‘Down on your knees, now!’ he shouted in answer to the questioning looks.
Slowly, the shoppers in front of him knelt down on the floor.
‘All of you!’ he bellowed into the microphone. ‘I want all of you on your knees!’
The message began to permeate and like a wave of tipping dominoes, the crowded masses began to drop to their knees. Laboué turned and nodded at the policeman to follow suit. The officer obliged, although his eyes remained locked on the bomber’s face as if waiting for him to fail.
Laboué tried to regain as much composure as he could. It was all about sounding confident. ‘If you speak with confidence, people will believe anything you tell them,’ the mentor had said. He was disappointed that he couldn’t remember the exact words of the speech, but it was too late to turn back; he would just have to ad-lib and hope he covered the bulk of the points.
‘People of the Western world,’ he began. ‘For too long your governments have dictated to the rest of the world how they should be governed. Your governments and your commanders in chief have ruled over the world in the belief that some higher authority has deemed this to be okay. Today marks the day when this will start to change. Who gives the British Prime Minister and the President of the United States the right to tell my brothers how they should govern?’
He paused while he tried to remember what came next. He was conscious that he had already begun to repeat himself as excerpts from the speech returned to his memory. The last thing he needed was for his message to come across as garbled nonsense. As he remembered the structure of the message, there was the part about accusing the western dictators of bringing this on themselves. He felt confident he had just about covered this point. Next was the part about what he intended to do today, then would come the holy passages, followed by a final indictment of oppressive forces and then he would release the button and that would be it. He could still feel a ring of sweat on his forehead, and he felt ridiculously warm, as if there was a massive spotlight shining on him.
He carefully slid the Aligarh jacket from his shoulders, allowing it to drop to the shiny floor. He then began to remove his tunic, which should have been an easy task but as he raised it over his head, it got tangled in the headset he was wearing, which slipped from his head and clattered to the floor, sending a cacophony of bangs and screeches through the centre’s speaker system. He quickly finished removing the tunic and picked the headset up. His cheeks felt flushed with embarrassment but he ignored it. There were further gasps and screams as those with a good view laid eyes on the vest. For the few who might have doubted his intentions, the reality of what was about to happen became clear.
Vincent spoke up, ‘Sir? Hello? Excuse me? Please, there has to be a way out of this. What are your demands?’
‘Silence!’ he barked, fixing him with a glare that demonstrated his seriousness.
‘I’m sorry,’ Vincent countered in a slightly raised voice, ‘but I cannot just kneel here and allow you to threaten the lives of all these innocent people.’
‘Innocent?’ he interrupted. ‘You are all as guilty as those you allow to govern you. It is time for you to take responsibility for their actions. You vote these people into your Parliaments and into your Senates. You do not protest when they send aircraft and bombs into Middle Eastern countries. If you do not agree with their strategies, you are responsible for demonstrating your disagreement.’
‘These people here, we, don’t have any say in foreign policy. I’m sure most here would agree that they would rather live in a peaceful world. Do you think we like to see our brothers, sisters, husbands, wives and children strap on a weapon and shipped abroad, not knowing if they will ever return? How can you believe that taking the lives of innocent people here will help your cause?’
It was a fair question and it stopped Laboué in his tracks for a moment until he remembered his mentor’s words, ‘They will try to distract you, try to convince you that you are wrong. Don’t let your faith waiver.’
‘I am wearing an explosive vest. In my left hand is the trigger mechanism,’ he continued, ignoring the policeman’s questions. ‘If there are some among you, like this policeman claims, who would choose to stand up for what is right, for what you believe, then let those people step forward now and stand next to me.’
‘You cannot be serious?’ Vincent demanded.
‘Come forward now if you believe that your government are wrong to dictate their beliefs on my brothers in the East. Today is your opportunity to prove your innocence, to show the world where your loyalties lie. Come forward now, do not be afraid of death. There is a greater paradise on the other side of this world for those who stand up for their beliefs. Join me!’
His words echoed around the complex, but nobody made a move to come forward. The only noise that could be heard was from those at the main exits, still hopeful that somebody would get the doors open and let them out of this madness.
15
Megan Davies was still on the upper level watching the drama play out. Her phone had been recording the incident for five minutes. The bomber was now chanting something in a language she did not recognise but she had remained glued to the spot. She wanted to leave, to somehow wake up from the nightmare. A tap on her shoulder caught her attention.
‘Are you okay?’ Kyle whispered into her ear.
She tried to turn and hug him, but he placed his hands on her forearms, preventing any movement.
‘Don’t turn around,’ he continued in a whisper. ‘Just keep watching him, I don’t want sudden movement to distract him. Do you understand?’
She nodded softly.
‘Good. Listen to me: I need to tell you something. If these are to be our last moments together on this earth, then you need to know how much I love you, Megan. Meeting you was the greatest experience of my life, and I know that without you, I would never have amounted to anything good or worthwhile.’
