Out on the street, the neighbourhood resembled a huge car park. Traffic was at a standstill, with only cyclists and motorbikes managing to navigate their way between the stationary vehicles. A few people were still sitting behind the wheel, unaware of what was happening to the country, but most were on their phones or listening to their radios, catching up with the latest news reports.
Harvey led Thompson along the side of the Thames at a jog, and a few minutes later they crossed Vauxhall Bridge, where a motorcycle dealership sat behind the MI6 building. There were several second-hand machines parked up outside, but Harvey wanted something reliable, and didn’t have time to have an older machine checked out by a mechanic.
He picked out a brand new 500CC Honda and handed over six thousand to a young motorcycle salesman with the name ‘Jerry’ tagged to his chest. The money got him the bike and a couple of helmets.
‘We’ll need to fill out some paperwork,’ Jerry said. ‘It should only take twenty minutes.’
‘Sorry, but we haven’t got time.’
Thompson showed him the police warrant card that was one of her cover identities.
‘This about the attacks, then?’
Harvey nodded.
Jerry looked uncertain. At that moment, his manager, a balding, beer-bellied man, came outside and asked if there was a problem.
Thompson explained the situation.
The manager shook his head. ‘Sorry, lady, but we gotta do the forms before you take the bike. You of all people should understand.’
‘I do,’ Thompson said, drawing her weapon. ‘Give me the money back and I’ll requisition the bike instead. You know I have the power to do that, don’t you?’
The manager swallowed at the sight of the grey muzzle pointing at his forehead. His eyes flitted to Harvey.
Harvey shrugged. ‘On a day like this, you really want to piss the police off ?’
A minute and a half later, they had the keys.
‘You ever been on a bike before?’ Harvey asked Thompson.
‘Never,’ Thompson said, holstering her pistol.
‘Then just remember to hold on tight and lean when I lean.’
Harvey donned his helmet and secured the strap under his chin before climbing on the machine and starting it up. Thompson climbed on the back and wrapped her arms around him, and he pulled off the pavement and onto the road, heading west for the M4.
Tom Gray woke up to a loud ringing in his ears, and at first he was disorientated. He struggled to focus, and when he put his hand to his face it came away crimson, blood seeping from a gash on his forehead. He tried his limbs, seeking signs of damage, but he was able to move them all, and he pushed himself up onto his knees.
A thin mist of fine powder hung in the air, and the wall three yards away was pockmarked by hundreds of pieces of shrapnel. A hole the size of a car had been punched through the concrete wall, and Gray knew that if he’d been pushing Melissa a little faster, they’d have felt the full force of the blast.
Melissa!
He crawled round to see his daughter, whose little mouth was open in a desperate cry that he couldn’t hear. The explosion had damaged his eardrums, and he realised the ringing wasn’t the fire alarm but a result of the blast. He checked his daughter over, but saw no sign of blood. Her arms and legs seemed to be functioning normally. He delicately tested them for breaks.
Satisfied that she was clear of physical injury, he gently unstrapped her and lifted her out of the contraption, holding her tight to calm her down.
A nurse stumbled into view, blood pouring from a shoulder wound. She had a large, red stain on the front of her tunic, and she managed a few steps towards him before collapsing to the floor.
Gray carried Melissa over to the fallen woman, and for the first time he saw the damage that had been done to her back. It looked like she’d been blasted with a shotgun at close range, her clothes shredded and bloodied.
Gray knew there was nothing he could do for her, and he walked slowly towards the exit, which intersected with another corridor. The left looked clear, but to the right lay carnage. A couple of bodies lay on the ground. He took a few steps past them and looked into the A&E waiting room.
The scene resembled a horror movie. At least thirty people lay dead, and many more limbs were scattered around, the remains of those closest to the explosion. Three medical staff were already on hand, helping the few survivors. Two of them were frantically applying CPR to a teenage girl, while the other checked the remaining bodies for vital signs.
Gray felt compelled to help, but when he felt and heard another explosion from within the building, he knew it was time to get his daughter to safety. He ran for the door and pushed it open. He knew his hearing must be returning, for his ears were suddenly assaulted by the sound of a hundred desperate motorists leaning on their horns.
He realised that if the news stories were right, driving home was out of the question, as would be any other form of transport. He briefly considered a motorcycle, but there was no way he was going to climb aboard one with Melissa in tow.
He pulled out his phone and checked the distance to his home: slightly more than eleven miles away, a comfortable jog under normal circumstances.
What troubled him was the large number of explosions in the city, which made him reluctant to take Melissa through densely populated areas. The attacks seemed to have been planned with military precision, and if the objective was to get people out in the open, it had worked. All around him, people were beginning to abandon their cars and make their way on foot, the street already teeming with humanity. One well-timed explosion now would be devastating, and Gray chose not to wait around to see if he were right.
He decided that for the time being he would head for somewhere relatively safe, and he set off for Minotaur’s offices. As he moved carefully around debris and between panicked citizens, he dialled Len Smart’s number.
‘Tom, have you seen what’s going on? It’s crazy!’
