Glancing back at the watch on his wrist again he saw that it was nearly time for the plan to commence. Placing his drinks container in a nearby rubbish bin he moved out to what he deemed to be the middle of the open space of the floor. From where he was standing, he could see the escalators, elevators and had a good view up to the two higher floors. A military tactician would have told him that he was in the least defensive position he could have found. But that was perfect; if by some act of grace a sniper did manage to penetrate the complex and shoot him, his finger would release from the trigger button and the bomb would explode. He savoured the idea of the thought, the building destroyed because someone dared to shoot.
He removed the dark satchel from his shoulder and, as he placed it on the floor at his feet, he removed an earphone-microphone headset and slipped it around his head. Despite the fruit smoothie, his mouth felt dry again so he took a sip from a small plastic bottle of water also in the bag. It was warmer than he had expected but it did not matter; he would soon be celebrating with a bevy of virgins. He had now been standing in the same spot for two minutes and nobody had even seemed to notice him there. As he watched men and women bustle past him in all directions it was as if he was watching the world on fast-forward: they were oblivious to his presence.
The final item in the satchel was a little black box. He did not quite understand how the box worked but he had been told that once inside the building, activating the box would cause all of the electronic locks on the building’s doors to trigger, sealing all inside. The box emitted a radio signal that would also allow him to take control of the centre’s speaker system, giving him complete control and the attention of his victims. Everything had been planned to the finest detail. He activated the battery pack on the vest via the trigger switch and then placed the thumb of his left hand down on the red trigger button. The vest was now activated and any attempt to release the trigger switch would result in detonation: there was no turning back.
13
Megan Davies was on the Upper Level of the West Quay Shopping Centre. She had just come out of one of the jewellery shops nearby and had spotted a beautiful pair of earrings that were half price in the January sale. She knew she didn’t need the earrings, but that didn’t mean she didn’t want them. She was hoping that if she could get her husband into the shop, he might spot them and buy her them as a gift. She was determined not to make it too obvious that she wanted them, but she knew how to drop enough hints for him to bite. She wasn’t sure where he was, probably in an electrical shop of some sort: Kyle did like his gadgets.
They had come to town this Saturday afternoon to see what last minute sale bargains they could find. Kyle had recently been promoted at work and, in her eyes, they could afford to splurge this month. After all, things were going well at the salon too. He had been debating whether to upgrade their television set ever since New Year’s Eve when they had been around at a friend’s house having cocktails. The friend’s husband, Brian, had just installed a sixty-inch flat screen with a surround sound speaker set. Megan had admitted it did look impressive and the picture quality had been good, but then Brian and Rachel lived in a much larger house than they did. Kyle had woken on New Year’s Day and had started shopping online for a larger set. They lived in a three bedroom semi-detached house in nearby Totton, but it certainly wasn’t spacious. The living room was half the size of Brian and Rachel’s and in Megan’s opinion the thirty two inch television they already owned was large enough. Kyle had argued that the football would look better on a larger screen, as would movies. In the end, Megan had reached the point where she just didn’t care how big the television set was, and had told him just to buy what he wanted.
Unfortunately it hadn’t been that easy and he was now spending a lot of time looking in electrical shops and on the internet trying to locate the best deal he could. He had found several models online that he wanted, but every time he had made up his mind and gone to pay for the item, it had come back as out of stock and the search would recommence. She was fed up of hearing him talk about dynamic contrast ratios and the number of HDMI slots this television had or that television had. She loved Kyle to bits but when he got a bee under his bonnet, he became like an excited child.
The shopping centre was incredibly busy today; clearly wives had dragged their husbands in to look around the shops. The local football team was playing away at Aston Villa that afternoon so most of the men that escaped the weekly ritual trip to the city were here today.
She looked up and spotted Kyle approaching. From a distance she wasn’t quite sure whether he was pleased or disappointed; either way she hoped he wouldn’t tell her. On the other hand, if he had finally found the one he wanted, it would be easy to twist his arm into buying those earrings too. They would go well with the outfit she had picked for their romantic dinner that evening.
She had received some great news the night before that she was yet to share with her husband. She had proposed they go out for dinner that evening to celebrate his promotion, but the real reason for the celebration would come when she told him that, in seven and a half months’ time, he would become a father for the first time. She did what she could to quickly wipe the grin from her face as he came closer.
‘Something funny?’ he asked.
‘No, no. How did it go? Did you find what you were looking for?’
He pulled his lips tight, ‘Not really. They have one or two models that look okay but they’re more expensive than I was looking for.’
‘Oh,’ she said, disappointed that the earrings might just have to wait this time.
‘There is one more shop I want to look in, and then we can go home. Is there anywhere else you want to look?’
‘I might have a look in the jeweller’s while you’re gone,’ she said, nodding at the shop where the earrings were. ‘Why don’t you come and find me, when you’ve finished.’
‘Okay,’ he said leaning in and pecking her on the cheek. ‘Have you managed to book us a reservation for tonight yet?’
