Kate and Rafi settled down and went through their paperwork to see if they had missed anything that could lead them to the missing target. Hours later they had still found nothing.
Rafi felt exhausted. He turned to Kate. ‘I need sleep.’
‘How about I tuck you in?’ she asked with a mischievous smile.
‘Not tonight, thank you,’ he replied. ‘Could you wake me at 4 a.m. please – or earlier, if I’m needed?’
‘Will do,’ promised Kate. Rafi walked down the back stairs to the cells, grabbed a blanket and pillow and lay down on his bed. His mind started to clear. He got up, knelt down and for the first time in over a week said his prayers. Then he got into bed, and within moments, he was out for the count.
Just before 4 a.m., Rafi was woken by Jeremy. He was groggy and struggled to get his brain back into gear. Strong black coffee was waiting for him upstairs.
‘Hey, you still look rough,’ said Kate cheerily as Rafi walked in. ‘You’ve chosen a good time to join us. Things are hotting up in the Ops Room. It’s like a game of chess. If you come down the corridor with me, I’ll bring you up to speed.’
Kate started putting Rafi in the picture. ‘Emma, John and Aidan’s team are catching up on some sleep down in the cells. The duty sergeant has never known the cells so full of sober people. The ’s mood has improved; it seems first impressions were deceiving – in fact he’s rather good at his job.’ She paused. ‘As you’ll see, the Air Chief Marshal has brought in a specialist anti-terrorism expert and a couple of senior officers to act as coordinators.’
Rafi tentatively entered the Ops Room. It was buzzing. Kate and he stood out of the way to one side. The video-conference screen to his left was linked up with the SAS command centre. The Air Chief Marshal, Brigadier Harold Sparkman and Colonel Paul Gray were discussing the first operation - the capture of the two suicide bombers and Kaleem Shah at Aldermaston. The colonel gave instructions and two teams, red and blue, were deployed. The plan was to overwhelm the suicide bombers and the journalist at precisely the same moment.
The two suicide bombers were not expected to be much of a problem. They were not professional soldiers, but they did have two large bombs in their horsebox. Speed and the element of surprise were going to be critical.
The SAS commander reported that the two bombers were, to all intents and purposes, tucked up in the living quarters of the horsebox and appeared to be sleeping fitfully.
Kaleem Shah was a different matter. He had had many years’ experience of working in war zones. He was undoubtedly a cautious and capable soldier. The fact that he’d opted to sleep a couple of hundred metres away from the two terrorists suggested that he was expecting the unexpected.
The infrared sensors had identified the journalist as lying quietly across the back seat of the Jeep. The vehicle was positioned such that it had a line of sight through to the horsebox and a second 4x4, but was largely screened by twiggy vegetation and small saplings.
It was all quiet in and around the large Jeep and the horsebox. The two SAS teams silently approached the vehicles and waited for their orders.
Rafi watched, totally caught up in the proceedings. Unlike watching TV, this was real. He felt his heart pounding.
Just then Colonel Gray gave the command for the two assaults. There was a momentary delay and then, from a video link,there was the sound of two muffled explosions. The speaker crackled as it picked up the voice of the red team leader who was commanding a team of three against the journalist and his Jeep. ‘We’ve secured the vehicle and have captured the journalist. He didn’t put up a struggle. We found two booby traps outside the vehicle. Nothing too sophisticated, but nasty enough to take off a leg.’
The blue team simultaneously descended on the horsebox, found nothing untoward protecting it and seized the two suicide bombers, dragging them from their sleeping bags out into the open.
At that moment a loud bang echoed around the room. The horsebox erupted into a fireball.
‘Shit! The bastard had a radio-controlled device up his sleeve,’ was heard from the speaker.
‘Blue team! Come in blue team!’ There was silence.
Two further loud explosions were heard as the terrorists’ explosives went up.
The Air Chief Marshal looked at the colonel. ‘Not a good start Paul, is it?’
The silence was followed by a muffled voice across the video link.
