Sixty Minutes

by Tony Salter

  He slid along the bench, halving the distance between them. ‘Hi,’ he said. ‘Are you OK?’

  The girl turned to him, her eyes shining in the bright lights. ‘I’m fine, thank you,’ she said. ‘Just annoyed with my stupid family.’

  Dan smiled as Rachel walked around and squatted down in front of the girl. ‘Are you sure you don’t need any help?’ Rachel said. ‘Are you with your Mom?’

  ‘Yes,’ said the girl, pointing across the hall. ‘She’s over there talking to that stupid old man.’ She looked back at Dan and her cheeks reddened. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean …’

  ‘That’s OK,’ said Dan, laughing. ‘I know I’m past my sell-by date.’ He was quietly disappointed by how easily those three words flowed together. He was old, but he wasn’t stupid. At least not yet. He stretched out his right hand and left it hanging in the air at a respectful distance. ‘I’m Dan,’ he said. ‘And this is Rachel.’

  The girl looked at the proffered hand and Dan imagined the thoughts whirring around in her head. I’m not supposed to talk to strangers. But he’s only an old man. Mum’s just over there. He seems nice. And there’s a lady with him. It’s probably OK and I’m not supposed to be rude …

  Dan was on the point of accepting defeat when she reached out her own hand and politely shook the ends of his fingers. ‘I’m Anna,’ she said.

  ‘Pleased to meet you, Anna,’ said Rachel. ‘Now, do you want to tell us why you’re upset?’

  ‘Not really,’ said Anna, taking a deep breath. ‘It’s just that my Mum decided to go over to that man and she’s not supposed to and then my sister went off in a huff and started talking to the boy who was in Muriel’s and I just have to sit here and wait for them and I’m always hanging around waiting for them and I’m fed up with it.’

  ‘Is that your sister over there?’ said Dan, pointing towards Zoe.

  Anna nodded her head.

  ‘More interested in boys than hanging around with you these days?’ he asked.

  Anna nodded again.

  ‘Well,’ said Rachel, standing up. ‘That’s probably more than enough chit-chat. I think we’d better get you over to your Mom, don’t you?’

  Anna looked up at Rachel and shrugged her shoulders. ‘I suppose so,’ she said in a quiet voice.

  As Rachel reached down to take Anna’s hand, Dan looked up and saw the older sister running across the hall. She reached her mother, who was still talking to the museum guard, and grabbed her by the shoulder. The girl was excited about something – her arms were waving and she kept pointing back across the hall towards the dinosaur.

  The discussion lasted for a few seconds and then, all of a sudden, something changed. It was like one of those Victorian still-life tableaux where the lights would flash off and, when they came back on a second or two later, the scene would be different. In the blink of an eye, the guard had turned and was walking towards the dinosaur, while behind him Anna’s mother and sister were on their hands and knees and then, moments after, lying down flat on the floor.

  Dan felt the air buzz with static electricity and the hairs on the back of his neck rising like the hackles on a dog’s back. He was thrown back through time – fifty years snatched away as though pages torn roughly from a book – and left standing once again on a hot August morning in Austin, Texas.

  ‘Wait!’ he said to Rachel and Anna as he pushed himself to his feet. ‘Stay here. Keep behind the bench.’

  Nadia

  Nadia no longer cared what was happening behind her or about the almost constant buzzing of new alerts from her phone. Everything important was happening straight ahead, in the centre of the massive hall. If she looked away, even for half a second, she might miss an opportunity to intervene, to make a difference.

  She needed to be focused and ready to act, but not yet. Although hesitation often did cost lives, blundering in without a plan could be even worse. She was a great shot with a handgun, but all studies had shown that pistol rounds, even from close range, were unlikely to be traumatic enough to prevent a bomber pressing a trigger. Standard procedure mandated either armed police or special forces with their SIG 516 semi-automatic rifles loaded with hollow point ammunition. Any attempt to reliably neutralise a bomber required enough force to cause an immediate loss of nervous function.

