by KJ Griffin
***
The alarm bell cut out and for the first time Al-Ajnabi became aware of the murmurs and mumblings coming from the hostages on the floor. He stood up and walked past the Table, stopping just under Maria Vasquez's arm.
‘Listen please, everybody,’ he addressed the House. ‘We know that most of you will be frightened and uncomfortable, wondering what is going to happen next. Well, we can assure you that almost all of you will be released very soon, just as soon as we receive confirmation from the police that it will be safe to let you go. In the meantime, I urge you, for your own safety, to stay on the floor with your heads down.’
‘Terrorists!’
‘Bastards!’
‘You won't get away with this!’
The protests were coming from both sides of the House. Maria Vasquez spun round, firing sustained bursts of her Browning upwards on either side of the House that ripped low into the oak panelling just above the back benches.
‘Shut up!’ she screamed. ‘You are the real terrorists, keeping dictators in power who murder children and innocent people, allowing the planet to plundered for the sake of an elite few.’
Al-Ajnabi tapped her on the leg and the tirade stopped. Their eyes met and he could tell that she had registered his silent demand for self-control.
The House grew silent again save for the sound of Maria's panting as she stood on the Table just above him, holding back her anger in rasping breaths. He looked up and noticed Hasan standing at the entrance to the Commons Lobby, removing a canvas bag from his shoulder. Al-Ajnabi knew that look on Hasan's face, and he trotted over to find out what the problem was. Behind Hasan, Al-Ajnabi could see Smedley leaning back against the wall catching his breath in hard gulps.
‘Oscar Salazar is dead,’ Hasan whispered in Arabic.
Al-Ajnabi took a couple of paces down towards the Central Lobby to take in the news. Things were starting to go wrong. Badly wrong.
Then he turned towards Smedley.
‘No sign of Connor or Newton?’
The big miner’s son shook his head.
‘Where's Oscar's body?’
‘In the courtyard. We didn't have time to move him.’
‘Have they found the shaft?’
Smedley shrugged.
‘If they ain’t yet, will do soon. Like I said, we didn't have time to close the cover.’
Al-Ajnabi took a long swig of water from a small canteen and contemplated what lay ahead. With Salazar dead, he now had an army of ten, including himself. Ten! How could he hope to hold on to such a complex maze of corridors and connecting rooms for four days with only ten fighters, not all of whom were totally trustworthy.
Shit! He tugged at the collar of his black Armani suit and yanked at the lotus motifs on his dark blue tie as if they were the source of all his frustrations. He hated suits and ties at the best of times.
‘Tell me at least that you brought the change of clothes, Hasan?’ he asked.
‘They are locked up with the bankers. You want me to get them?’
‘Yes. And Neil, can you take Maria's place for a while. I'd better tell her about Oscar here and now.’
‘Poor lass,’ Smedley grimaced and he walked back inside the House. Al-Ajnabi pulled out a walkie-talkie.
‘How are you getting on, ya Abu Fawaz?’ he asked in Arabic.
It was Khalid who eventually replied.
‘North and river access are finished. We are in the Lords.’
‘Tayyib,’ Al-Ajnabi nodded, wondering if anyone else was able to listen in to their communications already. If they were, they would be trying to assess the strength of his team, identifying each different voice and trying to give it a profile. That was something he did not want them to discover just yet, for only Abu Fawaz's handiwork could give them a chance of repelling an SAS assault in the unlikely event the COBRA team got an early grip on things.
The mobile phone was shrill against the eerie hush inside the building and the thickening backdrop of police sirens that was mustering in Parliament Square.
He checked the display: Dinsdale.
‘You're late Commissioner. And you didn't get your men out quick enough either.’
‘It's not Commissioner Dinsdale, it's WPC Everall again, but I've got someone to talk to. His name's John Sanderson, he's our official hostage negotiator.’
Al-Ajnabi flipped the mobile shut instantly, pulling out a second on which he called the only number in its address book.