First Response

by Stephen Leather

  ‘Where’s the smokes?’ asked the mother.

  ‘They wouldn’t let us have cigarettes,’ lied Malik.

  ‘Bastards,’ said the woman. She unscrewed the cap from a bottle of orange juice and gave it to one of the children, a bottle of water to the other. They stopped crying as she opened the pizza box and shoved a piece into her mouth.

  Malik took Zoe back into the shop. She was still holding the bucket. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t undo the cuffs,’ he said. ‘I can look the other way, if that helps.’

  ‘Over there,’ she said, nodding at a circular rack full of items on sale. ‘I can duck inside and do it.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Can you think of anything else? Because I can’t and I’m fucking bursting.’

  LAMBETH CENTRAL COMMUNICATIONS COMMAND CENTRE (3.20 p.m.)

  Virtually everyone in the special operations room was watching the woman squat over the bucket in the shop. The CCTV camera was looking down on her so gave a full view of what was taking place, even though the man she was chained to couldn’t see her through the rack of clothes.

  ‘Take it down, Joe,’ said Gillard. Sergeant Lumley tapped on his keyboard. The CCTV feed disappeared from the large screen and was replaced by the scene outside the childcare centre in Kensington. ‘Mo, did we know this was happening?’ asked Gillard.

  ‘Inspector Edwards is Silver and he didn’t mention it,’ said Kamran.

  ‘Have a word, will you?’ said Gillard. ‘Explain to him the error of his ways.’

  ‘Joe, get me Inspector Edwards ASAP,’ said Kamran, as he walked back to his desk. He sat down and stared at his screens as he waited for Lumley to put Edwards through.

  ‘Line three,’ said Lumley.

  Kamran picked up the receiver and pressed the flashing button to take the call. ‘Ross, what’s happening there? We’ve just seen one of your people delivering food.’

  ‘Yes, sir. One of the hostages needed to use the bathroom and they wanted something to eat.’

  ‘That’s not SOP, Ross,’ said Kamran. ‘You should know that. You told me you were going to use the phone.’

  ‘It was the negotiator’s idea,’ said Edwards. ‘He said we should initiate contact at the earliest opportunity. He did that and commenced negotiations.’

  ‘And if it had been a ploy to get a senior officer up close so that he could be killed in the blast, what then?’ asked Kamran. The inspector didn’t reply. ‘Who’s leading the negotiating team?’

  ‘A guy called Jamie Clarke. He seems to know what he’s doing.’

  ‘Ross, you’re Silver Commander there. You’re in charge. You need to explain to this Clarke that a suicide bomber is a different scenario from a man with a knife or a gun. You don’t send in an officer to talk face to face. The way to establish contact would be to call the in-store number. Or, if that doesn’t work, to see if they’ll accept a landline. But anyone who approaches the line of fire needs to be in full ABS gear.’

  ‘Understood, sir. Sorry.’

  ‘Not a problem, Ross. But you need to keep us informed in the SOR before you make contact again.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Now, did your contact produce any intel? Anything at all that might be useful?’

  ‘Unfortunately not, sir. Oh, he uses the name Sami.’

  ‘Sami? We have him as Mohammed Malik.’

  ‘That’s right, sir, but he said his middle name was Sami and that’s the name he goes by.’

  ‘That’s good to know. Thank you.’

  ‘Sir? I’m not a hundred per cent sure what I should be doing next.’

  ‘You’re doing just fine,’ said Kamran. ‘The centre is evacuated, right? You have the area contained? Armed police are on the scene?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Then that’s all good,’ said Kamran. ‘Now we wait and see what their next move is. In the meantime, your priority is to keep your people out of harm’s way.’ He put down the phone and went over to Gillard, who was standing behind Chris Thatcher, watching a video on the left-hand screen. It took Kamran several seconds to realise what they were looking at. It was a jerky view of the bus in Tavistock Square. The vehicle seemed to be swinging from side to side so the camera must have been attached to the bomb-disposal man’s jacket. Talpur was standing at the front of the bus, beside the driver, handcuffed to a female passenger. He was screaming and swearing, his eyes wide and his lips curled back, like a snarling dog’s.

