Bridging the Gulf (Aka Engulfed)

by Malcolm Hollingdrake

  Sam returned and confirmed his original theory.

  "Coffee, Sam? There's some in the Rover."

  "Good man. I would love some but must slip out of this suit."

  They both strolled to the rear of the vehicle. The motorway was now still and only God knew what the traffic was like. The coffee was warming. The constantly nagging radio told its own sorry tale of the traffic congestion and confusion.

  ***

  Roy ran his hands round Joan's waist and nibbled and kissed her neck. "How much more of that have you to do?"

  She turned in her chair and smiled. "I'm through." She kissed him warmly. "It's getting no more of my attention tonight. Fancy going for a drink?"

  Roy nodded his approval and they left the house hand in hand. The sky was a beautiful duck egg blue fading to almost emerald green; the sun had well set but there was an autumnal warmth. The street, full of dark areas, reminded him of his childhood, he had played in its passages and side roads, he knew them intimately. He paused and images of children playing and laughing excitedly ghosted into his memory. The screams and peals of laughter rang round his head with a strange clarity.

  "Okay my man?"

  The words shook him to his senses. "Fine, fine. What’re you waiting for? Come on!"

  Joan laughed and they moved on.

  Chapter Eleven

  The bomb squad took longer than expected. The traffic, even with ‘Charlie’ in force, was horrendous. The two vehicles, large, white vans with blue flashing lights mounted on top and the distinctive lettering, 'Bomb Disposal' marked down the flanks, arrived and pulled in behind the blue Range Rover. A twin Squirrel helicopter flew over and hovered momentarily before moving away.

  Two of the people from the first vehicle Sam recognised straight away and smiled a welcome as they approached; the other was a stranger to him.

  "Sam, meet Detective Superintendent Earl, Special Branch. He's co-opted to the group. Will discuss all the latest once we're sorted here." Colin Ashcroft was senior and group leader of Bomb Disposal. "What's the crack?"

  "Electronic device wired to a number of explosives and reminiscent of the other GULF packages. I'm concerned by the way the TPU is attached, it doesn't allow X-ray or removal without possible triggering. We don't know if this bastard has included anti-handling devices or not, but if GULF is as warped as I think, he must have all sorts up his sleeve. Look at the video. It gives a reasonable image of the problem."

  The three men huddled round the small screen. Like Sam, Colin had served his apprenticeship as an Ammunitions Technical Officer with the army before taking up the position in the police. He had risen to the rank of senior. Most ATO's moved towards the police after their army service.

  "What's the chance of a controlled explosion or taking out the TPU with a laser guided shot or maybe a pigstick disrupter close to?"

  "What's not clearly visible from the video is the position of the TPU to the banking, the only clear place to shoot from. It's cleverly hidden under the girder, probably to keep it away from any nutter spending his evenings decorating the bridge with an aerosol can. I'd really like to get this one intact. I want to see what we are up against because I feel we haven't seen the end of these by any stretch of the imagination."

  "So what's left?"

  "Trace and cut the wires, remove the explosives and then take away the TPU." It sounded so simple the way Sam breezed through the description. "We'll have to watch for anti-handling and make sure we achieve good, clean cuts on the wire but to do that, at this stage is the best option. After all, we don't know when this little critter is due to go pop!"

  At that moment, Mike, who had been listening intently, requested the task under the pretext of it being "his turn".

  Sam looked at him for a while. "Okay, kit up but be careful. Full descriptions and full coverage."

  Mike moved swiftly to the rear of the white Transac vehicle. He dressed in the same suit Sam had worn to afford the movement needed to traverse. He also wore a full harness round his waist, similar to those worn by climbers and the climbing rope was attached using a carabiner. This rather complicated safety feature was designed on the spot. The safety rope would run through carabiners attached to the bridge rail so that should Mike slip he would only fall a short distance, but more importantly he could launch himself away from the device at any moment should the need arise; at least that way he should be away from a direct blast. He put on the helmet, checked the lights and requested a radio check. He placed his satchel containing all the tools of his trade over his shoulder.

