She reached the coffee shop, paused, then turned to face it. Newspapers had been plastered across the glass but there were gaps between the individual sheets. In her right hand she was holding a small digital camera.
She looked back at the van, raised her hand and waved to Peter. He waved back. The suit’s wireless system used a very low level of RF radiation to minimise the risk of activating IEDs, but they had decided against using it to be on the safe side.
She walked towards the shop, calculating how many steps she had to take before she reached the pavement. She stepped up, steadied her breathing, and walked towards the window. The largest gaps were at the edge closest to the door and she moved towards it, holding up the camera. She squinted at the small screen on the back. She could just about make out figures so she pressed the button several times. Then she moved to the right to another gap and fired off a few more shots.
She saw movement and put her helmet closer to the window. Somebody was moving around but she couldn’t make out what was happening. She put the camera up to the gap between the sheets of newspapers and took more photographs.
Something slammed against the window and she flinched. An eye pressed itself to the glass and she took a step back. A hand ripped away part of the newspaper and then reappeared. It was holding a trigger. Kawczynski raised her hands and stepped away. ‘I’m going, I’m going!’ she shouted, even though she knew that the suicide bomber couldn’t hear her. She stepped off the pavement and walked back to the van, slowly but surely.
LAMBETH CENTRAL COMMUNICATIONS COMMAND CENTRE (1.30 p.m.)
Sergeant Lumley’s phone rang and he picked up the receiver. It was Inspector Richard Horton, Silver Commander at the Marble Arch scene. ‘We have some pictures of the inside of the coffee shop,’ said the inspector. ‘I can download them now if you want.’
‘Ready when you are, sir,’ said Lumley.
‘Let me have your email address and I’ll send you the link.’
The inspector stayed on the line until Lumley had the photographs on his left-hand screen. ‘The quality isn’t great, I know,’ said the inspector. ‘There’s glare off the window and everyone was standing well back.’
‘I can get our tech boys to tinker with them,’ said Lumley, but he knew that the inspector was right. The pictures were blurry and even the best of the bunch were half obscured by the newspaper.
The final photograph of the series was a close-up of an Asian face, bearded with glaring eyes, partly obscured by a hand holding a metal trigger. A piece of newspaper had been torn away, just enough to reveal part of the face.
‘This last one, the guy saw what was happening?’ asked the sergeant.
‘He went to the window and the Explosive Ordnance Disposal officer backed off immediately,’ said Inspector Horton. ‘How are things there?’
‘Hectic,’ said Lumley.
‘We’re still waiting for a negotiating team here,’ said Horton. ‘Can you tell Gold?’
‘He knows,’ said Lumley. ‘The problem is, even where we have negotiating teams on site, the bombers are refusing to talk to them. All communication is through social media at the moment.’
‘Four and a half hours left until their deadline,’ said the inspector. ‘Has a decision been taken on the Belmarsh prisoners yet?’
‘That’s all well above my pay grade, sir.’
‘Mine too, thankfully,’ said the inspector. ‘It’s not a decision I’d want to make. That guy in there looks perfectly prepared to blow himself up and take everyone in the shop with him, if he and the other bombers don’t get what they want.’
TAVISTOCK SQUARE (1.35 p.m.)
Two uniformed constables held up their hands to stop Mark Biddulph’s car at the outer cordon around Tavistock Square. Biddulph climbed out and showed them his warrant card. ‘Where is Silver Commander?’ he asked.
The older of the two, a man in his forties with a beer gut the size of a late pregnancy, nodded towards the BMA headquarters. ‘They’ve taken an office on the ground floor, sir.’
Biddulph thanked the man and headed over to the BMA building. There was another uniformed constable outside and Biddulph flashed his warrant card as he walked by. The office was to the side of Reception. A uniformed inspector was talking into a mobile phone and frowned at him until Biddulph held out his warrant card. He ended the call and looked at Biddulph expectantly.
‘Silver Commander?’ asked Biddulph.
‘That would be me,’ said a uniformed inspector.
Biddulph flashed his warrant card again. ‘Mark Biddulph, National Crime Agency. Gold Commander has sent me along.’
‘Alistair McNeil, good to meet you.’ They shook hands. ‘What’s the NCA’s involvement?’ he asked.
‘The man in there is one of mine,’ said Biddulph.
‘A CI?’
‘Unfortunately he’s not a confidential informant, no. He’s a detective. Undercover.’
McNeil’s jaw dropped. ‘Run that by me again.’
‘He’s supposed to be undercover penetrating an Asian drugs gang. Where do we stand?’
‘I’ve an inner cordon and an outer cordon set up, there’s an ambulance and a fire appliance on standby. One ARV here and I’m told there’s another on the way. I’ve put in a call for a negotiating team and the Bomb Squad but resources are obviously stretched pretty thin. This is number seven, right?’
Biddulph nodded. ‘One every twenty minutes or so. Things are getting a bit frantic in GT Ops.’
‘Yeah, they said they can’t guarantee I’ll be getting a negotiator.’
‘That’s why Gold wants me here.’
‘You think he’ll talk to you?’
‘I’ve known him for the best part of two years, so I don’t see why not.’
‘If you know him, do you think he’ll blow himself up? Do you think he’ll press that trigger?’
‘The Kash I know wouldn’t be there in the first place. He’s not your typical Muslim. He’s one of the guys. He stands his round in the pub, eats bacon sarnies with the lads. Sure he looks the part but he’s what the fundamentalists call a coconut.’ The inspector frowned, not getting the reference. ‘Brown on the outside, white on the inside. I know, it’s the sort of talk that’d get you turfed out of the Met, but that’s what he was called at school, to his face and behind his back. Kash is as British as you or me. He’s not the sort to go fundamentalist. Not without there being warning signs first. I saw him for a debrief three days ago and he was as right as rain then.’
‘Well, something’s happened, because he’s on that bus threatening to blow it up with everybody on it.’
‘I need to talk to him.’
‘No can do, I’m afraid. No one is allowed within fifty feet of the bus.’
‘I need to know why he’s there.’
‘I understand that, but I’m in charge here and if anything were to happen to you it would be down to me.’
‘He’s my man.’
‘And this is my crime scene and the SOP is quite clear. I have to keep everyone well away from the immediate danger, and at the moment that immediate danger is the bus. If he detonates, there’ll be glass and shrapnel spraying all over the square. If anyone gets caught in the blast that will be my responsibility.’
‘So how do you plan to set up lines of communication with him?’
‘We’re waiting for the Bomb Squad,’ said McNeil. ‘Once we have someone with the appropriate protective gear we can see about getting a landline over.’
Biddulph sighed, knowing that the Silver Commander was right. But what was happening made no sense, no sense at all. And the only way of answering the riddle of why Kash was on the bus was to speak to the man himself.