First Response (32 page)

‘We have no choice,’ said Pasha. ‘I was told to get on the coach with you and I have to do exactly as I am told. If I disobey, the vest will explode.’

Metcalfe frowned. ‘You mean someone else can detonate it?’

Pasha scowled. ‘I’ve said too much already. Come on. We must go.’

‘You’re telling me that someone else can set the bomb off? That it’s not up to you?’

Pasha glared at the MP. ‘If you continue to talk like this, we could all die. Do you want to die, Roger? I don’t. Not today.’ He headed for the door.

‘They could shoot us,’ said Metcalfe.

‘They won’t,’ said Pasha. ‘They’ve released the prisoners. They’re letting us go to the airport. They don’t want anyone hurt.’

‘They make mistakes sometimes,’ said Metcalfe. ‘Remember that Brazilian electrician they shot in the Tube after Seven/Seven?’

‘That won’t happen again,’ said Pasha. ‘They have rules. That is why the police here are so weak. They have to follow them, no matter what.’

‘But you don’t. Is that what you mean?’

Pasha ignored the question and opened the door. He stepped out into the corridor. A man in a green bomb-disposal suit was standing some fifteen feet away to his left. He pointed to Pasha’s right. ‘Down the stairs,’ he said.

Pasha and the MP went along the corridor and down the stairs to the street. Armed police were aiming their weapons at them. At the roadside a white coach with the windows blacked out was waiting. They climbed on board and found free seats close to the back on the driver’s side. Pasha had to take the window seat. Metcalfe was sweating profusely and had started to shake. ‘Breathe deeply,’ said Pasha. ‘You will have a heart attack.’

‘I don’t want to die. I have a family.’

‘We all have families,’ said Pasha. ‘But we have to stay calm. If we are lucky, we will all get out of this alive.
Inshallah
.’

‘
Inshallah
? What does that mean?’

‘It means “God willing”. It means that everything that happens is the will of Allah.’

The coach door closed and they pulled away from the kerb.

‘But this isn’t Allah’s doing, is it? This is you.’ Metcalfe gestured at the men sitting in front of them. ‘And them. You’re doing it. You’re making this happen.’

Pasha shook his head. ‘No, we’re not.’

Talpur stopped struggling. Nothing he did loosened his bonds. He looked around the circle. Most of the men were slumped in the chairs. One was crying. ‘What the fuck’s going on?’ he shouted. ‘Where the fuck are we?’

There were pigeons roosting in the girders of the warehouse and several fluttered to the roof, but they soon returned to their posts and began cooing softly.

‘Stay quiet,’ said a voice. ‘Anyone who talks will be gagged.’

A man moved into view from Talpur’s left. He was wearing blue overalls and his face was covered with a ski mask. Behind him a large metal screen hung from chains attached to a girder. At the far end of the building there was a pile of disused machinery, much of it rusting and covered with cobwebs. The oil stains on the concrete floor suggested that the building had once been a thriving business.

The man moved into the centre of the circle. ‘My name is Shahid,’ he said, brandishing a gun over his head.

‘What the fuck is this about?’ yelled a captive.

Shahid pointed his gun at the man and pulled the trigger. The bullet thudded into the wall. The sound of the shot echoed and the pigeons scattered in fright. Talpur could smell the cordite and his ears were ringing.

‘I will kill the next person who speaks,’ said Shahid. ‘This is what is going to happen. You will notice that you are each wearing a raincoat. Under the raincoat is a vest containing explosives and detonators, with screws, nuts and bolts to serve as shrapnel when the vest explodes. You each have written instructions in your left-hand pocket. You are to read those instructions and follow them to the letter. You will be hooded again and delivered to a specific place where the hood and mask will be removed. You will then follow your instructions. At all times you will be watched. If at any point you deviate from the script you have been given the explosives you are wearing will detonate. The vests cannot be removed. If you attempt to remove the vest, it will explode. It has been booby-trapped. Believe me, any attempt to take it off will end badly so, please, do not even try.’

One of the men began shaking his head. ‘This is fucking evil, man. Fucking evil.’

