southern coastal town and took up the final vigil. There was the arsonist, the safe blower, the boy-faced killer-there was a regiment of crack, lawless men waiting out the minutes until Saturday night-the night the town would explode into violence. For in the center of town sat the bank-a citadel of twelve million dollars, impregnable as Gibraltar, safe as a church. Safe-until precisely ten-fifteen on Saturday night. Until the wheels began to pick up momentum, and suddenly a fire lit the sky, and the power went off all over town and under way went the king-sized knockover. The grand slam. The Big Caper.