‘Oh no,’ she said, suddenly remembering that she was supposed to have phoned the restaurant while he had been in the electrical shop. What was wrong with her memory recently? ‘I’ll phone them now,’ she said, withdrawing a mobile phone from her handbag.
She pulled up her list of contacts, as her husband disappeared, and dialled the number for Gianni’s, their favourite Italian restaurant, out near Lyndhurst. She soon heard the voice of Maribella, the restaurant’s maître-d and co-owner, on the other end of the line.
‘I know it’s short notice but I was hoping you might have a table for two for this evening? Maybe around eight o’clock?’
‘I’ll just check,’ replied the maître-d before the phone line disconnected.
Megan looked at the display on her phone, the line had definitely gone dead so she pressed to redial, but a ‘Network Error’ message popped up on the screen instead.
‘That’s odd,’ she said to herself, wondering what could have caused her to lose signal. She tried moving closer to the edge of the railing to see if her phone would reconnect but it did not. Her phone now showed no bars of signal.
A loud, high-pitched squeaking over the shopping centre’s communication system caught her attention. It was followed by a man’s voice advising that he had taken control of the centre and locked all the doors. They were not to attempt to escape.
Megan thought it was somebody’s idea of a sick joke, and it appeared many shoppers had either not heard the message or were choosing to ignore it.
‘I have a bomb!’ the voice continued. Do not attempt to escape this building or I will be forced to detonate it.’
Megan’s eyes looked skyward, as if she expected the owner of the voice to be sitting on one of the speakers. A hush started to descend on the shopping centre and when the statement was repeated by the voice, it was a lot easier to hear it. From where Megan was she could see the walkway that led down to the main entrance of the shopping centre and there did s
eem to be some struggling from shoppers near the doors.
‘I repeat,’ said the voice a third time, ‘I have locked the doors to the centre remotely and I have taken control of the communications-address system. There is no point in trying to escape: you will listen to what I have to say.’
A sudden burst of screaming erupted from over the edge of the railings, and Megan turned and looked down towards the commotion. There appeared to be a man in a long green jacket. A small circle of people were standing near him and it appeared the screaming was coming from this group. As Megan looked closer, she saw the man was wearing a headset with microphone. A shiver ran down her spine as the reality of what was happening slowly dawned on her.
The young Asian man who seemed to be doing the talking, slowly unbuttoned his coat and, judging by the reaction of those closest to him, what was beneath the coat was very real. Screaming grew louder and almost like a wave, realisation started to dawn on those who were now observing the man. As shoppers exited shops onto the main concourse, the truth of what was happening would be explained to them. Megan could see the panic in the eyes of those near her. Several people ran from the railing in the direction of the exits, as if they possessed the key that would unlock the doors. There was a real crowd of people by the main entrance now, hustling and bustling to get near the front so that if the doors did manage to open, they would be the first to leave. But it was no good; the large glass doors were locked. There was a second exit only forty feet from where the man was standing on the Ground Level. Megan watched in horror as a group of men ran for those doors too. Did they not care? After all, the bomber had said he would detonate the device if anyone tried to escape. How could those men be so selfish? Their attempt to leave was useless as the large doors at that exit were also locked shut.
Panic was continuing to spread around the centre and within five minutes of Megan losing her phone signal, everyone in the centre knew that some madman had taken control of the centre.
‘All the entrances and exits to this complex have been electronically locked, I promise you. There is no way in or out of this building. It is fruitless trying to leave. Your fate has been decided, you now have a choice: leave this world with dignity or squealing like the pigs you are,’ continued the voice.
Megan watched on as a large man in a rugby shirt walked towards the speaker. It was clear that he was planning to tackle the much smaller man.
‘Stay back!’ the bomber shouted, as if pre-empting what the rugby fan was thinking. ‘If my thumb releases the switch in my left hand, the device will be armed. Do not assume I am bluffing. I am ready to meet my maker now. Are you so confident?’
It did the trick, and the man in the Rugby shirt quickly retreated.
Behind her, the centre’s overnight metal gates began to descend, shutting out the outside world. The screams of those being crushed by the glass doors intensified, as more people pushed forward, desperate to get one of the doors open just a crack to escape, but they remained stuck fast. The descending shutters were an additional layer that would need to be broken through and those trapped inside knew it was the final nail in their would-be coffin. It was a similar story at the main exit of the lower floor where the bomber was standing. Those that had harboured hopes of breaking through the doors let out a scream in unison.
Megan continued to watch the bomber in awe, wondering where Kyle was. Without quite understanding why, she lifted her mobile phone up and began to video the man now in control of the centre.
14
Laboué was pleased with how well the plan had gone so far. The mentor had spoken to him at great length about ways to handle the stress of the situation he would be faced with. He had been warned about those who might try to heroically tackle him to the floor.
‘Most heroes are not like those depicted on the television,’ the mentor had said. ‘They are human and that means they are weak. Remind them that they will cause the certain death of others and they will shrink back to their snivelling origin quickly.’