‘I know,’ Gray said. ‘I’m caught up in the middle of it.’
He gave a quick playback of the visit to the hospital.
Smart was concerned, mainly for Melissa. ‘The streets are scary at the moment. I suggest you get here as soon as you can.’
Gray told him he’d be there within half an hour and hung up before stepping up the pace. He stuck to the side streets, where the chances of being caught in another explosion were drastically reduced, though it added distance to the journey. Up ahead, between the rooftops, he could see a pillar of smoke rising skywards, and as he rounded the corner he saw an insurance building ablaze.
He wasn’t surprised to see no emergency services in attendance. Given the number of incidents already reported on the news, the fire service was probably doing all it could. The blocked roads would also add to their headache, preventing the engine crews from reaching the calls.
Gray gave the area a wide berth, and after two more long detours he arrived at the offices of Minotaur Logistics, where Smart and Sonny were watching the chaos unfold on the wall-mounted TV.
‘You’re late,’ Sonny said, without the normal humour in his voice. ‘We thought something had happened to you.’ He peered at Gray’s forehead. ‘Are you okay?’
Gray checked his watch and saw that it had taken closer to an hour to cover the three miles.
‘Just a scratch. Melissa’s fine too. What’s the latest?’
‘Someone hit us really hard,’ Smart said. ‘The news said it was DSA, but something this enormous doesn’t sound like them. It has to be someone else.’
Gray was looking at the screen, where the BBC news ticker told him that almost thirteen million homes remained without electricity.
‘Do we have any information about the roads? I’m anxious to get Melissa home.’
‘It looks like they took out the main arteries,’ Sonny said. ‘Ever
y major route in and out of London is blocked. Even if you do get home, you’re unlikely to have electricity. We’ve got a generator and heating, so you might as well stay here.’
‘I’m sure they’ll have power back up soon,’ Gray told him, but Smart shook his head grimly.
‘According to the news, it’ll be at least three days before they can make a start on repairs. They need heavy lifting gear to fix the pylons, but they have to wait until the roads are cleared before they can move them into position. Even then, they’re reluctant to do the work. A couple of their repair teams have been caught out by booby traps.’
‘I’m just surprised they left communications largely untouched,’ Sonny said.
‘Something on this scale means the attackers have to co-ordinate, and that requires mobile phones or the internet,’ Gray said. ‘Cutting those lines would hurt them, too. Besides, can you imagine the panic these scenes are causing all over the country? Millions will be glued to the news websites. This is a terrorist’s wet dream come true.’
‘They’re mobilising the armed forces,’ Smart said. ‘The police are overwhelmed, as you can imagine. They said they want to get the roads clear first so that the emergency services can get to the more serious incidents, but that’s not being helped by people abandoning their vehicles. The BBC asked everyone to stay with their cars, but not many people are listening.’
‘You can’t really blame them,’ Sonny said. ‘Many have to get home to their kids, and it’s unreasonable to ask them to sit in their cars for three days in the hope that traffic starts moving again.’
Sonny was right. Thankfully there hadn’t been a course in progress at the training complex; otherwise any potential recruits would have been stuck there for some time.
‘Maybe we should offer our services,’ Smart said. ‘We’ve got a couple of hundred people on the books, and I’m sure they could be useful.’
‘Good idea,’ Gray agreed, and he pulled his phone out. He found Andrew Harvey’s number in the contact list and pressed the green button.
You have reached the voicemail service for oh-seven . . .
‘He’s obviously got his hands full at the moment,’ Gray said, disconnecting. ‘I’ll call him back in the evening. In the meantime, contact everyone who’s not already on assignment and let them know we might be needing them in the next twenty-four hours.’
‘Are you still going to try to make it home?’ Smart asked.
‘No, we’ll stay here tonight,’ Gray said. ‘I need to pop to the local shops to get a few things in, though.’
‘I’ll go,’ Sonny said. ‘You don’t want to be taking Melissa out, and I get the feeling you’re not going to be leaving her here.’
‘Thanks, Sonny,’ Gray said. In truth, over the last several months he’d got better at leaving his daughter with others for an hour or two, gradually increasing the amount of time away from her, but the day’s events had put any such thoughts out of his mind. Even the thought of leaving her with his two most trusted friends made his skin go clammy.
He prepared a list of items to get, and asked Smart for some money from the petty cash tin.
‘Five hundred should do it,’ he said. ‘There’s a camping shop two streets over. If it’s still open, get a pop-up tent and some folding camp beds. You can get Melissa’s stuff from the chemist.’
‘Get some food for us, too,’ Smart said. ‘I might as well bunk here tonight.’
‘Fine, but you come with me. I can’t carry all that by myself.’
Smart grabbed his coat from the stand and they left Gray to catch up on the events unfolding on the TV.
Chapter 17
15 December 2014
A light rain began to fall as Smart and Sonny headed towards the parade of shops, the street eerily quiet.
The first store they came to had already pulled down the security shutters, and Sonny didn’t hold out much hope of anything remaining open. One by one, they walked past locked-down buildings, but when they reached the chemist they heard raised voices.
