by John Mannion
‘I have worked in the nuclear industry for many years and am, therefore, very familiar with it. I do appreciate, however, that for many the word ‘’nuclear” conjures up feelings of unease and, in some cases, real fear. I do hope that by the end of this evening, I will have been able to explain the benefits of nuclear power and allay any fears regarding safety you may have. I’m sure we will all agree on one issue – Britain’s energy consumption is increasing year on year. Fossil fuels are polluting, costly to source, and supplies limited. Britain requires a source of energy which is secure, sustainable long term, efficient and environmentally friendly.’ As he paused for breath, he thought, ‘I’m beginning to sound like one of those environmentalists.’
‘Not in my name!’ came a shout from the audience.
He continued, ignoring the long-haired and unkempt individual in the second row.
‘Over the coming decade, most of the old nuclear power plants on which the national grid relies for fifteen percent of the nation’s energy supply, will be going off-line, as they come to the end of their working lives. It is vital that Britain replaces this essential source of power. There is no doubting that the nation needs to have a variety of energy generating sources to power our industry, work places, and homes. After much research and discussion, nuclear energy has been identified as being a vital component in Government plans for the future of power supplies in Britain. In today’s environment, it can offer a reliable, non-polluting and sustainable source of energy to meet the nation’s needs, both now and well into the future. Nuclear power stations are built in remote areas on contained sites so, therefore, do not blight landscapes. Furthermore, nuclear power generation is not air polluting, so there is a reduction in acid rain and global warming.’
‘Bollocks!’ came a retort from a heavily-tattooed, individual in the third row.
Ignoring the interruption, Paul continued. He felt he was on a roll now. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, if you would now refer to the handout, I would like to introduce the workings of a nuclear power plant, for those amongst us who may not be conversant with the behind-the-scenes activities and the materials used to generate the power in a nuclear power plant.’
‘Yeah, mate! Let’s hear what really goes on behind the scenes in the nuclear power industry!’ shouted the long-haired individual in the second row.
Paul just smirked to himself and continued, ‘Uranium is a highly concentrated energy source, available throughout the world in large quantities. One tonne of uranium can produce as much electricity as 200 tonnes of coal. Once uranium has been used, it can be reprocessed and recycled to make more fuel. During the reprocessing, plutonium is given off as a by-product, and this can be used to generate power in fast reactors. Uranium is delivered to the power station in the form of solid ceramic pellets, packed into long metal tubes. Bundles of these tubes are placed inside the nuclear reactor. There, the uranium is bombarded by neutrons.’
‘Yeah, just as you are bombarding us with shit!’ came another contribution from an unidentified, male voice, somewhere out in the audience.
Paul continued, ‘The uranium 235 atoms, which are naturally fissile, split and release their own neutrons, which strike other atoms and split these. Once the chain reaction has begun, the process is self-sustaining.’
‘That’s what’s so fucking worrying!’ shouted a female from the first row.
Paul was unphased. ‘Each time an atom is split, heat is released. The fuel tubes are surrounded by water or CO2, which is turned, instantaneously, to steam. The steam turns a turbine, which generates electricity. This electricity is fed into the National Grid, which is the means of transporting electricity from the generators to the regional suppliers all over the country. It is essential to monitor the temperature of the reactor.’
‘Who’s monitoring you people?’ came a shout from a female voice somewhere towards the back.
An unruffled Paul continued, ‘The rate of fissile activity can be increased, or decreased, by a set of control rods, which are lowered inside the reactor to slow the reaction down, and raised to accelerate it. Reactors also have a separate set of emergency control rods that can be dropped to shut the reactor down completely. To minimise the risk of human error, UK reactors are equipped with a computerised system that automatically implements shut down, if necessary, to prevent overheating. It is also possible, in an emergency, to flood the reactor with nitrogen or water, which will absorb the neutrons and, therefore, bring the process of nuclear fission to a full stop.’
