by Ted Tayler
CHAPTER 20
Thursday, November 22nd, 2012
A particularly wet day dawned; with widespread flooding problems across the West Country. Torrential rain and high winds threatened to cause structural damage the length and breadth of the country. The Royal visit was still going ahead; the show must go on.
At Larcombe Manor, the morning meeting began at eight instead of nine o’clock. This was so agents could move swiftly to counter the terrorist attacks. Wherever they occurred and whatever form they took. Erebus was back at the helm; he had returned from his urgent meeting in London.
The old man stood at the head of the table. He had read the reports of the mission so far; little new intelligence had arrived overnight, so he chose his words with care and told them his decision.
“These are without a doubt the most dangerous opponents we have faced since Olympus has been in business. I sent my best agents to Wales, and they were outwitted at every turn. I attach no blame. Today’s operation will be heavily policed; the RPS bodyguards are highly trained and prepared to give their life for their Queen. Henry Case understands that armed personnel from the security services will be in Bristol, but not in large numbers. I have seconded two more pairs of agents to join the existing team. They are known to you. Your task is this. Find that car and disable any bomb it may contain. This is your number one priority. The shock and awe a massive explosion and multiple casualties have can be immeasurable. Remove that threat and the five terrorists even if heavily armed and wearing suicide vests will be containable. We must expect that containment to be gained at a cost. When I gave you your instructions Phoenix, Rusty, before you left for Fishguard, I said that it was imperative that the terror squad did not leave there. They won that round; we must win the contest. So they cannot detonate their bombs, shots must be confined to the head. They must die at once. A body wound, no matter if it proves fatal in minutes, will allow them to get to that detonator. This must not happen. Do I make myself clear?”
“Crystal,” replied Phoenix.
The meeting broke up and everyone left the room.
“Phoenix,” called Athena. She ran to him and took him in her arms.
“Come back safely darling,” she whispered, “I love you.”
“Don’t worry,” said Phoenix, “we’ll be fine.”
As she reluctantly let him go and he followed the others, Phoenix wished he was more confident of things turning out ‘fine’. This job had the signs of being a bloodbath.
Rusty had met up with a few familiar faces in the foyer before Phoenix finally left the meeting room. Jack Mould the sniper who had been invaluable in the Weymouth beach mission had arrived. Brad the ex-SAS guy from Birmingham had come down too with his usual crew.
Phoenix was pleased to see the two explosives experts who had been with them at the Westfield Stratford City shopping centre earlier in the year.
“Hello. lads,” said Rusty. “Trust you to pick a cushy number.”
“Sounds as if you needed a helping hand,” said Brad grabbing his friend’s hand. “We’re only too happy to get you out of a tight corner.”
“There are tight corners and then there’s this,” said Phoenix, welcoming Brad. He knew that these were great guys to have with them. Brad had turned up trumps in Milton Keynes, Oxford Circus, and the Olympics Park. With eight agents on the ground, they had a better chance of success. Planning and coordination were the keys.
“I suggest we get over to the ice-house and visit the armoury; we can make sure we have everything we need today and then drop in upstairs to see Henry and Giles. They can give us the heads-up on the latest intelligence. You never know, something may have landed on their desks in the last hour. We can study our plans in the operations room. Let’s go.”
With that, Phoenix led his team out of the main building, across the manicured lawns to the ice-house. They travelled two floors in the lift for a quick visit with Bazza and Thommo. Extra ammunition, comms equipment for the newcomers, silencers, various bomb disposal paraphernalia and street maps of the centre of Bristol were collected and signed for.
“Bring it back safe and sound mind boys, and girls,” joked Bazza Longdon.
Humour was in short supply this morning. This threatened to be a tough mission, and no one was under any illusions.
They took the lift to the control centre. Colin never ceased to be amazed at the volume and complexity of the technical wizardry available to the Olympus intelligence gatherers. They ran through their plan of action; collected several intercepted a message from Giles and happy with what they had put together they left the ice-house.
They ran to the two vans still parked by the stable block and got on board. Kelly and Rusty drove. They exited Larcombe Manor driveway at nine thirteen and headed for Bristol.
DI Zara Wheeler was already in Ashton Vale. Her day had started early too. A trip to Portishead in the driving rain before dawn. Another briefing and pep talk; then transport to the caravan factory.
By nine o’clock, a full ninety minutes before the Royal party was due, she had rallied her troops and positioned them in the most strategic spots. She had walked the perimeter with her uniformed colleagues, looking for something where it shouldn’t be. The crowds, such as they were, had started gathering. It was sodden underfoot, but the rain had moved on to batter someone else further up the country for now.
It looked set to be a typical November day.
Imran Nawaz and the others had woken up at five. On this day of days, they wanted to pray pre-dawn; the fajr was to begin at five forty-five. The four men prayed together; Salam Begum kept her distance and prayed alone. The five terrorists knew that dhuhr was scheduled for noon today. If everything went to plan, they were going to be too busy.
Everything was set; they drove into Long Ashton and parked in the supermarket car park. It was nine-thirty. They purchased food and bottles of water. It would take them fifteen minutes to drive into the city and park the car in the chosen spot.