  He gave a thumbs up sign and descended the grass banking. His security rope was attached above as another Explosives Officer kept control of the slack. He was soon out under the span, carefully balancing on the girder, the bulk of his clothing and bag making it slightly more difficult.

  "Moving onto the lintel now," he said breathlessly. "Thought I was fit!" He took some wire cutters from his bag and carefully but positively cut the dangling wire, a job he had done hundreds of times in practice but one that always brought tension when done for real. Do it wrongly, cut slowly and drag the metal through the wire, or connect the two wires with careless cutting, the circuit could be joined and goodnight Vienna! It was difficult to see how many wires came from the TPU but he was sure by the damage caused by the previous explosions that there would be quite a few. Unknown to them all, the device was cleverly rigged. The cutting of the wire had started a secondary timer running. Mike had three minutes of life left. "Moving onto the TPU. Give me more slack in the rope.”

  “Good cut Mike.”

  “Scares the shit out of me for real."

  "Concentrate and be careful. You're not talking to us, Mike. Keep us informed; we have to know this bastard inside out."

  "The unit is attached to the bearing and sheltered, smeared with grease. I'm wiping it clean." Mike took a cloth from his bag and wiped the black box with great care, aware that a tremble switch might be concealed. "It's definitely a palmtop-come-note book style computer. Wires are running from the back and the whole shooting match is glued onto the bridge. It appears to be builders' strong adhesive. It has a lid that I'm sure would reveal a key pad but that's staying shut for the minute, maybe there's a light sensitive switch attached."

  There was not and had he opened the case he would have seen the warning numbers clearly on the screen counting down!

  "I'm tracing the wires visually."

  "You're doing well Mike. We have a picture," reassured Sam. He was more nervous listening to the radio and would have liked to be tackling the situation below. He would have felt more in control.

  "Sam, there appear to be six, each to a separate explosive. It's well executed. If I cut all of these wires successfully there's still a chance the TPU could contain a small charge. I’d like to use a controlled explosion to make sure. There's no point taking the risk at this stage. What do you want me to do?"

  "Get as much visual information as you can, then do as you think best, Mike."

  From his bag he removed a small charge, removed the covering to the adhesive back, stuck it to the TPU and then drew the pin. He now had less than one minute of life left as the timer counted down.

  "Charge set and active. I'm just taking a last look at the computer for more clues. Make sure everyone is clear and take up any slack when I call."

  It was the last message he ever sent; they were the final words he would ever speak. The clocked ticked to 00.00.

  The flash was intense and the heat seared. His body was torn apart as the remnants strapped into the armoured suit and harness swung from the burning rope above the valley, a grotesque human pendulum.

  The explosion shook everyone taking them by surprise; no matter how long you were in the job you still jumped when you heard the detonation. The vibration ran through their feet and instinctively everyone turned away. A buzz could be heard over the radio. It too had died.

  After what seemed like minutes but in reality was seconds, Mike’s rem
ains tumbled to the valley floor as the flames burned through the taut rope. Parts of his body would be retrieved later, other parts would never be found.

  "Shit! Just what are we dealing with here?"

  Vestiges of the remaining day were obliterated by smoke and dust that soaked up the light like blotting paper. It was hard to tell in the remaining gloom but it appeared that the bridge suffered the same damage as the others, buckled and structurally compromised: they were losing the game.

  "Get Forensics down here and get them here fucking fast! Get me a secure line through to the Chief Constable!" barked Colin. "He's not going to be too happy."

  Each van carried a separate radio that allowed secure speech operation; each was fitted with digital encryption.

  The paramedics waited by their Range Rovers for the call to move into the valley, an instruction that could only come once the bridge had been swept for further devices. There was no urgency to attend the smouldering, dismembered corpse below.

