Then an outstretched arm, black-clad, with silver on its shoulder, reached out and grabbed the grenade as it started to come down. In one quick motion the arm then threw the grenade straight out of the open front of the warehouse.
It travelled twenty yards and hit with a sharp thump on the tarmac forecourt, where it promptly exploded. As dirt-coloured shards burst through the air, the noise of the explosion was astonishingly small, almost muffled. But it was followed by a series of sharp pings – the shrapnel was hitting the sides of the parked police cars.
Pearson ran to the front of the warehouse. ‘Who’s hit?’ he shouted. But the two ambulance attendants had been shielded from the blast by one of the police cars. They looked dazed but unhurt. Tom, the Chief’s driver, was the sole policeman outside, and he’d been in his car on the radio. He held a hand up to show he was OK.
Visibly relieved, Pearson came back into the warehouse, where the driver had been wrestled to the ground and handcuffed. As an armed policeman watched him, Atiyah at last showed some emotion – he was smiling broadly.
‘Are you all right, Liz?’ asked Pearson.
She nodded. ‘Just surprised to be breathing. For a moment I was sure that was it.’ She looked at Pearson. ‘This is the first time I’ve had to thank anyone for saving my life. Thank you very much.’
‘Pure instinct,’ he said. ‘I was in the Territorial Army and sometimes it seemed half our training was about dealing with incendiary devices and grenades. Never had to use it then.’ He shook his head. ‘And never thought I’d have to use it here. There must have been something wrong with that grenade, but thank God there was.’
Behind them they heard a quiet groan. Liz turned and saw Peggy squatting down against the side wall of the warehouse. She was holding her arm, which was bleeding badly just below the elbow.
‘Were you hit?’ Liz asked.
Peggy grimaced and slumped down, her back against the wall and her legs splayed out in front of her, flat on the floor. As Liz rushed to her, Pearson said, ‘I’ll get a paramedic.’
Liz crouched down next to Peggy. She saw at once that the wound was bad; shrapnel had ripped through the layers of sweater and shirt Peggy wore; there was a deep jagged cut in her forearm, which was bleeding profusely.
She saw Peggy’s eyes glaze and start to shut. The girl was going into shock. ‘Peggy!’ Liz shouted, and the eyes fluttered open, stared vaguely at Liz, then shut again.
The paramedic had arrived and Liz stood up to get out of his way. As he examined Peggy’s arm, she moaned in pain, and he took a syringe and vial out of his pack and injected something into Peggy’s other arm. Morphine, Liz guessed; the pain of the shrapnel piece must be excruciating.
Two more paramedics arrived, carrying a stretcher between them. They carefully lifted Peggy onto it, then carried her towards one of the ambulances parked on the tarmac outside.
The medic who had injected Peggy looked at Liz. ‘She should be fine, but we need to get her seen to properly right away – that’s a nasty wound she’s got. Do you want to come with us in the ambulance?’
Liz hesitated. She wanted to be with Peggy, but there was still everything to play for. She shook her head. ‘I’m still needed here. But please keep me posted.’
Pearson was on his phone, but he rang off when he saw Liz. He said, ‘We’re going to have to make a decision about the match.’
She nodded. ‘I know. It’s your call of course, but I’m worried about these other jihadis. We just have no idea where they are or whether they have any weapons. I would hazard a guess that they haven’t, but there are no guarantees. They might have access to some cache somewhere.’
‘Yes. You’re right. And if they do turn up at the match armed or carrying explosives of some kind, we can’t be sure we’ll be able to stop them getting in. We’ve got the seat number of Atiyah’s ticket, but even if we searched everyone with a seat in the same block we might not catch them. They could have seats in any part of the ground.’
The Chief Constable was frowning. ‘I’m beginning to think we have no option but to cancel the match. We can’t take the risk. But if we do it’s going to cause an immense furore. There’ll be chaos on the streets, the media will have a field day, the Home Secretary will get drawn in and all of us including your Service will come in for a load of criticism. I need to speak to the Home Office before we do anything and you’ll want to talk to your management too.’
Liz looked at her watch. It was now a quarter past five. ‘I’ll get on to the Duty Officer. DG will certainly want to be informed.’
Pearson looked round the warehouse. ‘We’re not needed here any more. We’ll go back to HQ and set up a conference call and then everyone can have their say and get themselves prepared for the shit storm we’re going to face. We can start the ball rolling while we drive back.’
Chapter 59
At six o’clock they were in Pearson’s corner office, joined now by Lazarus and several of Pearson’s senior colleagues, called in to help plan what would be a major operation whatever was decided about cancelling the derby match. Outside it was still pitch-dark, and whenever Liz looked towards the windows she saw, reflected against the black sky, the dark-uniformed figures sitting round the conference table in the middle of the room.
Liz had rung the hospital from the car and learned that Peggy’s condition was stable, but that they would soon be operating on the arm to remove the shrapnel, which had fragmented into a number of small pieces. Confident there was nothing she could do for Peggy at the moment, Liz was focused on the decision Pearson was going to have to make.
Reports had been called for from all police divisions for any sightings of a group of men acting suspiciously, but in the absence of any descriptions, no one was surprised that no reports had been received. Liz’s colleagues in Thames House had been in touch with GCHQ, the DCRI in France and the UK Border Agency, but no new information was forthcoming. A4 and police surveillance teams were still out in the area – they all knew the urgency of the situation and would instantly have communicated news of any sightings.
From the speakerphone in the middle of the table an automated voice suddenly announced, ‘Your call is ready to begin. All participants are now signed in.’ Pearson took a deep breath and said, ‘Good morning, everyone, I apologise for the uncivilised hour but we have an urgent decision to take in connection with the Zara Operation on which I think you are all briefed. Will you all please introduce yourselves?’
With the preliminaries over, Pearson outlined the situation, calmly summarising the dramatic events of the previous few hours. He concluded, ‘We are confident that the target of this jihadi group is the derby match between Manchester United and Manchester City at Old Trafford this afternoon. We will of course continue to question Zara, but so far we’ve got nothing out of him, and I don’t believe that will change. He’s already asking for a lawyer. We have interdicted the arms imported for use in that attack, but the whereabouts of the group other than Zara is unknown and we do not know if they are armed or have access to arms. So a risk exists that they may attempt to proceed with the attack and that there may be casualties – possibly many.’
The gravelly tones of DG came through now. ‘What security measures can you take at the ground that might help detect these people if they turn up? I’m assuming searching all the fans is impossible.’