She tried to turn again, but he held her tight.
‘Don’t speak,’ he continued, ‘just listen to me. The proudest day of my life was the day when you walked down that aisle, stood before our friends and families and told the world that you would become my wife. I know that things haven’t always been easy for us, but I want you to know that I don’t regret a single day since I met you and if I had the choice, I would happily do it all again. I thank God that I met you and that you completed my life.’
A tear rolled down her cheek.
‘I cannot readily stand by and allow this crazy man to try and kill all these people. I am going to try and take him down.’
‘No,’ she tried to interrupt, before he shushed her.
‘I cannot guarantee that I will be successful or that we will live through this, but I have to try. I love you, Megan. If you love me, do not turn around and do not draw attention to my movement. He cannot see me at the moment. I want it to remain that way for as long as possible.’
She desperately wanted to turn around, put her arms around his neck and tell him how much she loved him too, but as she felt him release his grip of her arms, she forced herself to continue watching the bomber. A second tear rolled down her cheek as she silently declared how much she loved her husband.
*
Kyle Davies released his wife’s arms and shuffled backwards until he could no longer see the lower ground and more importantly could not see the bomber; if he couldn’t see the bomber, then the bomber could not see him. He continued until his back was in line with the wall of the row of shops that led along and past the bomber’s sightline. His intention was to get into the Marks & Spencer’s shop, descend their escalator out of view, and reappear on the lower level, behind the bomber. He would still have some distance to cover to get from the shop to within touching distance of the bomber, but he felt confident he could do it.
As he made his way along the mall he had to gently push other shoppers out of the way. Each time somebody looked over in his direction, he would quickly put his finger to his lips indi
cating that those who had turned their heads should continue watching the bomber. He wasn’t quite sure how he would wrestle the trigger from the bomber’s grip and had no training on deactivating a bomb, but, if he could at least get hold of the trigger switch there was a chance that they might survive.
Davies had been a serving officer in Hampshire Constabulary for six years. He worked in Jack Vincent’s C.I.D. unit in the city and had recently been promoted to Detective Sergeant. He liked Vincent, even if he didn’t agree wholly with his views of the world or his attitude to police work. But fair play to the D.I. he had clearly seen Davies’ potential and he had to be grateful for that.
When he had first heard the bomber through the shopping centre’s speaker system, he had made his way from the shop to observe what was happening. He had seen his boss attempt to speak with the bomber and had admired his guts, but he knew Vincent would not tackle the bomber with force; he would, however, be a useful ally in preventing the bomber triggering the vest.
Davies reached the entrance of the department store and was relieved that the bomber still seemed to be preaching, indicating that thus far, his movement had not been detected. There were more people in the shop, trying to get through the trade entrance of the store, but their efforts were fruitless.
The escalators weren’t in operation and he assumed this was a by-product of the centre’s locking mechanism being engaged. He took the steps two at a time and was quickly down on the right level. He could feel his heart pounding as it pumped adrenalin around his system. He pushed through a crowd of shoppers standing at the entrance to the store, and slowly made his way out onto the level. Those who were knelt around watching the bomber were huddled in small groups, which would provide him with some cover as he moved closer to his target.
*
Laboué finished reciting the last of the passages and lifted his head up to check that nobody had moved. Satisfied that everyone was where they had been before he dipped his head, to begin the final part of his speech.
‘You should know that the steps I take today are for the good of the world. I was honoured to be chosen to deliver this message, and you should be thankful that you will take a place in history alongside me. I now appeal to my brothers in the wider world, stand up and take control of your lives, take control of your governments. Do not allow them to continue to rule the world with an iron fist. When they send bombs to the Middle East, they kill innocent civilians without a second thought. What I do today will show them that they can no longer ignore….’
He stopped as a movement in his peripheral vision caught his attention. An athletically built blonde haired man had suddenly appeared from behind a group of people and was running in his direction. The man was fewer than ten feet away, and from the look in the man’s eye, his intention was to tackle him.
He knew the time was now. He had covered enough of the mentor’s speech, it was time to leave this world and take his place with Allah. He closed his eyes and lifted the thumb on his left hand, releasing the red button.
*
Davies moved out from behind the group of people nearest the bomber and was alarmed when the madman turned and spotted his movement. There was still a gap of ten feet between them, but he figured a sprint might be quick enough to reach the target before he could detonate the device. He was only six feet from him when the bomber closed his eyes and lifted his thumb.
Davies leapt from his position, diving towards the bomber with an outstretched arm, desperate to grapple the switch from his hand and ensure the trigger wasn’t released. He clattered into Laboué at full force and both men crashed to the floor: the bomber’s slight frame no match for his. They hit the floor with a bump but, as he looked towards the bomber’s left hand, the red switch was visible, the bomber’s thumb no longer holding it down. As the two men lay in a heap, both staring at the exposed trigger and anticipating an explosion, they both became aware at the same moment that the vest had not detonated.