  The camera swung to the side and Inspector Biddulph’s face filled the screen. He had removed his helmet.

  ‘Well, that’s not SOP, is it?’ said Gillard. ‘Bloody idiot.’

  They could hear Talpur screaming, though his voice was muffled by the closed doors. ‘Get the fuck away! Both of you!’

  Biddulph put the helmet on the ground and then raised his hands. ‘Kash, it’s me, Mark!’

  ‘Why is everyone seemingly so keen to throw away the safety manual today?’ asked Gillard.

  The camera swung back to show the bus. ‘Fuck off!’ shouted Talpur. ‘Just get the fuck away before we all die!’

  ‘Kash, mate, whatever the problem is, we can talk it through. I’m here to help,’ they heard Biddulph shout, but the camera stayed on the bus.

  Talpur said something to the driver and a few seconds later the door rattled open. Talpur stood in the doorway, glaring at Biddulph. ‘Listen to me and listen to me good!’ he shouted. ‘You coming here is putting everyone at risk. Do you not understand that? You need to go away – get the hell away from here – because if you don’t this vest will go off and everyone dies.’ He spoke to the driver again and the door closed.

  Thatcher clicked his mouse and the picture froze. He clicked again and went back to after the doors had just opened. ‘Watch this closely,’ he said. Kamran and Gillard peered over his shoulders and Waterman walked around to join them. Thatcher replayed the moment that Talpur had started shouting through the open door.

  ‘Listen to me and listen to me good! You coming here is putting everyone at risk. Do you not understand that?’

  Thatcher clicked the mouse and the picture froze again. ‘His choice of words is important here. Everyone is at risk, he says. He’s including himself with the hostages. He does it twice.’

  He clicked the mouse and played out the next part. ‘You need to go away – get the hell away from here – because if you don’t this vest will go off and everyone dies.’

  The bus door rattled shut and Thatcher froze the picture. ‘He puts himself with the hostages,’ said Thatcher. ‘It’s not him against them, it’s him with them. Usually hostage-takers do everything they can to disassociate themselves from their hostages. They treat them as objects, or as animals, not as human beings. But this guy, it’s as if he’s one of them. Everyone dies, he said. Not “they’ll all die” or “I’ll kill them”. He regards himself as equally vulnerable.’

  He clicked on the mouse and went back to the moment the bus doors had opened. He froze the picture once more. ‘And look at his face. Look at the eyes, the mouth, the way the lips curl back. That’s not anger, or aggression. That’s fear. He’s scared.’

  ‘But that’s to be expected, surely?’ said Gillard. ‘He’s a suicide bomber. He’s well aware of the consequences of his actions.’

  ‘But he’s in control, supposedly,’ said Thatcher. ‘He’s the one with his finger on the trigger so he’s the one with the power of life or death. It’s his decision. He’s in control.’ He pointed at the screen. ‘But does that look like the face of a man in control?’

  ‘He’s terrified,’ Kamran said.

  ‘So what’s scared him?’ asked Thatcher.

  ‘He thinks they’re going to attack him?’ suggested Kamran.

  ‘But they’re in ABS suits and they’re clearly not armed. And they can’t move quickly enough to rush him, he must be aware of that. And, let’s not forget, he opened the doors.’

  ‘So what are you saying?’ asked Gillard.

&nb
sp; ‘At the moment all I’m saying is that he isn’t behaving the way I’d expect a suicide bomber to behave,’ said Thatcher. ‘Generally they’re in control and their anger is directed outwards. They are the focal point and everyone else is a victim. By killing them he wins his place in Heaven. Talpur isn’t behaving like that. He’s as scared as his hostages.’

  ‘So that means he’s not in control,’ said Kamran. ‘Or, at least, he doesn’t feel as if he’s in control.’

  ‘So who is?’ asked Waterman from behind them. ‘Shahid?’

  ‘It could be,’ said Thatcher. ‘It could be that Shahid is in total control, and that it’ll be his decision and his alone whether they detonate.’

