The Galician Parallax (52 page)

A few miles out of Vigo, at the Porriño junction, Badi headed straight on towards Orense instead of veering right along the Tuy section. Mesias was too busy viewing the countryside.

‘We’re just going to fill up with petrol,’ said Badi as they were approaching the first exit point at Cans. Within minutes they had turned off the motorway and into a side road leading back into Porriño. Mesias was still busy taking in the scenery when Habib discretely pulled out a .38 with attached silencer and fired a shot into the side of his head. He slumped sideways over to the left side of the back seat without making a sound. In that moment Desiderio turned round and Habib without hesitation shot him right between the eyes. Two shots were enough to dispose of the sailors. Badi kept driving the stolen Mercedes until he found yet another side road that led up into the surrounding hills behind one of the industrial estates in the area. Meanwhile, Habib emptied the dead sailors’ pockets and retrieved passports, passages, money and any other identifying papers.

Another stolen car, an Opel Corsa, was parked behind an empty warehouse where Habib had left it the day before. Once they’d hidden the bodies under some blankets and swapped cars they were soon back along the motorway towards the Portuguese border, ten miles away.

So far, their plan was on track.

‘Weeks now since the raid. Where are they now?’

The minister was addressing another meeting with his heads of national security, the CNI, the Madrid police department and the civil guards.

The CNI chief, Patricio Suarez, was buoyant.

‘They’re in Galicia.’

He looked at General Pelegrino of the civil guards. ‘Good work your people have done at A Lama with the two Algerians.’

‘As I said in my report, the two drug offenders arrested last year were part of the Galician al-Qaeda cell. They’re under constant interrogation and my officers should be able to home in on them in a matter of days if not hours, Minister.’

‘What about the assassination of your Colonel Lobeira? Any further progress?’

‘No, Sir, we’re all still working hard at it.’

The terrorists entered the gangway at just past ten-fifteen. As planned they used the main entrance where dozens of passengers were lining up to disembark. All the ship’s crew manning the entrances had been warned to look out for them and allow them on board. A young duty steward from Costa Rica spotted the IDs and once he let them through nodded at two others standing by to follow them. Domingo soon made his way towards the staircase leading to the crew’s quarters, Jacinto following close behind. Keeping an eye on them the two ship’s crew kept their distance. It took the terrorists ten minutes to find Cabin Nº 347 “Lower ‘B” deck.

Using the plastic pass, Domingo opened the door and slowly entered the cabin. No sooner had he seen the “reception committee” that in a split second he’d slammed it shut stumbling back onto Jacinto.

‘A thousand swords.’

Instinctively making a run for it they couldn’t help seeing the two followers that had already called for reinforcements. At either end of the hallway more than a dozen sailors and two officers were waiting for the terrorists’ next move. Captain Rogers was quick off the mark as he cocked his revolver and ran out of the cabin. The other officer immediately followed, weapon drawn. The terrorists were surrounded in the cramped space of the bowels of the ship. They had no escape. They raised their arms. As two of the sailors carried walkie-talkies, the captain took hold of one and shouted over it.

‘This is Captain Rogers. Shut all gangways, now. This is an emergency.’

Addressing another one of the officers, he shouted, ‘Get up to the bridge. Advise all passengers and personnel that the ship is quarantined until further notice. Nobody is allowed ashore. Got it?’

He looked at Sergio, who was just outside the cabin. ‘Lieutenant, if they’ve got explosives on them…’

Sergio had drawn his 9mm pistol and had it aimed at Jacinto.

‘Captain, give me a few minutes.’

Without hesitation he pushed both terrorists back into the cabin and shut the door.

‘On the floor,’ he shouted in Spanish, ‘now.’ They understood. He began a quick body search.

‘Aha. What’s all this then?’

Stan had remained in the cabin. He looked on in amazement. The explosive compound and detonators were soon sprawled out over one of the bunks as two half-naked terrorists looked on in despair. Sergio’s gun still tucked firmly into Jacinto’s ribs.

‘It’s OK, Captain. Come in.’

Captain Rogers saw the proof of the intended terrorist attack. He was about to call the bridge in order to activate the ship’s major emergency call when Sergio caught his arm.