‘That’s what we’re trying to do now,’ came another voice.
‘Not long to go now,’ thought Paul. He carried on, ‘In essence, a reactor is the nuclear equivalent of the furnace in a steam-raising boiler.’ With that, Paul came to the end of his presentation. Taking a sip of water, he continued, ‘Thank you for listening. I appreciate there’s a lot to take in. Are there any questions?’
‘What would happen if an aeroplane crashed into the reactor building?’ was the first question from an elderly lady on the front row.
Paul answered, The reactor itself is very well protected. The structure around the reactor core is typically a metre thick, and made of concrete and steel. Tests have shown that it is unlikely, in such circumstances, that damage would be sustained by the core of the reactor.’
The elderly lady didn’t look convinced by Paul’s assurance, but didn’t press him further.
Paul asked, ‘Any other questions please?’
‘What if there is a terrorist attack?’ asked a middle-aged man from the rear of the hall.
Paul replied, ‘All nuclear power stations are protected by armed police officers from the Civil Nuclear Constabulary who, not only secure the site, but also patrol externally. All power stations are surrounded with chain link fencing and more vital areas are given further security protection.’
This question and answer session continued for another hour. It eventually came to an end when the local dignitary stood up and, holding his hands in the air to indicate he wanted quiet, announced:
‘Well, ladies and gentlemen, I would like to thank Doctor Prentice for coming here this evening. His explanation of the workings of a nuclear power plant, and his answers to your questions will, I hope, have alleviated some of the concerns held by members of the audience.’
There were shouts of derision from certain elements, and the air was full of the sound of private discussion taking place amongst the gathering as the audience left the hall. They continued to talk in small groups outside.
Paul remained in the hall talking with the organisers. He was keen to get to his car for the long journey home, but experience had taught him to ensure the audience had gone before leaving himself.
Half an hour later, Paul climbed into his blue, Subaru Impreza, started the engine and turned the heater to full blast. The windows needed de-icing before he could go anywhere. Whilst waiting, he sorted through his CD collection, selecting a few country and western discs for the journey home.
He then called his wife, ‘Mist and sheep on the road not withstanding, I should be home around 12.30.’
CHAPTER 19
The arms shipments, like the reconnaissance operations, had now been underway for more than a year in preparation for the assault on Britain’s nuclear power generation facilities. The shipment destined for the attack cell mounting the assault on Oldbury, was due to come ashore in North Wales in the early hours of the morning following Paul Prentice’s Public Meeting at Thornbury.
The planning cell involved in this particular operation set off in their blue van from their base in Slough at 9pm. The atmosphere in the van was very tense. No-one spoke. None of them had done this journey before, but each was very familiar with the route they were taking. Their instructions had been delivered to them some days previously. Each had first memorised their orders, and then together they’d pored over a route map to put the instructions into perspective. Using the motorway network for the first half of the long journey, at juncti
on 7 on the M54 they finally joined the A5 towards Shrewsbury, and then followed the A458 into North Wales.
Once clear of the motorways and Shrewsbury, the traffic became very light – a combination of the late hour and lower population density. The driver was ever conscious of the need to adhere to speed limits so as not to draw any undue attention. Just after Welshpool, they’d had a bit of a scare when they suddenly became aware of a car in their wing mirrors approaching at great speed. Its front head lights appeared to be flashing. As it got closer, the driver signalled and overtook. Seconds later, all they could see were the rear lights of the blue Subaru Impreza, which quickly disappeared into the distance.
Despite the entire journey taking place in the winter darkness, the planning cell members became very aware of the changed environment once on the twisting roads that cut through the North Wales countryside. As they became more accustomed to the darkness, the team could make out sinister shapes caught in the van’s headlights and in the moonlight, coming out from the mountainsides. These were rocky outcrops and large boulders, strewn over the slopes. It was as if the scenery was enveloping them, it was all around them – very ‘in your face’. They were also aware of considerable expanses of dark patches on the mountainsides. These were thick pine forests, which stretched like a blanket over the top of the mountains. Grazing land ran along side the narrow roads and stretched up the mountainsides; the habitat of thousands of sheep.
