First Response (22 page)

‘So Shahid knows he’s going to win? Is that what you mean?’ said Gillard. ‘He’s confident?’

Thatcher stopped pacing. ‘He’s calm, as if he knows how this is going to end.’

‘Well, I wish I did,’ said Gillard. ‘Because the way things stand, I’ve no idea how it’ll pan out.’

‘Perhaps I should rephrase that. He thinks he knows how it will end. Everything is going to plan. At least, it was until he discovered that you had spoken to his man in the shopping centre.’ He went over to his desk, picked up his cup of camomile tea and discovered it was empty. He put it down. ‘Shahid clearly knows what he’s doing. Everything has been planned down to the smallest detail, which is why that small deviation from his plan threw him. The question is, what is he working towards? What is he so confident will happen?’

‘Presumably that the prisoners will be released and his men fly off to who knows where,’ said Gillard.

‘So why is he concerned about you making direct contact with the bombers?’ said Thatcher. ‘We saw that, too, when Inspector Biddulph tried to make contact with his man on the bus. There was real fear, then, remember? And the man in the coffee shop in Marble Arch, papering the window so that he can’t be seen. This has all been about isolating the bombers so that we have to negotiate with Shahid.’ He nodded thoughtfully. ‘Maybe Shahid is the only one who knows what’s happening. It’s completely his show. The bombers are the chess pieces and he’s masterminding the game.’

‘You mean he hasn’t told the bombers the full story?’ said Kamran.

‘It’s possible they don’t know what he’s planned, yes.’ He took off his spectacles, pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, and began to polish the lenses. ‘This is what concerns me,’ he said. ‘Shahid is confident that everything is going exactly as he planned. You can hear that in his voice. My worry is that what he’s planned isn’t the release of the prisoners, but that right from the start his aim has been to kill as many people as possible.’ He finished polishing his glasses and put them back on before forcing a smile. ‘I just hope I’m wrong,’ he said.

The pack around Malik’s waist vibrated and he jumped. ‘What’s wrong?’ asked Zoe, as he groped for the zip.

‘It’s okay, it’s the phone.’ He took it out and pressed the red button to accept the call. ‘Brother, what the fuck did I tell you?’ It was Shahid.

‘What?’

‘You were talking to the police. I told you, you talk to no one.’

‘I didn’t talk to him. He walked up to the shop. I couldn’t shut him up.’

‘He sent in food?’

‘There are two kids here and they were playing up. And one of the shopgirls needed to go to the toilet.’

‘What?’

‘She was close to pissing herself. So they sent in a bucket.’

‘A bucket?’

‘To piss in. And a couple of pizzas.’

‘For fuck’s sake, Sami, what part of “don’t talk to anyone” didn’t you understand? Do you want me to detonate that vest now? Because I fucking will. Do you want to fuck off and lie with the seventy-two virgins, is that it? You’re not getting laid on earth so you’re in a rush to do it in Heaven?’

‘Bruv, no, I wasn’t—’

‘I told you, no talking to anyone. I do the fucking talking.’

‘I know, bruv—’

‘You know what’s sitting on the table in front of me? It’s a phone, mate. And there’s a number on speed dial. I call that number and five seconds later – bang! It’s so long and good night for Mohammed Sami Malik and anyone within fifty feet of him.’

‘Bruv, I was doing what you said—’

‘I said no talking to anyone. To anyone, Sami. You want me to press this button, Sami? Do you? You want it to end now? Just say the word, Sami, and I’ll do it. It means fuck all to me. I press a button and it’s over for you.’

‘No, bruv, please! Please, bruv! It was a mistake, okay? I know it, and I won’t do it again, I swear! I swear on my mother’s life! Please!’

Shahid stayed quiet for several seconds.

‘You still there, bruv?’ asked Malik, eventually.

‘Yeah. I’m here. Okay, look, let the woman with the kids go. But you don’t talk to anyone, do you hear? Just tell her to take the kids and get the fuck out of there. But you remember what I said, Sami. You so much as open your mouth to the cops one more time and you and everyone there will be blown to bits.’

‘I won’t talk to anyone, I swear.’

‘Just do as you’re told, and this will soon be over and everyone can go home,’ said Shahid. ‘
Inshallah
.’

‘
Inshallah
,’ repeated Malik. If Allah wills.

The line went dead. ‘What’s happening?’ asked Zoe, fearfully.

