“No problems on that account Tracy, none at all.”
Tracy handed him the cup and he opened the lid, she passed him a wooden stirrer and a couple of sugar sachets and he poured them in giving his coffee a stir.
Tracy did the same with her coffee before saying, “was that Max you were talking to?”
“Yes, he called for a SITREP.”
“Anything at his end?”
“We have our satellite coming over from midnight tonight, it will scan all twelve zones, should take about eighteen hours.”
“So you have you own satellite?”
“Does that surprise you that a small country like ours can give us a satellite?”
Tracy had detected the trace of British humour traced with a hint of sarcasm in his reply and said, “So that is what they mean by the British sense of sarcasm and humour.”
Roy let out a laugh and said, “Yep, that’s some good old fashioned British sarcastic humour Tracy.”
She looked at him and could not help herself joining in with his laughter.
When they had both finished laughing Tracy took on a serious face and said, “I notice Max has a fairly fresh scar on his cheek, can you tell me about it?”
Roy said, “It’s not classified information Tracy, several weeks ago we had three men from Russia, rogue SPETSNAZ intent on killing our Prime Minister and two senior Police officers.”
“Yes, I recall hearing a little about it from an internal Intel briefing,” replied Tracy.
“You probably remember the outcome, two of them killed and the other on a flight back to Moscow and who is probably now in some God forsaken hole in Siberia. That guy pulled a blade on Max whom he had as a hostage in the Russian embassy grounds and sliced his cheek. He told Max it was a mark of respect and small recompense for his brother’s death.”
Tracy paused for a moment and then said, “Like a duelling scar and it gives him a bit of a rugged look Roy?”
Roy looked at her and sighed.
Tracy said, “What?”
“Women I will never understand them,” replied Roy.
“And that’s the way it should be Roy!”
Two hours later Roy and Tracy were meeting up with Vas Dembo and his team.
Roy gave them a briefing and used the map to identify the three OP’s points.
He spoke into his codetta, “eagle 4 to team 2, team 6 will be relieving you in the next twenty minutes. Once relieved back to the house, eagle 4 out.”
39
New Scotland Yard
London
Lat = 51 degrees, 29.9 minutes North
Long = 0 degrees, 8.0 minutes West
Monday 18th September 1989 (Next day)
Thirteen hours and sixteen minutes BST
On the seventh floor a meeting was in progress, several Police personal were seated listening to a man standing with a bandaged face.
The original headquarters of the new London police force were in Whitehall, with an entrance in Great Scotland Yard from which the name originates.
By the late nineteenth century the London police headquarters at Scotland Yard had become increasingly overcrowded, and it was in eighteen-ninety a new headquarters building was opened on the Thames Embankment and was renamed New Scotland Yard.
In nineteen-sixty seven, the headquarters moved again to the present building at the junction with Victoria Street and Broadway.
Once he had vacated the aircraft, Marshall Will Dexter had identified himself to the onsite Police, producing his commission case and showing his US Marshall’s badge, a gold coloured badge that consisted of a circle encompassing a five-pointed star.
The circle had the words United States Marshal scribed in blue on it; in the centre of the star was a winged bird with a small shield centrally placed.
The shield had vertical red and white stripes and along the top was a horizontal blue band with the numbers 1789.
An onsite paramedic had given him immediate treatment for his burns on his face, prior to him being taken to a hospital for further treatment.
Earlier he had made a phone call to his senior officer at the US Marshalls HQ in Arlington Virginia and had been told to cooperate fully with the British Police.
Marshal Dexter had given the British Police a statement during the morning and had been asked to attend a briefing after lunchtime in the building.
Marshall Dexter had now finished his oral account of O’Rourke’s escape from custody, he was still feeling uncomfortable and embarrassed about the whole affair.
Sir Robert Dawson the Mets commissionaire had been listening to the Marshal’s account and could see from his demure his embarrassment.
Sir Robert had joined the West Midlands police force fifteen years earlier, after completing his basic training at Ryton police training school near Coventry; he was posted to Wolverhampton on the ‘G’ division.
He had started life walking the beat, moved rapidly onto panda cars and then gained a grade one Police driver qualification, taking him onto traffic for six months.
Three years down the road he passed his qualifying exams and was rapidly promoted to sergeant, he spent three years on the Special Patrol Group (SPG).
During this time, he was involved in the often-violent urban riots of the late seventies and early eighties as well as the many union strikes that had become commonplace during this period.
The Special Patrol Group had been a key factor in maintaining and policing these unrests.
However, they had gained a reputation of being resilient and had become feared by militant organisations, they were like storm troopers.
They worked in units of eight police officers that were in turn paired up as partners, all under the control of a
Sergeant.
There emblem was a cobra snake, this had come about from the way they linked up when engaging in riot control.