‘Not yet, Captain.’

He then started to interrogate the terrorists. By the look on his face, he sensed that Jacinto was the weaker of the two. For the next fifteen minutes he played one against the other waving his pistol at both as they halfheartedly confessed the basics of their plot. Finally, continuing in Spanish, Sergio repeatedly asked the same question.

‘Badi and Habib, where are they now?’

Domingo was nonplussed. ‘Allah is with us.’

Running out of patience, Sergio slapped him across the face with his pistol. His upper lip burst open and bled.

‘Lieutenant,’ shouted Captain Rogers.

Without taking his eyes off the two suicide bombers and ignoring the captain, Sergio continued, ‘If you don’t answer I’ll blow your brains out; now.’

He reset his pistol asserting his intention making sure they understood that he meant it.

‘Where are Badi and Habib?’

With tears in his eyes, Jacinto cried, ‘Oporto.’

The switchboard operator nearly had a fit. He ran into the superintendent’s office. ‘Terrorist attack on a cruise ship, sir.’ Within minutes, four squad cars were on the move from different areas of the city.

Once Sergio got what he wanted, he used his mobile and called in to his boss, Colonel Seone, and briefed him on the events so far. Stan was alongside him, taking it all in. Despite the colonel’s shock he immediately mobilised all the civil guard forces in the Vigo area to head for the port. His staff issued a similar request to the national police that in turn coordinated with the local police department. All in all, over fifty armed guards from all departments were soon surrounding the port area, two police helicopters were hovering above and three civil guard launches from the marine sector were a few yards off and along the side of the ship.

‘There’s a Captain Severiano Fabregas on his way,’ said Colonel Seone. ‘When he gets there you’re to hand over and get your arse back up here, Lieutenant.’

‘OK, sir. Will do.’

In the meantime Captain Rogers had handcuffed the terrorists and made sure that they had no other weapons on them. Sergio then looked at Stan. ‘We’ve got work to do.’

‘I thought your colonel…’

Sergio smiled back. ‘Screw him.’ He then addressed Captain Rogers. ‘You heard them, the masterminds are still at large and heading towards Portugal.’

Before the captain could react, Sergio reassured him. ‘You’ve got half of Galicia looking after you now. Good luck, Captain.’

The “sleuths” made their way off the ship. Showing their IDs they were allowed through the police cordon without hindrance. Badi and Habib were going to board and highjack a flight out of the Carneiro airport in Oporto at exactly the same time that the two Filipinos would blow themselves up in the dining saloon of the cruise ship.

‘Clever bastards, don’t you think, Sr Consul?’ as Sergio handed Stan his spare crash helmet.

‘Wait. I’ve got an idea.’

Once they went through Tuy and crossed the River Miño, Badi and Habib headed for the town of Valenza about two miles into Portugal. They had to rid themselves of the Spanish number-plated Opel and hire another car to get them to the airport about an hour and a half away. They had plenty of time as it was just gone midday and Portugal was an hour behind. The British Airways flight was due to take off just after 19:00. They found a parking space in one of the side streets.

Badi said jokingly looking at other number plates, ‘More Spaniards than Portuguese.’ Habib didn’t answer. He was too busy re-checking his gun before they got out of the car.

‘Put it away, you’ll have plenty of time to use it.’

They walked back into the town and headed for the Hertz car rental agency. A Peugeot 305 was the best available choice.

‘Do you want unlimited mileage?’ asked the clerk as he was preparing the contract.

‘No thanks.’

‘Full insurance?’

‘Minimum will do.’

They decided to use the old coastal road rather than the toll motorway.

‘Just in case,’ said Badi.

Half an hour later they had stopped for lunch.

Stan called his counterpart in Oporto, told him what was going on in Vigo and said that the remaining terrorists, a couple of Middle East fundamentalists, were heading towards the airport and ‘Goodness knows what they’re going to do.’

‘Yes, Stan, I’ve got it. Saw the news, what a bloody carry on.’

HBC Freddie Goodly, having recovered from the initial shock, promised Stan that he’d alert the police right away.

