First Response

by Stephen Leather

  One of the men began shaking his head. ‘This is fucking evil, man. Fucking evil.’

  ‘What I am now about to tell you is the most important thing you have to remember,’ said Shahid. ‘In the right-hand pocket of the raincoat there is a trigger for the vest, which you will keep in your right hand at all times. There is a Velcro strap to keep it in place. The trigger must be visible at all times. But the trigger will not detonate the vest. The vest can only be detonated by phone.’ He reached into a pocket of his overalls and pulled out a cheap phone. He held it above his head. ‘If I call your vest it will explode. Only I can make that call, and until I do, the vest is safe. But if I do call the number – you and everyone nearby will die.’

  ‘This is fucking sick, man!’ shouted the man, rocking his chair back and forth.

  ‘You need to shut the fuck up, bruv,’ said Shahid, waving his gun at the man’s face.

  ‘You can’t be doing this to people,’ said the man.

  ‘You’ll do as you’re told or you’re dead.’ Shahid put away the mobile phone.

  ‘I’m not even a fucking Muslim!’

  ‘Muslim or not, you follow the instructions or you’ll be dead.’

  The man threw back his head and screamed up at the roof, a blood-curdling howl of frustration and pain.

  Shahid walked over to him and slapped him across the face. The man stopped screaming and stared up at him. ‘You will do this,’ he said. ‘You will follow the orders I give you.’

  ‘I can’t. I fucking can’t. You need to let me go.’

  One of the other captives shouted, ‘Just do it, man. Just do it as he says. Don’t make him mad!’

  ‘Fuck you! I ain’t doing this. They’ll kill us, man. We go out in these vests and they’ll fucking shoot us like mad dogs.’

  ‘If you follow instructions you won’t get hurt,’ said Shahid. ‘Everything will end peacefully, you have my word.’

  ‘Fuck your word!’ screamed the man. ‘You can’t do this. You have to let us go!’

  Shahid backslapped the man again, then shoved the gun into one of the pockets of his overalls and grabbed the chair. He tipped it back and dragged it with its occupant across the concrete floor. The man struggled but there was nothing he could do to stop Shahid moving him. The chair’s rear legs scraped across the concrete as Shahid dragged it behind the metal shield that was hanging from the girder. The man was crying now, his body shuddering with every sob.

  Shahid came out from behind the metal screen. He was holding the mobile phone again. The bound man was begging for help now, pleading with Shahid to let him go.

  Shahid held the mobile phone above his head. ‘Let’s be clear about this, just so there is no misunderstanding!’ he shouted. ‘You will do as you’re told. Or you will die. There is no middle ground.’ He ran his thumb over the keys, then held up the phone into the air. A second later, there was a loud explosion on the other side of the screen. Blood and body parts spun into the air and splattered onto the ground.

  All of the bound men were staring in horror at the screen, which was swinging to and fro, and the bloody carnage around it. Panicking pigeons were hitting the roof, their wings flapping frantically.

  ‘If anyone else wants to refuse, let me know and I’ll detonate their vest here and now.’ Shahid looked around the circle. ‘Anyone?’ he shouted, waving the phone above his head.

  The bound men shook their heads.

  ‘I will say this one more time,’ said Shahid. ‘You follow the instructions you are given, and you will live. Disobey me, stray from your instructions, and your vest will be detonated. Do you all understand?’

  The bound men nodded.

  Talpur was nodding, too. His ears were still ringing from the sound of the explosion and he couldn’t take his eyes off a training shoe that had hit the far wall of the warehouse. It had landed the right way up, an inch or two of splintered bone protruding from it. Talpur’s heart was pounding so hard it was as if it was trying to burst out of his chest, and he was finding it hard to breathe. He was still gasping for breath as the hood was pulled over his head again.

  He lost track of time. There were noises. Muffled voices. Movement. Then the sound of a vehicle being driven into the warehouse, doors opening and closing. More movement. Footsteps. Then he felt someone untie him and drag him by the collar to a van. Hands helped him inside and into a seat. ‘If you want to get out of this alive, stay quiet and do as you’re told, brother,’ Shahid hissed, then patted him on the back.

  SOUTHWARK (6.45 p.m.)