  "Chief Constable on the line, sir," was a call from one of the Transac vehicles. Colin looked skywards for inspiration. The discussion was frosty. He was ordered to keep the press at bay and play down the situation as much as possible; public concern was rising rapidly and it had to be their priority to keep panic to a minimum.

  The late news bulletin announced that a controlled explosion had been made successfully to disarm another terrorist device, there had been no casualties. Roy turned off the television. He moved to his study, opened his palmtop and scratched one item from the list in the agenda. He paused before closing it. He lay awake for some time wondering if they were searching every bridge. Surely not, but he slept uneasily. For the first time since he had started the campaign, he suffered pangs of fear and doubt.

  Sam too had a restless night, a night that he knew was a gift as every other night was to be. His friend had triggered the bomb that should have been his. Maybe he would have been more careful, seen the problem that would have made the difference between living and dying. Maybe he would have made the same mistake. He would be a charred shell and Mike would be home with his family. It was not easy consoling his wife, convincing her that the cover up over her husband's murder was essential to catch the people who had widowed her. She had in her heart of hearts known that one day this call would come and she hated them all for it. Sam hated himself and the whole bloody world. The half empty brandy bottle proved it.

  Chapter Twelve

  The meeting was informal considering its importance, the Commissioner, Sheila Dewar, brought the meeting together. "Gentlemen, good morning. I'm sure you have all introduced yourselves but if not let me take a moment: Graham Sharp, Head of SO12, Jonathan Keen, liaising for SO13, Colin Ashcroft, Bomb Disposal, Major Perry, SATO for the military and Philip Haslem-Parr from MI5. The Home Secretary is growing increasingly concerned that we are not yet on top of this situation. The loss of the Explosives Officer yesterday only heightens the problem. I'm sure I don't have to point out that there is growing anxiety in the government and the Prime Minister faces many difficult questions, therefore they wish to see an efficient end to this matter. As most of you are fully aware, we have received another threat. Graham, will you continue, please."

  "Thank you, Ma’am. We received a demand, hand delivered to a Manchester newspaper in the early hours of the morning. You all have a copy in the envelope."

  Envelopes were passed round and each person eagerly opened it. They all read the single sheet and looked round the table, raised eyebrows and puzzled looks said it all.

  "As you are aware, officers have been tasked to check prominent bridges throughout the country but as yet nothing has been located, the device found yesterday was spotted purely by chance. I'm sure I don't have to mention that a 'D' notice has been served on this and the press are co-operating fully. We are graced with some time on this occasion and it must count. Colin your comments, please."

  "The Metropolitan Bomb Disposal Officers are working closely with our colleagues in the military and a search of all the motorway bridges on the M25 has been ordered after prioritising from the information gained so far. Should anything materialise we will operate Charlie. We must keep each other informed at all times. All information will filter through the ACPO – this, the Anti-terrorist Sub Committee will co-ordinate all GB police forces, MI5 and the military; their role will, as always, be crucial.”

  Graham Sharp looked at the Commissioner. "Any clues yet as to who may be behind all this?"

  "We've ruled out the IRA and any Middle East faction and at present we’re working on the idea we have a rogue, possibly ex-military. The GULF code is our main clue and we’re searching through our records for any piece of information that may give a lead. As you are aware there are a number of ex-Gulf veterans who are allegedly suffering from symptoms that may or may not be connected with their specific duties and experiences in the Gulf and this may be the catalyst, but I assure you, gentleman, this is pure conjecture. I would hope to have more details later."

  Everyone sat and played with this idea and there was a strange quiet. Jonathan Keen broke the silence. "The small sum requested also indicates a small operator, we’re considering playing the game in order to save an Autumn of doubt and damage but also to catch our monkey. We’ll await GULF’s next communication. Providing we can ensure that by making the payment we eliminate the risk, then it may be a small price to pay but it does mean compromising our integrity as we’d be bowing to the demands of a terrorist. The Defence Select Committee will be meeting to approve this move once we receive the next communication."