‘He’s mad at me for the bucket and the pizzas,’ said Malik. ‘But he says we can let the kids go.’

‘Who is he? Who were you talking to?’

‘The man who’s organising all this. His name’s Shahid.’

‘But who is he?’

Malik shook his head. ‘You ask too many questions,’ he said.

Kamran stared at the digital clock on the wall. It clicked over to 3:55. In a few minutes there would be just two hours left before the deadline expired. ‘He’ll call back,’ said Gillard.

‘But when he does, we’ve nothing to tell him,’ said Kamran. They were sitting at Gillard’s workstation. Lumley had gone off to the canteen with Thatcher. On the right-hand screen were photographs of the six men the bombers wanted released from Belmarsh. On the left-hand screen were the photographs of the bombers. Peas in a pod, thought Kamran. All were young, bearded Asians with the exception of Osman, the Somalian, and Bhashir, the forty-six-year-old father.

‘We play for time,’ said Gillard.

‘We don’t have time, that’s the problem,’ said Kamran. ‘Two hours and that’s it. And what Alex said earlier was bang on – no pun intended. There’s no way we can put nine bombers on a plane. And sooner or later Shahid is going to realise that.’ He ran his hands through his hair. ‘Maybe he knows that already. Maybe he’s just waiting for the deadline, knowing that the whole world is watching. That way he gets the maximum exposure.’

‘If that’s true, there’s nothing we can do,’ said Gillard.

‘There is one thing,’ said Kamran. ‘We can give him what he wants.’

Inspector Edwards wanted a cigarette but even though the shopping centre had been evacuated he figured the NO SMOKING signs still applied. He looked longingly at his cigarettes and lighter, sitting on the counter of the sports shop they had commandeered as a forward base.

‘I know how you feel,’ said Sergeant Clarke, catching his look.

‘I suppose we could pop out for a quick one,’ said Edwards. ‘It’s not as if there’s much happening. Mick and Paul can hold the fort.’ Mick Hecquet and Paul Savage were the other two members of the negotiating team, but they had done nothing except keep watch since they had arrived.

‘Just a quick one, then,’ said Clarke, picking up his pack of Rothmans.

‘Sir, there’s somebody coming out,’ said Hecquet.

The two armed officers had their rifles up at their shoulders.

Edwards and Clarke rushed over to the entrance and peered cautiously out. There was a woman walking purposefully towards them, pushing a double buggy with two toddlers in it. One was munching a slice of pizza.

‘Armed police, hands in the air,’ shouted one of the armed officers.

‘Fuck off, I’m coming through!’ yelled the woman, increasing her pace.

Edwards stepped out of the shop.

‘Stop where you are and raise your hands!’ roared the second armed officer, a woman with short blonde hair. Both officers were dressed in black with Kevlar vests and helmets.

‘What – are you shooting fucking housewives now?’ shouted the woman.

Edwards knew it was standard operating procedure to stop and search everyone leaving a hostage situation, but even a quick glance showed him that the woman wasn’t carrying any explosives. ‘It’s okay, guys, let her through,’ he said.

The two armed officers lowered their weapons.

Edwards ushered the woman into the sports shop. ‘Are you okay?’ he asked her.

‘Of course I’m not fucking okay. I’ve been held hostage by a fucking suicide bomber! Would you be okay?’

‘Why did he let you go?’

‘He didn’t say. He got a phone call and then he said me and the kids could go.’

‘A phone call? On the shop phone?’

The woman shook her head. ‘He had a mobile in his bumbag. That thing around his waist. He answered the call and then he said we could go.’

‘And, just to confirm, how many hostages are still in there?’

‘The poor girl he’s handcuffed to. Another shop assistant. And three customers. He’s keeping them in the changing rooms.’

‘What’s your name, madam?’

‘Stella. Stella Duffy.’

‘What we’re going to do, Stella, is get you to a safe place and have a chat with you about what’s happened.’ He waved over a female officer. ‘Can you take Mrs Duffy out to the Joint Emergency Services Control Centre, please?’

‘Will do, sir.’

‘He says you’re not to talk to him,’ said Mrs Duffy.

‘Who? Sami?’

‘He just said that if you try to talk to him again, everyone will die. He says you’re not to go anywhere near him. He said I was to tell you that and to make sure you understand.’

‘How does he seem?’ asked Sergeant Clarke.

