‘You can hope they just surrender,’ said Murray. ‘Because if we have to storm the coach…’ He shrugged and left the sentence unfinished.
‘What about those night-vision goggles you guys sometimes use?’ asked Waterman. ‘Wouldn’t they work?’
Murray shook his head. ‘The passive ones wouldn’t see through the blacked-out windows, and the infrared type wouldn’t work because glass is very effective at blocking infrared. Why? What were you thinking?’
‘Shooting through the windows, maybe. If you could see where everyone was you could shoot through the glass.’
‘It wouldn’t work,’ said the SAS captain. ‘Our only way in is through the two doors, unfortunately. Hopefully the lads can shave some more time off it.’
Gillard focused on the screen showing the feed from the helicopter. The van had almost reached the main gates of Biggin Hill airport.
‘Sergeant Lumley, can you get the TV news feeds up on screens? Let’s see what Shahid can see.’
Within seconds two screens on the main wall began showing feeds from Sky News and BBC News. Sky was showing a view from its own helicopter, at an angle because they had been forbidden to enter Biggin Hill airspace. The BBC was showing a shot of the road outside the prison. The flashing blue lights of the motorcycles leading the way were visible in the distance. Across the bottom of the BBC screen was a scrolling headline: ‘FREED ISIS PRISONERS ARRIVING AT BIGGIN HILL AIRPORT.’
‘Strictly speaking, they haven’t been freed,’ said Kamran. ‘Just moved.’
‘Hopefully, it’ll satisfy Shahid,’ said Gillard. ‘I really don’t want them out of the van, even under armed guard.’
The picture being transmitted by Sky changed to show a view similar to the BBC’s. Six motorcyclists flashed by, then a police armed-response vehicle, the prison transport van, another ARV and more motorcycles. Bringing up the rear were two black SUVs with darkened windows. ‘Please tell me they’re your men, Alex,’ Kamran said.
Murray laughed. ‘Yeah, they’re Sass.’
The convoy drove straight into the airport and a pole barrier came down behind them.
Both TV feeds now had reporters talking to the camera, explaining what had just happened.
Kamran glanced at the clock on the wall. ‘We made it with half an hour to spare. How are we getting on with the pick-ups?’ he asked Lumley.
‘Three on board,’ said the sergeant. ‘En route to Kensington to collect number four.’
MARYLEBONE (5.32 p.m.)
The Sky News presenter with too much make-up was talking to a grey-haired man in a suit who was some sort of terrorism expert. He was trying to explain what ISIS was and what they wanted, but the woman kept interrupting him. ‘Let him talk, woman,’ muttered Chaudhry, under his breath.
‘She likes the sound of her own voice, doesn’t she?’ said Kenny.
‘She probably only got the job because she’s Asian,’ said Chaudhry, contemptuously.
Kenny laughed. ‘Funny thing to say, you being Asian and all.’
‘Hey, mate, I’ve had to fight for everything I’ve done. No one ever gave me a break because I’m a Pak.’
‘Is it okay to say that?’ asked Kenny.
‘Pak? Hell, yeah. Paki’s an insult, but I’m a Pak and proud of it.’
‘But you were born here, right?’
‘Sure. So was my mum. My dad is the only one who lived in Pakistan.’
‘So you’re British, right?’
‘Same as you.’
‘So why do this?’ He nodded at the suicide vest. ‘I mean, that’s a bit fucking extreme, isn’t it?’
‘It wasn’t my idea, believe me,’ said Chaudhry.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Nothing. Forget it.’
‘But you’re ISIS, right?’
‘ISIS? Fuck, no. They’re nutters, ISIS. Have you seen those videos? They’re fucking animals.’
‘Now I’m confused.’
‘Yeah, tell me about it,’ said Chaudhry. ‘I’m a supporter of Al-Qaeda. Have been since the invasion of Iraq and all the shit that went on there. You can’t be a Muslim in the world today and not feel threatened.’
‘That’s how you feel?’
‘Fuck me, yeah. You can see what the Americans want, right? They want every Muslim dead. We have to stand and fight.’
‘But what you’re doing is about ISIS, right? And you’ve won.’ He gestured at the TV. ‘You got them released and now they’re picking up you guys to take you to the airport.’
‘That’s the plan, yes.’ He took a sip from his bottle of water. ‘You seem very calm, Kenny.’
‘I smoked some dope before I started my shift. That’s probably helped. But generally, you know, if it happens, it happens. I’m not a worrier.’
‘Easy not to worry when you’re white,’ said Chaudhry.
‘Mate, I’ve not had it easy either. Don’t go thinking that. My mum ran off with my uncle when I was still in nappies and my dad brought up three boys on his own. I went to a shit school and managed one year at uni before I bailed, and now I’m working in a pub for minimum wage. I’m not exactly living the life, you know.’ He raised his almost-empty glass. ‘But, assuming I get through this in one piece, I should be able to sell my story to the papers, right?’
‘I hadn’t thought of that,’ said Chaudhry.
‘Aye, it’s an ill wind,’ said Kenny.
‘What the fuck does that mean?’
‘It’s an expression. It’s an ill wind that blows no good. It means most things work out well for somebody.’
‘Yeah, well, I don’t see that anything that’s happened today helps me at all. It fucks me up, big-time.’
‘What happens to you?’ asked Kenny. ‘You’ll be on the plane with the ISIS lads, right?’
‘Fuck that,’ said Chaudhry. ‘I live here. I’m not fucking off to Syria for nobody. Have you been there? It’s a shit-hole.’
‘Have you? Been there?’
Chaudhry shook his head. ‘I’ve been to Pakistan, and I was over the border in Afghanistan, but trust me, mate, they’re shit-holes too. You want to stay well clear.’
‘But you’ll have to leave the UK after this, right? I mean, you’ve won, but they’re never going to forgive you.’
The TV was showing a shot of a coach with blackened windows driving through Kensington. ‘Kenny, mate, will you shut the fuck up? You’re really starting to depress me.’
LAMBETH CENTRAL COMMUNICATIONS COMMAND CENTRE (5.34 p.m.)
‘What the hell is wrong with those people?’ asked Kamran, staring up at the large screen that was showing the Sky News feed. The pavements were crowded with people filming the coach on their phones as it went by. ‘Don’t they realise there are bombs on that coach? If it goes up there’ll be shrapnel and broken glass everywhere.’
‘We’ve told people to stay away but they’re just not listening,’ said Gillard. ‘And we don’t have the manpower to clear the pavements.’
‘This could be Shahid’s plan, right from the start,’ Kamran mused. ‘Get all the bombs on the coach, then detonate among the crowds. Even if it went off now, with just three bombs on board, they’d kill and maim dozens. By the time the last bomber is on there’ll be nine, and if that went up in south London…’ He shuddered.
‘You’re right, Mo,’ said Gillard. ‘We need to make sure that doesn’t happen.’ He waved at Sergeant Lumley. ‘We need to clear the streets on the route,’ he said. ‘Get as many police as you can out there and move everyone off the pavements. And I mean everyone.’
‘I’m on it, sir.’
‘The roads to the airport are going to have to be cleared,’ said Gillard.
‘It’s not the roads that are the problem,’ said Kamran. ‘It’s the pavements. The gawkers. The idiots who want a selfie as the coach goes by. Can you talk to Lisa? She needs to make sure the media are pumping out warnings. People need to understand just what will happen if those bombs go off on the coach.’