  It was obvious from the facial expressions of those concentrating on Jonathan Keen that they were aghast to hear that there could be payment made at this early stage. However, those who had witnessed the charred remains of one officer thought it a cheap price to pay, particularly if the reporting lid could be kept very tightly closed.

  "Any more points, gentlemen?" The Commissioner made eye contact with each person around the table in turn, waited and then smiled to the general assembly. "I want a result, I want it soon and I'd prefer not to pay two million pounds to see an end to this matter. We've already made mistakes and that clearly will not do. Good afternoon."

  The others rose from their seats as she left the room. They talked feverishly amongst themselves.

  ***

  The search was methodical and three devices were located. True to form all were carefully placed and were controlled by the trademark TPU. Investigations were already in hand to check through suppliers in the sales of these computers; there might be a clue. All were disarmed using controlled charges with minimal damage to two of the bridges. The third was armed differently as the controlled explosion caused a full detonation and significant damage to the bridge. Even though the operation was not as expected, credit was given to the explosives experts and the police logistical operation. All team members were dressed as road maintenance workers and limited disruption was caused to the traffic flow considering just what might have happened had they not been found in time. The 'Road to Hell' would have been an apt title. The reporting restrictions were not lifted.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The morning was wet, Roy went for a run before preparing himself for work. Back at home, lost in thought, the lack of news about the bombing assured him that the devices had been found and maybe disarmed. If so, the bomb disposal team would have to be good! He let the thoughts linger and then smiled. As his confidence grew, broke into his whistle.

  "Happy this morning my man? Are you seeing Dr O'Brien today or am I mistaken?" Joan pulled her face quizzically.

  "What do you mean?" Roy returned sharply, his voice betraying a hint of guilt.

  "You worry me, you've been on cloud nine the last seven days, buzzed through a meeting with the psychiatrist and enjoying the thought of the next meeting. This is not the man I thought I knew."

  "What do you want, the miserable bastard who felt possibly suicidal, a guy who couldn't motivate himself,
his life and his work, a guy who dwelt more on the past than the present or the one you see now?" His voice was not raised but it was sharp and his face lowered intimidatingly. There was that coldness in his eyes that gave no clue as to his real thoughts. He was behaving like a cornered animal and he was dangerous.

  "I want the real Roy Hanna, not the facade, the sham. Something is going on Roy and you’re not being honest with me. Look at me … see me. It's Joan, you know, the one you say you love, the one you need, or say you do." She turned and stormed out grabbing her bags, and left for work slamming the door behind her. If he was interested, if he could have seen her face, he would have seen the tears swelling in her eyes and the despair on her face, but he did not. He knew, however, he had to say the right thing.

  "Joan please listen," but she had gone. Roy just stared and a grin broke his face. He did not care that he had switched off that part of his life and it was up to her as to whether she wanted him. It did have an effect but he would have denied it, with violence if necessary.

  ***

  His day was hell. He grumbled at everyone. Nobody did anything right and by the time of his appointment his mood was black. He considered cancelling, just going home, getting a bottle but that was not to be.

  He parked the car and walked slowly to the clinic trying to clear the swirling mists that clogged the clarity of his thoughts. It was like driving in the dark in fog without lights. He walked in.

  "Mr Hanna?"

  "Yes, Roy Hanna. I have an appointment."

  A buzzer sounded and Roy pushed the door aggressively.

  "Please take a seat in the waiting room, Dr O'Brien will be with you shortly. May I get you a coffee?"

  Roy in his rudeness simply indicated a very positive no. The room was bright. Modern prints broke the white walls like windows looking into strange colourful minds. Roy's attention was drawn to one comprising blues and yellows. The longer he looked the more soothing was the picture; it was as if his anger was being leached.