Guy Fawkes Day

by KJ Griffin

  ***

  House of Commons: 8:15 p.m.

  Al-Ajnabi entered the Members' Tea Room. Maria Vasquez was still sitting at a table, head cupped in hands. The empty chairs and tables, combined with the sepulchral silence of the Palace and the dull drone of sirens outside lent an extra-tragic air to her grief.

  It was cold in the Tea Room. Al-Ajnabi was glad of the padded waistcoat jacket he had included in the change of clothes that Hasan had smuggled into Driscoll's office.

  Maria didn't even look up; a bad sign. He bent down and put his arm round her shoulders.

  ‘Are you going to be OK, Maria?’

  Finally Maria raised her tearful face towards him. The tears had smudged her eyeliner. Eyeliner? It seemed so incongruous that Maria should have made such a concession to her femininity given the present circumstances, and the sight of the make up made Al-Ajnabi think of Sophie and Alison. Alison had looked just like that last night. He sat down in an adjacent chair and took her hand, suddenly hungry for the soft touch of female skin.

  ‘Neil said Oscar died instantly. He wouldn't have felt any pain.’

  Maria nodded.

  "I feel so afraid now, Omar, without him. Sad, lonely and afraid. It was never like this before. Never. How I wish I were very far from this terrible place, so lonely, so dark, so cold!’

  Al-Ajnabi stood up again and pulled her gently up towards him by the wrists. Maria started to weep gently as he hugged her and he waited for her convulsions to subside. There was nothing sexual in the embrace; they were both looking for someone else, and they seemed to find that person as they stood silently in each others arms in the dim shadows of the Tea Room.

  ‘I'll be OK now,’ Maria sighed, disturbed by the ringing tones of the mobile inside Al-Ajnabi's waistcoat pocket.

  He smiled at her again as she wiped her eyes and he pressed to receive the call.

  ‘Hello again, Omar, this is Commissioner Dinsdale.’

  ‘Fifteen minutes to go, Paul. I take it the camera crew is on its way.’

  ‘They will be at St Stephen's Porch on time at 8:30 p.m. So what about a release of hostages before the camera team arrives? That would be a fitting gesture of good faith?’

  ‘You'll get your hostages after the interview has been shown on BBC 1. I take it the BBC has agreed to broadcast my show? And I don't want you poking through the recording first. You can watch it on TV at 9:00 p.m., like the rest of the country.’

  Dinsdale seemed to ignore the petulance and carried on in a matter-of-fact voice.

  ‘What assurances do we have for the safety of the camera crew and reporter?’

  ‘Assurances? What do you mean? Do you think I would go to all this trouble to get a camera team in just to keep them in here as hostages? I want the air time, Commissioner, not more hostages; I've got more than enough of those.’

  Dinsdale cleared his throat.

  ‘Can you confirm that Foreign Secretary James McPherson is among the hostages you are holding, Omar?’

  Al-Ajnabi snorted.

  ‘Surely Max has told you about him? Don't worry, you'll be hearing plenty more about James McPherson once I really get going. But we will be investigating James McPherson's Army days rather than his politics, Commissioner. Far more interesting, I can assure you. His politics are as irrelevant, short term and as self-serving as those of all the other MPs' in here. But maybe we can do something about that, too, you know.’

  ‘Are all your hostages in good health, Omar?’ Dinsdale continued, ignoring the jibes. Al-Ajnabi had the impression the Commissioner was asking the questions from a script without bothering to listen to the answers.

  ‘They're fine, and they'll be a lot finer once our programme has been screened and the majority of them will be free to leave.’

  ‘How many?’

  ‘We'll let you know the exact number later.’

  ‘Twenty? Thirty?’

  ‘Almost all. But hold on, Paul. Before you get any hostages, you'll be retrieving a dead body, if you haven’t already, which we'll want flown back to Peru. That way the TV cameras will be able to see who drew first blood.’

  ‘All right Omar, but can you confirm …’

  ‘Hang on! That's enough for now, Paul. Save some of your questions for later. I will call you back after the interview. Meanwhile, I'm switching off the phone.’

  Al-Ajnabi flipped the mobile shut and walked out of the Tea Room. Abu Fawaz was waiting for him in the corridor.

  ‘All finished?’ Al-Ajnabi asked.

  Abu Fawaz nodded.

  ‘The bombs are set and all the approaches mined just as you laid down in the plans.’

  ‘And the detonators?’