  And so, despite her race against time, Nadia understood that there may well be nothing she could do to help. It was tearing her apart, but at least she was there.

  She watched as the girl span around and started half-walking, half-running towards the blonde woman and the security guard. Snowflake watched her progress for a second or two, before turning away. Then he began to pace slowly around the huge skeleton as though in a trance. He was wearing a thick black hoodie and she could see how much bulkier he appeared to be. He was definitely wearing a belt.

  Snowflake looked up at the dinosaur’s tail as he passed underneath it and then he was walking back towards Nadia. His head was bowed and she could see his lips moving, although she couldn’t hear anything. Was he praying?

  The young girl had reached the blonde woman – her mother, probably – and was waving her arms like an Italian, pointing towards Snowflake. He must have said something to her. But what?

  Suddenly, the old man pulled himself upright and loomed over the girl and her mother. They froze as the man spoke to them and pointed firmly to the floor behind him. He pointed a second time and the two women dropped down and lay flat. The old security guard waited until they were lying down, before turning to face Snowflake. Nadia was puzzled for a second until it clicked. Snowflake must have warned the girl and given her time to get away. Nadia had been wrong all along. He was going to go through with it.

  Snowflake had almost reached the dinosaur’s head when he looked up and saw the guard moving towards him. Nadia heard the guard gently repeating the same words over and over, ‘It’s OK. Take it easy. I just want to talk to you.’

  Even from forty feet away, Nadia could see the anguish on Snowflake’s face as he backed away and the panic as he looked over his shoulder and saw another even-older man approaching him from behind. Who were these men? There was no questioning their guts, that was certain.

  She didn’t know what to do. Snowflake looked as though he was being torn apart by internal conflict as his moment of truth approached, and meanwhile the two brave men were closing in. If she joined them, would she upset the delicate balance and push Snowflake over the edge? Or would a third presence – with brown skin – be enough to help his better angels prevail?

  Nadia stopped breathing and stood – paralysed by indecision – as the slow-motion endgame played itself out in front of her.

  12:00

  Hassan

  Hassan completed his final circuit, stopped and took three long deep breaths.

  In the corner of his eye, he saw the old museum guard walking slowly towards him, arms by his sides. He was saying something, but Hassan couldn’t hear him. The blood rushing through his head was deafening, as though he was standing in the middle of a busy motorway.

  He smiled at the man, looked up at the massive bony dinosaur head one last time and reached into his pocket.

  The light would come before the sound but both would come too slowly for Hassan. Before the huge hall filled with smoke and anguish, there would be one brief moment of frozen beauty – a tiny sun bursting into life below the huge skull and blazing orange before invisible hands would reach down and tear the skeleton apart, scattering the pieces in all directions.

  Two hundred and ninety-two enormous plaster bones would tumble through the air in a slow motion death dance. By then Hassan would have already disintegrated body and soul and it would be too late to see the horror of his misplaced devotion come to life.

  Too late to hear the screaming begin.

  The old man was closer now, black eyes fixed on Hassan and glinting in the bright lights. He was still mumbling the same unintelligible words over and over and his arms were now spread w
ide, palms facing outwards. Hassan took a step backwards. He could feel the sharp plastic edges of the trigger cover against his fingers and the soft smoothness of the button under his thumb.

  One firm push, a rush of electrons and it would all be over. He looked around the room one last time. The girl was lying on the floor next to her mother, but he could see another man walking towards him from behind.

  It had to be now.

  As he started to press down, a searing white light flashed in front of Hassan’s eyes. He was torn roughly back in time, transported back to being a small boy, desperate to please his father, watching a cherished book burning on a coal fire, tears streaming down his cheeks as the thick cardboard blackened and twisted in the flames, the dinosaurs twisting and stretching like living beasts.

