Chaudhry nodded for Kenny to sit by the window of the second row, in front of a young Asian man handcuffed to a pretty blonde girl. Kenny grinned at the girl. ‘How are you doing?’
She forced a smile. ‘As well as can be expected.’
‘I’m Kenny.’
‘Zoe.’
‘You got a boyfriend?’
‘Have you?’
Kenny laughed, but stopped when Chaudhry glared at him. ‘Mate, you need to focus,’ said Chaudhry. ‘This is no fucking joke.’ The coach moved off and Chaudhry took slow, deep breaths, trying to calm his racing heart.
MARBLE ARCH (6.05 p.m.)
Imad El-Sayed and his son came down the stairs cautiously. El-Sayed pushed open the door to the coffee shop and flinched when he saw two armed officers with carbines held across their chests. When they saw him they shouldered their weapons and aimed at his chest. ‘Armed police, hands in the air!’ shouted one.
‘We are civilians!’ shouted El-Sayed, throwing up his hands. ‘Don’t shoot, don’t shoot!’ He looked over his shoulder. ‘Hassan, put up your hands.’
‘Shut up and move forward!’ shouted the armed officer.
El-Sayed stepped forward with his hands up, Hassan behind him. One of the officers quickly patted them down. Satisfied that they weren’t armed, he nodded at his colleague. Both men lowered their weapons. ‘Who are you?’ asked the older of the two.
‘My name is Imad El-Sayed, and this is my son, Hassan.’
‘Where were you?’
‘We were hiding upstairs.’
‘You work here?’
El-Sayed shook his head. ‘We are customers. We hid while the bomber was here. I run a bureau de change down the road. Can I show you my business card?’
‘Go ahead,’ said the officer.
El-Sayed slowly reached into his robe and pulled out his wallet. He took out a card and handed it to the officer, who studied it. ‘Okay, Mr El-Sayed.’ He gestured at the policemen in fluorescent jackets who were talking to the customers. ‘Please talk to one of these officers before you leave. They have a few questions for you.’
‘Is it over?’ asked El-Sayed. ‘Have the ISIS prisoners been released?’
The officer gestured at the television on the wall. ‘You can watch it while you wait,’ he said.
TAVISTOCK SQUARE (6.15 p.m.)
The coach parked across the road and its door opened. Kashif Talpur’s phone buzzed and he took it out of his waistpack. ‘You are to leave the bus, brother,’ said Shahid.
‘I’m not your brother,’ snarled Talpur.
‘Just do as you’re told. This will soon be over,’ said Shahid.
‘I want to leave the woman behind,’ said Talpur. ‘She’s a pain in the arse.’
‘You are to take the hostage on to the coach. She will be released at the airport.’
‘What’s happened to the ISIS prisoners?’
‘They’re already at the airport,’ said Shahid. ‘Now move over to the coach. You know what will happen if you do not comply.’
The line went dead and Talpur cursed. He put the phone back into the waistpack. ‘Open the door,’ he said to the driver, then turned to address the passengers. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, I’m about to leave the bus. Please stay where you are until the police arrive. Do not, I repeat do not, attempt to leave the bus. There are a lot of armed police out there and I’d hate for them to shoot any of you by mistake.’
The door opened. ‘You have to come with me,’ Talpur said to the woman he was handcuffed to. She opened her mouth to protest but he pointed a warning finger at her. ‘Don’t even think about giving me a hard time,’ he said. ‘I’ve had a shitty twenty-four hours and I don’t want you making it worse.’
‘I’m a Muslim woman and you have no right to do this to me,’ she said.
‘It’s not about you being a Muslim,’ said Talpur. ‘You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.’ He headed for the door and yanked the chain to get her to follow him.
More than a dozen armed police were covering him with their carbines. In the far corner of the square a cluster of emergency vehicles included a fire engine and two ambulances. Dozens of police officers in fluorescent jackets were holding back onlookers, most of whom were taking videos and photographs on their phones.
‘Kash, we need to talk to you!’ Talpur looked to his left. Mark Biddulph was standing behind two armed officers, wearing a bulletproof vest over his leather jacket.
‘Get the hell away from me,’ shouted Talpur.
‘If you’re being forced into this, we can help you.’
‘Seriously, Mark, you’re putting everyone’s life on the line by talking to me,’ Talpur yelled. He pulled at the chain to hurry the woman up. She cursed him in Arabic.
‘Just tell me what’s happening, Kash,’ shouted Biddulph. ‘Why are you doing this?’
Talpur ignored him and climbed onto the coach, pulling the woman after him. As she climbed up, Talpur looked over his shoulder and saw Biddulph staring at him, his brow furrowed. Talpur forced a smile, then mouthed, ‘I’m sorry.’
‘We haven’t got all day,’ growled the driver.
Talpur turned to him. The driver stared back impassively. ‘Sit down and be quick about it,’ he growled. ‘We’re on a deadline.’
Talpur looked down the coach. Six bombers and six hostages were watching him. He moved towards the seat directly behind the driver. ‘Not there,’ snapped the man. ‘Further back.’
Talpur headed towards the back of the coach as the driver closed the door. He told the woman to sit by the window at the back on the right-hand side, then sat next to her. ‘Why are you doing this?’ she hissed.
‘You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,’ said Talpur.
SOUTH LONDON (ten hours earlier)
Kashif Talpur kept his breathing slow and even. The hood had been over his head when he woke, and he quickly realised that the faster he breathed, the more uncomfortable it was. He had stuck out his tongue and pressed it against the hood and it felt soft and rough. Sacking maybe. He was sitting on something hard and his hands were tied behind him.
He had no idea how long he’d been tied to the chair, or what time it was. The last thing he remembered was walking back to his flat. He’d seen a man waiting on the pavement ahead of him. Something about him had seemed off so Talpur’s defences had been up. But he was so busy concentrating on the man ahead of him that he never even heard the one behind him. Something sweet had been clamped over his mouth and, within seconds, he had lost consciousness. Talpur had no idea how long ago that had happened. It could have been an hour, it could have been a day.
He listened intently. He could hear scraping sounds, and a soft footfall. An occasional grunt. After a while he lost all sense of time. The ripping off of the hood came as a shock, intensified by the fluorescent lights overhead that stung his eyes. He blinked away tears as he tried to focus. There was something on his head, covering his face, though there were holes for his eyes and mouth. A ski mask, he realised. He was wearing a ski mask.
There were men in front of him, wearing ski masks and tied to chairs. He looked to his left. More masked men. He twisted his head to the right. More men. They were sitting in a circle, facing inwards. All men, so far as he could see. All masked. All tied. He blinked faster, trying to clear his vision. Then he saw something that made him catch his breath. The man directly opposite him had a canvas vest under his coat. The vest had pockets containing what looked like greyish blocks of Plasticine and, running from pocket to pocket, there were wires, some red, some blue. Talpur knew that he was looking at a suicide vest. He blinked and glanced at the man to his left. He was wearing an identical vest. So was the man next to him. They were all wearing suicide vests. He looked down at his own chest and gasped when he saw the grey blocks and wires tucked into the canvas vest. He began to struggle but the bonds held him tight and all he could do was rock the chair from side to side.