by John Mannion
Again Salim stopped speaking momentarily. Ahmed remained silent, looking at Salim and waiting for him to continue.
‘This time will be spent by you finding a secure location from which to operate during the siege element of the operation. You must buy as much time as you can, preferably several days, in order that we gain as much publicity as we can, and to create as much pressure on the Government as possible. Also, your holding out will prove highly disruptive to power supplies. Remaining close to the reactor compound would be to your advantage, as this may prove an impediment to their operations. After a maximum of three days, if you are still resisting at that point, you will mount an assault on the security force positions. No member of your team should survive this operation, which will be a major blow to the ‘’Little Satan", and a warning to non-believers everywhere of our power and our ability to strike anywhere.’
Salim stared deeply into Ahmed’s eyes. ‘That is all for now, my brother. Do you have any questions?’
Ahmed looked unseeingly at the pile of papers on his lap. His head was spinning. He replied in a flat tone, ‘Nothing for now.’
Salim continued, ‘Very well. You must go and brief your team. You must emphasise the importance of security and caution to them. I will be in touch again in a few days. I will answer any questions then.’
Ahmed returned the papers to the brown envelope and placed it inside the briefcase. Then, briefcase in hand, he left the vehicle.
CHAPTER 15
Lieutenant Steve Zaslawski, US Army Special Forces, sat on his parents’ living room couch listening attentively to the news broadcast. It was a news report from the UK which had grabbed his attention.
The report covered a terror attack on a nightclub in the centre of London, by Muslim extremists, at just after midnight on Saturday, 11th December. Steve did a quick mental calculation. It was now 8am Saturday, 11th December in Sausalito, California. That meant, with an eight hour time difference, it was now 4pm in London, UK. So the attack had taken place almost sixteen hours previously. This was the second attack by terrorists in London in less than a week.
Steve had a particular interest in developments of this nature in the UK. He was one year into a three year secondment to the British Special Air Service Regiment (SAS). He was currently on two weeks’ leave back home in the States, and was due to return to the UK and the Headquarters of the SAS at Credenhill, Herefordshire on Tuesday, 14th December. On his return to duty, his SAS Squadron – one of four – was scheduled to assume the role of the CT, Counter Terrorism, Squadron, on standby to deal with any terrorist threat.
Steve, aged thirty, was five foot, eight inches tall, of wiry build. He had grown up in the small, picturesque town of Sausalito, just across the bay from San Francisco. His decision to join the US Army had been greatly inspired by listening to his grandfather’s stories of his wartime exploits. His grandparents had been born in the 1920s, in different regions of Poland. In 1939, at the beginning of the Second World War, they and their families had been transported as political prisoners by the Russians to Siberia. Following their liberation from Russian captivity, they ended up in Palestine, where his grandfather joined the Army and served with distinction, fighting for the Allied Forces in campaigns in North Africa and Italy. After the war, they initially came to Britain where they met, married and his father was born. In the late 1950s, his grandfather took a job with Boeing Aircraft Corporation in Seattle, and the young family emigrated to the United States, eventually acquiring US citizenship.
At eighteen, his father, George, left Seattle and travelled south down the West Coast to California to study law in San Francisco. Here, George met and married Cara, a budding artist of Italian stock, settling in Sausalito across the Bay. Cara opened a small café/art gallery, whilst George worked in San Francisco. When Steve was born, his grandparents moved from Seattle to Sausalito and looked after him whilst his parents worked.
Steve had had an idyllic childhood. Sausalito, with its beautiful wooden homes, sat on the shore of the Bay. His parents’ house, the one he had grown up in, sat on the steep slope rising up from Main Street on the shore line. With its vista across the bay, its marina, its bright tourist-orientated shops, cafes, restaurants and art galleries, Steve had spent his childhood in a covetable setting. On a clear day, the skyline of the city of San Francisco could be seen in the distance. However, the city and its famous bridge were often shrouded in mist which would drift in from the Bay.
Steve felt privileged to have grown up in this environment. Not far from his home town was Muir Woods National Monument, a natural place of beauty. Here Coast Redwoods, also known as Sequoias – many over 600 years old – grew among standing dead trees. During his childhood, Steve had been fascinated by these trees which, before the time of the Gold Rush, had populated this part of the Californian coast.
Sadly, these natural forests had been ruthlessly decimated to provide timber for the rapidly growing city of San Francisco. The redwoods were replaced by imported eucalyptus trees from Australia, which had originally been planted as a quick growing source of wood to provide timber for use in the construction of the railways. But they were found to be lacking for this purpose.
