by KJ Griffin
Chapter 46: Downing Street, 8:10 p.m.
Clayton glanced up and down the length of the table at the collection of faces studying the same report in front of him: immediately across the table from him were Knox and his boss, the all-too-obviously knighted Sir Jeremy Stevens. Dinsdale cut an impatient figure to the left of Stevens, creasing the documents on the table in front of him noisily and fingering the red warts on either cheek.
The Prime Minister’s Permanent Under Secretary glanced purposefully around the room, waiting for the Deputy Prime Minister, sitting next to him at the head of the table, to digest the documents. MacSween of Special Branch and Assistant Commissioner Selby of the Anti-Terrorist Squad were next down from the Prime Minister on his side of the table.
A large television screen had been hoisted up at the far end of the room, directly opposite the Deputy Prime Minister, so that the Prime Minister could join them from the States, for the combined might of the US and British security services – and anyone else come to that – had still not been able to rid the world of the air-traffic control blight Al-Ajnabi had thrust upon the world.
The Prime Minister had his head down away from the screen and was most likely reading the same report that the rest of the room was digesting.
The presence of his boss, the wraithlike Jeremy Stevens, on his left would normally have irritated Clayton to distraction, but he had other things on his mind right now. Major Loquart of the SAS, seated next along the table after Stevens, was the only person apart from Clayton not even pretending to read the report, while opposite Loquart the Defence Secretary sipped water and mumbled occasionally in a low-key hush to his colleague the Home Secretary, facing the Deputy Prime Minister.
‘Well, Major Loquart,’ the Deputy Prime Minister finally sighed, pushing the documents away from him, ‘it’s your men who will risk their lives if my colleagues in the Cabinet approve the plan. Have you any reservations?’
Loquart got to his feet and moved around the table to the flip chart that had been set up behind Graham Knox's chair.
‘I have had reservations about every single mission I've ever been on. The trick is to eliminate the unknowns before going in. In this case, as you read in the report, I’ve had two three-man surveillance team operating inside the Palace of Westminster, one around the Ministers’ Rooms above Speaker’s Court here,’ he said pointing to a large scale map of the Palace of Westminster, ‘and the other here in Victoria Tower above the House of Lords. The information we’ve picked up on the terrorists' numbers, identities, positions and morale is now quite detailed. The key to a successful assault is surprise; we have to knock out as many of the terrorists as we can in the first minute of the attack. Once the element of surprise is lost, everything favours the defenders.’
Something crackled on the television screen at the far end of the room. Clayton looked up to see the Prime Minister pointing a gaunt jaw towards the camera.
‘Can you summarize one more time for us, Major Loquart, your biggest areas of concern?’ he asked.
Loquart was pacing the room now, shuttling back and forth between Knox and the Home Secretary.
‘There are several, Prime Minister,’ he answered. ‘First of all, we still don’t have much on the bombs – location, size, detonators. My guess is that whatever they've got planted in there will be operated by hand-held radio control; it’s even possible that there are multiple detonators. The best chance of preventing an explosion is to eliminate all hostiles swiftly and efficiently. But that brings me on to point number two.’
‘Which is?’ the Prime Minister prompted.
‘Two of the terrorists have established a couple of well-defended firing positions both inside and outside the roofing of the Commons. The taller of the two we have identified from digital imaging as Gerry McLaughlin, former IRA and effective sniper. He might prove awkward. The best we can hope for is to get a clear shot at McLaughlin in the opening phase of the attack. If he survives the first few minutes, he could do a lot of damage.’
The Prime Minister nodded and exchanged glances with his cabinet colleagues.
‘Then there’s the leader himself, Bailey.’ Loquart continued. ‘His movements are erratic and hard to predict. In all likelihood he will have operational control of any detonators, too. So far we haven’t come up with a failsafe strategy for taking Bailey out in the opening phase of an assault. If we could guarantee catching him early on, I would personally feel a lot happier about the whole operation. The best chance is surprising him when we know he's in the Tea Room, which the terrorists seem to be taking in turns to use as a resting area.’
What about the hostages?’ the Home Secretary interrupted. ‘I know that a lot of my colleagues will be keen to know how certain we can be of James McPherson's safety before committing themselves to this operation.’
Major Loquart returned to the map and Knox coughed suspiciously at the activity behind.