  ‘It’s time to go,’ said Masood, slipping his mobile phone into his waistpack. He picked up a bottle of water and took a drink. His hand was shaking and water trickled down his beard. He put down the bottle and wiped his beard with his sleeve.

  ‘Go where?’ asked Wade.

  They were sitting at a table by the window. It was the table Wade always saved for his big-tipping regulars, with a good view of the street outside but in a corner that cut down on the traffic flow around it. ‘The airport,’ said Masood. ‘The prisoners have been released. Now we have to join them.’

  ‘I don’t want to go to a fucking airport,’ growled Wade.

  ‘You have no choice,’ said Masood. He raised his left hand and jiggled the chain. ‘I don’t have the key.’ He stood up and squinted out of the window. Outside the restaurant, armed police officers had taken position. Helicopters were flying overhead. Two. Maybe three. As he and Wade walked to the door, a uniformed officer, crouching behind a police car, put a megaphone to his lips. Wade was hanging back and Masood pulled the chain to bring him closer. ‘Stay next to me,’ he muttered.

  ‘They’re going to shoot you,’ said Wade, his voice trembling.

  ‘They won’t shoot anyone, not with the TV and press here,’ said Masood. He pointed down the road. Off in the distance there was a white van with ‘BBC’ on the side and next to it a similar van with the Sky News logo. Both vans had large satellite dishes on their roofs. He pulled open the door. ‘And if they do shoot me, the vest goes up and it won’t matter how close to me you are. So stick with me.’

  He stepped out onto the pavement and Wade followed him. They both gazed up at the two helicopters hovering high overhead. ‘What are they doing?’ asked Wade. ‘They wouldn’t shoot from a helicopter, would they?’

  ‘That one on the left is a TV chopper,’ said Masood. ‘They’re filming us.’ He nodded at the second. ‘That’s the police. They’re just following us. Surveillance.’

  A megaphone crackled. ‘Please proceed to the coach as quickly as possible,’ said the officer.

  ‘Why have they covered the windows?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Masood. ‘Come on.’

  They walked slowly towards the coach. The armed police tracked them as they moved.

  ‘They’re going to fire,’ said Wade.

  ‘They’re not,’ said Masood.

  ‘Then why are they pointing their guns at us?’

  ‘Because they’re scared,’ said Masood.

  ‘They’re scared? Fuck me, I’m the one who’s pissing himself.’

  ‘I’m scared, too, but they won’t shoot us. They’ll take us to the airport, that’s all.’

  ‘And then what?’ asked Wade. ‘What happens then?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Masood. ‘We’ll find out when we get there.’ He pointed at the coach. ‘Come on, we’re keeping them waiting.’

  LAMBETH CENTRAL COMMUNICATIONS COMMAND CENTRE (6.47 p.m.)

  Kamran and Gillard looked up at the screen as the coach pulled away from the Southwark restaurant. ‘That’s it. The last one’s on board,’ said Kamran.

  The coach headed south, preceded by six police motorcycles with flashing lights, a police van and an armed-response vehicle, half a dozen police vans and the two black Range Rovers that contained the SAS.

  ‘It’s looking good,’ said Murray, who was standing behind the two police officers. ‘In terms of numbers, we’re well ahead of the g
ame now. Worst possible scenario, if the bus goes up we only lose nine hostages and my man.’

  ‘Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,’ said Gillard.

  ‘You and me both,’ said Murray. ‘I’m just saying that we’ve gone from having close to a hundred civilians at risk to just nine. That’s bloody good going.’

  ‘I’m not sure the great British public will see it that way if the coach goes up in flames,’ said Kamran.

  The helicopter tracked the convoy south towards Croydon. The police were using motorbikes to keep the road ahead clear. It was causing traffic chaos but they had no choice. Anything other than a clear run to the airport would put lives at risk.

  ‘How long before they reach Biggin Hill?’ asked Murray.

  ‘It’s fifteen miles,’ said Kamran. ‘Usually it would take about an hour but we’ve cleared the roads so it shouldn’t take much more than twenty minutes. Your men are ready to go?’

  ‘Locked and loaded,’ said Murray.

  ‘We’re still negotiating, remember that,’ said Kamran.