‘Jesus, that was close,’ said a shaky voice. ‘Two of us are singed, but otherwise fine; two have suffered minor injuries from flying debris, but my corporal has an eighteen-inch piece of aluminium sticking out of his thigh. And the two suicide bombers are in a bad way - one has a piece of shrapnel in his chest. They had no protective clothing on and both are badly burnt.’
‘Get the three terrorists out of there and into protective custody. As far as everyone is concerned, the suicide bombers are dead, got that?’ ordered Colonel Gray.
‘Yes, sir.’
The journalist had attached a small radio-controlled explosive device to the fuel tank of the horsebox, which had ignited around 100 litres of diesel.
Colonel Gray gave the order, ‘Initiate phase two.’ The dull thud of an explosion in the distance was audible. The video screen showed a section of Aldermaston’s outer fence with a gaping hole and a nearby building on fire, billowing black smoke.
‘Not bad, eh?’ remarked Jeremy, who had materialised from nowhere and was standing next to Rafi. ‘Gives the impression to the other terrorists that they were successful, doesn’t it?’
‘Good work,’ added the Air Chief Marshal.
The SAS command centre came online. ‘Some plans and a spare timer for a detonator were found in Kaleem Shah’s vehicle. The plans mark two buildings that were to be attacked. Both contain low-level radioactive materials; nothing really dangerous, but sufficient to close the plant if released. Odd though, the timer had been tampered with. Whatever the setting, it would have gone off after about five seconds. Also the blue team leader reports that the explosives were packed into rucksacks, just like at Bishopsgate.’
‘Thank you,’ replied Colonel Gray.
The commissioner was thoughtful. ‘Well, that explains why the bomber at Bishopsgate got caught in the blast. He thought that he would have far more time to get away than he actually did. A five-second stroll from the bomb’s location to where his body was found fits in with the time delay on the fuse - so he wasn’t a suicide bomber, just a servant set up by his masters!’
‘Interesting,’ mused Ewan. ‘Ergo, the bombers at Aldermaston were expecting to escape!’ He went quiet for a moment, lost in his own thoughts, he spoke out loud. ‘I wonder if this attack has anything to do with the Iranians and the UK Trident nuclear weapons programme…? If the terrorists were in bed with Iran, it would give them a safe place to go after the attacks… And this sort of attack could appeal to a number of the extremist Iranian politicians. A tit-for-tat attack… I wonder?’
‘Ewan, no!’ The Air Chief Marshal looked concerned. ‘Don’t even go there!’
Ewan shrugged his shoulders. ‘Old habits… Just trying to put two and two together …’
The Air Chief Marshal spoke over him. ‘Now for phase three; the news and the TV crews are all yours, Harold.’
Brigadier Harold Sparkman, who was standing nearby, nodded and phoned a member of the Ministry’s press team, who was in bed asleep. ‘I’ve arranged a press conference for you at 7 a.m. near to the Aldermaston explosion. When you’re dressed and have had a quick cup of coffee, I’ll brief you.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Colonel Gray, meanwhile, was giving orders to the SAS red and blue team leaders. ‘Arrange for the vehicles to be removed and the area cleaned. Can you please confirm the terrorists are safely with MI5 operatives?’
‘Yes, sir,’ came the reply.
‘Good. Now how serious are the injuries your team sustained, blue leader?’
‘Relatively minor, sir. Corporal Evans looks a bit like a h
edgehog, but he can be patched up! And corporal Winderson suffered concussion when he struck his head in the explosion, but he’s got a thick skull – give him a few hours and he’ll be right as rain.’
‘Thank you, blue leader. All fit members of your unit are to join the red team. A helicopter is on its way.’
Rafi looked at the clock on the wall; everything had happened so quickly. It was only 4.20 a.m., Friday morning.
The brigadier turned to the Air Chief Marshal. ‘Press briefing arranged, sir. Our boys on the ground have been told to keep the buildings smoking as you ordered, sir.’