‘What do you mean, how does he seem? He’s threatening to blow himself up, how do you think that seems? He’s a fucking nutter, that’s what he is. Now who do I see about compensation? Criminal Injuries and all that. I need compensating for what me and the little ones have been through.’

‘This lady will deal with all that,’ said Edwards.

The officer took the woman and her children away. ‘What do you think, Chris?’ asked Edwards.

‘It’s not usually how it works, is it? We offer them something and ask for something in return. He sent out the kids for no good reason – he already had the food and the bucket.’ The sergeant grinned. ‘Maybe he just got fed up with her. You saw how mouthy she was.’

‘Or maybe he didn’t want the kids in the firing line. But when we spoke to him, he didn’t seem to care much.’ Edwards took out his mobile. ‘I’ll give GT Ops a call and let them know what’s happening.’

‘And what do we do?’ asked the sergeant.

‘You heard what she said. He doesn’t want to talk so we just wait and see if he changes his mind. At least we got three of the hostages out.’

Superintendent Kamran’s stomach growled and he realised it had been almost four hours since he had eaten anything. He glanced at Sergeant Lumley, but he was busy on the phone, so he took the lift up to the third floor, visited the toilet then headed to the canteen. As soon as he pushed the door open he saw Captain Murray out on the terrace, smoking. Kamran went to join him.

The terrace ran almost the full length of the building and looked north towards the river. Off to the left was Lambeth Palace, the home of the Archbishop of Canterbury, and beyond it the Houses of Parliament. Directly in front of them was the top of the London Eye. Off to the right was the eighty-seven-storey glass skyscraper known as the Shard. It was one of the best views in London and a prime location for watching the riverside fireworks on New Year’s Eve, as Kamran knew from experience. He had been on duty the two previous years and both times had managed to catch the displays.

‘Not a smoker are you, Mo?’ asked the captain.

‘Gave up years ago,’ said Kamran. ‘You okay?’

‘All good,’ said Murray. ‘Just getting my thoughts together. That basement gets bloody claustrophobic at times.’

‘It’s because it’s underground, no natural light,’ said Kamran.

Murray nodded. ‘Hell of a day.’

‘Yeah, you can say that again.’

‘You’ve never seen suicide bombers up close and personal, have you?’ asked the captain.

‘Thankfully, no,’ said Kamran. ‘You?’

‘Once in Iraq and three times in Afghanistan. They’re difficult to figure out.’ He blew smoke up into the air and the wind whipped it away. ‘It’s like they want to die. No fear at all. Their sole aim is to blow themselves up and take as many people as they can with them.’

‘How did you deal with them?’

‘You kill them. That’s the only way. You can’t talk to them, you can’t reason with them. All you can do is slot them before they blow themselves up.’

‘I think we have a different situation today,’ said Kamran. ‘I don’t think it’s about killing people.’

‘You can’t be sure of that,’ said Murray. He blew more smoke up into the air. ‘My second tour in Afghanistan, there was a young kid who hung around our base. We called him Wrigley because he was always asking for chewing-gum. His dad was a metalworker and he made these pens out of machine-gun casings. Sold them as souvenirs at a dollar apiece. I bought a couple. We let him wander around the base, do odd jobs, practise his English, that sort of thing. Then one day he turned up wearing a different jacket. Bigger than his usual one. He got to within about fifty feet of our main command tent before we realised what he was up to.’ Murray shuddered and his hand shook as he took another pull on his cigarette.

‘A suicide vest?’ said Kamran, quietly.

Murray nodded. ‘The wind lifted the jacket. There were tubes of explosive wrapped around his body, studded with dozens of his father’s pens. My mate Bunny Warren saw it first and shouted a warning. We both fired but I’m not sure who got the killing shot in. Either way we blew his head off and the bomb didn’t detonate. If it had done,’ he shrugged, ‘well, I probably wouldn’t be here telling you the story.’

‘I can’t imagine how horrific that must have been,’ said Kamran.

‘Yeah, it’s certainly up there in my top ten,’ said Murray. ‘The kid was, what, twelve years old? Not even a teenager. We liked him. And we thought he liked us. But at the end, when he thought he was about to kill us, he was smiling. Can you explain that to me? The little bastard was smiling. And he was still fucking grinning when we blew his head off.’

‘He might have been drugged. Brainwashed, maybe.’

‘Or maybe he hated us so much he was happy to die if it meant we would die too. That’s what we’re up against with these people. They’re not like you or me. It’s a completely different mindset.’