‘What I am now about to tell you is the most important thing you have to remember,’ said Shahid. ‘In the right-hand pocket of the raincoat there is a trigger for the vest, which you will keep in your right hand at all times. There is a Velcro strap to keep it in place. The trigger must be visible at all times. But the trigger will not detonate the vest. The vest can only be detonated by phone.’ He reached into a pocket of his overalls and pulled out a cheap phone. He held it above his head. ‘If I call your vest it will explode. Only I can make that call, and until I do, the vest is safe. But if I do call the number – you and everyone nearby will die.’

‘This is fucking sick, man!’ shouted the man, rocking his chair back and forth.

‘You need to shut the fuck up, bruv,’ said Shahid, waving his gun at the man’s face.

‘You can’t be doing this to people,’ said the man.

‘You’ll do as you’re told or you’re dead.’ Shahid put away the mobile phone.

‘I’m not even a fucking Muslim!’

‘Muslim or not, you follow the instructions or you’ll be dead.’

The man threw back his head and screamed up at the roof, a blood-curdling howl of frustration and pain.

Shahid walked over to him and slapped him across the face. The man stopped screaming and stared up at him. ‘You will do this,’ he said. ‘You will follow the orders I give you.’

‘I can’t. I fucking can’t. You need to let me go.’

One of the other captives shouted, ‘Just do it, man. Just do it as he says. Don’t make him mad!’

‘Fuck you! I ain’t doing this. They’ll kill us, man. We go out in these vests and they’ll fucking shoot us like mad dogs.’

‘If you follow instructions you won’t get hurt,’ said Shahid. ‘Everything will end peacefully, you have my word.’

‘Fuck your word!’ screamed the man. ‘You can’t do this. You have to let us go!’

Shahid backslapped the man again, then shoved the gun into one of the pockets of his overalls and grabbed the chair. He tipped it back and dragged it with its occupant across the concrete floor. The man struggled but there was nothing he could do to stop Shahid moving him. The chair’s rear legs scraped across the concrete as Shahid dragged it behind the metal shield that was hanging from the girder. The man was crying now, his body shuddering with every sob.

Shahid came out from behind the metal screen. He was holding the mobile phone again. The bound man was begging for help now, pleading with Shahid to let him go.

Shahid held the mobile phone above his head. ‘Let’s be clear about this, just so there is no misunderstanding!’ he shouted. ‘You will do as you’re told. Or you will die. There is no middle ground.’ He ran his thumb over the keys, then held up the phone into the air. A second later, there was a loud explosion on the other side of the screen. Blood and body parts spun into the air and splattered onto the ground.

All of the bound men were staring in horror at the screen, which was swinging to and fro, and the bloody carnage around it. Panicking pigeons were hitting the roof, their wings flapping frantically.

‘If anyone else wants to refuse, let me know and I’ll detonate their vest here and now.’ Shahid looked around the circle. ‘Anyone?’ he shouted, waving the phone above his head.

The bound men shook their heads.

‘I will say this one more time,’ said Shahid. ‘You follow the instructions you are given, and you will live. Disobey me, stray from your instructions, and your vest will be detonated. Do you all understand?’

The bound men nodded.

Talpur was nodding, too. His ears were still ringing from the sound of the explosion and he couldn’t take his eyes off a training shoe that had hit the far wall of the warehouse. It had landed the right way up, an inch or two of splintered bone protruding from it. Talpur’s heart was pounding so hard it was as if it was trying to burst out of his chest, and he was finding it hard to breathe. He was still gasping for breath as the hood was pulled over his head again.

He lost track of time. There were noises. Muffled voices. Movement. Then the sound of a vehicle being driven into the warehouse, doors opening and closing. More movement. Footsteps. Then he felt someone untie him and drag him by the collar to a van. Hands helped him inside and into a seat. ‘If you want to get out of this alive, stay quiet and do as you’re told, brother,’ Shahid hissed, then patted him on the back.

‘It’s time to go,’ said Masood, slipping his mobile phone into his waistpack. He picked up a bottle of water and took a drink. His hand was shaking and water trickled down his beard. He put down the bottle and wiped his beard with his sleeve.

‘Go where?’ asked Wade.

They were sitting at a table by the window. It was the table Wade always saved for his big-tipping regulars, with a good view of the street outside but in a corner that cut down on the traffic flow around it. ‘The airport,’ said Masood. ‘The prisoners have been released. Now we have to join them.’

