Guy Fawkes Day

by KJ Griffin

  Chapter 37: House of Commons: 5:18 p.m.

  They separated at the Members’ Tea Room, where Chentouf peeled off, jogging down the corridor that lead to the back of the Commons.

  Maria Vasquez and Magdalena Ortiz followed behind Al-Ajnabi, who strode swiftly to the Commons Lobby, weapon levelled straight ahead.

  The Palace security guards and two PCs simply stared in disbelief at him, probably too shocked to move. Neither of the policeman shifted an inch, while Al-Ajnabi motioned for them in silence to lay their weapons on the floor and kick them away.

  ‘Maria, Magdalena, lock them up,’ he shouted, then turned around to face the main chamber.

  ‘Everybody down!’ he shrieked again, firing a second burst into the ceiling. That would help to settle minds.

  ‘Everybody on the floor! Stay down and you won’t be hurt!’ McLaughlin echoed in a tone that did little to confirm the veracity of his words.

  ‘Down! Down! On the floor!’ he heard Khalid shouting as he entered the Lobby from the other side behind the Speaker’s Chair, which he leapt on top of from behind, pushing the Speaker to the floor and firing another burst of his own into the oak-panelled ceiling.

  Al-Ajnabi ran the last few yards into the middle of the chamber, leaping onto the Table without breaking stride. The chamber was eerily silent, save for the sound of few MPs scrambling around on the floor behind the benches and what sounded like a succession of sobs up in the Public Gallery. Other than that, a solitary cough punctured the stillness. The House was his.

  Breathing hard and sweeping the Press and Public galleries with his MP5K, Al-Ajnabi watched his team move into place. Maria Vasquez was checking the government benches row by row; in turn, she would work the opposition benches. With his spare hand Al-Ajnabi pulled out two more Brownings from holsters around his waist and passed them to Magdalena, who was now standing beside him on the Table. She in turn threw the weapons up to the Public Gallery, to the two standing figures there. It had been a long wait for Amy Weatherington and Oscar Salazar mingled in with all the tourists. Probably they would be glad it was over, Al-Ajnabi mused.

  The throw was poor and Amy Weatherington had to scramble for the gun, which landed at the noses of an Indian-looking couple. The balding man was so terrified he pushed it gently towards Amy. She smiled, despite her nerves, and once Oscar Salazar had his own in hand, the pair ran to the top of the stairs, cutting off the approach from the top of Star Chamber Court.

  Al-Ajnabi spun around in a three hundred and sixty degree arc. The alarm bells were ringing loud and there were bursts of MP5K rounds coming towards him from the Central Lobby. He looked up to see McLaughlin and Abu Fawaz running towards him.

  McLaughlin looked grimly efficient while Abu Fawaz was out of breath.

  ‘The Central Lobby is secure,’ Abu Fawaz announced between laboured breaths.

  ‘Good,’ Al- Ajnabi grunted. ‘Any casualties?’

  McLaughlin shook his head and smiled a cut-throat smile.

  ‘Not yet, Omar. Just warning shots. We chased most of the crowd away towards St Stephen’s Entrance.’

  ‘Nice clean work, then,’ Al-Ajnabi said, staring into McLaughlin’s dark eyes. ‘And I want you to keep it that way. Once Neil brings your weapon in, you’re free to set up your base in the Press Gallery. Khalid here can help Abu Fawaz.’

  ‘I know why I’m here, Omar,’ McLaughlin snarled, turning his back.

  Al-Ajnabi shook his head at the Irishman’s back and took stock of the situation. So far so good, only Hasan and Neil Smedley’s team still unaccounted for. Hasan would arrive any minute with the bankers; that was of no concern. But Neil Smedley’s team was absolutely crucial. Where the hell were they?

  In the absence of answers, he switched his gaze towards Abu Fawaz. The Jordanian explosives expert had already placed his briefcase on the Table and was busy extricating tripwires, mines and fuses. Khalid Chentouf came over to the table and patted Abu Fawaz on the shoulder.

  ‘Where do you want to start, ya habibi?’

  ‘From the north,’ the Jordanian answered coolly, pointing towards the Speaker’s Chair.

  Chentouf followed the Jordanian out of the House behind the Speaker's Chair while McLaughlin looked disparagingly at his pistol.

  ‘Where’s Smedley? I feel naked like this.’

  Al-Ajnabi shrugged.

  "I don't know, but I think it’s time I did. I’m sending Oscar and Maria to find out,’ and he shouted up to the top of the Press Gallery for the lovers to come on down.

  McLaughlin spun round when he heard the footsteps in the corridor and trained his weapon towards the Lobby. Al-Ajnabi slipped into a kneeling firing position but relaxed his grip on the submachine gun when he recognised Hasan, followed close behind by Smedley, sweating profusely under the weight of the large canvas bag that bulged from his shoulders.

  ‘The bankers?’ Al-Ajnabi asked Hasan.

  Hasan bowed his head.

  ‘I have failed you, Hadratak. They gave me problems. I left them in the office.’

  ‘Never mind,’ Al-Ajnabi sighed, ‘they can stay there for now. And what about you, Neil,’ he asked as the big Yorkshireman heaved a solitary canvas bag on the Table next to Abu Fawaz's briefcase. ‘What about the rest of your team and the other bags?’

