by Ted Tayler
Minutes later the video went live.
A sudden flurry of activity on the internet followed. #gamesbomber trended on Twitter in minutes. This soon alerted the icehouse and Giles viewed the video. He acted at once.
Back in London, Farooq and Aaleyah had left the flat. With no real idea of what they were going to do, they set off to Stratford. Then they wandered around the massive shopping centre that led into the Olympic Park.
Aaleyah was still the firebrand she had always been. Getting to know and like Farooq made her question whether she needed to blow herself to bits to get across her message. As she listened to her friend speaking to the camera and pouring out his feelings, she realised they could still contribute to the cause. She would not go as far as Munaf and Abdul were prepared to do. But it would be effective in its own way.
It was nearly half past ten. Therese stood by the Royal Observatory. Where was he? She rang him. It went to voicemail. Therese waited.
It was half past ten. Farooq and Aaleyah were still wandering, riding the escalators, waiting for the call from Munaf.
One hundred miles west of Stratford, someone from the surveillance team at Larcombe suddenly shouted, “Yes!”
Everyone in the room jumped.
“What have we got?” asked Giles.
“I’ve got them; they’re on the First Floor heading for the escalators at Westfield Stratford shopping mall. I’m looking for them now on the second floor, please hold.”
“Right, we know where to send Phoenix, Brad and the others. We need to get moving so we can stop them from setting off those bombs. It’s a few hours since he uploaded that video. Why the hell are they waiting?”
It was ten thirty-four and Colin had reached Stratford station. He walked across towards the entrance to the Westfield. Brad spotted him and trotted over to him.
“Good to see you again, Phoenix. Nasty business this one isn’t it. We just heard from Larcombe that they are inside the building. The girl’s been identified too; her name is Aaleyah Fayad. Let’s get over there and you and I can find a quiet spot. I’ve got a choice of toys you can choose from to play with later.”
Colin followed Brad into the complex. Two minutes later, he had the comforting feel of a Glock in his jacket pocket. The search for the two Games Makers could begin in earnest.
Farooq and Aaleyah were fed up, waiting for Munaf to ring. They had run out of floors to explore. Farooq had taken the Nando’s escalator to the third floor and spotted the entrance to the Casino. This was as good a place as any. He took his bag off his shoulder and opened it. He set the timer for noon. He made sure nobody was watching and stuffed the bag into a litter bin. He made his way back to the second floor.
Aaleyah waited for him over by the InSpiration multi-faith space. The volunteers didn’t arrive to staff it until eleven, but it was okay for her to sit there and pray. He joined her and they sat together.
“What have you done with your bag?” she asked Farooq.
He told her. Aaleyah grabbed his arm and pulled him to his feet. She headed off towards the escalators.
“We had better find somewhere to leave mine now. Let’s go back downstairs.”
“Two people in uniform, running!” cried a voice at Larcombe.
“Got you!” said Giles and called Brad.
CHAPTER 22
Brad received the information they were waiting for. The two would-be bombers were on the move. They had descended from the second floor and were now on the ground floor.
He contacted the rest of his team. They sat in the van one hundred yards from the scene. Brad was confident he and Phoenix could take care of these two kids; he didn’t want the place swarming with agents, it would attract too much attention. He wanted them close, on standby, so he could summon them to deactivate the bombs and remove the bombers. Brad rang their squad leader and told him to move inside the building at once and head up to the second floor.
Brad hoped the capture and removal of the bombers and the discovery of the bomb’s position would be achieved without bloodshed.
Because Phoenix had joined them at the last minute, they weren’t ‘miked’ up, so he had to call him. Colin had his phone in his hand and scrolled through his missed calls and text messages from Therese. He was about to send her his apologies when Brad’s call interrupted him.
“Both targets are in the Gallery. Where are you?”
Colin looked around for a clue. A clock above him ticked over to 11:13.
“Chestnut Plaza, heading for The Street, by the looks of it, Do I keep heading in this direction?”
“Roger that. I’m near Cherry Park Lane by Marks and Sparks. I’ll keep an eye out and if the CCTV picks them up again, they’ll let me know where they are heading. I will call you; but if they keep moving the way they are now, I’ll be behind them and we’ll have them trapped.”
“Just keep your gun out of sight until we need to use it, mate. There are too many people around in here.”
“OK Phoenix, I’ll keep my cool don’t worry.”
Brad rang off. His earpiece crackled at once.
It was Giles. “Habibi no longer has his bag; repeat, Habibi no longer has his bag.”
“Shit,” swore Brad. He rang Phoenix.
“One bomb has been deployed in the building, either on the second or third floor. I’m calling my crew to track it. I sent them up that way already; maybe this is our lucky day.”
“OK Brad, I got that. I am outside Hugo Boss, no sign of anyone as yet.”
“I’ve seen them! They’re running towards you. Something spooked them. I’m in pursuit.”
Brad and Colin ran. Farooq and Aaleyah had vanished. As the two agents met, breathing hard, they looked around them wildly, searching for movement of two purple and red shapes.
“How did we miss them?” said Brad.