Their most effective technique was forming a wedge that could penetrate heavy densities of rioters and employing snatch squads to arrest key players.
Upon leaving the SPG, he was promoted to inspector taking over ‘C’ shift on the ‘H’ division Green lane police station in Walsall.
Over the coming, few years he rose rapidly through the ranks attaining the rank of Assistant Chief constable Operations.
Dawson had become well known throughout the Police community as well as the power infrastructure of Whitehall.
He was a rare animal. Having come through the ranks he had been there done it and had the tee shirt, much respected within the rank and file of the police community.
When the post for Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police was on offer three years earlier, he was the obvious choice for the task.
As the Marshal sat down he said, “thank you Marshal Dexter, your briefing is a credit to you and your organisation, I can understand you being uncomfortable over this episode. However, I believe there was nothing you could have done differently, O’Rourke is a cunning and devious man and on this occasion, he proved that. I will speak to your superior on your behalf before you return to your country, I will ask that you leave us now Marshall, so we can resume our briefing on this matter.”
Marshal Dexter gave Sir Robert a nod stood up and left the room.
Sir Robert looked at his chief of intelligence and said, “Colin what have you got on this man O’Rourke?”
Superintendent Benson of SO-13 Anti-terrorist branch, opened a file on the desk and read from it, “Paddy O’Rourke age 33 from the fiercely republican Ardoyne area of north Belfast, a long-time member of the IRA smuggled guns to the IRA from Holland, Belgium, Italy, and Yugoslavia also smuggled explosives into England. 1986 Bombed the Old Bailey and Scotland Yard with accomplices that were not caught that resulted in one person killed and 250 injured, arrested at He
athrow airport trying to leave the country. Convicted and given a life sentence. The judge said this wanton slaughter of so many innocent people must rank as one of the most outrageous atrocities endured by the people of this country in the last quarter of a century. Served two years in HM County Durham Prison before escaping following a transfer to a local hospital due to an apparent kidney stone problem. It would appear that this was pre-planned with members of the IRA executing the rescue that resulted in the entire prisoner and Police escort being killed in cold blood.”
Superintendent Benson placed the file back down on the desk.
Sir Robert Dawson said, “Colin, any ideas as to where he might take refuge?”
“Sir, we have an All Ports out for him since zero two hundred hours this morning, if he has not left the country he could be anywhere in London or possibly up in Birmingham.”
One of the two phones rang out breaking into the conversations; one of the officers present picked it up and listened to the voice on the other end.
Sir Robert could immediately see from the officer’s face that the call was bad news.
The officer replaced the phone and said, “A bomb has just gone off in a Wimpey bar on Oxford Street!”
Sir Robert and the other officers present were stunned into silence by the news; Sir Robert broke the silence and said, “Any estimates on casualties?”
“Too early to say sir.”
Sir Robert said, “I want this bastard O’Rourke found, he is in our city leave no stone unturned, go out there and do what you do; but quickly.
The meeting adjourned and Sir Robert went to his office where Mandy his secretary was waiting with a message from the Prime minister.
He looked at the message and noted it had been time stamped at thirteen thirty hours. He looked at his watch thirteen forty-three hours.
Sir Robert dialled the PM’s number, spoke to her secretary, and she immediately put him through.
“Good morning Sir Robert, I have just been informed about what appears to be a bombing in Oxford Street, can you confirm at this point whether it was a terrorist incident?”
“Ma’am, I am awaiting a more detailed report, but it does look like it was a bomb.”
“Any thoughts as to the perpetrators Sir Robert?”
“An IRA convicted terrorist named Patrick O’Rourke is probably behind it Ma’am.”
Sir Robert then briefed the PM on the recent events surrounding O’Rourke.
40
Oxford Street
London
Lat = 51 degrees, 30.9 minutes North
Long = 0 degrees, 8.8 minutes West
Monday 18th September 1989 (Same day)
Twelve thirty-nine BST
Twenty minutes earlier
Once he had arrived from the airport to Kilburn Patrick O’Rourke was dropped off by the taxi and he walked a quarter of a mile to a house.
It was late but he gave the appropriate knock on the door and within a minute, the door was opened by a man.
“Be Jesus Patrick I thought you were in America?”
“Couldn’t resist coming back to see old friends Shamus.”
“Come on in, I have a drop of the good stuff in the back room.”
Over the next half hour, Patrick talked to Shamus about his time in America and his earlier extradition and escape from the plane.
Patrick drained his whiskey and said to Shamus, “Have you any C-4 around that I can use?”
“Yes, there is around forty pounds in my shed down the garden along with a handgun and several grenades there all yours Patrick.”
O’Rourke went into the shed and turned the light on; he quickly checked the handgun a Browning double action loaded several magazines and loaded one of them into the handguns butt.