They then had to cross Pero’s bridge and a further five-minute walk brought them to an independent food outlet run by men who gave generously to the ISIS cause. In the rooms over the shop, they were to change their clothes and wait for the crowds to be at their height.
The longer they remained on the streets the more chance that the police or the authorities might become suspicious. Every precaution had been taken to make the mission a success.
Mohammed Khawaja took over the driving seat. Salma sat beside him. The other three men squeezed into the back. They set off into the city. The traffic was heavy as usual, but moving fitfully. No one gave their car a second glance. Everyone was either going about their business or thinking of the forthcoming visit.
Mohammed eased the car into Prince Street and then signalled right to enter Farr’s, Lane. Traffic cones had been placed in various positions, to reduce the number of vehicles near the Old Vic and along the route, the Royal limousine followed. The crowd would be kept back by barricades, behind which they could cheer and wave their flags to their heart’s content.
In the lane towards Narrow Quay, there was one lorry parked, while it unloaded. Mohammed checked the restrictions for the Controlled Parking Outer Zone. There was a spot; fifteen metres further along on the opposite side of the lorry that gave him two hours. That was where he was leaving the car. The digital readout on the car’s dashboard read five minutes past ten.
“Did you lock the car?” asked Salma as they walked away with their bags containing their guns, vests, and clothing.
Someone stifled a laugh behind her.
“No sister, I didn’t; although it was not because we won’t be coming back for it. If the police sweep the streets before the Royal car drives past the end of the lane, they will discover I have left a surprise for them. It will be the worse for them and we will have to attack earlier than planned. Even so, the damage will still be catastrophic.”
When they reached Anchor Road, they soon found the shop they sought. It op
ened at eleven, to catch the lunchtime passing trade. Two members of staff busied themselves inside preparing food. Imran and Salma arrived at the door first. Mohammed and the others hung back and looked in a shop window. They waited for the couple to be let in, and then they followed a minute later.
Their friends quickly brought them inside and led them upstairs to the living quarters. They ate the food and drank the tea their hosts brought them. They sat and waited until it was time to change and return to the bridge and their destiny. The clock on the wall read ten-thirty.
The Olympus agents had driven around Queen’s Square earlier and Kelly Dexter had headed for Prince’s Wharf. Rusty had parked in the NCP car park on Prince Street at ten minutes past ten.
Rusty, Phoenix, Brad and one of his explosives experts Travis Knight made up the crew. They split up and patrolled the route that the limousine was to take once it left King Street and the Old Vic theatre.
Kelly was on Wapping Road. She found a place to park and she, Hayden, Jack and the second explosives guy Calvin Lyons, went their separate ways, carrying out the same task as the other crew.
Each agent was looking for the car that Tarek Qaadir had driven from West Wales to Watchet. They knew now that they had switched the plates. The make and model had been identified as a Renault Grand Scenic. It was around seven years old. The plates it now carried had come from a VW Passat registered to a Salma Begum from Kings Lynn, Norfolk.
At the caravan factory, the Royal party had begun their tour. The crowds waved and cheered, the management puffed out their chests, and the caravans gleamed. Zara left Ashton Vale with a handful of her colleagues from Portishead and drove into the city. She was confident that the team they had left behind could cope.
She parked on Wapping Road and they walked towards Prince Street. Brief conversations with uniformed officers now on the ground and the primary observations of her colleagues gave no sign they were going to experience any problems. As every minute passed the number of women and children gathering at the barricades grew. Zara looked at her watch. Ten forty.
Phoenix and his three companions made slow but steady progress along Prince Street. Kelly Dexter and her crew followed a similar pattern on the other side of the bridge near the M Shed. Throughout, the Olympus agents were conscious of the need to keep a low profile. They were a clandestine organisation. Their presence was necessary today, based on the intelligence they had about Imran Nawaz and the terror squad.
Even so, they couldn’t be sure that MI5 and MI6 hadn’t stumbled over the same information. Despite their usual bumbling inefficiency. The existence of Olympus other than as a charity had to be protected. Every step they took was calculated to uncover the car bomb, find the suicide bombers, and yet stay under the radar of the authorities. It was a delicate balance.
Zara turned off Prince Street into Farr’s Lane. A small white van had just pulled away from business premises in front of her. She watched it as it left the lane. She passed three large green commercial waste bins and continued walking towards the only car now left parked in the lane. It looked like a Renault. One of those seven-seaters that were so popular. It didn’t look to be dropping deliveries off anywhere. She looked around for the driver.
As she reached the front of the car, she glanced at the windscreen. That was odd; the car appeared to be foreign. There was a blue zone parking disc on the windscreen that might be Belgian, and yet the number plates were in the usual UK format. Something didn’t make sense. Zara tried the front passenger door; she discovered it open.
She moved to the rear of the Renault. The interior of the car appeared to be empty. She reached for the handle on the boot.
Zara was lifted off her feet. Strong arms encircled her and a voice whispered in her ear.
“Don’t touch that sweetheart; I don’t want you to get blown to bits, nor me for that matter.”
Zara squirmed and struggled; she couldn’t free her arms.