  What was he about to do? Everything became clear. There would be no virgins, no houris. No praise for his faith and bravery. He wasn’t a killer. He was still a small sad boy who didn’t understand what had become of him. They’d started by insisting he had a choice, but then they’d crawled inside his head with all of their bitterness, threats and twisted values and taken that choice away.

  Whatever the consequences, this wasn’t the solution. This wasn’t who he was.

  The force of the revelation was like a physical blow and Hassan gasped before sinking to his knees. He bowed his head, released his grip on the trigger and stretched both hands out in front of him, palms flat on the cold hard tiles. In prayer or submission? Or both?

  No Choice

  The slim bearded figure stood at the corner of Cromwell Road, leaning against a wall and holding a street map open in front of him. He looked at his watch, a gold Rolex, all his attention focused on the second hand as it crept slowly upwards.

  He shrank back against the wall and squeezed his eyes tightly closed as the thin gold needle reached the zenith, his body tense and his hands clenched into tight fists. Nothing.

  He kept his eyes closed as he counted the seconds silently in his head … twenty … forty … sixty … but still nothing happened to disturb the routine bustle of a busy South Kensington morning.

  When his count reached a hundred, the man opened his eyes and sighed, before reaching into his jacket pocket and taking out a mobile phone.

  Afterwards

  Shuna

  The silence left her first of all. Shuna took a deep sucking breath, and the clouds disappeared in an explosion of adrenaline. The realisation that she had woken from a dream was a temporary relief before the room filled with the sound of a thousand pounding waterfalls and blinding light burning magnesium white.

  The memories of the last few seconds in the museum flooded back into her bruised mind like a tsunami. No structure or sequence, just a confused tumbling jumble of words and images loosely held together by flailing threads of uncontrollable terror.

  ‘Zoe? Anna? Are my girls all right?’ Shuna’s voice was raw as a raven’s croak and her shoulder screamed pain at her as she tried to sit up.

  ‘They’re fine,’ said Simon’s voice. ‘They’re both fine, but you need to lie still or you’ll tear those stitches again.’

  ‘Oh, thank God,’ said Shuna, eyes stretched wide as she tried to bring the room into focus. ‘Where are they?’

  ‘They’re sleeping now,’ he said. ‘They’ve been up and about already. Just a few scratches to deal with … and they’re young. They were here earlier, but we didn’t know when you’d come round, so I told them to go and rest.’

  ‘How long have I been here? Am I OK?’ Shuna’s body didn’t feel like her own. ‘It hurts to move.’

  ‘You’ve been unconscious for nearly six hours,’ said Simon. ‘And yes, you’re going to be fine. You’ve got a nasty gash in your shoulder and smaller cuts on your feet and legs, but nothing to worry about.’ He reached down and cupped her cheek in his hand. ‘I can’t believe I came that close to losing you all.’ Shuna managed to focus her errant vision and saw that Simon’s eyes were shining wet. ‘I heard the blast from half a mile away and knew straight away that something was wrong. If it hadn’t been for that museum guard …’

  ‘The taxi driver?’ said Shuna, seeing Jim’s face loom in front of her. Random images were bursting in her mind like popping candy, but she couldn’t seem to tie them together.

  ‘Yes. Him. The girls told me he was there.’ Shuna could remember the way the old sad man had transformed in a microsecond. As soon as Zoe had spoken, he’d flipped into action like a freshly wound clockwork toy, the clarity of his gaze and the sharp, clean snap of his words demanding instant obedience. ‘Well, according to the police,’ Simon continued. ‘If it hadn’t been for Jim Pritchard, none of you would have survived.’

  ‘Is he OK?’

  Simon shook his head and looked away.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Are you sure you don’t want to wait?’ said Simon. ‘Rest a little?’

  ‘No,’ said Shuna. ‘I’m fine. Tell me what happened.’