He had been right. The muscular man who had tried to confront him was now back with the rest of them; watching him. The adrenalin was flowing through his body, as those around waited for his next words; the power was like nothing he had ever experienced.
He had asked the mentor what he should do if anyone ignored his warning and tried to wrestle the trigger from his hand.
‘It’s simple,’ his mentor had replied smiling, ‘you release it and Allah will welcome you.’
What most of those now cowering at his feet failed to realise was that he was prepared to die; in fact he welcomed death. Life was the ultimate test of whether man was worthy to dine in His kingdom, and Laboué’s actions this afternoon would secure his passage; dying for a cause was all it took.
The mentor had been very clear about how the plan would play out and, to his credit, he had been spot on thus far. The metal box in the satchel had indeed activated the centre’s evening electronic lock-up protocols, and now that the metal shutters were descending, the police would not disturb him. He had no idea whether the radio signal blocking transmitter was suitably doing its job, but, judging by those few he had seen trying and failing to establish contact with the outside world, it was at least partially effective. Now for the third part of the plan: the speech.
Laboué had imagined this moment: the westerners powerless at his feet while he read the words from the Qur’an and left his piece of history. It was even more exciting than he had imagined. Reaching into his trouser pocket, he was surprised not to find the piece of paper from earlier. Undeterred, he attempted to put his free hand into his left trouser pocket, but that pocket was also empty. Slightly concerned, he then reached his right hand into the pockets of the Aligarh but they were also empty.
He tried to remember back to the last time he had held the piece of paper. He had been in the flat, after he had dressed. He had placed the page on the bed, while he had turned to collect the satchel. Of course! The satchel!
He reached down to the satchel, which was on the floor beneath his feet. He rifled amongst the items in it and really began to panic as he failed to locate the speech. Where had he put it?
He stood back up and closed his eyes as he replayed the scenes from his flat once more. As he had left the flat he had looked back in the room to make sure that everything was as it should be. He could not remember seeing the page on the bed where he had placed it, so he must have picked it up, surely? His eyes remained closed as he watched himself placing the page on the bed, and moved to the door. No, that wasn’t right: he was missing something.
The fan.
He had been feeling clammy so had turned on the ceiling fan before he had collected the satchel. But when he had turned back around the page had not been on the bed where he had left it, nor had it been there when he had scanned the room before leaving.
‘Oh no,’ he thought to himself as the truth dawned: the breeze from the fan must have sent the page onto the floor somewhere out of sight. Which meant…
What was he going to do? Without the mentor’s words, the mission couldn’t proceed as had been dictated. But it was too late to turn back. The shutters were now fully in place and through the mobile phones recording his every action, the world was watching.
‘Keep calm,’ he told himself.
He had read that speech many times, all he had to do was try and recite what he remembered. The Qur’an passages were the easy part as he had read and learned those quickly, but it was the English words and phraseology that was the most important part. The mentor had been adamant that Laboué use the words he had given him.
Those closest to him began to scream louder. From their point of view, the bomber had suddenly grown very quiet, had closed his eyes and was sweating profusely; they saw a man about to die.
‘Silence!’ he shouted, as he tried to regain control of his senses and the people before him.
‘Sir?’ said a voice approaching him.
He turned and saw a thin man
walking towards him slowly.
‘Who are you? What do you want?’ Laboué demanded, eager to quell any possible resistance.
‘I am a police officer,’ the man replied, stopping and lifting his hands to demonstrate he meant no harm.
Laboué considered the man: bald headed, save for a shock of brown hair either side of his receded hairline and a bushy brown moustache above his lip.
‘My name is Detective Inspector Jack Vin-sent,’ the man continued calmly, edging forward once more. ‘Perhaps I can be of some assistance?’
‘Stay back!’ he demanded, himself stepping back slightly to maintain distance between them.
The man bowed his head in obedience and lifted his hands further into the air, as if he was re-enacting an old fashioned ‘stick-up’.
‘I mean you no harm,’ Vincent said calmly. ‘I wish to offer myself as liaison to help you achieve your aims. I would estimate that I am probably the most senior figure here today, so, if you have demands, I am probably best-placed to ensure those demands are relayed to the proper authority.’
He didn’t need this additional distraction, as his desperate mind tried to recall even the first line of the mentor’s speech.
‘Get back, get back, or I will detonate it!’ he shouted.
‘Okay, okay,’ Vincent offered, taking a visible step backward. ‘Please don’t do anything hasty.’
‘Shut up,’ he shouted at him.
‘Okay, okay,’ Vincent repeated calmly. ‘I will remain quiet, for now.’
‘Enough!’ he admonished, as certain parts of the speech began to return to his memory. ‘All those of you before me today,’ he continued, turning slightly to address his captive audience, ‘bow now in reverence to your pathway to Allah.’
Several of those closest to the scene passed glances between one another in an attempt to understand what they should do.
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