He peered through the window and saw three hooded youths shouting and throwing items at the Asian shopkeeper, who was cowering in front of a female assistant.
‘Looks like the vultures have smelt blood,’ he said to Smart, who was also watching the drama unfold.
‘It’s people like this who debunk the theory of natural selection.’
‘Maybe it’s survival of the thickest,’ Sonny mused as he pushed the door open.
The boys turned as he walked into the shop, and one of them immediately enlightened Sonny and Smart as to the problem.
‘It’s these fuckin’ Muslims,’ he spat. ‘They did these bombings.’
‘Did they indeed?’ Sonny walked over to the counter and looked at the shopkeeper’s name tag. ‘And who told you that?’
‘Me dad.’
‘Then your dad’s an idiot. Mr Singh here is wearing a Dastar turban, which tells me he’s a Sikh.’
Singh nodded fervently, confirming Sonny’s guess.
‘He’s still a Paki,’ another youth shouted, before throwing a packet of sanitary towels at the shopkeeper.
Sonny strode over and grabbed the boy by the throat. ‘He’s from India, you moron, not Pakistan. And even if he was, do you really think he’d set off a load of bombs, then come back here and run a shop?’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ the boy shouted, making sure Singh could hear. ‘They’re all the same!’
The kid looked barely fourteen, and it saddened Sonny that parents could still preach intolerance. No doubt the boy would grow up a racist, and any children he spawned would follow the same path as generations before him.
‘Get the fuck out of this shop and don’t come back,’ Sonny snarled into the youth’s face, and pushed him backwards towards the door.
Hitting children wasn’t in his make-up, no matter the transgression, but in this instance, he had no choice.
Instead of retreating, the boy pulled out a knife and lunged at Sonny, who nimbly danced aside and landed a punch to the side of his head. The knife went flying as the kid collapsed to the floor, and Sonny turned to the other two miscreants.
‘Anyone else fancy a shot?’
Both shook their heads, and Sonny guessed he’d taken out their leader.
‘Grab him and get the fuck out of here!’
A minute later, the dazed youth was helped out by his friends, and Sonny calmly pulled out the shopping list.
The assistant rushed to lock the door before picking up the stock that was scattered all over the floor. Smart helped her while Sonny found the nappies and baby food and took them to the counter.
‘I don’t suppose you sell beer and pizza?’ he asked, but got a shake of the head from a visibly relieved Mr Singh.
‘Didn’t think so.’
He instructed Smart to grab some cereal bars and pulled out a twenty, but Singh refused it.
‘Take them with my thanks,’ he said.
‘I didn’t do it for a reward,’ Sonny said with a smile, putting the money on the counter. ‘I’ll need a receipt, please.’
Singh reluctantly rang up the sale and bagged the goods, then showed them to the door, locking it after they had left.
‘I think we’re going to see a lot more of that in the next few days,’ Smart said, as they headed towards the camping shop, ‘especially with the police preoccupied.’
‘You’re not wrong,’ Sonny agreed. ‘Give the scumbags a few hours and they’ll realise they can run amok with impunity. No CCTV, no cops, just a load of shops waiting to be relieved of their stock. They’ll probably test the waters tonight and tomorrow it’ll be full-scale riots.’
‘Then we have to get out of the city tomorrow morning. It should be quiet first thing, and we can escort Tom and Gill home.’
Sonny had forgotten about the receptionist,
but luckily she lived a short distance from Gray, so they could travel together at first light.
Down the street, the outdoor centre remained open, capitalising on the power shortages by selling camping stoves and bottles of gas at three times the normal price.
‘Another sign of the times,’ Smart said sadly, as he inspected a portable gas stove that had been marked up from twenty pounds to seventy.
A woman was pleading with a young man in a blue T-shirt about the cost of her items, but the salesman wasn’t relenting.
‘Sorry,’ he said, trying to move on to the next person in the queue. ‘The manager sets the price, not me.’
‘But I have to feed my kids, and I’ve got a baby! I have to sterilise her bottles!’
‘Next!’
Sonny took the stove and approached the counter, where he asked the woman how much she was being charged.
‘He wants two hundred for these, but the real price is only thirty-five,’ the woman sobbed.
Sonny pushed his way to the counter and tapped the customer being served on the shoulder.
‘Mind if I butt in? I’m trying to get him to lower his prices.’
The man stood aside. ‘Be my guest.’
Sonny fixed the shop assistant with a hard stare and read his name tag, but the youngster didn’t appear fazed.
‘Why are you ripping these people off, Brian? Don’t you know what’s happened to the country?’
Brian just looked over at an older man who was busy changing prices with a felt-tip pen. ‘Go tell him. I just take the money.’
Realising he wasn’t going to get anywhere with Brian, Sonny walked over to the manager and grabbed the pen as he was about to mark another item up.
‘Hey! What do you think you’re doing?’
‘I might ask the same question,’ Sonny said. ‘Why are you ripping people off ?’
‘Ripping them off ? It’s called supply and demand.’
‘Is that right?’
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