  As Shuna leant back against the soft pillow, her shoulder twisted slightly and she couldn’t hide the gasp of pain. A lightning bolt of agony more intense than anything she’d ever experienced flashed down to her fingertips and straight back up to her left temple. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut and lay still, waiting for her breathing to slow.

  ‘Are you sure you’re all right?’ Simon had moved closer and his voice oozed panic and helplessness. ‘Should I call the nurse? Don’t you think it would be better to rest some more?’

  ‘No,’ said Shuna, opening her eyes. ‘I’m trying as hard as I can, but my memories are all mixed up. Tell me what happened. I need to know.’

  ‘OK. But I only know what the police told me and they’ve only just started their investigations. Apparently an MI5 officer arrived just before the explosion and saw what happened.’

  ‘And they weren’t hurt?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ he said. ‘I think she may have been injured, but she was obviously well enough to make a report.’

  ‘Lucky her,’ Shuna grunted. ‘So, tell me.’

  Simon pulled the chair closer to the bed and sat down. ‘The bomb was apparently quite sophisticated. Some sort of plastic explosive or dynamite. The sort they use in mining or quarries.’ Shuna could see that he was choking up and struggling to speak. ‘Apparently it’s a miracle that there weren’t more casualties. The suicide belt was packed full of steel ball bearings’

  ‘Oh my God,’ said Shuna. ‘How many people were hurt?’

  ‘There were only two deaths apart from the bomber himself and another thirty-two injuries, mostly fairly minor. Somehow, the two men shielded the blast and funnelled the force upwards. Most of the injuries actually came from falling dinosaur bones.’

  ‘Which two men?’

  ‘Sorry. I’m getting ahead of myself,’ said Simon. ‘Just before the blast, your taxi driver had got quite close to the bomber and there was another man who’d seen what was happening and come up from behind him. Apparently they’d persuaded the young guy not to detonate the bomb. He’d taken his hands out of his pockets and was surrendering to them.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ said Shuna. ‘So, what happened?’

  ‘No-one knows exactly. They believe there was some sort of back-up in place – in case the bomber changed his mind. It’ll take weeks to do the forensics, but it’s likely there was a secondary mobile-phone trigger. I’m pretty sure they’re not telling me everything they know. What was an MI5 officer doing there, for instance?’

  Shuna didn’t really care. ‘So, Jim? And the other guy?’

  ‘They were leaning over the bomber and, between them they took the brunt of the shock wave and the shrapnel. They didn’t stand a chance.’

  Shuna could remember the way Jim had spoken to her, the calm and strength in his words. He’d known what he was doing and had probably also known what he was risking. He’d protected them, and everyone else, because it was the right thing to do. She felt the sadness settle on her like a damp,
heavy blanket, softly easing out the tears.

  Simon was holding her good hand and laid it carefully beside her. ‘You need to rest,’ he said. ‘I’ll finish later.’

  Shuna didn’t know how long Simon was away. There were vague memories of a nurse coming in and giving her more painkillers and then she found herself drifting in and out of sleep, her dreams a mishmash of seemingly unconnected, half-remembered images: she was back on the beach again, but a London Taxi was careering towards her over the South African sands; two men were running towards her from opposite directions, Jim and a man with no face, his head smooth as a boiled egg; the sun was falling from the sky like a burning stone, getting closer and closer until the roar of its flaming tail was pounding on her eardrums; her two precious girls were curled up on the beach like sleeping dormice while Shuna frantically scrabbled sand on top of them in a desperate attempt to build a protective dome.

  However long she’d actually slept, she felt much better when she woke up. Her ears were still ringing but the cotton wool feeling was less. She still couldn’t remember anything about what had happened, apart from what Simon had explained. Who was the mystery second man?

  And then, as though conjured by a fairy godmother’s wand, Zoe and Anna were standing beside her bed.

  Shuna had already learnt not to make any sharp movements, but the impulse to leap up and wrap them both in her arms was almost unbearable.