‘The attack plan you have just studied features a three-pronged assault in the initial knock-out phase followed by a sweep-up operation moving more slowly through the Palace from the Royal Entrance and the St Stephen’s Entrance here and here. Responsibility for securing the safety of the hostages rests with A Team, which will rappel into position across the buttressing of Central Tower before the assault commences, moving down inside and entering the Chamber of the Commons from the public entrance at the top of the south side.’
‘Won’t that approach be defended?’ The Defence Secretary asked.
‘Judging from the assessments we have made of the terrorists' strength and capabilities, we reckon there’s unlikely to be more than a single hostile guarding that entrance, and we’ll take out however we find there noiselessly before the main assault begins. If that happens, we’ll be inside the Chamber with the last two hostages under protection before the terrorists realize what’s up.’
Two? the Prime Minister queried. ‘I thought there were five hostages still left inside the Commons.’
‘Ah,’ Assistant Commissioner Selby of the Anti-Terrorist Squad added sheepishly. ‘We are taking seriously the possibility of substituting Douglas Easterby’s son for the remaining hostages, except for James McPherson, of course. No way Bailey will let him go.’
The look of consternation on the Prime Minister’s face led Clayton to conclude that the top man had not been briefed of Marcus Easterby’s bold offer.
‘Douglas Easterby’s son? What on earth would he be going in there for?’
‘Trying to make amends for his father’s misdemeanours, I suppose,’ Dinsdale shrugged.
“Amends? I don’t see the need for any amends. Besides, if anyone is to take the hostages’ place, surely it should be Douglas Easterby himself, if he feels that way about things.’
‘That is what we thought,’ Selby replied, ‘but when we spoke to Douglas Easterby he didn’t sound too keen.’
‘Yet he is happy for his son to risk his life?’ the Prime Minister asked, flabbergasted.
‘Not exactly; he wouldn’t say either way, actually,’ Dinsdale continued, taking up the slack from Selby. ‘In fact, what he did say isn’t exactly repeatable; he sounded quite drunk on the phone. Absolutely hammered.’
Clayton almost enjoyed the Prime Minister's stare of incredulity that didn’t lose anything of its intensity for being five thousand miles away.
‘Well, I’m sure Douglas Easterby must have quite a lot on his mind,’ the Prime Minister gulped, ‘but I suppose that when he sobers up, he won’t be too happy at the prospect of his son being held hostage in the Commons.’
‘With respect,’ Selby persisted, ‘his son, Marcus, is nineteen and quite able to act independently without his father’s permission.’
The PM looked sceptical.
‘Is it really that much of an advantage having Marcus Easterby replace the four others?’
“Apart from the numerical advantage of having fewer bodies to rescue, we can fit young Marcus Easterby up with some special listening devices
– the very latest state-of-the-art stuff,’ Loquart replied.
The Prime Minister still sounded perplexed.
‘I’m sorry, but isn’t all this talk of hostage swapping making one giant assumption: that Bailey will agree to the exchange? Quite frankly, I can’t see what’s in it for him.’
Finally Clayton saw his own cue.
‘Actually, that’s already been arranged, Sir. I’ve spoken to Bailey and the deal’s on: Marcus Easterby will go up the steps into St Stephen’s Entrance at 10:00 p.m. tonight, following the release of the two bankers, Messrs. Topacio and De Cazes, and will be escorted inside the Commons by members of Bailey’s group. As soon as Marcus Easterby arrives, Claire Ferris and Paul Driscoll will be released—all depending on your agreement of course, Prime Minister.’
The Prime Minister sighed heavily:
‘Well, Major Loquart, the way I see it, we have no option but to ask you and your men to go in and bring this siege to a swift end. I’m stuck here in the States and just about every other aircraft all over the world is grounded. Our entire banking and financial system has been brought to a standstill, and the whole nation is under siege. Our Parliament and our Foreign Minister are being held to ransom, and we have just learnt before we came in here that tens, perhaps hundreds, of thousands of demonstrators are now taking to the streets of Manila and Jakarta, waving posters of this wretched man Bailey and proclaiming him a hero. The whole world is on the brink of chaos, and we've got to act fast before we lose any semblance of control. That's why I will propose to my Cabinet colleagues that we authorize this plan, and you will have our final authorisation within the hour. So, if I could ask all but the regular cabinet to leave us now…’