After an hour’s driving through the mountains and pastures of North Wales, they reached the coast where they encountered the sea mist which gave an eerie sensation. Continuing along the coast, they drove through small villages, all dark and silent. Occasionally they were startled by sudden movement along the roadside, but soon realised this was stray sheep, which had escaped from the fields.
As they neared their destination, the van passed a sign on their right, indicating the turning for a retirement village for Polish residents in their senior years at Penrhos. This was the final main road marker they’d memorised, so they now knew they were only a couple of miles away from their final destination, Llanbedrog; a small community with only a handful of properties, including what looked like a medieval church. Bearing left off the main road, just past a garage, they headed down the narrow road into Llanbedrog, peering out to ensure they didn’t miss the sign for the beach. Then, suddenly, they were upon the sign. Headlights now switched off, the van and its six occupants disappeared down a tunnel of trees on a narrow single-track, tarmac road heading towards the beach and the pick-up point for their lethal delivery.
The van came to a halt close to the sand. A large green metal bollard sticking out of the ground and some large rocks on the sand beyond, prevented the driver from proceeding any further in the van. It was now 3am.
The team leader dialled a number on his mobile phone and a muffled voice on the other end of the line muttered, ‘Hello. Supplies.’
The team leader replied, ‘Collections here.’
They waited a few minutes. Then they all got out of the vehicle, its internal lights switched off. Across the narrow, tree covered road from where their van was now parked, and perched on top of a wall of rock with stone steps leading to it, was a restaurant, now closed for the winter months. In silence and in darkness, save for a watery glow from intermittent moonlight occasionally obscured by dark lumbering clouds slowly moving across the sky, they made their way down to the beach. The sand stretched a hundred yards or so down to the sea, which was calm on this night. They were relieved to see that the bay wasn’t shrouded in the mist they’d encountered in the last part of their journey. This enabled them to pick out the few small, privately owned yachts lying off the coast, and a larger one moored closer to the shore. Also visible a short distance around the coastline was what looked like a white cottage, faintly lit by the moonlight. All that appeared to be separating it from the sea were huge boulders. The scene was silent, save for the gently lapping waters of the sea.
Looking more closely around the immediate area, they became aware of other properties behind a line of trees, rising from the beach behind them. But all seemed peaceful. No house lights were on, and there appeared to be no activity save their own.
The team and their compatriots on the yacht were aware that silence and speed were of the essence. The terrorists knew that the authorities often relied on local people to act as their eyes and ears in vulnerable and remote coastal areas which are difficult to monitor. Small boats, in particular, are almost impossible to track on radar and the authorities are concerned about their use in arms and drug smuggling, and in the trafficking of illegal immigrants. A vigilant local tonight would be a disaster!
Standing on the shore, the men from Slough could just about make out activity on the large yacht. Dark shapes were hauling what looked like a large object over the side of the yacht and onto, presumably, a smaller boat anchored below. The smaller vessel was hidden in the shadow of the larger boat and out of sight of the men on the shore.
As they waited patiently on the shore no-one spoke. They did, however, constantly scan their surroundings, checking for lights or movement from the houses and tree line behind them.
Then they made out the silhouette of a smaller craft emerging from the shadow of the large yacht. In the darkness there appeared to be two dark figures silently rowing towards the shore. The rowers eventually beached their flat-bottomed rigid boat and the six man shore team came towards them. They quietly exchanged greetings and, having off-loaded the first crate, the two rowers set off back to the yacht. Two of the terrorists on the shore gently and silently carried this box back to the van, which had been left in the shadow of the trees. This process was repeated two more times.