  ‘Let’s hope he calls soon,’ said Kamran. He glanced at the digital clock on the wall. It was 3.25 p.m. Only two and a half hours to go before they reached the deadline. ‘What do you think, boss?’ he asked Gillard. ‘Do we just flat-out refuse to release the Belmarsh prisoners?’

  ‘That’s not our call. You spoke to the PM, what did he say?’

  ‘His knee-jerk reaction was to say that they wouldn’t negotiate with terrorists. He said he was going into a Joint Intelligence Committee meeting and that he’d call me once they’d reached a decision. That was nearly three hours ago.’

  ‘They can’t release the prisoners, surely,’ said Murray. The SAS captain had walked in without anyone realising it.

  ‘It’s one of a number of options being considered,’ said Gillard.

  ‘They can’t let the terrorists win,’ said Murray.

  ‘The choice is what, though?’ said Kamran. ‘Nine suicide bombers detonate in the capital, killing dozens of innocent civilians. Would you want to be the prime minister who allows that to happen on his watch?’

  ‘What if they tell the pilot to fly over central London and they all detonate then?’ said Murray. ‘Everyone on the plane dies but how many hundreds will be killed on the ground? I don’t see how they can ever be allowed on a plane, do you?’

  Gillard grimaced. The SAS captain was right. However they resolved the situation, allowing the terrorists onto a plane was not an option.

  No one answered and Murray shrugged. ‘If it was my call I’d take them out now. We end it rather than them taking the initiative. If we go in and people die, the public will understand. But if we do nothing and people die, the armchair warriors will start looking for someone to pin the blame on. If it were my call, I’d be authorising simultaneous head shots and sending our guys in before things go any further.’

  MARBLE ARCH (3.35 p.m.)

  Al Jazeera was rerunning the footage they had shot of the two bomb-disposal officers approaching the bus in Tavistock Square. It was the third time they had shown the video but everyone in the coffee shop was watching.

  ‘Brother, do you know that man?’ El-Sayed asked the man who was handcuffed to his son.

  ‘Why do you want to know?’

  ‘I assumed you would be friends, that you had planned this together.’ El-Sayed spread out his hands. ‘If I’m wrong, I apologise.’

  ‘You talk too much.’

  ‘I am scared, brother. When a man is scared, he tends to babble.’

  ‘Providing everyone does as they are told and the prisoners are released, there is no need to be scared, old man.’

  ‘Then answer me this question, brother,’ said El-Sayed. ‘You want the prisoners released from Belmarsh. That is a noble aim and you have my support. But why are you not talking to the police?’ He gestured at the screen. ‘Your colleague on the bus, he had the chance to talk to them but he shouted at them to go away.’ He pointed at the newspaper-covered window. ‘And you have done everything you can to blot them out. Why aren’t you talking to them? Why don’t you tell them face to face what it is you want?’

  ‘Shahid is doing that,’ said the man. ‘He is making sure that our demands are met.’

  ‘And what sort of man is he, this Shahid? I could tell nothing from his voice, though he speaks English as if he was born here. Is he young, is he old, is he here in London?’

  ‘Old man, you ask too many questions.’ The man’s phone rang and he answered it, then passed the phone to El-Sayed. ‘He wants to talk to you.’

  It was Shahid. ‘Do you still want to help the fight, brother?’ asked Shahid.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ said El-Sayed. ‘Nothing would make me happier.’

  ‘And you are prepared to commit five million pounds to the cause?’

  ‘Yes,’ said El-Sayed. ‘If it means you will return my son to me, I will.’

  ‘And you are in a position to do that now?’

  ‘I can do it over the phone,’ said El-Sayed. ‘That is how hawala works.’

  ‘I know exactly how it works,’ said Shahid. ‘You make a call to the designated location. You give a codeword and an amount. No matter who turns up at the location, if they have the codeword they get the money. What I was asking is, do you have the money to transfer right now?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘I have spoken to my colleagues and they have decided that, provided you make the transfers now, we can release your son and replace him with another hostage.’

  ‘Al-hamdu lillahi rabbil’alamin,’ said El-Sayed. ‘All praises be to Allah, the Lord of the Alamin.’

  ‘I will give you five locations. And five codewords. The money is to be available immediately. If it is not, the deal is off and I do not talk to you again.’