  ‘Absolutely,’ said the SAS captain. ‘But this time we’ll be negotiating from a position of strength.’

  ‘We’ve sent a negotiating team from Bromley. Have they arrived yet?’

  ‘They’ve just got in. We’re keeping them outside the hangar with the rest of the police until we’re sure we have the situation in hand.’

  ‘I understand that, Alex, but I have to stress that we need to talk to them before we move in. We have to give them the option of surrendering.’

  ‘We’ll do that, but I won’t be holding my breath.’

  NEAR BROMLEY (6.54 p.m.)

  Talpur looked at his watch. They had been driving south for less than ten minutes so, assuming they were taking the direct route to Biggin Hill, they must be somewhere near Bromley. Only the front windows had not been blacked out but he was so far back he couldn’t see much in the way of road signs. He could see the police motorcyclists ahead of the coach. He leant closer to the woman sitting next to him. ‘What is your name?’ he asked.

  She sneered and said something to him in Arabic. He didn’t understand the words but the meaning was clear enough.

  ‘Listen to me carefully,’ he whispered. ‘I’m a police officer and I need your help.’

  She spat in his face and turned away.

  ‘Thank you so much,’ said Talpur. He wiped his face with his sleeve. He turned to the man sitting on the other side of the aisle.

  ‘What is your name, brother?’ he asked.

  ‘We need to sit quietly,’ said the Asian man sitting by the window.

  ‘What’s your name, mate?’ Talpur asked him.

  ‘Zach. Zach Ahmed.’

  ‘Well, Zach, I’m a cop.’

  ‘You don’t look like a cop,’ said Ahmed. ‘Not with that beard.’

  ‘I’m undercover.’

  ‘Like fuck you are,’ said Ahmed. ‘Show me your warrant card.’

  ‘Undercover cops generally don’t carry warrant cards. It’d sort of negate the whole point of being undercover,’ said Talpur. ‘Look, we’re all in the same boat here. We all saw what happened this morning. But the windows are blacked out so Shahid can’t see what we’re doing.’ He nodded at the man sitting next to Ahmed. ‘What’s your name, mate?’

  ‘Mohammed.’

  ‘Where are you from, Mohammed?’

  ‘Sudan.’

  ‘Okay, Mohammed from Sudan, I need you to check how this vest is fastened. I’m going to turn around and I want you to reach inside my coat and see if you can work out how it’s fastened. There might be a lock or it might just be tied.’

  ‘Are you fucking stupid?’ said Ahmed, leaning forward to stare across the aisle at him. ‘We were told not to try to take the vests off. He said they’d explode, remember?’

  ‘I’m not taking it off, I’m just trying to find out how it’s fastened. He might have been bluffing.’

  ‘Bluffing? You remember what happened to that guy who didn’t do as he was told? He’s in pieces. Remember?’

  ‘Yes, I remember,’ said Talpur. ‘But those blacked-out windows mean Shahid can’t see what we’re doing.’

  ‘You don’t know what he can or can’t see,’ said Ahmed. ‘But you need to stop fucking about. You’re going to get us all killed.’

  ‘What is your problem, mate?’ asked Talpur.

  ‘My problem is that I know what will happen if Shahid finds out we’re not following his instructions. We’re nearly done, the ISIS prisoners are already at the airport, we’ll be there soon. Then we’ll be released.’

  ‘You have a lot of faith in Shahid,’ said Talpur.

  ‘He’s kept his word so far,’ said Ahmed. ‘The prisoners have been released so he’s got what he wants. Once they’re on a plane he won’t need us any more.’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Talpur. ‘So what’s to stop him just blowing us all the fuck up?’

  ‘We have to trust him,’ said Ahmed.

  ‘I don’t,’ said Talpur. He patted Mohammed’s leg. ‘Check under my raincoat. Just reach inside and pat my back gently …’

  ‘Mohammed, you so much as touch him and I will break your fingers!’ hissed Ahmed.

  ‘This is nothing to do with you, mate,’ said Talpur.

  The man sitting directly in front of Talpur twisted around in his seat. ‘He is right, sir,’ he said quietly. He was darker-skinned than the other men, and taller, from Africa maybe. He had a thick scar across his cheek. ‘Better we sit quietly.’