  Smedley grimaced and came closer. His close-cropped blond hair and the stubble on his face were virtually indistinguishable from each other, lathered in sweat which he wiped from his brow with the back of a burly hand.

  ‘I waited and waited,’ he panted, ‘but t’buggers never made it out of' t' tunnel, Omar.

  Al-Ajnabi swallowed hard, trying to conceal his alarm.

  ‘And the rest of the stuff?’

  ‘It's there at bottom of t' drain. I'll need a hand to get it, though.’

  ‘Take Oscar,’ Al-Ajnabi told Smedley, pointing towards the Public Gallery, ‘and Hasan, too. But you must go now, Neil. We need those bags.’

  And with that he shouted up to Oscar Salazar in the Public Gallery, who waved in acknowledgement and began to clamber down.

  ‘I won’t let you down a second time,’ Neil Smedley grimaced, looking like he had taken the disappearance of Stevie Newton and Joel Connor very much to heart.

  ‘I know I can count on you, Neil,’ Al-Ajnabi smiled. ‘But take care. There may well be a lot of police still left out there.’

  ‘Omar?’ Oscar Salazar had arrived at the Table looking alarmed. But Neil Smedley put an arm around his shoulder, explaining to the young Peruvian why he had been summoned down from the Public Gallery. Al-Ajnabi whispered a few words to Hasan before turning to Neil and Oscar.

  ‘Go now,’ he urged, and the three men readied their weapons and left the Chamber at a jog. As he watched their backs, Al-Ajnabi pulled out one of the mobiles in his pocket, walking slowly towards the Speaker's Chair, where he sat and surveyed the situation.

  Magdalena Ortiz had now joined Amy Weatherington in the Public Gallery and was carrying AK 47's for them both which she had collected from Neil's bag. There were plenty of tourists up there, for he could hear Amy and Magdalena pleading with them to stay down above the raucous din of the alarm bells, which had now erupted throughout the building.

  Maria Vasquez was still standing on the Table, her MP5K moving in slower, less nervous sweeps across both sides of the House, shouting reminders at the MPs whenever she saw a stray head poking up above the level of the benches.

  Khalid Chentouf and Abu Fawaz were out of sight, mining the entrances leading to the Members' Entrance and Star Chamber Court. At the back of the Press Gallery Brendan McLaughlin had long ago ensconced himself with the treasured Armalite with telescopic sight he’d pulled from Neil’s bag and was heaping desks and other pieces of furniture together with which he was building himself a makeshift sniper's nest. And once he had finished making his nest, McLaughlin set to bashing out the windows overlooking Star Chamber Court with its butt. Al-Ajnabi frowned. McLaughlin would be lethally accurate if it ca
me to a fire-fight, but like Abu Fawaz's expertise with the explosives, McLaughlin's skills came at a price, for neither McLaughlin nor Abu Fawaz would be satisfied with a peaceful settlement. For them, he guessed, it was not a matter of death or glory so much as death and glory.

  As Al-Ajnabi reached the Speaker's Chest he heard a burst of AK 47 fire from the Public Gallery, followed by screams of panic from the tourists on the floor.

  ‘What's up?’ he roared, spinning round on his heel.

  ‘We heard noises in the corridor,’ Amy Weatherington shouted back.

  "Don't fire till you've identified what you're firing out. They could be some of ours.’

  Amy Weatherington and Magdalena Ortiz sank back down on their knees. Al-Ajnabi turned again and sat down on the Speaker's Chair, calling one of the pre-programmed numbers in the mobile's address book.

  ‘New Scotland Yard,’ came the young woman's voice on the fifth ring.

  ‘You'd better listen very carefully,’ Al-Ajnabi replied, firm but calm. ‘I am calling from the Houses of Parliament and I am in charge of the armed group that has just taken over Parliament. We have a large number of hostages made up of MPs, workers, tourists.’

  "Just wait a minute, please sir," the young woman interrupted almost perfunctorily, like pressing 3 would get Al-Ajnabi customer services.

  "No I haven't got a minute to wait. You'd better listen very carefully, young woman. What's your name?’

  ‘I'm afraid we don't give out that kind of information…’

  Al-Ajnabi raised his weapon and fired a short burst from his Heckler and Koch into the ceiling. It was accompanied by a gratifying amount of screaming.

  ‘WPC Nancy Everall,’ came the flustered reply.

  ‘Good. Now listen carefully to what I want Nancy. Find my number when I ring off and have Commissioner Dinsdale call me back in five minutes’ time precisely and without fail. My watch now says 5:29. By 5:34 I want Dinsdale on the end. Meanwhile put the word round for all your officers to withdraw from Parliament. If we see any police in here people are going to die; if you don't get Dinsdale to return my call within five minutes, people will also die. Do you understand, Nancy?’

  ‘Yes, but…’

  ‘No but's, Nancy. A lot of people are counting on you.’

  ‘Commissioner Dinsdale isn't here,’ she blurted out. ‘He's in a special meeting and can't be disturbed.’

  ‘Oh he's not agonizing over all the bomb threats, I hope,’ Al-Ajnabi laughed. ‘Tell him to leave them alone. They're all hoaxes, including the ones in London, mere diversions to help us get in here. So get Dinsdale for me, Nancy. You've got just under five minutes. And remember, I won't speak to anyone else.’

  Imagining Nancy’s face on the other end, Al-Ajnabi rang off and relaxed into the Speaker’s chair. The siege had begun.