‘Will do,’ said Kamran, heading for his desk.
‘What the hell is going on?’ asked Gillard, looking at the screen again.
‘We’ve won,’ said Murray. ‘We’ve released the hostages, the would-be bombers have surrendered and we still have the ISIS prisoners. It’s a win-win-win situation.’
‘But why?’ asked Gillard. ‘Why did Shahid just throw in the towel?’
‘Maybe something happened that we’re not aware of,’ said Kamran. ‘Maybe he thinks he’s won.’ He picked up his mobile phone and called Inspector Adams at Biggin Hill. ‘Ian, the ISIS prisoners. Where are they right now?’
‘Over at the RAF base.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Last I heard, that’s where they were. Still under guard in the van.’
‘Okay. I need you to go over there right now and see for yourself. With your own eyes. Open the door and check that they’re all there.’
‘You think they’re not? You think they’ve gone?’
‘Ian, nothing would surprise me right now. All we know is that we haven’t heard from Shahid and the bombers have given up. If we still have the ISIS prisoners in custody then I don’t understand what has happened.’ Kamran ended the call. ‘Inspector Adams is going to check on the prisoners now,’ he said to Gillard.
‘Please God they’d better still be in the van,’ said Gillard.
BIGGIN HILL AIRPORT (7.18 p.m.)
A bomb-disposal technician in a full bomb suit used a large pair of industrial bolt-cutters to separate the last of the chains. A policeman in a fluorescent jacket rushed the woman hostage out of the hangar.
A second technician removed the vest, carried it to a line of sandbags and placed it carefully with the eight vests that had already been removed. The Asian man’s wrists were bound behind his back with plastic ties, then two SAS troopers hustled him outside and made him kneel on the ground with the rest of the men who had been taken off the coach. All nine stared silently at their captors. Those who had tried to speak had been slapped and told to keep their mouths shut.
The Bomb Squad leader walked out of the hangar, removed his helmet and waved at Hawkins to join him. Hawkins jogged over, his MP5 at his side. ‘They’re fake,’ said the bomb-disposal expert.
‘You mean they can’t be detonated using the triggers?’ said Hawkins.
The man shook his head. ‘Nothing can detonate them. They’re fake. The explosive isn’t real. It’s Plasticine or something. And the wiring’s all wrong.’
‘I was told they could be detonated by phone.’
‘Then you were told wrong,’ said the technician. ‘They look the part, but they’re totally inert. There was never a chance of them blowing up. It’s a con. A scam. We’ve all been wasting our bloody time.’
RAF BIGGIN HILL (7.22 p.m.)
Inspector Adams drove from the hangar to RAF Biggin Hill in less than two minutes, his heart racing. The base was on the western side of the airport, to the south of the passenger terminal. It was the headquarters of 2427 Squadron of the Air Training Corps and there was a brick-built chapel, with a remembrance garden, to commemorate all the airmen who had lost their lives flying out of Biggin Hill during the Battle of Britain. Two full-size replicas of a Hurricane and a Spitfire stood guard at the entrance to the base and Adams drove between them, turned left in front of the chapel and parked in front of a two-storey featureless administration block. The prison van was at the side of the building with half a dozen armed police officers standing around it. Off to the left were the police motorcyclists who had escorted the van from Belmarsh. High overhead a police helicopter hovered, ever watchful.
Adams walked over to an SCO19 sergeant. ‘Everything okay?’ he asked.
‘All good,’ said the sergeant. ‘Any idea what’s happening?’
‘The bombers are in custody. No shots fired, no one hurt,’ said Adams.
The sergeant looked almost disappointed. ‘It’s over?’
‘Pretty much,’ said Adams. ‘But I have to check that your prisoners are all accounted for.’
‘No question,’ said the sergeant. ‘The doors haven’t been opened since we left Belmarsh.’
‘I’m under orders to see for myself,’ said Adams.
Adams went to the van. A prison officer in white shirt and black trousers climbed out of the front and Adams asked him to unlock the back door. The door opened into a small metal corridor with four doors on each side. The prison officer climbed up and took a bunch of keys hanging from a chain attached to his belt. He unlocked the first door on the right and pulled it open so that Adams could look inside. It was a small cubicle, all white metal, with a small bench seat on which sat a bearded Asian man. He scowled up at Adams. ‘Am I to be freed?’ he asked.
‘Not on my watch,’ growled Adams, and nodded for the prison officer to relock the door.
The officer opened another five doors. Each cubicle was occupied.
‘Satisfied, sir?’ asked the sergeant, as Adams climbed out of the back of the van.
‘Satisfied, but as confused as hell.’
LAMBETH CENTRAL COMMUNICATIONS COMMAND CENTRE (7.25 p.m.)
Kamran put down his mobile phone. He was sitting at a large table in a meeting room opposite the special operations room, which was normally used for press briefings, with lines of red chairs facing a raised podium. The Gold Command suite had been too small for the briefing that was now needed. Chief Superintendent Gillard was standing at the middle of the long desk on the podium, flanked by Kamran and Waterman on his left, Thatcher and Murray on his right. Facing them were more than a dozen Silver Commanders from the special operations room and representatives from most of the pods. Lisa Elphick was sitting in the front row, a notepad on her lap, Tony Drury next to her. Kamran looked up at Gillard. ‘That was Silver Commander at Biggin Hill,’ he said. ‘All six of the prisoners are present and accounted for.’
‘Well, that’s a relief,’ said Gillard.
‘And the suicide vests are fake.’
Kamran’s revelation was met by a stunned silence.
‘I’m sorry, Mo, run that by us again,’ said Gillard.
‘The vests don’t contain explosives. Or a detonation system. They’re fake.’
‘I’m confused. What the hell have we been dealing with all day? What has this all been about?’
‘It was a scam, from the start,’ said Kamran.
‘But to what end?’ said Gillard. ‘The bombers have surrendered, the prisoners are still in custody, and we haven’t heard from Shahid since, what, twenty to five? Almost three hours ago. He’s been watching TV so he must know that the ISIS prisoners and his men are at the airport. Why hasn’t he called?’
Tony Drury’s mobile rang and he went to the far end of the room, talking into it with his hand over his mouth.
‘Perhaps he realised it was a trap,’ said Thatcher.
‘In which case why did his men surrender so easily? There was no negotiation. No demands. No contact, even.’
Thatcher shrugged. ‘Maybe the terrorists decided to take matters into their own hands once they realised they were trapped in the hangar.’
‘But right from the start they said they would kill everyone if they didn’t get what they wanted,’ said Gillard. ‘Okay, we now know that the vests weren’t a real threat, but at the time we thought they were. At the very least, you would have thought Shahid would have tried to negotiate. It makes no sense that he’d just walk away.’