‘I don’t want to go to a fucking airport,’ growled Wade.

‘You have no choice,’ said Masood. He raised his left hand and jiggled the chain. ‘I don’t have the key.’ He stood up and squinted out of the window. Outside the restaurant, armed police officers had taken position. Helicopters were flying overhead. Two. Maybe three. As he and Wade walked to the door, a uniformed officer, crouching behind a police car, put a megaphone to his lips. Wade was hanging back and Masood pulled the chain to bring him closer. ‘Stay next to me,’ he muttered.

‘They’re going to shoot you,’ said Wade, his voice trembling.

‘They won’t shoot anyone, not with the TV and press here,’ said Masood. He pointed down the road. Off in the distance there was a white van with ‘BBC’ on the side and next to it a similar van with the Sky News logo. Both vans had large satellite dishes on their roofs. He pulled open the door. ‘And if they do shoot me, the vest goes up and it won’t matter how close to me you are. So stick with me.’

He stepped out onto the pavement and Wade followed him. They both gazed up at the two helicopters hovering high overhead. ‘What are they doing?’ asked Wade. ‘They wouldn’t shoot from a helicopter, would they?’

‘That one on the left is a TV chopper,’ said Masood. ‘They’re filming us.’ He nodded at the second. ‘That’s the police. They’re just following us. Surveillance.’

A megaphone crackled. ‘Please proceed to the coach as quickly as possible,’ said the officer.

‘Why have they covered the windows?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Masood. ‘Come on.’

They walked slowly towards the coach. The armed police tracked them as they moved.

‘They’re going to fire,’ said Wade.

‘They’re not,’ said Masood.

‘Then why are they pointing their guns at us?’

‘Because they’re scared,’ said Masood.

‘They’re scared? Fuck me, I’m the one who’s pissing himself.’

‘I’m scared, too, but they won’t shoot us. They’ll take us to the airport, that’s all.’

‘And then what?’ asked Wade. ‘What happens then?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Masood. ‘We’ll find out when we get there.’ He pointed at the coach. ‘Come on, we’re keeping them waiting.’

Kamran and Gillard looked up at the screen as the coach pulled away from the Southwark restaurant. ‘That’s it. The last one’s on board,’ said Kamran.

The coach headed south, preceded by six police motorcycles with flashing lights, a police van and an armed-response vehicle, half a dozen police vans and the two black Range Rovers that contained the SAS.

‘It’s looking good,’ said Murray, who was standing behind the two police officers. ‘In terms of numbers, we’re well ahead of the game now. Worst possible scenario, if the bus goes up we only lose nine hostages and my man.’

‘Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,’ said Gillard.

‘You and me both,’ said Murray. ‘I’m just saying that we’ve gone from having close to a hundred civilians at risk to just nine. That’s bloody good going.’

‘I’m not sure the great British public will see it that way if the coach goes up in flames,’ said Kamran.

The helicopter tracked the convoy south towards Croydon. The police were using motorbikes to keep the road ahead clear. It was causing traffic chaos but they had no choice. Anything other than a clear run to the airport would put lives at risk.

‘How long before they reach Biggin Hill?’ asked Murray.

‘It’s fifteen miles,’ said Kamran. ‘Usually it would take about an hour but we’ve cleared the roads so it shouldn’t take much more than twenty minutes. Your men are ready to go?’

‘Locked and loaded,’ said Murray.

‘We’re still negotiating, remember that,’ said Kamran.

‘Absolutely,’ said the SAS captain. ‘But this time we’ll be negotiating from a position of strength.’

‘We’ve sent a negotiating team from Bromley. Have they arrived yet?’

‘They’ve just got in. We’re keeping them outside the hangar with the rest of the police until we’re sure we have the situation in hand.’

‘I understand that, Alex, but I have to stress that we need to talk to them before we move in. We have to give them the option of surrendering.’

‘We’ll do that, but I won’t be holding my breath.’

Talpur looked at his watch. They had been driving south for less than ten minutes so, assuming they were taking the direct route to Biggin Hill, they must be somewhere near Bromley. Only the front windows had not been blacked out but he was so far back he couldn’t see much in the way of road signs. He could see the police motorcyclists ahead of the coach. He leant closer to the woman sitting next to him. ‘What is your name?’ he asked.