He then quickly checked the hand grenades, they were the L109 the British version of the Swiss made HG-85. That differs from the HG 85 that has a timed fuse; this L109 version has a special safety clip matte black in colour.
They were deep bronze green in colour with golden yellow stencilling, and a rough exterior comparable to light sandpaper.
O’Rourke spent the next four hours preparing two devices each with five pounds of C-4 and using ducting tape, he encased each with nails and screws in the shed.
Patrick O’Rourke had exited the tube station at Bond Street at twelve fifty six hours with the Browning tucked into his waistband and two small rucksacks slung over his shoulder and walked the short distance to the Wimpey bar.
He went inside ordered some coffee and sat down by the door watching the room and its occupants.
After ten minutes he drained his coffee and using his right leg pushed a small rucksack under the bench he was sitting at, he then got up and walked out of the premises with another small rucksack over his shoulder.
Within a few seconds on the pavement outside, he found what he was looking for a waste bin, a quick look around confirmed no one was paying any attention to him and he slipped the rucksack into the empty bin.
He returned to Bond Street underground and caught the tube on the Jubilee line to Baker Street; he looked at his watch showing thirteen zero nine hours.
The first device was just now exploding, he exited the carriage at the first stop with Baker Street and found the Bakerloo line, hopped onto the next available train and looked at the in carriage map, confirming Kilburn was the sixth stop.
He exited the train, made his way to the surface level, and began to walk to Shamus’s house, five minutes later, he looked at his watch, and he smiled to himself and continued up the road.
41
Wimpey bar
Oxford Street
London
Lat = 51 degrees, 30.9 minutes North
Long = 0 degrees, 8.8 minutes West
Monday 18th September 1989 (same day)
Thirteen zero nine hours BST
The premises were about a quarter full, no one had noticed the small rucksack tucked well under one of the bench seats by the door.
People were seated drinking and eating with others coming and going.
Geoff Lane a manager at one of the large nearby retail stores had popped in for his regular lunchtime coffee to take away; he had just been served his coffee and was turning away from the counter towards the door when the device exploded.
A great burst of white light accompanied by a metallic crashing, overloaded his senses.
He felt what appeared to be a gust of wind that swept his coffee cup from his right hand; this was really a piece of shrapnel that had seared itself into his forearm.
When the flash passed, he found himself standing in amongst the smoke looking at the floor, “That’s my coffee,” he thought.
He lurched forward to pick it up and was immediately overcome by dizziness.
He then began to topple uncontrollably to his left, then forced himself to grasp onto a table.
Pain shot through his arm, he bent in half and tried to stand still, but only just managed to do so.
“Stand up, stand up he told himself. “Check you are okay.”
Touching his arms, he moved his hands up to his face, then down his torso and legs everything seemed in place.
“I am okay, everything is still here,” he said to himself.
As he stood in the dark, he heard screams of terror all around him and they were growing steadily louder.
The voices had always been there but Geoff could only now begin to hear them because his eardrums had been perforated in the blast.
Everything sounded as if he had his fingers in his ears.
He heard a female voice shouting, “we have to get out of here!”
She was with another woman both were in their late twenties, they were both screaming loud, terrified, and covered
in debris and smoke.
Geoff stepped forward and grabbed both of them by their arms and said, “Calm down, you are okay, take it easy and check to see if you have been injured?”
Both women looked at him as if he was crazy, he had no idea how loud his voice was.
However, they both began checking themselves realising that they appeared to have all their limbs.
Geoff was distracted from the two women by a cry, “help me, please help me?”
The shallow male voice was coming from the far corner away from the main door, he couldn’t see where from exactly.
He staggered across the glass-strewn floor and through the smoke filled room towards the whimper.
He found the source of the cry, a man lying on the floor in a shredded suit and trousers trying to get up, the man looked up his eyes pleading for help.
Geoff bent forward and took the man’s hands to try to pull him up.
As he did so, the strength in his right arm gave out and he was forced to stop, He held his hand up and could see his wrist was pouring with blood, it was the hand in which he had been holding his coffee cup, the one that had caught the piece of shrapnel.
A young male teenager moved over to help and between them, they hauled the man up, and as they did so Geoff could see, the man’s left leg below the knee was missing and blood spewed from it.
They found an upturned chair righted it and placed him on it; Geoff quickly removed his trouser belt and used it as a tourniquet stemming the blood flow from the wounded leg.
The emergency services were now pouring onto the scene as they began arriving they were greeted by the sight of people staggering around on the pavement and road, with people lying on the ground and smoke spewing out of the premises.
They began picking their way through the debris and smoke to get to the injured people.
Geoff Lane had managed to make his way outside along with the young teenager that he now knew as Matt, they had sat down on the pavement near to the main door watching the emergency services do their stuff.
Geoff said to Matt, “we were luck today son?”
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