‘The fact that he tried to get a message to us suggests that he thinks there is something we can do,’ said Kamran. ‘But for the life of me I can’t think what that might be.’
BIGGIN HILL AIRPORT (5.20 p.m.)
Sergeant Hawkins was studying the handle on the emergency exit at the rear of the coach when his mobile phone rang. It was Captain Murray. ‘How’s it going, Jim?’
‘I wish I could be more optimistic, boss, but this is a bloody nightmare.’
‘Keep at it, Jim. There’s still a chance we can negotiate this to a peaceful ending.’
‘Suicide bombers tend not to negotiate, in my experience,’ said Hawkins. ‘They’re usually in a rush to get to their seventy-two virgins.’
‘I hear you, but this whole thing has been weird from the start. Anyway, two things you need to know. The coach should be arriving close to eighteen thirty hours so you really need to be getting the practice coach out by eighteen thirty hours. And until we know for sure that we’re going in, keep your men behind the sandbags.’
‘That would be the royal “we”, would it, boss?’
Murray chuckled. ‘Believe me, Jim, I’d much rather be there than here, trust me. The good news is that Terry McMullen will be driving the coach. That will give you an edge, but you’re not going to be able to communicate with him before he gets there so we’ve locked in his contribution. At the first sign that the coach is being boarded, he’ll take out the terrorist directly behind him. And the one behind him. Then he’ll play it by ear.’
‘Please don’t tell me he’s wearing his lucky hat?’
‘Hey, whatever makes him happy. Anyway, keep on doing what you’re doing. Just make sure the hangar is clear by six thirty.’
‘What about the negotiations, boss? Are they sending a negotiator down?’
‘There’ll be a negotiating team on site but at the moment they’ll be told to keep away from the hangar. The negotiations, such as they are, have so far been handled through the SOR here and it looks as if that’s going to continue.’
‘And one more thing, boss. A few of the lads aren’t that happy about the camera.’
‘Not much I can do about it, Jim,’ said Murray. ‘The cops need to be able to see what’s going on.’
‘They just don’t want it plastered all over YouTube. If we end up slotting the bastards, there’ll be others out for revenge.’
‘I’ll make sure the video doesn’t get out,’ said the captain. ‘But to be on the safe side, do whatever you have to do to conceal your identities. And, Jim, be bloody careful, okay? We need to get the hostages out but it could very easily go tits up.’
‘I hear you, boss.’
LAMBETH CENTRAL COMMUNICATIONS COMMAND CENTRE (5.23 p.m.)
‘Chief Superintendent Kamran?’ A pretty black girl with bright red lipstick was looking down at him. Kamran didn’t recognise her and didn’t recall seeing her in the special operations room before. She sensed his confusion and smiled. ‘Sorry, I’m Rose Taylor, with Transport for London.’
Kamran stood up. ‘It’s Superintendent Kamran,’ he said, ‘but please call me Mo.’
‘We were wondering, now that the situation has been resolved at Brixton and Wandsworth, are we okay to open the roads? The closures are causing chaos, what with it being rush-hour and all.’
‘We should be able to cancel the outer and inner perimeters straight away,’ he said. ‘The premises themselves will remain as crime scenes but I don’t think we need the roads blocked off.’
‘Who do I talk to about that? We’re being told that the roads have to stay closed.’
‘I’ll handle it, Rose.’
‘How soon after each bomber has gone can we open the other roads?’
‘Pretty much straight away,’ he said. ‘I’ll talk to the Silver Commanders of all the scenes.’
She frowned. ‘Silver Commanders?’
He smiled. ‘I’m sorry. The man in overall charge today is the Gold Commander, Chief Superintendent Gillard. At each scene there is a senior officer in charge and he’s called the Silver Commander. He has Bronze Commanders reporting to him.’
‘That sounds awfully complicated.’
‘Actually, it makes things much simpler. There’s no doubt who is in charge at any point, no matter what ranks or services are present.’
She laughed. ‘I think we could do with a system like that at TfL,’ she said. ‘Lots of chiefs there and no one who wants to do any real work.’
‘All bureaucracies are the same,’ said Kamran. ‘They grow to the point where they lose sight of what their purpose is. The Gold-Silver-Bronze system does help streamline things.’ He peered up at a screen showing a map of the coach’s progress through west London. It was about to arrive at the Fulham post office.
FULHAM (5.25 p.m.)
Hussain heard the coach pull up in front of the post office. He went over to the window. The armed police were still there but the cars that had been blocking the road to their left had been moved. ‘It’s time for us to go,’ he said to Rebecca. She glared at him sullenly. ‘We’re going,’ he said. ‘We’re going to get on the coach. The prisoners have been released. It will be over soon.’ She stared at him but her face was a blank mask.
Hussain turned to the rest of his hostages, sitting up against the far wall. ‘It’s over, you can go back to your families!’ he shouted. ‘Allahu Akbar, Allah be praised!’
The hostages started whispering to each other. One woman began to cry. Hussain opened the door. There were six police motorcyclists in front of the coach, more behind. The coach door hissed open and the driver, a man in his thirties wearing a bomber jacket and a flat cap, waved at him to get on board. The windows had been blacked out and all Hussain could see was his own reflection. He pulled the chain to get Rebecca to follow him, but she wouldn’t move. ‘Come on, come on,’ he said. ‘The sooner we get to the airport, the sooner this will be over.’
Rebecca ignored him and turned to look at the armed police. ‘Just shoot the Paki bastard!’ she screamed. ‘Come on, I don’t care. Just put a bullet in the bastard’s face!’
‘Madam, please get onto the coach!’ shouted the armed cop nearest the post office. ‘Everything is under control!’
‘Like fuck it is!’ she shouted. ‘He’s got a fucking bomb under his coat and he was threatening to kill us all. Shoot him now and I’m the only one who gets killed and I don’t give a fuck. So shut the fuck up and shoot him. Now, while he’s out in the open! I don’t even think he’ll press the trigger — he’s more scared than I am. Shoot him in the fucking head and he’ll drop like a stone. Do it!’
‘What is your problem, lady?’ hissed Hussain.
She whirled around. ‘My problem? My fucking problem? You handcuff yourself to me and threaten to blow me to bits and you ask me what my problem is? Fuck you, Call-Me-Ismail. Fuck you and fuck all Pakis like you.’
‘Why are you saying this? Why are you being so aggressive?’
‘Madam, please board the coach!’ shouted the armed cop. ‘You’re putting everyone’s lives at risk here.’
Rebecca ignored him and stared at Hussain. ‘You want to know why, Call-Me-Ismail? You want to know why I hate Pakis like you? Because it was one of you that killed my family. A Paki bastard just like you, beard and all, slammed his car into my husband’s and killed him and killed my little girl. Was he insured? Was he fuck. Did he have a driving licence? Did he fuck. Did he stay and face the music? Did he fuck. According to the cops he was out of the country the next day and is now probably living it large in Paki-fucking-stan. He killed my William and he killed my Ruth and the one thing I want right now is to be with them and if I can do that and kill you at the same time then I’ll be one very happy woman.’ She glared at him and he could see the madness in her eyes. ‘I want you dead, Call-Me-Ismail. I can’t get the Paki bastard who took my family from me but I can sure as hell take you with me.’ She grabbed at his right hand, trying to get at the detonator.