“Let go of me, I’m a police officer. Who the hell do you think you are?”
“Well, officer, the hi-viz jacket and being a nosey parker gave the game away sweetheart. Who I am isn’t important, but I may have just saved your life.”
Zara found that the giant who held her had relaxed his hold a little. She turned around enough to look up into his face.
Rusty looked into her fiery eyes. If he let her go, she might kill him. The more he looked at her though; he didn’t want to let her go. Zara looked up at her captor. His hat was pulled over his ears, the scarf he wore covered the lower half of his face. It was his eyes she wasn’t able to drag herself away from.
Zara prayed this man-mountain wouldn’t set her feet on the floor, not yet, she needed to compose herself. She was convinced that her knees were so weak that she would crumple to the ground and look a complete fool.
“Are you sure there’s a bomb?” she asked at last. Rusty nodded.
“Go back to Prince Street, get several traffic cones, and close off the lane. Without panicking the crowds waiting out there for the Queen, get your people to move the barricades back five to ten metres either side of this turning,” said Rusty. He gently lowered Zara to the floor. “This could be forty to fifty kilos worth of big bang, so we need to disable it as soon as possible.”
Into his mouthpiece, he said, “Can you hear me mate? We need your help, pronto.”
“Who were you talking to?” asked Zara, “are you Special Forces? Why didn’t we get informed of the threat?”
“All in good time,” said Rusty, giving Zara a smile. Her heart melted. This was who she had been waiting for; she didn’t know his name and yet she knew instinctively that those lonely nights, crying into a wine glass were history. She couldn’t let him go without finding out his name.
Travis arrived at Rusty’s shoulder. He was surprised to see the rough, tough ex-SAS guy talking to a policewoman; this wasn’t the accepted ‘under the radar’ protocol they usually adopted. He nodded to the two of them and then set to work on the Renault.
Rusty led Zara to the end of the lane.
“Off you go then, miss,” he said, “we’ll handle things here.”
He looked at her reaction. She seemed reluctant to leave. He was tongue-tied himself. He was not at his best with women. Close relationships had been sparse with the life he had chosen. The odd bar girl this policewoman might not approve of, but since he had been at Larcombe Manor, there had been no one.
Zara walked over towards her colleagues.
In the end, he blurted out, “I’m Rusty.”
Zara turned and called back, “I’m Zara Wheeler; don’t worry, it’s the same as riding a bike, you never forget.”
Rusty blushed from his neck to the top his red-haired head; Zara realised what he had meant, and she blushed too. They smiled awkwardly at one another. Both implicitly understood that things would never be the same for either of them again.
CHAPTER 21
Travis was inside the Renault Scenic when Rusty returned. He had checked the interior and the underside of the vehicle. He found no unwanted wires or attachments to cause problems.
“You can leave this one with me, Rusty,” he called out, “get on with finding the bad guys.”
Rusty checked in with Phoenix and Brad. They were further along Prince Street on the opposite side of the road. They reported no signs of the faces they were searching for so far.
“Any news from the others?” asked Rusty.
“Same old story, mate,” said Phoenix, “no sign of them.”
“What time was the party leaving King Street for this official reception at the M Shed?” asked Brad.
“Twelve o’clock. But you can never put a stopwatch on these occasions,” said Phoenix. “It’s not long after eleven now. So if that bomb is on a timer we know that they’ll look to break cover a few minutes after it was due to explode. To take advantage of the shock.”
“If it’s a remote detonation,” said Brad, “then they’re close by already. They’ll wait until the
Royal party cruises along Prince Street. Keep looking. We don’t expect them to detonate that bomb this early, do we? There’s no point. The buildings and the crowds nearby might be history, but the supposed target would be too far away. Whisked off to London sharpish.”
“I can hear this chat you know,” said Travis, “I can’t rush this job. I’m checking the back seats for wires. If my luck holds, the boot handle will be the only booby-trap.”
The minutes ticked by. With great care, Travis released the catches and brought the back seats forward, exposing the contents of the boot. Phoenix and the others heard a low whistle.
“Impressive,” said Travis.
“Size, or complexity?” asked Brad.
“We’ve got upwards of fifty kilos of PE with the extra shrapnel that generally accompanies bombs of this sort. This would do serious damage. The good news is there’s no sign of a timing device. Everything I can see in front of me indicates it will be detonated by mobile phone. I’m going to make one final check through everything and then start cutting wires.”
“Sorry, I missed that last bit,” said Brad. “I had my fingers in my ears.”
“Game head on you two,” said Phoenix, “this is serious.”
He looked at his watch. It was twenty-five past eleven.
“It looks fine,” said Travis, “however, I do have a problem.”
“Go ahead,” replied Phoenix.
“The bomb-maker added a trap to the boot handle. Even without the call from his mobile, this bomb explodes when you open the door. From where I’m perched, I can’t see whether he’s sophisticated enough to have rigged it so if I cut the main contact wires first, it explodes with the same mechanism as if I’ve opened the boot.”
“I’m guessing the only way to see the full picture is…” said Rusty.
“Open the bloody boot, you’ve got it,” said Brad.