When he was a child, his parents would take him for a ride on the world famous San Francisco cable cars. Once used to take people up the city’s steep slopes from the shoreline, they were now more a tourist attraction than a serious part of the city’s transport network. As a child and young man, Steve would take the ferry across the Bay, sailing past the former island prison of Alcatraz, made famous in many Hollywood films. At one time home to many of America’s most infamous criminals, now a tourist attraction.
Steve loved the city – its bright, wooden Victorian homes, ‘The Painted Ladies’; the cosmopolitan atmosphere with its Italian Quarter, delineated on the lampposts; its large, colourful and noisy Chinatown, still home to a large ethnic Chinese population whose origins dated back to the Gold Rush, and full of Chinese restaurants and shops selling Chinese-style clothes, furniture and food products. Not to be missed on any of his visits to San Francisco, was Fisherman’s Wharf. A major attraction, not only for tourists but for locals as well, with restaurants, tourist shops, cafes and street entertainment. Its latest, natural attraction – the sea lions – had made their home on wooden pontoons at the end of Pier 39 after the 1989 earthquake, now provided hours of amusement to young and old alike. Steve felt that San Francisco held a wonderfully, relaxed and welcoming atmosphere for everyone.
When Steve had heard of his secondment to the British Special Air Service, he had been elated at the prospect of serving with such an internationally renowned military outfit and considered the opportunity could only advance his career ambitions. In the twelve months he had so far spent with the organisation, he had gained and learned a lot from his experience. Whilst most of the skills and training were not so much different from his US Special Forces training, and his SAS counterparts were not dissimilar from his colleagues in the US – the ability to think for one’s self, leadership skills and confidence being common essentials – there were, nonetheless, differences in deployment and tactics. A knowledge of which, he felt, could only enhance his tradecraft.
Steve had found the British weather not unlike the weather he had grown up with in his part of the California coast, although Sausalito itself has its own little micro-climate which keeps it warmer and sunnier and less affected by fog than San Francisco. He enjoyed the countryside around Herefordshire with its beautiful landscape – the River Wye meandering through the Wye Valley; the market towns with their Tudor buildings, the woodlands and Iron Age hill forts. He had marvelled at the splendid ancient yew tree in the grounds of St Bartholomew’s church, an English Gothic church built around 1220AD, in the quaintly named village of Much Marcle. The tree was planted around 500AD, making it over 1500 years old, and it measured 31 feet in circumference. Herefordshire and the Welsh mountains beyond, used by the SAS for training, was like his home, a place of
outstanding natural beauty and history. Steve felt fortune was indeed smiling down on him. He was really looking forward to going back.
CHAPTER 16
The street was dark and gloomy. The only light came from the few street lamps that were still functioning and the dim glow from the now curtain-drawn properties. Ed and Lisa, along with the two surveillance officers, Rashida and Pete, were still watching and listening to the two terrorists.
Suddenly there was a knock on the side of the van. Rashida leaned over to slide it open. DAC Braithwaite, Inspector Ward and the CO19 Specialist Firearms Commander climbed into the surveillance van, which was still parked just down the road from the terraced property where the two suspects were holed up.
‘Good evening!’ DAC Braithwaite greeted the van’s occupants with irony. ‘Any new developments here?’
‘Nothing to speak of. They have been cleaning their weapons, and talking about their forthcoming battle with the forces of evil. They each have an AK47 assault rifle, and plenty of ammo. They are displaying signs of nervousness, with gung-ho talk and nervous laughter,’ Ed said in reply.
Inspector Ward looked at the CCTV screen and saw the two men inside the target address. One of the two was sitting just behind the curtained living room window. The other was pacing up and down the room. They were in their early twenties. Ward found himself reflecting on how their current situation and mindset compared to that of other young men of their age. Young men like his younger brother and his friends who, at this time on a Saturday, were preparing for a night out on the town.
Ed continued, ‘As you are aware, CO19 are deployed both front and back of the terrace. There is an assault team ready to go at a moment’s notice. We are evacuating the residents in the other houses in the terrace and also the residents in properties which are in the line of fire.’
The CO19 commander listened in silence, his police radio blurting out the occasional static message into his ear.
Outside in the cold night air, police officers were quietly moving from house to house, rousing people who were settling down to a relaxing evening in front of their TVs in the warmth and security of their homes. Many were startled by the sudden appearance of police officers on their doorsteps, and concerned at being told to assemble family members and put on warm clothing for an unexpected excursion due to a ‘developing situation, which will be explained once you and your family are in a safe environment’.
Residents were confused and disorientated by the evacuation instruction, which did not always meet with total and unquestioning co-operation from the public. As families gathered on the doorsteps of their homes, huddled in their warm outdoor clothing, they were told to remain silent until told otherwise, and to move quickly following one of the police officers.