‘That’s not all. Can you call Madrid and get hold of Danny Wilton? Tell him that he’s got to pull out all the stops to protect a prisoner called Patrick Nolan in A Lama prison at all costs. His life is in danger.’

Freddie didn’t understand a word but said he’d get on to it right away.

‘I’m impressed, Sr Consul,’ said Sergio as he started up his motorbike. He’d forgotten about Paddy and the possible repercussions once word got around the prison walls.

The ambassador was watching the television news. He’d called for an emergency meeting with all heads of departments. The FCO was on an open phone link and the PM, Tony Blair had been called back urgently to Nº 10. Although no one was allowed on board the ship, television and other media desperate for information besieged the docks. The news broadcasters, both national and international, were speculating on all angles of suspected terrorism. Although the two Filipinos had been formally arrested and driven off to the main police station in Lopez Mora Street under strict secrecy, no other statements had yet been issued by the authorities. As Sergio suspected, they were too busy interviewing the captain and his officers to realise that they were running out of time. Badi and Habib were already at large and within hours of carrying out their final terrorist plan.

‘What the bloody hell is going on, Danny?’ said the ambassador. ‘Is there any news from our HBC?’ Danny had never seen HMA in such a mood.

‘No sir, have tried to call his mobile but there’s no answer. The shipping agency said he was down at the docks. That’s all.’

It didn’t take long for the Spanish interior minister to contact the ambassador. His secretary passed the call through. Still in the meeting, and after a brief discussion, the ambassador put the phone down.

‘Looks like the terrorist attempt has been foiled, thank God. The Spanish police have the situation under control and the ship is being searched at the moment in case of more explosives.’

HMA disbanded the meeting until further notice but as Danny was leaving he called him over. ‘Try to find out where Bullock is. He’d be in the middle of all this, wouldn’t he?’

Danny returned to the consulate to be greeted by an excited secretary.

‘It’s Mr Goodly from Oporto. Says it’s urgent. Looks like Mr Bullock is in trouble down in Portugal.’

Yolanda was just as anxious as Gloria was as they spoke over the phone. Being on the spot Yolanda weakly reassured Gloria that “no news was good news” but that apart from all and sundry calling to find out where they were, the only thing she knew was that the consulate in Madrid had been in contact with their HBC in Oporto.

‘He’s been in touch with the Portuguese, Gloria, that’s all I know.’

‘Locos de remate,’
said Gloria in Galician.

‘Bloody nutcases,’ retorted Yolanda in English.

Although Gloria’s legal department was not directly pressurising her for information knowing that her husband was involved, Yolanda on the other hand was receiving calls from all over including the shipping line back in Southampton.

‘I have no idea where he is,’ she kept on saying, ‘except that he’s down in Portugal.’

Both women were worried as hell.

The HBC in Oporto was not the only person to alert the Portuguese police. Once the two Filipinos had completed their statements at the Vigo police station, the chief inspector and the head of the civil guards alerted their counterparts across the border. A full-scale operation was immediately put into effect, including ambulances and fire engines. The authorities were taking no chances. A facial robot description of the Arabs had been sent off from Vigo and distributed to all police stations.

Stan and Sergio had arrived at the airport. They saw the police display. Stan got off the motorbike and took of his helmet. He then reached into his pocket for his mobile. He had more than a dozen missed calls. Sergio did likewise and a similar amount was registered on his own cell phone. They looked at each other and began to chuckle.

‘Well, Sr Consul, we’ve stopped one lot but the others are still around.’

‘What do you think they’ll do now?’

Sergio thought for a moment as he rearranged his gear and placed the helmets in the motorbike sidebags. He checked the time. It was midday, Portuguese time. ‘They’ll be around to finish what they intended to do, police cordon or no police cordon. Remember they’re suicidal.’

Meanwhile, Badi and Habib had finished their lunch and were making their way to the car park. They were still a few miles away from the airport. As they pulled out into the road and were half a mile along, they noticed a police car with sirens blaring approaching them at full speed. It overtook them. Almost two minutes later, an ambulance travelling in the same direction passed them and was soon careering away following the police car. Badi began to sense danger.