As instructed, he walked the five hundred yards from Marylebone to Baker Street, and on entering the station looked up at the CCTV cameras. With luck, Giraffe would know he was not only still alive but back in London and desperate to be contacted, since he was vigorously rubbing his chin.
The Jubilee Line train to Westminster only three stops away did not take long. He had never been to that station before and was surprised at how deep the Jubilee Line was there after passing under the Thames. There were three consecutive escalators to the top, and the bottom looked like a nuclear bomb shelter.
On exiting into Bridge Street, with Westminster Bridge on the left, he found the phallic presence of Big Ben for some reason reassuring. Like St Paul’s Cathedral and Tower Bridge, the famous clock tower above the Houses of Parliament had miraculously survived the bombing during the Blitz in World War II largely unscathed. The giant hands showed twenty past four. Perfect timing. So far things were going well. Would he be able to say the same the following day?
He walked the twenty-five yards to Parliament Square and contrary to his instructions crossed over to the other side of Whitehall, before turning right into the avenue so named. He reasoned that there would be more cameras on that side next to the Foreign Office and Downing Street, with the prime minister’s residence at No. 10, not to mention other key government offices. Years ago, Downing Street had been accessible to the public; now it was barricaded and guarded by police toting sub-machine guns. How terrorists in one form or another had changed things. His toppling Nelson would doubtless lead to such precautions becoming even more stringent.
Looking upwards and glancing from side to side to where cameras might be, he had a begging look on his face as he intermittently rubbed his chin remorselessly to emphasise he wanted to be contacted ASAP. If he had not already been picked up by the facial-recognition software at Baker Street and Westminster stations, he surely would be now.
Here in this sensitive area, with police in civilian clothes as well as in uniform, they might be able to get one to follow him – that is, if they could identify him in time.
Beyond the Cenotaph commemorating the fallen in wars, he could see the two Horse Guards standing imperturbably in their boxes as tourists sidled up to them to have their photos taken. He had read somewhere that it would be cheaper to have actors in that role rather than professional soldiers, though they might not be so long-suffering in the face of provocations from young tourists, including cute girls wanting their faces as close as possible to theirs. Holt too made a show of having a good gawp, so anyone following would think he had crossed over to the other side of Whitehall for that very purpose. It would also allow Giraffe more time for him to be tracked.
Turning away to continue on his way, he could see Nelson’s Column, with the admiral perched confidently on top, directly ahead. He couldn’t believe that in less than twelve hours he would be instrumental in knocking the man off the top. His time with Consuela had in fact been the enjoyable appetiser; this was the main dish – and big time – and with the reality dawning on him, he was getting jittery. Thankfully, The Silver Cross pub, where he could raise his spirits with a stiff drink, was now just over on the other side of the road. Rather than risk making his way through the moving traffic, he decided to cross at the traffic lights at the foot of Trafalgar Square, which were not far ahead anyway, and double back the eighty or so yards.
Altogether, his detour had taken an extra five minutes, as he had had to wait for the lights to change. The entrance to the pub was narrow, but once inside he found there was plenty of room, with the seating area going way back from the busy street. The clientele – a mix of regulars, passers-by, and tourists – would coalesce around anyone following him and make it impossible to identify them. Indeed, the Owl probably already had someone there to report on his progress.
He went to the far end of the bar and ordered a double whisky and soda. Being intelligent, he never asked for ice in a pub, knowing that it was usually full of microbes – people ordering drinks unintentionally spit in the ice-bucket behind the counter and bar staff dip their fingers into it as they scoop out the ice for drinks after handling dirty coins.
He sat down at a table right in the middle of the pub in full view and drank his whisky slowly. There was plenty of time and, fearing to order another, he wanted to make it last. As the hands on his watch moved to show five o’clock, he stood up and made his way through the crowd to the exit. On stepping out into the busy thoroughfare, he was surprised by the sound of a helicopter hovering almost overhead. Then, realizing and hoping that it might be for his benefit, he looked up and rubbed his chin but tried not to make it too obvious to anyone standing nearby.
To get to the hotel, he had to cross busy Whitehall itself at the lights where he had just crossed and then cross The Mall in front of Admiralty Arch. He could not continually look upwards for fear of being run over. Also, looking up at the helicopter would raise suspicions should the Owl be having him followed.
The Trafalgar, a ‘boutique hotel’ belonging to the Hilton Group, was discreet, so much so that one could easily miss the entrance were one not especially seeking it. As he had been told to expect, reception was busy, with people returning to the hotel from meetings or going out for an evening on the town.
As someone had already checked in several days before using his alias, he only had to nod in the direction of reception and move a few yards further on to take one of the lifts to the sixth floor. Unlike at a number of less well‑managed hotels, he had no trouble opening the door to his room with his card. Though not up to the Hotel du Cap at Antibes standard, the room was quite spacious, and, with its view of Nelson’s Column, would in different circumstances have been a great place to impress a woman by virtue of its great location, with the admiral, himself no stranger to trysts, looking on.