  ‘I have them.’

  Al-Ajnabi looked deep into the dark eyes that peered back from behind Abu Fawaz's steel glasses.

  ‘Then can I have them?’ he asked.

  ‘They are safe with me.’

  ‘They may well be, but that's not what we agreed.’

  ‘Why we don't share them, ya sheikh? You take one, I'll take the other and Khalid can have the third. That is more safe.’

  ‘The detonators,’ Al-Ajnabi insisted, clenching his teeth.

  He could not tell how long they stood eyeballing each other; maybe it was the footsteps in the corridor that prompted Abu Fawaz's sudden change of heart.

  ‘OK, xalas. No problem. You take them all,’ the Jordanian said icily, reaching inside his breast pocket to extract three detonators. ‘But if you die early, ya sheikh, no explosions. The siege will end with you.’

  ‘Just these three?’ Al-Ajnabi asked, ignoring Abu Fawaz’s reasoning.

  ‘Sure thing. That's what you wanted,’ the Jordanian answered, moving off huffily towards the inside of the Commons.

  ‘Can't stand that fucker!’

  Al-Ajnabi turned, recognizing Neil Smedley's gruff voice. He broke into a smile and patted Smedley on the shoulder, watching Abu Fawaz turn right, following the corridor towards the Commons Lobby.

  ‘You may well be right, Neil,’ Al-Ajnabi sighed. ‘He and McLaughlin have got a lot of hate inside, and I doubt whether either of them is in this to see it come to a peaceful end. I fear they'll be wanting to shed some blood before November 5th dawns.’

  Neil Smedley wiped his large hand across his mouth.

  ‘I'll keep an eye on Abu Fawaz for you Omar.’

  Al-Ajnabi grabbed Smedley's shoulder with a sudden eagerness.

  ‘Yes, you do that for me, Neil. Especially if the SAS do attack. I want you to watch Abu Fawaz like a hawk then, if we're attacked, Neil. Don’t let him shoot the hostages in cold blood. If it comes to a choice between them and Abu Fawaz, you'll know which to choose.’

  ‘Aye,’ Smedley nodded, leaning his assault rifle against the wall to light a roll up. He offered one to Al-Ajnabi, but Al-Ajnabi declined his offer. There might be a time for that sort of thing much later on when the fight against sleep reached its height, just like it had been in Angola during the long night hours on guard duty in the bush.

  ‘What the hell do you think happened to Connor and Steve Newton?’ he asked Smedley.

  ‘It must have been Connor,’ Smedley replied. ‘He should have been next up the tunnel after me. He must have bottled it.’

  Al-Ajnabi sighed.

  ‘If Connor and Stevie have been caught, then the police will have found out about the tunnel. That means our escape route is blown. We'll be stuck in here, Neil. Death here or slow death in jail.’

  Smedley looked sombre.

  ‘Is there any way of finding out for sure?’

  ‘I've sent a text message to Yokochi. Presumably, he'll reply if and when he finds out.’

  Smedley started to chuckle, softly at first, then with long, smoky breath.

  Al-Ajnabi grinned in turn in their adversity, shaking his head from side to side.

  ‘What the hell's so funny about that,’ he asked.

  Which only made Neil Smedley start laughing even louder.

  ‘I
just can't help thinking about Yokochi sitting on top of all those fucking mobile phones,’ he roared, catching his breath back. ‘And throwing one away every time you call him in case the bloody filth trace the number and start listening in. Can you imagine what the bin men will say when the empty his bloody dustbin, Omar, with all them brand new mobiles peering up at them? And there's you the great enemy of toss-away consumerism!’

  Al-Ajnabi was laughing loud now too, and in the all-pervading silence it sounded all the more amplified.

  ‘How is it inside?’ he asked, pointing towards the Commons, when they had both calmed down.

  ‘Calm, quiet. We've got all the hostages sitting up on the benches now, just as you wanted. If I’m honest, t'll be a bloody relief to get rid of them tourists and most of bloody MPs after you've done your telly bit.’

  Al-Ajnabi checked his watch.

  ‘Talking about TV, it's just about time, Neil.’

  ‘Aye. I'll come with you to the Central Lobby, if you want.’

  ‘Then you'd better take this,’ Al-Ajnabi said, unshouldering his MP5K and handing it to Smedley. ‘Don't want to frighten the viewers.’

  ‘Aye,’ Smedley grinned. ‘You lead the way then, Omar.’