The Great Train Robbery
By Michael Crichton
Published by Avon Books, 2002
ISBN: 9780060502300, 0060502304
The pull was genius. One Chubb safe filled with £12,000 worth of gold bullion, leaving London Bridge station via South Eastern Railway en route to Ostend, Belgium, then headed for a steamship to Paris. The final destination was the Crimea, where British soldiers, engaged in battle against the Russian empire, awaited their pay.
The safe was cracked, the boxes containing the gold were pried open, and packets of lead shots were switched in their place. When the crime was discovered, the Brits blamed the French for the theft and the French accused the Brits of trying to flim-flam them. The press on both sides had a field day!
“The Great Train Robbery,” as the media baptized this spectacular event, stood as the most daring of the 19th century, in that at its center was Victorian England’s lifeline, the railways, which had revolutionized everyday travel. (Prior to the inception of railroads, the primary mode of land travel had been by horse and carriage – a dangerous and time-consuming endeavor.)
By the time the perpetrators were tried and sentenced, the long-established pathology of the criminal class, hotly debated in the papers, had been turned on its head, and the British populace, sufficiently shocked and appalled, came to regard these elevated felons with a newfound respect. Since then, books, movies, and music have reveled in paying homage to the underworld, for these villains – with their cunning, bravado, codes and distinct language – flout the law in ways the honest man only fantasizes.
Danny Ocean Has His Bellagio Hotel, Edward Pierce Has His South Eastern Railway
Originally published in 1975, Michael Crichton’s The Great Train Robbery plows through a play-by-play detailed account of its planning and execution reminiscent of Steven Soderbergh’s Ocean’s Eleven. The pace is the same, quick and intense, and in George Clooney’s “Danny Ocean” role is Edward Pierce, a man likewise dashing, debonair, and incredibly daring.
Pierce is a professional criminal with access to large sums of money and a Rolodex of delinquents only too happy to offer up their expertise. Like Ocean, Pierce needs a Number Two. Enter Brad Pitt’s “Rusty,” a “screwsman” by the name of Robert Agar. Although Pierce initially plays him cool, Agar flourishes into the designated procurer of talent.
Together, they sand down the rough edges of the robbery. The planning alone spans a year’s time, and includes all manner of false leads, dubious connections, train station break-ins, practice runs, and a slain police officer relived of his uniform post-mortem. Nothing proves beyond Pierce’s doing, and nothing is out of the question.
Edwards’ Peculiar Band of Merry Men
A crime of this magnitude could never be pulled off without the help of equally audacious characters possessing equally monstrous cojones. Indeed, there’s Clean Willy, a 68-lb. snakeman skilled in wriggling through small spaces. Sprung from Newgate Prison, previously believed to be escape-proof, Clean Willy’s job is to shimmy his way through London Bridge Station’s office window and unlock the door for Agar, the master safecracker. Unlike the Bellagio heist’s cast, Willy’s loyalty is suspect, and he eventually “turns nose” on Pierce’s lay. So, naturally, he has to be “put in lavender,” “what any gammy trasseno gets” (194).
There to do the honors is Barlow, the crusher, with “the white scar across his forehead.” Barlow splits his time between chauffeuring Pierce around town and providing his boss with the requisite muscle (see slain police officer stripped post-mortem). He rarely speaks more than a few words at a time – an admirable trait for a man involved in one of the 19th century’s most beguiling burglaries.
And then there’s Miss Miriam, a beautiful chameleon said to be romantically linked to Pierce. More ballsy than Julia Roberts’ “Tess” (even in the sequel), Miriam dons various disguises to play a confused wife in search of the perfect [Chubb] safe, a woman in mourning charged with burying her brother’s malodorous corpse, and a common street walker with the key to Pierce’s freedom. Like Barlow, her words come few and far between, but her willingness to step into these roles speaks volumes to her temerity.
Finally, there’s Richard Burgess, a down-and-out employee of South Eastern Railway. When tapped for the job, Burgess laughs in Pierce’s face. “‘You’ll never pull it. It’s not to be done, that one. There’s no cracking those safes, wherever I look” (164). Two hundred quid – the equivalent of $9000USD today – convinces him otherwise.
Once assembled, Pierce’s gang embarks on a mission to cement its place in outlaw history. They, like Ocean and his crew, encounter minor setbacks that would have dissuaded the average man from going any further, but rarely does the average man plan to rob millions of dollars from a locked safe that’s heavily-guarded. Each setback becomes an opportunity to defy the odds quickly building against them. The jaw-dropping means by which they outwit their victims into helping overcome these odds is worthy of a hearty round of applause.
An Ending Befitting the Crime
Sadly, the dramatic ending in The Great Train Robbery mirrors more Soderbergh’s caper than the actual outcome of the trial. Having taken great liberties with some facts in the case, Crichton obviously feels the need to give Pierce and his cohorts a proper send-off befitting the gall of their crime. Whatever the true fate of these desperados, they earn marks for having had the guts to pull off this incredible plan and fascinating us in the process.
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