It was Laboué who reacted fastest, thrusting his thumb back down on the switch and releasing it again, hoping that the lack of explosion was just due to a delayed reaction, but as he removed his thumb again, there was still no blast. The bomber pressed the switch again and again but still nothing happened.
Davies blinked several times as his mind processed the fact that he was still very much alive and that the vest had not detonated. From here, instinct took over. He already had his arm around the bomber’s neck, but he needed to disable the thumb that continued to press at the trigger. He stretched out his other arm and, wrapping his fingers around Laboué’s left thumb, he bent it back in one swift motion, a sickening crack, confirming that the thumb had been dislocated. The bomber cried out in pain.
‘Guv?’ Davies shouted out, not sure where Vincent was or if he could even hear him.
Vincent responded immediately, jumping up from his crouched position and coming over.
‘Are you mental, Davies?’ was not the response he had expected, ‘He could have blown us all sky high!’ but it did make him chuckle.
‘He glanced down at the bomber’s face, contorted with confusion.
‘Looks like it wasn’t meant to be,’ he added with a grin.
Laboué’s eyes made contact with the smiling policeman’s and he spat out.
Davies unhooked the headset from around the bomber’s ear and waved it in Vincent’s direction.
‘You do it,’ Vincent replied. ‘You know how I feel about public speaking.’
Nodding, Davies put the headset on and blew into the microphone to test it was still working.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, we have the situation under control and we’ll have you back on your way shortly. Thank you for your cooperation. If there is any kind of local security in this complex, please come down to the lower ground level and help us figure out how to open the doors, we’d really appreciate it.’
With that both Vincent and Davies embraced as all the tension of the past twenty minutes left them and they enjoyed the feeling that they had just cheated death.
MONDAY
16
Detective Inspector Jack Vincent pushed the duvet back and forced himself to sit up. He could already hear heavy raindrops pattering against the window and he just knew it was going to be one of those days. Although the incident in the shopping centre had been successfully resolved early on Saturday afternoon, the debrief and subsequent paperwork had lasted until the early hours of Sunday morning. The D.C.I. had told him not to come into work yesterday and to get a ‘good rest’. Vincent had known what she meant, but he had spent the day pottering about in the poky flat.
He had skipped breakfast, a now all too familiar habit, as well as lunch, so by the time it got to four p.m. his stomach had been growling for food. He made his way to his favourite Tandoori restaurant and had sat at his usual table. The waiter had practically told him what he was going to eat, such was the regularity of his choices: poppadums and onion bhajis to begin, boiled rice, not fried, with a lamb dhansak. As Vincent now recalled the meal, the belch that followed told him it was time he improved his diet.
He showered quickly, put on a suit and clean shirt and headed out the door. His flat was in the Shirley area of Southampton and it was a good mile and a half walk to the police station. Looking up at the dull clouds covering the sky, he decided today was a day to catch the bus. There were various bus stops along Shirley Road and Vincent didn’t have to wait too long before a number-2 bus arrived. The journey passed without incident and he walked the final five minutes from the train station to the office with an umbrella.
As he walked in through the door, it was as if a celebrity was walking alongside him. Several uniformed and plain clothes officers slapped him on the back and congratulated him for the part he played in preventing the bomber on Saturday. Vincent had never been one to crave the limelight but even he was enjoying this new adoration.
There was a flurry of activity in the Major Incident Room as he walked in. His office was at
the far end of the room and it was there he needed to be right now as nausea gripped him. He quickly moved through the groups of people and shut the door behind him. Grabbing the waste paper basket he heaved up bile and undigested rice. Such was the audible hum of chatter in the other room, his retching passed unnoticed. He vowed that he would try and do better with his diet, even though he had already missed breakfast again.
Vincent was lucky enough to have a small fridge in the corner of his office, which he kept stocked up with mineral water. He grabbed a small bottle and threw the contents down his throat, the cooling sensation on his throat a welcome relief. He then opened the door to the office and prepared to address the team.
‘If we can all gather round please?’ he shouted as he closed the office door behind him.
The conversations slowly ended one by one as those standing around started to move closer to the front of the room where he was standing.
‘Good morning, all,’ he began when he was satisfied he had their attention. ‘As most of you are probably aware, a lot has happened over the last week, and I know that you have been working various parts of the incidents but I think it is time we pooled the knowledge gathered so far. Alright?’
He paused to see if anyone was prepared to challenge this assertion, even though he knew there would be no such interruption.
‘Right, bring me up to speed. Where are we with the plane crash? Have the AAIB completed their investigation yet?’
The UK Air Accidents Investigation Branch was part of the Department for Transport and was responsible for investigating all civil aircraft incidents within the UK and its overseas territories. They had been called out within minutes of the Orly flight crashing at Southampton’s International Airport on Thursday. The plane’s wreckage had been moved to a vacant hangar at the Eastleigh site.
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