  Talpur shook his head in frustration. ‘You’re all making a big mistake,’ he said.

  ‘It is in the hands of Allah,’ said the man in front of him as he turned away.

  LAMBETH CENTRAL COMMUNICATIONS COMMAND CENTRE (7.07 p.m.)

  Kamran was watching two screens on the main wall of the special operations room. One was showing Sky News. Their helicopter had got as close to the airport as it had been allowed but they had lost sight of the coach and the channel was broadcasting now from the gates of the airport. Police were stopping anyone going in but they had allowed the news crews and photographers to set up a short distance away.

  The second screen was showing the live feed from the police helicopter, which had been authorised to fly over the airport. The overhead view showed the coach a few hundred yards away from the airport entrance. Kamran twisted around and called over to Gillard, ‘They’re arriving at the airport now, Philip.’

  The chief superintendent stood up and joined him at the doorway. The convoy was powering along the road, blue lights flashing. The lead police motorcycles turned into the airport and drove through the gate, followed by an ARV, then the coach.

  The Sky News screen showed a close-up of the driver, who was turning his head away from the camera, then the blacked-out windows flashed by.

  A third screen showed the feed from the hangar, where the SAS were waiting behind walls of sandbags, weapons at the ready. All eyes in the SOR were on the black and white view inside the hangar.

  BIGGIN HILL AIRPORT (7.09 p.m.)

  Hawkins heard the coach in the distance. ‘Here we go,’ he said. He was standing behind a stack of sandbags arranged at the side of the hangar. There were four more troopers behind another sandbag wall to his left.

  The negotiating team from Bromley were waiting in the main terminal with the Silver Commander, Ian Adams. They had seemed relieved when Hawkins had asked them to clear the area. He’d gained the impression they were more used to dealing with domestic disputes and weren’t at all comfortable with the idea of negotiating with nine jihadists prepared to kill themselves and their hostages.

  ‘Everybody stay behind the bags until I say otherwise,’ said Hawkins. ‘It could be they’re after the SAS so let’s not give them the satisfaction.’

  The engine growl got louder and then there was a squeal of brakes. The coach reached the open hangar doors and turned in. Hawkins peered over the top of the sandbags and caught a glimpse of Terry McMullen at the w
heel, wearing his lucky flat cap. The coach reached the centre of the hangar and stopped. There was a wheeze of the air brakes being applied and everything went quiet. After a few seconds the door opened, but then everything was quiet again.

  LAMBETH CENTRAL COMMUNICATIONS COMMAND CENTRE (7.10 p.m.)

  ‘The door’s open,’ said Gillard. Kamran’s mobile rang on his desk and he dashed over to it. Number withheld. ‘It’s Shahid.’ He waited for Gillard, Thatcher and Waterman to put on their headphones before he picked up the phone and accepted the call. ‘Yes?’ he said.

  ‘Mr Kamran?’

  Kamran frowned. It was a man, but not Shahid. ‘Speaking.’

  ‘Do you have a pension, Mr Kamran?’

  ‘A pension?’

  ‘You might not be aware of the fact but the regulations regarding the monetisation of pension funds changed recently and we are in a position to offer you a package …’

  ‘You’re trying to sell me financial advice?’ asked Kamran.

  ‘We’re not trying to sell you anything, Mr Kamran, but I’m sure you would like to maximise the income from any pension fund you have, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘Don’t use this number again,’ said Kamran. He ended the call. Gillard, Thatcher and Waterman took off their headphones. Kamran looked at Thatcher. ‘Why isn’t he calling?’ he asked the negotiator.

  Thatcher shrugged. ‘Maybe he’s trying to build the tension,’ he said.

  ‘Well, it’s working, all right,’ said Waterman.

  ‘The prisoners are there and so are the bombers,’ said Kamran. ‘And we don’t know what he wants us to do next.’

  ‘On the bright side, from now on we’ll be the only ones who’ll see what’s happening,’ said Waterman. ‘From a PR point of view, they’ve just gone several steps backwards.’

  ‘Maybe it’s not about PR,’ said Kamran.

  ‘But what, then?’ asked Gillard. ‘What the hell does he want? And why won’t he tell us?’ He looked up at the screen. ‘What do we do now? Wait or send in the negotiators?’