Colin turned back and looked up The Street. The place was heaving. Eleven fifteen in the morning, with the Olympics in full swing. It was natural that the place would be full of people.
Brad received a message in his earpiece. He breathed a sigh.
“It was a pipe bomb; timer set for twelve o’clock. It has been disarmed.”
“Thank God,” said Phoenix, “one down, one to go.”
All of a sudden Brad pushed past him and started running.
“There they are, in the middle of the walkway. I’ve no idea where they were hiding. It could have been any of the shops along here.”
Shoppers, sightseers, spectators, plus the odd mildly interested security guard watched as the two agents barreled along the gangway towards the two Games Makers.
“Take the lad,” called Phoenix, “I’ve got the girl.”
Farooq and Aaleyah realised it was futile. They stopped running. The two agents caught them up and grabbed their arms.
“Neither of them has a bag Brad,” shouted Colin.
“Where have you put it?” demanded Brad.
“Where have we put what,” said Aaleyah with a defiant look “what’s it to you anyway, you aren’t coppers?”
Brad watched the gathering crowd of onlookers; they needed to remove these two out of here pronto. He called the driver on standby in the van and told him to expect company. Then he contacted the agents upstairs.
“We have another device on the ground floor. We know roughly which part of The Street it has been left in, but no idea when it’s due to blow. Get here right away.”
Colin watched the two students being bundled out of the shopping centre. With luck, the youngster would crack first and tell them where they placed the second bomb. She looked a tough cookie. He took his phone out of his pocket and sent Therese a text.
‘Running late; something cropped up. I hope to meet up with you soon.”
Seconds later, he got a reply.
‘OK, see you xx.’
Colin consulted his watch once more. It was 11:20. It had been a long time since breakfast. He looked around. He was sure he passed a café earlier.
�
�I’m going back to get some grub and a drink,” he said to Brad.
Brad nodded. His agents were just trotting up to him. The bomb disposal expert collared Brad straight away.
“There’s not enough time. It’s not possible to search every one of these units. We have to evacuate the building. I have rung the police and told them there’s a bomb in the litter bin by the casino. I told them it’s going to blow at noon.
Any minute now the alarms will start sounding and the tannoy system will get people moving out of the building. They can’t risk it, they have to evacuate, even if they think it might be a hoax. There are far too many people in here. Hopefully, the other one is on the same timer as the one I disarmed. If the bombers talk, then we can ring again and tell the police where to look for the second device. They can get the army bomb disposal people in to deal with it. They could have thirty minutes if we’re lucky. The police are on call for the Olympic Park anyway.”
“It was a good call pal,” said Brad “we had better head back to the van. I’ll just ring Phoenix to update him.”
Brad sent Phoenix a text message and followed his crew outside to the van.
As Brad reached the outside door, he got a reply.
“I got a chicken tikka masala mate, sorry if it stinks the van out, but I’m starving.”
The clock ticked on to 11:30; all hell broke loose.
Colin shook his head. His ears were ringing.
The blast had come from twenty, thirty yards behind him and to his left. He had just left that café. The same café full of customers enjoying a bite to eat and a cool drink on a warm summer’s morning. Happy, smiling customers; blissfully unaware that someone would leave a bomb on a chair, or under a table, set to go off at half past eleven. Someone who would then walk out, with their companion and leave them to their fate.
As Colin moved unsteadily towards the café, he recognised the familiar charcoal-like smell of gunpowder mixed with blood and burned flesh. It was thick and bitter, overpowering everything. He tasted it in his mouth.
When he handed the young girl on the till the money for his sandwich and can of coke, she had smiled. As she placed his change in his outstretched hand, her fingers had felt so small, soft, and warm. She trailed her fingers lightly across his palm and giggled as he turned to walk away.
Colin recalled the small group of people standing just outside the café, deciding what to get, and who was going in to buy it. He pictured the elderly couple in the corner nursing their cups of tea; just people watching. In the middle of the room, there were the tables full of parents with young children. The noisy teenagers he stared at who were sprawled over a table by the back wall. Why hadn’t he seen a Games Maker bag?
He stood now where the gaily-curtained windows and the doorway had been. His head was clearing. Colin forced himself to remember, but he knew that he had not seen a flash. The noise he heard though was similar to a firecracker. That was what had struck him most. He had felt no heat. There was no rush of wind. The blast had thrown him forwards onto his hands and knees.
Outside the devastated café, there were people like himself, confused, shaken, and walking around in circles, wondering what had happened. Colin saw a few people picking themselves up from the walkway with bloody faces.
Inside, there were bodies scattered on the floor of the cafe. Although it seemed as if the bomb had to have exploded ages ago, it was only a minute. The coppery, bitter smell of blood invades Colin’s nose. The old chap in the corner was trying to put out the flames on his wife’s back. Looking at what remained of her face, her husband was wasting his time.