  El-Sayed waved at the barista to bring him a pen and paper. ‘I will make the transfers now,’ he said. He nodded at his son and smiled. Everything was going to be all right, he knew it now.

  LAMBETH CENTRAL COMMUNICATIONS COMMAND CENTRE (3.40 p.m.)

  ‘How long do you think the Joint Intelligence Committee is going to take to reach a decision?’ Kamran asked Gillard. He gestured at the clock on the wall. ‘It’s three forty. Two hours and twenty minutes to go.’

  ‘My guess is that they’re trying not to reach a decision because whatever they decide is going to be wrong. Alex hit the nail on the head. There’s no way we can put nine bombs on a plane.’

  ‘But we need to hear that from the horse’s mouth, don’t we? It’s not our call to make.’

  Gillard nodded. ‘I hear you, Mo. But I can hardly phone the PM and tell him to make up his mind, can I?’

  ‘The commissioner could.’

  ‘He could, but haven’t you noticed the deafening silence from his office? He knows that this is going to end badly, one way or the other, so he’s already distancing himself. The PM will make the decision. I’m organising the operation. The SAS are on site. No matter what happens, no one is going to be pointing the finger at our beloved commissioner.’

  ‘We need a decision, though,’ said Kamran. ‘And soon. I need to be able to tell Shahid something when he calls.’

  Lynne Waterman waved at Chief Superintendent Gillard. ‘We’ve identified two more,’ she said.

  ‘Excellent,’ said Gillard. He pushed himself out of his chair and went over to the MI5 officer’s workstation. Kamran followed and they stood either side of her as they looked down at her screens.

  On her left screen was a photo taken from the MP’s surgery in Camberwell. It showed a bearded Asian man in his late twenties, who appeared to be staring directly at the camera. Next to it was a passport photograph, though in that picture the man was clean-shaven. ‘Mohammed Ali Pasha,’ said Waterman. ‘Dad was a boxing fan, I kid you not. Twenty-six years old, London born, went to a comprehensive in Tower Hamlets, did a year at college studying computer science before he dropped out. He’s never been out of the country, never been remotely involved in jihadism so far as we can tell. Isn’t a regular at any mosque, doesn’t have any jihadist friends.’

  ‘So another cleanskin?’ said Kamran.

  ‘Yes, but he is known to the police. He was arrested two years ago after a long-running investigation into an underage sex ring in Tower Hamlets. A dozen or so Asian men were grooming underage white girls, get
ting them hooked on drugs and alcohol before having sex with them.’

  ‘So why isn’t Mr Pasha inside?’

  ‘That’s a very good question,’ said the MI5 officer. ‘And one that the Sunday Times investigation team was asking a year or so ago.’

  ‘I remember this,’ said Kamran. ‘Didn’t they accuse the CPS of having a mole or something?’

  ‘Or something,’ Waterman said. ‘The journalists didn’t come up with a name but they alleged that all the evidence pointed to someone within the CPS tipping the gang off. The initial investigation involved three girls, but as soon as the CPS was given the file one of the girls vanished and the other two had a sudden change of heart, which may or may not have had something to do with the fact that one family had an arson attack on their home and the other found their pet cat gutted outside their front door. The detectives kept on the case and came up with two more girls, one of whom had contracted HIV. The files went to the CPS and, again, the families of the girls were threatened. Actually, worse than threatened. Someone threw bleach into the face of the mother of one of the girls, almost blinding her. Again they refused to give evidence.’

  ‘It does seem pretty conclusive that someone within the CPS was passing information to the gang,’ said Kamran.

  ‘No argument there,’ said Waterman. ‘But it all got very racially charged, as you can imagine. There are a fair number of CPS staffers who are of Pakistani heritage and all sorts of allegations got thrown about. Several lawyers started alleging racism and the Met had to back off. A few of the CPS people took the paper to the Press Council but they found in favour of the journalists. At the end of the day the investigation was allowed to wither on the vine, as it were.’

  ‘So the big question is, how does a child molester end up holding an MP hostage with a waistcoat full of explosives?’ said Gillard.