LAMBETH CENTRAL COMMUNICATIONS COMMAND CENTRE (3.52 p.m.)
Chris Thatcher took off his headphones. ‘Well, that was interesting,’ he said to Sergeant Lumley. ‘I’m thinking he ended the call before we could get any meaningful trace.’
‘He knows how long it takes to get a fix on a mobile.’
‘That’s not why he ended the call, though.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Gillard, taking off his headphones and putting them on the desk.
‘It threw him that we’d made contact with his man in Wandsworth. He didn’t know that had happened. Hardly surprising because there are no TV cameras in the shopping centre. You told him something he didn’t know and that unsettled him.’
He stood and began to pace slowly up and down as he gathered his thoughts. ‘You see, up until then he was totally in control. You could hear it in his voice. Some tension, yes, but not fear. He sounded like a man in control. We heard it all the time when we were dealing with the Somalian pirates. They know the score, they know that the ships are insured, so it’s almost as if they’re following a script. They play their part and we play ours. The money is handed over and the ship and the crew are released. The pirates would sound angry but it was an act. They knew how it would end. They were never scared because they knew that no one would be attacking them.’
‘So Shahid knows he’s going to win? Is that what you mean?’ said Gillard. ‘He’s confident?’
Thatcher stopped pacing. ‘He’s calm, as if he knows how this is going to end.’
‘Well, I wish I did,’ said Gillard. ‘Because the way things stand, I’ve no idea how it’ll pan out.’
‘Perhaps I should rephrase that. He thinks he knows how it will end. Everything is going to plan. At least, it was until he discovered that you had spoken to his man in the shopping centre.’ He went over to his desk, picked up his cup of camomile tea and discovered it was empty. He put it down. ‘Shahid clearly knows what he’s doing. Everything has been planned down to the smallest detail, which is why that small deviation from his plan threw him. The question is, what is he working towards? What is he so confident will happen?’
‘Presumably that the prisoners will be released and his men fly off to who knows where,’ said Gillard.
‘So why is he concerned about you making direct contact with the bombers?’ said Thatcher. ‘We saw that, too, when Inspector Biddulph tried to make contact with his man on the bus. There was real fear, then, remember? And the man in the coffee shop in Marble Arch, papering the window so that he can’t be seen. This has all been about isolating the bombers so that we have to negotiate with Shahid.’ He nodded thoughtfully. ‘Maybe Shahid is the only one who knows what’s happening. It’s completely his show. The bombers are the chess pieces and he’s masterminding the game.’
‘You mean he hasn’t told the bombers the full story?’ said Kamran.
‘It’s possible they don’t know what he’s planned, yes.’ He took off his spectacles, pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, and began to polish the lenses. ‘This is what concerns me,’ he said. ‘Shahid is confident that everything is going exactly as he planned. You can hear that in his voice. My worry is that what he’s planned isn’t the release of the prisoners, but that right from the start his aim has been to kill as many people as possible.’ He finished polishing his glasses and put them back on before forcing a smile. ‘I just hope I’m wrong,’ he said.
WANDSWORTH (3.53 p.m.)
The pack around Malik’s waist vibrated and he jumped. ‘What’s wrong?’ asked Zoe, as he groped for the zip.
‘It’s okay, it’s the phone.’ He took it out and pressed the red button to accept the call. ‘Brother, what the fuck did I tell you?’ It was Shahid.
‘What?’
‘You were talking to the police. I told you, you talk to no one.’
‘I didn’t talk to him. He walked up to the shop. I couldn’t shut him up.’
‘He sent in food?’
‘There are two kids here and they were playing up. And one of the shopgirls needed to go to the toilet.’
‘What?’
‘She was close to pissing herself. So they sent in a bucket.’
‘A bucket?’
‘To piss in. And a couple of pizzas.’
‘For fuck’s sake, Sami, what part of “don’t talk to anyone” didn’t you understand? Do you want me to detonate that vest now? Because I fucking will. Do you want to fuck off and lie with the seventy-two virgins, is that it? You’re not getting laid on earth so you’re in a rush to do it in Heaven?’
‘Bruv, no, I wasn’t—’
‘I told you, no talking to anyone. I do the fucking talking.’
‘I know, bruv—’
‘You know what’s sitting on the table in front of me? It’s a phone, mate. And there’s a number on speed dial. I call that number and five seconds later — bang! It’s so long and good night for Mohammed Sami Malik and anyone within fifty feet of him.’
‘Bruv, I was doing what you said—’
‘I said no talking to anyone. To anyone, Sami. You want me to press this button, Sami? Do you? You want it to end now? Just say the word, Sami, and I’ll do it. It means fuck all to me. I press a button and it’s over for you.’
‘No, bruv, please! Please, bruv! It was a mistake, okay? I know it, and I won’t do it again, I swear! I swear on my mother’s life! Please!’
Shahid stayed quiet for several seconds.
‘You still there, bruv?’ asked Malik, eventually.
‘Yeah. I’m here. Okay, look, let the woman with the kids go. But you don’t talk to anyone, do you hear? Just tell her to take the kids and get the fuck out of there. But you remember what I said, Sami. You so much as open your mouth to the cops one more time and you and everyone there will be blown to bits.’
‘I won’t talk to anyone, I swear.’
‘Just do as you’re told, and this will soon be over and everyone can go home,’ said Shahid. ‘Inshallah.’
‘Inshallah,’ repeated Malik. If Allah wills.
The line went dead. ‘What’s happening?’ asked Zoe, fearfully.
‘He’s mad at me for the bucket and the pizzas,’ said Malik. ‘But he says we can let the kids go.’
‘Who is he? Who were you talking to?’
‘The man who’s organising all this. His name’s Shahid.’
‘But who is he?’
Malik shook his head. ‘You ask too many questions,’ he said.
LAMBETH CENTRAL COMMUNICATIONS COMMAND CENTRE (3.54 p.m.)
Kamran stared at the digital clock on the wall. It clicked over to 3:55. In a few minutes there would be just two hours left before the deadline expired. ‘He’ll call back,’ said Gillard.
‘But when he does, we’ve nothing to tell him,’ said Kamran. They were sitting at Gillard’s workstation. Lumley had gone off to the canteen with Thatcher. On the right-hand screen were photographs of the six men the bombers wanted released from Belmarsh. On the left-hand screen were the photographs of the bombers. Peas in a pod, thought Kamran. All were young, bearded Asians with the exception of Osman, the Somalian, and Bhashir, the forty-six-year-old father.
‘We play for time,’ said Gillard.
‘We don’t have time, that’s the problem,’ said Kamran. ‘Two hours and that’s it. And what Alex said earlier was bang on — no pun intended. There’s no way we can put nine bombers on a plane. And sooner or later Shahid is going to realise that.’ He ran his hands through his hair. ‘Maybe he knows that already. Maybe he’s just waiting for the deadline, knowing that the whole world is watching. That way he gets the maximum exposure.’