Shortly after the Ops Room had become operational, the PM, the Defence Secretary, the Air Chief Marshal, Colonel Paul Gray and Ewan Thorn had gone into a conclave. It was a meeting each of them would remember for years to come. On the table in front of them was a list showing the sum total of all the special forces, marines, paratroopers and army units with urban warfare experience – plus the crack anti-terrorist personnel – that were available. The country’s defences were stretched to breaking point. The conflicts overseas and tight budgets had left a gaping hole in the numbers available. Their terrorist adversaries were highly trained and experienced in the deadly art of urban warfare and concealment. A decision had to be made - they agreed that quality rather than quantity had to be the order of the day.
The PM pondered quietly to himself as he listened to the discussion over the allocation of their scarce recourses. He, too, now appreciated just how overstretched they were. Resources were being allocated according to the perceived size of the latent hazard - priority was given to protecting the nuclear installations, leaving the defence of the gas and oil plants bordering on thread-bare.
The considered view was that the terrorists would not make their move in the dead of night. And the command centre did not want them to be tipped off by reconnaissance teams being spotted; accordingly, only cursory inspections of the properties and the surrounding areas had been done.
‘No sign of any of the four terrorists,’ came over the speaker. ‘We will wait until all our special forces, marines and paratrooper teams are in position.’
‘I hope to God we’ve got this right,’ the Air Chief Marshal murmured anxiously under his breath.
‘It’s now time to see whether the terrorists are where we think they should be,’ called out the Air Chief Marshal.
Rafi felt a wave of apprehension flow through him. If he was wrong about the properties and they drew a blank… The butterflies in his stomach turned into a dull ache. He looked at the screens in the Ops Room; they were focused on the nuclear installations. The twilight pictures, from the infrared cameras, gave a distant feel as to what was happening.
The Air Chief Marshal addressed his team. ‘Brigadier Sparkman, as discussed, you will coordinate the SAS and the Paras at Hartlepool, Hull and Easington.’
Then he turned to Colonel Turner and enquired, ‘Is all in place at the Peterhead properties, St Fergus and Cruden Bay?’
‘Yes, sir.’
His next question was addressed to Colonel Gray. ‘All ready to go at North Walsham, Bacton, Grays and Sizewell?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Ewan, is all in place at Troon, Peterhead and Great Yarmouth docks?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘That leaves me with Sellafield, Prestwick and Heysham.’ The Air Chief Marshal spoke via his headset to his SAS contact, glanced across to the video-conferencing screen which linked their Ops Room with the SAS command centre and then at the screen next to it, which showed the paratroopers’ command centre.
‘Gentlemen, are we ready to go in five minutes?’ Affirmative replies came in.
The die is cast, thought Rafi. He touched Kate’s shoulder.
She was standing in front of him, gazing at the screens. She turned; her face was white with tiredness. ‘This is it,’ she said apprehensively. ‘We’ll soon find out if our hunches were right or if we’ve got it completely wrong!’
‘Hunches… I hope they’re a lot more than that!’
‘Your confidence is most refreshing,’ said Kate. Rafi found his hand next to hers; he gave it an affectionate squeeze. She took half a step backwards and let her body rest against his. She kept hold of his hand as she watched the three screens intently and listened to all that was going on.
The waiting was nail-biting. There were, Rafi estimated, twenty teams of special forces, paratroopers and anti-terrorist personnel out there in the darkness, stalking their prey. Behind them provisions had been made for their support. The scope of the mobilisation made it one of the largest peacetime operations on record.
Rafi held his breath.
Then the five minutes were up.
‘Go, go, go!’ came over the speakers. The troops swung into action.
On the screens Rafi could see the shadowy terrain over which the soldiers were navigating. Greg’s makeshift Ops Room was working well.
At Heysham, a squad of paratroopers were supporting a team of three SAS soldiers. The building had been under observation for the previous five hours. There was no sign of movement and no telltale infrared heat signatures to show where the terrorist was. It was a tall property, to one side of the industrial estate. It was being refurbished and sections were covered in tarpaulins. At the back of the flat roof there was a new scaffolding tower. The SAS soldiers inched forward, carefully checking for booby traps. Eventually the first soldier reached the bottom of the scaffolding tower. He gave a thumbs up sign and pointed to the top of the tower.