Having had a peek at Nelson from the window, he went to check the silver case on the baggage stand. The laser with telescopic sights was there, together with a digital alarm clock showing seconds as well as hours and minutes, and of course the envelope with instructions, not forgetting the mobile phone.
God, he felt nervous.
Though the Owl had warned him not to drink too much, he could not resist taking a cold beer from the minibar. After all, there was still plenty of time before the big moment.
Surely that hovering helicopter had been for his benefit. Knowing he was staying at the hotel would be enough. They could examine the hotel videos, identify him, and note from the hotel computer what room doors had been opened shortly after his arrival.
His room was almost certainly bugged, quite likely not only for audio but also video. His making a lot of noise to prevent anyone hearing what was being said or leaving a sheet of paper for someone to pick up would raise suspicions. The only solution was to have a note ready and pass it to the person Giraffe would send to contact him.
He went into the shower booth with a pen and a beermat he had kept as a souvenir from the Hotel du Cap, closed the frosted glass door, and wrote a short note for Giraffe, describing what he had been asked to do, making clear that unless ordered not to do so he would proceed. With the beermat high up in his right trouser pocket, he returned to the room and picked up the phone to order a club sandwich and a coffee.
Having been told it would take about thirty minutes, as they were very busy, he had time to read the instructions in the envelope and check the laser.
INSTRUCTIONS
1. When it gets dark, try out the target designator by switching on the laser power supply and waiting for it to power up (only takes about 30 seconds) indicated by the red lamp changing to green. Squeeze the trigger to switch on the laser and then harder to lock it in the ON position.
2. Using the telescopic sight, confirm that the red spot from the laser is visible to you high up on the admiral’s chest, before switching off the laser by pulling hard back on the trigger to unlock it.
3. Repeat the process to make sure it comes naturally t
o you. Power down the laser and replace it in its case. Check that the battery charge indicator shows it is well charged. If not, recharge it using the adapter connected to the mains supply. Whatever you do, DO NOT LEAVE THE LASER SWITCHED ON when not in use! If you do, you risk finding yourself powerless when the big moment comes.
4. At least ten minutes before the cruise missile is due (i.e. at 03.50 for 04.00) power up the laser as above and when ready, shine it on Nelson’s chest for a moment to get your eye in again.
5. Switch the laser off as mentioned by pulling hard back on the trigger and releasing it, but keep it powered up and wait for the arrival of the missile. Shortly before its arrival, a harmless explosive device making a loud bang and a nasty-smelling cloud will detonate at the foot of the column to disperse any people congregated there.
6. On hearing the detonation, you will switch on the laser and shine it on Nelson’s chest as instructed.
7. Once the cruise missile has hit the admiral and almost certainly knocked him off his perch, switch off the laser, and return it to its case. DO NOT DRAW ATTENTION TO YOURSELF BY SWITCHING ON THE TV OR RADIO TO LEARN THE RESULT OF YOUR HANDIWORK.
8. At 7.30 a.m. someone will come to your room to collect the case. You will only hand it over after they have given you the password, which is Nelson’s flag signal to his fleet at the Battle of Trafalgar: ‘England expects every man to do his duty.’
ENSURE YOU HAVE TAKEN OUT THE MOBILE PHONE, and have breakfast in your room. (Remember to order it for 8.00 a.m. from room service before retiring.)
9. Leave the hotel (with the mobile phone) at nine o’clock without checking out. Turn right and walk south to St James’s Park. Cross The Mall and go 100 yards or so towards Buckingham Palace, until you reach the path to the bridge across the lake, which you will take. Once on the bridge, switch on the mobile phone for further instructions.
10. Before leaving your room, tear this sheet into small pieces and dispose of it down the toilet and flush it three times, allowing a pause between each flush.
The Owl
Holt replaced the instructions in the silver case and sat in the armchair, waiting for his club sandwich. The long wait might mean the person bringing it would be from Giraffe. So when it did finally arrive, Holt gave the boy a searching look that was misinterpreted. Seeing his discomfiture, Holt concluded he was genuine and neither from Giraffe nor the Owl. The way he hovered for his tip confirmed it.
Every noise in the corridor raised his hopes, only for them to be dashed as the sound of retreating footsteps got weaker and weaker. It seemed he would be unable to warn Giraffe, and the responsibility would rest entirely on his shoulders. Then he heard some knocks at the doors of adjoining rooms, followed by a sharp knock at his own. A female voice that he instantly recognized called out, ‘Housekeeping.’
‘Coming,’ he answered as he hurriedly opened the door to find Celia standing there in a snappy hotel uniform with a white pinafore in front.
Expressionless and feigning not to know each other, they stood rooted to the ground for a moment.
‘Would you like me to turn down the bed, sir?’
‘If you insist. I would appreciate it, though it’s not really necessary.’
She pushed her trolley with housekeeping materials in the doorway to prevent the door shutting.
‘It’s a rule at the hotel that we maids, even the older ones, keep the door ajar when doing the rooms – and especially when a male guest is present.’
‘I quite understand. In your case, I am sure it is a particularly wise precaution.’
‘You naughty man!’
