‘What about stun grenades?’ asked Kamran.
‘They’re a double-edged sword,’ said Murray. ‘They’ll likely stun all the occupants but it will increase the time it takes to clear the vehicle. Our driver will be affected, also. The question is whether we can stun them quickly enough and long enough to take them out before they get a chance to detonate. The problem is that flash-bangs don’t detonate instantly. The bad guys will see the canisters a fraction of a second before they go off and, unfortunately, a fraction of a second is more than enough time to press a trigger.’
‘Just a thought,’ said Chris Thatcher. ‘Do you have a negotiating team at the airport?’
‘I had assumed we’d be talking to Shahid,’ said Gillard.
‘That’s been the way it’s gone so far, but once we have the bombers isolated in the hangar there’d be an opportunity to talk to them direct.’
‘Shahid has gone out of his way to make sure that we only talk to him,’ said Kamran. ‘I don’t think he’s going to change his SOP.’
‘I was thinking of not giving him the choice,’ said Thatcher. ‘They’ll be isolated, Shahid won’t be able to see them. It might be an opportunity to make direct contact.’
Gillard looked at Kamran. ‘What do you think, Mo?’
‘When they’ve had the opportunity to negotiate, they haven’t taken it. In fact, other than at Wandsworth, they’ve gone out of their way to avoid it. Having said that, we should be covering all bases. It wouldn’t hurt to have a team there.’
‘What about you, Chris? Do you want to go? We could bike you there.’
‘I think I’m probably most useful here,’ said Thatcher. ‘Mo’s right. Shahid is the main point of contact. I just think it might be helpful to have someone on the ground with negotiating skills.’
‘We have half an hour,’ said Kamran. ‘I could talk to Bromley, see if they have any negotiators on call.’
‘Go for it,’ said Gillard.
Kamran looked up at the clock again.
‘That six o’clock deadline’s worrying you, isn’t it?’ said Gillard.
‘That was his deadline from the start,’ said Kamran. There was just a minute to go. He went to the door and looked at the main screen in the special operations room, which was showing the feed from the Met helicopter. The coach was approaching the Grapes pub in Marylebone.
Murray had followed him and put a hand on his shoulder. ‘It wouldn’t make sense to detonate before they’re all on board.’
‘I hope so,’ said Kamran. He found himself holding his breath as the seconds ticked off. The second hand reached twelve, then ticked past. On the big screen, the coach continued to power along the road, flanked by police motorcycles, their blue lights flashing. Kamran sighed with relief.
‘Don’t relax yet, Mo,’ said the SAS captain. ‘The crunch is half an hour away, when Shahid realises his people aren’t getting on a plane. That’s when the shit is going to be heading fan-wards.’
MARYLEBONE (6.02 p.m.)
The Asian Sky News presenter with too much make-up was describing the police van that was driving towards Biggin Hill airport at the centre of a convoy of police vehicles and motorcycles. She seemed to be struggling for words and was constantly correcting herself, so Chaudhry figured she wasn’t reading from a script.
‘What happens to us when the prisoners are at the airport?’ asked Kenny. ‘You let us go, right?’
‘I’m not sure.’
‘What do you mean, you’re not sure?’ Kenny gestured at the TV screen. ‘It’s almost over. You got what you wanted.’
The picture changed on the TV screen. Now it was showing a white coach with blacked-out windows driving through the streets of London, flanked by police motorcycles. The pavements were thronged with onlookers, many of whom were holding up their mobile phones. The picture was from a helicopter flying overhead. According to the presenter, the coach was now heading east, presumably towards the Grapes.
‘It’s coming here, mate,’ said Kenny. ‘It’s coming to collect you.’
Chaudhry’s waistpack buzzed. He took out the phone and answered. It was Shahid.
‘The coach is on its way, brother,’ said Shahid. ‘As soon as it pulls up outside, leave with your hostage. The police have been told to stay well back. All you have to do is get on the coach.’
‘And when can I go home?’ asked Chaudhry.
‘Soon, brother, soon. Once the ISIS warriors are in the air.’
‘Do I have to go with them?’
‘You can decide that at the airport, brother. It will be your choice.’
‘I just want to go home.’
‘Then, inshallah, you shall.’
The line went dead and Chaudhry put the phone away.
‘Who was that?’ asked Kenny. ‘Was it the police?’
Chaudhry shook his head. ‘No. Not the police.’ He stood up and looked at the TV screen. The coach was driving down Marylebone Road, not far from the pub. All the traffic had been diverted but there was nothing the police could do to keep onlookers away. There were hundreds of people on the pavements, most of them filming on their phones. Other spectators were crowded at the windows overlooking the street, pointing and grinning as if it were a parade they were watching. ‘We need to get ready, Kenny.’
‘Can I ask you a favour?’
‘Sure.’
‘Can I take a selfie with you?’
Chaudhry’s jaw dropped. ‘Are you fucking serious?’
‘Mate, if the papers interview me they’ll pay a lot for a picture like that.’
Chaudhry sighed. ‘Go on, then.’
‘You’re a star, mate,’ said Kenny. He had to use his left hand to pull his mobile out of his back pocket. He put it in camera mode, leant his head close to Chaudhry’s and took a picture. He checked the screen. ‘You’re not smiling,’ he said.
‘Why would I be smiling?’
‘Because you won.’ He put the phone away. Kenny looked up at the TV screen. ‘Bloody hell, there’s the pub,’ he said.
Chaudhry followed his gaze. The coach had just pulled up in front of it. It was flanked by police motorcycles and there were two police cars behind it. ‘Time to go,’ he said. He turned to the rest of the hostages. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, I’m happy to be able to tell you that it’s over. I’m leaving with Kenny here and the rest of you can go home.’
The hostages stared at him blankly, not sure how to react.
‘It’s over,’ Chaudhry repeated. ‘For you anyway.’ He stood up and Kenny followed suit. They walked to the main door and Chaudhry pushed it open. There were several armed police aiming their guns from across the road. Off to his left he saw more police cars, two ambulances and a fire engine.
‘Please board the coach right away!’ boomed an amplified voice. A uniformed officer was standing among the armed police with a megaphone. ‘Move straight to the coach.’
The door was already open. Chaudhry and Kenny walked towards it. Kenny grabbed his phone again and began taking photographs. ‘You are fucking mad, mate,’ said Chaudhry.
He walked up the steps, holding his left hand behind him and keeping his right hand up so that they could see the trigger.
‘Put that fucking camera away!’ shouted the driver, when he saw the phone in Kenny’s hand. Kenny did as he was told but the driver continued to glare at him.
Chaudhry looked down the coach. The windows had all been blacked out but there were small lights on near the roof. Six people were sitting on the left side behind the driver and four on the right. Most of the men wearing the suicide vests were in their twenties but one, sitting next to an elderly priest, was older, in his fifties maybe.
‘Sit down. We’ve got to be on our way,’ snapped the driver. He closed the door and revved the engine.