His signals were relayed back to the command centre, which briefed the Ops Room. It was then that Rafi heard, ‘Infrared shows the target to be lying on the scaffolding boards under the tarpaulins. He’s going to be seriously difficult to get at without giving our presence away.’
There was a flurry of movement in a number of the small frames on the screens as the units’ progress was fed back to the Ops Room.
The brigadier called out, ‘Terrorist located at the Hartlepool property. He’s under camouflage netting in the gully of the roof. He has a clear line of sight across to the nuclear power plant. The team on the ground is working out how best to tackle him.’
Rafi felt his hand being gently squeezed, as if to say, ‘We weren’t wrong!’
‘No sign of the terrorists at Cruden Bay, St Fergus or Peterhead,’ shouted Colonel Bill Turner.
‘No sign of the missiles or of terrorists at North Walsham, Bacton, Sizewell and Grays,’ added Colonel Gray, abruptly. ‘Wait! A Vektor mortar and twenty shells have just been found on a motorbike parked at the back of the industrial building at North Walsham.’
Colonel Bill Turner spoke. ‘An unattended utility van just over a mile from St Fergus has been investigated and a mortar with twenty shells has been recovered. No sign of the terrorist and nothing to report at Cruden Bay.’
The Air Chief Marshal called out, ‘They’ve located a mortar and twenty shells in the panniers of a BMW motorbike parked in an old container on the building site at Gosforth, near Sellafield.’
This was quickly followed by the brigadier. ‘A mortar and twenty shells have been uncovered at the Hull property.’
Rafi’s pulse was racing. He did a quick calculation: all four Vektor mortars had been recovered, two terrorists and their Kornet missile launchers were still unaccounted for… they were getting there. The smile on his face evaporated, as he realised that it was too soon to be complacent. If just one missile hit a nuclear target then it could be game over.
Rafi listened to the Air Chief Marshal being briefed. The SAS soldiers at Heysham couldn’t get at the terrorist on top of the scaffolding without alerting him to their presence. After a short conference, a decision was taken and a message went back. ‘Take him out. At all costs stop him firing a Kornet missile.’
The SAS assaulter at Heysham waited unmoving in the darkness. He had advised command that he couldn’t guarantee to immobilise the terrorist with his compact 9 mm sub-machine gun. The SAS snipers behind him
also had no clear shot.
He waited for his orders and then moved forward silently. The scaffolding tower had four main legs. He approached the furthest pair, reached into one of the pockets of his assault vest and pulled out a couple of small packages – the special services own blend of plastic explosive – which were spot on for cutting structural supports. Without a sound, he expertly set the charges, then moved back to the other pair of legs and repeated the process. He heard a person moving above him. His pulse rate stayed steady. The terrorist had no line of sight to him and the SAS soldier knew that he’d been as stealthy as a summer breeze; silently, he backtracked around the corner of the building.
He gave the signal that he was clear of the detonation zone and waited for the order from command. When it came, he pressed the miniature magneto in his hand and felt the shock waves of the four explosions ripple through his body. Each of the tower’s legs was now missing a section. The tower remained motionless for a moment and then gravity took hold. The scaffolding wall ties had no chance of holding the load. The tower arced outwards from the building and crashed into the ground. The terrorist, who had been under the tarpaulin on the top, spilled out and did a dead cat bounce on the nearby grass. Three darkly clothed SAS men descended on him and stripped him of his weaponry. The Kornet missile launcher and three missiles lay on the ground close to him.
‘Beware of any remote controlled devices,’ barked the commanding SAS soldier.
In the Ops Room the capture of the Kornet launcher, its three missiles and the terrorist was greeted with cheers. The terrorist was still alive, but unconscious and looked to be in a bad state.
Suddenly, flames and dense billowing smoke erupted near to the Heysham nuclear power plant.
‘Oh, no!’ thought Rafi. Then he remembered it was the army at work, giving the impression that the terrorist attack had been successful.
LATENT HAZARD: On the Edge Page 21