In all, three crates were collected by the planning team. They contained one RPG7 rocket-propelled grenade launcher, six AK47 assault rifles, and one containing ammunition. Having completed the transfer successfully, the rowers returned to their yacht for the last time and the six terrorists in the shore party headed back to the van. Four of the men got into the vehicle immediately. The remaining two stood on either side of the narrow road and guided the driver, as he turned the vehicle round in the tight space available. Having completed this delicate manoeuvre in silence, the two men boarded the van and, again without headlights, the vehicle made its way under the canopy of trees covering the single track road, back up towards the small village and on to the main road for the return journey to Slough. It was now 5.30am. The terrorists felt they stood out less at this time of the morning as there was already some work traffic on the road, and this would increase as the morning wore on. Having completed this part of their journey successfully, the atmosphere in the van was more relaxed than on the outward journey. They were aware, however, that the long journey home could have its moments of tension and they had clear instructions on how to handle any unplanned impediments to their mission. Their briefing had been clear. They were to act ruthlessly at the first hint of a threat to their mission; no matter where the threat came from.
The route home was the reverse of the outward journey. They headed toward Porthmadog on the A497, going through the town and travelling past Port Meirion which, one of the party pointed out, was made famous by the sixties TV series ‘The Prisoner’, before eventually turning right and crossing a narrow toll bridge. They carried on through Harlech, dominated by its castle, and on down to Barmouth passing again through small villages such as Dyffryn Ardudwy. At Dolgellau, they joined the A458 passing Welshpool and on to Shrewsbury, which they skirted, before resuming their motorway journey on the M54. Joining the M6 they found themselves crawling in rush-hour traffic all the way to the M5 turn off and beyond. They could feel tensions rising as cars, vans and trucks suddenly changed lanes without warning, causing brakes to be slammed on. The last thing they wanted was to be involved in an accident – no matter how minor! Eventually the M5 traffic eased and they made a short, scheduled stop at Frankley service station to refuel, grab a warm drink, and answer the call of n
ature. Back in the van again, they joined the M40 for the final leg of their journey home to Slough.
Their mission was completed without incident.
CHAPTER 20
At 6pm on Sunday, 19th December, Ahmed and his compatriots assembled for the final time in Ahmed’s Swindon apartment. The atmosphere was tense. Emotions in the room were a mixture of anticipation, anxiety, fear of failure and exhilaration. The waiting was at last over. The time for action had arrived!
Scattered across the country that night, eight other attack cells were also preparing themselves. Each cell was oblivious to the existence of the others.
Salim’s promised telephone call had come two days before, just after Ahmed had returned from work.
‘Greetings, my friend! It is Salim.’
Ahmed couldn’t speak. He’d been wondering anxiously when the call would come, ensuring that the phone was always fully charged. Now that it had, he was momentarily tongue-tied.
‘Greetings!’ he had eventually replied.
‘Is all well with you for Monday, 8.45am?’ Salim had enquired.
‘Yes, yes,’ was all Ahmed could say.
‘Good! Until Monday then!’ And with that, Salim had terminated the call.
Ahmed now thought back to that Friday night. He and the others had arranged to meet at Imran’s that evening and he had been nearly an hour late. The others had been very agitated by his lateness, but when he told them the news their reaction had been the same as his. Silence. Then they had all started talking, excitedly, at once and Ahmed had to shut them up. Saturday had come and gone in a blur. If questioned, none of the cell could have recounted what they had done that day.
Now with their mission just hours away, the Swindon cell spent some time in prayer and contemplation before going over the attack plan in depth. They reviewed the details and rehearsed their individual roles. Ahmed was conscious the team needed to sleep – it was going to be an early start and they would need to be alert. They were scheduled to arrive at the nuclear power station’s main gate at 8.45am and, once the operation was underway, there would be no respite. But the atmosphere in the small apartment was electric and it was unlikely anyone would rest. There were moments of deep emotion amongst the group members who had, over the months, become close friends with a common purpose, as well as brothers in arms.