There was another knock on the side of the van. On hearing this, Ed commented,
‘It’s getting a bit crowded in here. I don’t think we’ve room for any more.’
Rashida once again slid open the door. The Inspector who had been in charge of the evacuation was standing on the pavement beside the van. He announced:
‘All residents have been evacuated safely. No problems to report. I hope my people didn’t wake your targets from their slumbers!’
‘Many thanks, Inspector, and well done to your men,’ came the reply from Inspector Ward, who slid the door shut.
DAC Braithwaite commented, ‘I think we are now ready to contact our friends across the way. Unfortunately there’s no phone number available at that address. Let’s first move this vehicle a little further down the road. I wouldn’t like any stray bullets coming our way! I fear these people aren’t going to come quietly.’
Pete, the surveillance officer, left through the side door of the van. A minute later the vehicle’s engine sprang to life and the occupants felt movement as they were driven the short distance out of harm’s way. The van was once again motionless.
DAC Braithwaite announced, ‘We have established the identity of one of the occupants inside the property. He is Qasim Talwar. He has come to our attention in the past, during surveillance ops on other suspects. He was deemed to be a low level risk at the time, and no further action was thought necessary. I’ll give him a call and let him know his options.’
With that DAC Braithwaite grabbed a megaphone from a rack in the van. Then he, Inspector Ward and the CO19 Commander, exited the van and walked stealthily back down the street, stopping at a low wall opposite the target address. The three men settled down behind the wall, which they were aware offered them concealment but little protection from the firearms which were available to the terrorist suspects.
DAC Braithwaite held the megaphone to his mouth. ‘Attention! Attention! This is the police!’ A short pause. ‘Attention Qasim Talwar! This is the police! The building you are in is surrounded by armed police officers! Come out! Drop your weapons, and put your hands on your heads!’ There was silence.
DAC Braithwaite waited for a minute, and then repeated the message.
In the surveillance van, the movements and conversation of the two suspects was being monitored and DAC Braithwaite, Inspector Ward and the CO19 Commander were being kept up-to-date with developments in the house.
Qasim had been sitting next to the living room window, taking a discreet glance out into the empty street every minute or so from behind the curtained window. He had seen nothing untoward from these brief glances, and was therefore taken by surprise by the disembodied voice now booming into their dwelling place. He looked across the room at the equally startled Hameed. The two men crouched down on either side of the curtained window.
Qasim said to the nervous-looking Hameed, ‘It is time, my brother. The Devil’s messengers have come. We must fight them in God’s name.’
With that, Qasim sprang up from his crouching position at the window and, clutching his AK assault rifle, pounded up the stairs, taking position at the front bedroom window behind its drawn curtains.
The movements inside the house were being relayed to DAC Braithwaite, Inspector Ward and the CO19 Commander in a constant flow of updated information from the surveillance vehicle, and from the armed CO19 officers positioned all around the suspects’ address.
Suddenly the glass in the upstairs bedroom window shattered and crashed onto the paving stones below. A second later the glass from the living room window exploded outwards as the two terrorists inside the terraced property prepared for their final action against the forces of the ‘Little Satan’.
DAC Braithwaite – feeling distinctly uncomfortable squatting for this long behind a wall at his time of life – looked into the face of the CO19 Commander squatting beside him and said,
‘It’s over to you and your people now. There is going to be no talking our way out of this one.’
The CO19 Commander nodded in acknowledgement, leaned toward the police radio pinned to the front of his body armour, and said, ‘Sierra 1 to all units. You have clearance to fire at identifiable targets.’
The acknowledgements came back, in a stream of static, from the CO19 personnel positioned at the front and rear of the house.
‘Tango 1, at living room window, taking up firing position’ came a message from the surveillance vehicle, monitoring the activity inside the property.
The eyes of the CO19 officers were all fixed on the premises, waiting for a clear shot at the two terrorist occupants.
A short burst of chatter from automatic weapons fire rang out from the direction of the property. The pinging of ricocheting bullets hitting brick and other inanimate objects nearby. More bursts of un-aimed, automatic gunfire came from the property in the minutes following the initial burst.
The CO19 officers were unable to get sight of a clear target inside the building and did not return fire.
‘I don’t want our people sitting around, waiting to take a stray bullet from these people. Instruct your men to use CS gas to dislodge them,’ ordered DAC Braithwaite.
The CO19 Commander gave the order to fire
CS gas into the property; one grenade into the downstairs living room and one into the front bedroom. Two officers, deployed with CS gas, took up firing positions and launched one CS gas grenade at each of the designated targets.
There were two loud bangs, which echoed down the silent street, followed by the crash of breaking glass as the grenades found their targets. CS gas began to billow from the broken windows.