Playing the part to the full, she came in and walked to the bedside, unnecessarily wiggling her behind under her tight skirt. Was she was winding him up on purpose, notwithstanding the gravity of the situation? Or perhaps she could not help it, having got into the habit of toying with her VIPs.
Just as she was about to bend over to fold over the bedcover, Holt came up beside her, with his right hip obscuring the view of her left thigh from behind – straight ahead there was only the window, where there could hardly be a hidden camera – and slipped the beermat with his message into her apron pocket, pushing hard against her upper thigh so she could not fail to realize what he was doing. He had never before pushed against her there and found it an agreeable sensation that he would have liked to have prolonged, but he quickly stepped away.
‘Is there anything else, sir?’
‘Nothing that I would dare ask you for. Thanks all the same. I don’t want to end up like DSK.’
‘Who?’
‘Dominique Strauss-Kahn. You know, the French head of the International Monetary Fund. The man expected to become the next French president who threw it all away by allegedly importuning the maid who had come to service his New York hotel room, just as you are doing now.’
‘I don’t know whether I should be flattered or insulted. But thank you, sir. Have a good night, alone.’
And then she was gone. Had she lingered for longer, it could have raised suspicions. Holt had kept talking loudly so he would not be suspected of having whispered something in her ear.
Relieved at having been able to inform Giraffe about what he was about to do, Holt found the sight of Celia had made him take stock of his situation. How he wished he were back with her in the fold at Farringdon, doing what he had initially signed up to do.
Would Celia read what he had written, or would a motorcycle courier be standing by to take it straight to Sir Charles? Unlikely, as someone might be watching. Even if she did not read it, she would surely make the link after the toppling of Nelson and realize he had graduated to the big time. That would make her respect him, but not a lot of good that would do him if he were no longer of this world to exploit it.
Too late for second thoughts; he turned on the television and started on his club sandwich. It is said one can judge a hotel by its club sandwiches, and this one was not bad at all; not that he could enjoy it with all that was on his mind.
There were some news flashes saying that the BBC and other news organizations had received warnings that something was going to happen in London that night, but no loss of life was expected. Apparently the event was to be a wake‑up call that would precede a number of events in the coming weeks to prompt the government to stop the rot – the country did not deserve its heroes.
He watched some more television, hoping it would help him relax, but could not concentrate. Giving up, he had a shower, then set the digital clock alarm for 3.15 a.m. and tried to get some sleep.
He lay in bed wondering what Sir Charles and the government would do. Would they have the cruise missile shot down? Would they try and make it deviate from its course and risk it detonating elsewhere in central London? At least Trafalgar Square would be a large, virtually empty space at that time of the night. His guess was that they would think the success of his mission so important that they would do nothing.
It took him some time to drop off to sleep, and when he eventually did it was again only fitfully, with him constantly checking to see how long remained before the alarm would go off.
When it finally did sound, he got up immediately and pulled back the curtains to have a look at Nelson, who if everything went according to plan would soon no longer be there. With so much light pollution over central London, he would have been able to see him without the dim floodlight always illuminating him, as he faced south almost straight down Whitehall.
From where Holt was looking, the right-hand side of the admiral’s chest, where he was to aim, was in full view and presumably would be where the missile would hit.
As he could not see the foot of the column, he wondered whether there might be some hapless tourists sitting underneath. He was glad the detonation that the Owl had mentioned would scatter them. There was nothing he could do, and perhaps it was better he could not see them.
He made a coffee and on finishing it turned out the bedside light and waited, having checked the laser had a
mple charge. There was ten minutes to go.
A little sooner than necessary, he switched on the laser power supply and listened to the hum, which quietened when the green light showed it was fully powered up.
He already had the window open, and nothing but the cool night air separated him from the statue. He pulled on the trigger but not hard enough to lock it and shone the laser on the admiral for a few moments, surprised at how relaxed he was now the great moment had come. More to the point was his relief that he would be targeting an inanimate object rather than a living being.
Everything seemed perfectly in order; all he had to do was to wait. He eased back on the trigger and rested the laser – he did not want to be tired and shaky when the time came.
Big Ben in the distance was striking the hour, but no sign of the missile. His digital clock was now showing 4.01.10. Where on earth was it?
Even though he had been waiting for it, when it came, the loud bang from the square took him by surprise. Squeezing hard down on the laser trigger to lock it, he aimed at the admiral’s chest. Though the red spot was very obvious to him when looking through the telescopic sight, he was sure it would be hardly noticeable to anyone in the square, whose attention would anyway have been drawn downwards towards the sound and, presumably, smoke generated at the foot of the column.
Holt had expected the cruise missile to come up Whitehall – the route he had taken on coming to the hotel – as it would have provided a clear run to Nelson straight ahead. Instead, the 500 mph missile came over Buckingham Palace and down The Mall, veering to the left 300 yards before the end to skim right over his head, where it locked on to the target he had designated. Only afterwards did he realize the Owl had avoided sending the missile along Whitehall, where it could have been shot down by the ground-to-air missiles one would expect to be defending key government buildings.
LONDON ALERT Page 17