The tables where the families sat were gone too. What remained were shattered tables and chairs. There were body parts everywhere. There did not appear to be any survivors in this part of the café. Colin swallowed hard and switched his attention to the back wall. The teenagers were unnaturally quiet. The tableau was surreal; one had lost both of her legs. She might still be alive; her mouth open, but so far she could not seem to make up her mind whether she wanted to scream or not. Her three companions were in the same positions as he left them. The shards of wood and slivers of glass that sliced through arteries, penetrated brains, and vital organs had wiped away forever any thoughts of a gap year.
Staff members appeared from the rear of the building. They were kitchen staff. They picked their way through the rubble, in shock at the horror in front of them. One of the chefs called out a name and dropped to his knees behind the remains of the counter.
“Ally!” he screamed.
Colin was there in seconds. The young man was hysterical. The pretty girl who flirted with him minutes ago sat on the floor. She had lost her right forearm; the fingers she trailed across the palm of his hand had been blown away. Colin could still feel the sensation of her light affectionate touch; he fought to keep control of his emotions. The stump was covered in black blood.
Colin knelt by the young chef and beckoned to one of his colleagues.
“Look after this lad mate will you? Try to calm him. Help will arrive soon.”
Ally was breathing heavily; she looked up at him.
“Am I going to die?”
Colin reassured her as best he could. He grabbed a shredded tablecloth, ripped it further for makeshift tourniquets, and tied them round the remains of her arm to try to stop the bleeding. Her outfit of blue and white t-shirt and white skirt blackened from the blood and ash.
The euphoria of the Games and the cheers of the crowds for the medal winners seemed so very far away. Colin heard no national anthems, nor cries of encouragement for runners or swimmers; there were no flags waving or bunting fluttering in the breeze. He could hear sirens. He heard alarms. Colin could hear screams of people in pain. He heard a tannoy announcement, telling people to stay calm and to evacuate the building.
Colin stayed with Ally until the police and paramedics arrived. They started work on her at once. Ally was still breathing when they loaded her on a trolley and whisked her away in an ambulance.
Colin sat on the floor where the counter had been and spotted the cash till for the first time. It was embedded in the wall.
Brad found Colin still sat on the floor in the café.
“Time to go my friend; the centre is being evacuated. This place will be crawling with police, paramedics, the military and the media in no time flat. We need to make ourselves scarce. There’s nothing more we can do here.”
Two minutes later, they sat in the van trying to drive away from the shopping centre. Traffic was gridlocked; there were police and emergency services everywhere. Thousands of people had been let into the Olympic Park just to clear them away from the buildings. Brad and Colin knew that both bombs were accounted for. Sadly, they had been unsuccessful in avoiding any bloodshed.
“Any joy with those two kids in the back?” asked Colin.
“We have had tears from the boy. The girl isn’t saying a word. We found two phones on each of them. One looks as if it was for their personal use. The other only had a few messages on it. All in their Inbox, brief coded messages. No outgoing calls. We have a problem, Phoenix. They either had a handler, who sent them in to bomb the Westfield, that we still need to find, or they are not the only bombers on the ground today.”
“We’re absolutely certain that there’s no connection between these two and Salah in Dorset?”
“Larcombe are convinced he’s a lone gun. We can’t be sure they aren’t part of a cell, though.”
Colin looked at his watch. It was 11:50.
“If there are others, they might not be Games Makers. It’s possible they wandered around in the building too in ordinary clothes. If they planted their bombs then in ten minutes the Westfield could be a mess, but at least, it will be empty.”
“If there are others and they’re in the Park, then tens of thousands of people are in the firing line. The plain fact of the matter is that we can’t help them.”
Colin’s phone vibrated.
Another text message fro
m Therese.
“Hurry, the horses are lovely x.”
At Greenwich Park, the morning’s dressage session of the Grand Prix was well under way. The weather was fine and dry. Stands of temporary seating packed with thousands of spectators in good spirits. The atmosphere was electric. British competitors were doing particularly well in front of their flag-waving, cheering fans.
Spider-Man and Roadrunner were at their posts, directing people to first aid centres, and to toilets; helping the late arrivals to find their seats.
Munaf Mansoor kept looking at his watch. It was 11:52.
Abdul Bashir helped an elderly woman back to her seat.
“Thank you, dear,” she gushed “you Games Makers are doing such a wonderful job, we are so grateful.”
Abdul was embarrassed. He scuttled away as soon as he was able. It was 11:53.
In Weymouth at 11:53, Khadim Salah and Shamila Javed were going through the security gates onto the beach. Traffic had been heavy and it took them several minutes to get into the seaside resort and find a parking space. The streets teemed with holidaymakers, locals, and Olympics’ visitors.
It was eighteen degrees. There was a twenty-knot breeze. It was sunny and dry.
“This way sir, madam,” said an attendant at the gate.
“I’m afraid you won’t be able to take that through, sir,” he said to Khadim.
Khadim removed a sheath from his belt.
“This is a ceremonial dagger; here, keep it for me. I shall reclaim it from you when we return.”
The queue behind them was getting longer and frustrated. They wanted to run onto the beach, to join in the fun.
“Come on granddad, get a move on, let them through,” someone shouted from behind Khadim.
“Do you mind if my female colleague searched the lady, sir?”