The Bombmaker

by Stephen Leather

  The captain pressed his lips together tightly, impatient to get the operation under way. He put the phone to his face again. 'Stand by, stand by,' he said.

  Everyone in the room stared at the bank of monitors.

  – «»-«»-«»The man in the ski mask kept the gun aimed at Andy's chest as he listened to the phone. 'Yeah, it's me,' he said. 'Hold the line, yeah?'

  'Let me speak to Katie,' said Andy.

  'Then what?' asked the man, holding the phone by his side.

  'Then you let her go. Then we walk out of here.'

  The man shook his head. 'I don't think so.'

  Andy waved the remote control. 'You don't have a choice,' she said. 'If I press this, we all die.'

  'You don't want to die, Andrea.'

  'Neither do you.'

  'Who'll look after little Katie? Who'll watch her grow?'

  'My husband. At least she'll know that I did what I could to save her. I won't have died for nothing.'

  The man smiled thinly, then slowly raised the phone. Andy stepped forward, thinking that he was about to hand it to her. He didn't. He put the phone to his mouth. 'Listen to me,' he said into it, speaking loudly so that his voice echoed around the office. 'Listen to me carefully. If the line goes dead, if I get cut off for any reason, kill the girl and get the hell out of there. Do you understand? If the line goes dead, you kill the girl.' He listened, nodded, then held the phone down by his side again. He sneered at Andy. 'Right,' he said flatly. 'Go ahead and press it. If we die, she dies.'

  – «»-«»-«»Lisa Davies pressed the button to keep the lift doors open as the ten office workers piled out. Two MI5 agents guided them through the carpark like collies marshalling a small flock of sheep. One of the agents, a thirty-something man in a dark suit and highly polished shoes, whispered that the office workers weren't to run, and that they were to turn right as soon as they left the carpark exit. Other agents would be there to advise them where to go next.

  Lisa stabbed the button to close the doors and watched the floor indicator rise slowly through the numbers. The four floors above the bomb were already clear. So were six of the floors below. She looked at her wristwatch. The seconds were ticking away. The lift reached the ninth floor, the floor where the bomb was. A four-thousand-pound fertiliser bomb. Lisa shuddered. She wondered if she'd feel anything if the bomb went off. Would the shock wave kill her instantly, or would it blow her into the air in a hail of shattered steel and glass? She stared at the floor indicator, willing it to change. Ten. Eleven. What would happen if the bomb exploded while she was on one of the higher floors? Would the building collapse in a shower of debris, crushing the life out of her? Would she die instantly, or would the life slowly drain from her as rescuers searched in vain through the thousands of tons of rubble?

  Lisa shook her head, trying to dispel the tormenting images. There was no point in worrying about what might happen. She had her orders, and she'd follow them. She'd been told to evacuate the building, to get everybody out, and that's what she would do. The floor indicator reached fourteen and the lift juddered to a halt. The doors rumbled open. Gordon Harris was there with the next ten office workers. They were mainly women; Lisa saw just two men standing at the back. She ushered them all inside with urgent whispers. 'Come on, come on.'

  'What's happening?' asked one of the women, grey-haired with a pair of spectacles dangling around her neck from a thin silver chain. 'Is there a fire?'

  'No, there's no fire,' said Lisa. 'But we have to get you all out as quickly as possible.'

  'But what's happening?' repeated the woman, her voice trembling. She dabbed at her eyes with a lace handkerchief.

  'That's the lot,' said Harris. 'I'll head up to the fifteenth.'

  Lisa pressed the button to close the doors. The grey-haired woman burst into tears. Lisa looked at her watch again, even though she was aware it was a futile gesture. She didn't know how much time they had, and she realised that it was probably best that she didn't know.

  – «»-«»-«»Patsy tapped her foot impatiently. It seemed to be taking a lifetime for the telecom experts to trace the call. Martin looked hopefully across at her and she gave a small shake of her head.

  The SAS captain walked over to her. 'We have to move in,' he said. 'The clock's still ticking, remember? I make it fifteen minutes so far.'

  She looked at him icily. 'I'm hardly likely to forget,' she said.

  'Just a few more minutes,' Martin pleaded.

  'We don't have a few more minutes,' said the captain. 'We have to get in there so that the explosives officers can get to work on the bomb. If we leave it much longer, even if we go in we won't be able to prevent the bomb going off.'

  Martin pointed at the monitors. 'Don't you understand what's going on there?' he thundered. 'If you go in and that phone gets cut off, they'll kill Katie. We have to know where she is.'

  'And if that bomb goes off, hundreds of people are going to die!' shouted the captain. 'Including my men.'

  The two men stood just feet apart, glaring at each other.

  'Easy, gentlemen,' said Hetherington, quietly but firmly. 'We're not fighting each other here. The enemy's over there. Let's not forget that.' He raised an eyebrow at Patsy. She shook her head. 'It's a mobile,' she said. 'Southern Ireland. That's all they know so far.'

  Hetherington went over to Martin and put a hand on his shoulder. Martin could see in the man's eyes what he was going to say, so he spoke first. 'No!'

  'If you're going to hate anyone for this, Mr Hayes, you have to hate me. It's my decision.' He turned to the captain. 'Send in your men, Captain.'

  Payne took two steps over to the phone he'd been using and picked up the receiver. 'Can you hear me? It's a green light. Go, go, go.'

  Patsy slammed down the phone. 'We've got a location!' she shouted.

  – «»-«»-«»'So it's your call, Andrea,' said the man. 'Press the button and everyone dies. Including your daughter.'

  'Let me speak to her.'

  'It's too late for that.'

  Andy held the remote control in front of her, her hand shaking uncontrollably. He'd beaten her. There was nothing she could do. Whatever she did, she'd lose. And she could see from the look of triumph in the man's eyes that he knew it, too.

  'It's over, Andrea.'

  He pointed the gun at her head and took a step towards her. Andy took a step back. She looked around in panic. There was nowhere to run.

  'Give me the remote control, Andrea. You know you're not going to press it.'

  Green-eyes aimed at Andy's head, her finger tightening on the trigger. 'Let's shoot her!' She shouted. 'Let's just fucking well shoot her.'

  The man in the ski mask ignored the outburst. He kept his eyes totally focused on Andy, his arm outstretched towards her. 'Give it to me, Andrea. It's over.'

  – «»-«»-«»Captain Crosbie dropped the phone and adjusted his respirator. He raised his arm, his fist clenched. 'Go! Go! Go!' he shouted.

  His men had split into two teams and had removed windows from the north and west sides of the building in preparation for the assault. On his command, each team dropped a shaped charge down on ropes, while Sandy and Coop pulled pins out of the top of stun grenades, holding the triggers in place as they stood on the window ledges, abseiling ropes around their waists. One trooper on each team was holding the trigger to detonate the shaped charge, and they nodded to each other and pressed their triggers at the same time. There were two loud explosions from below, and immediately Sandy and Coop dropped down, stun grenades at the ready.

  As they disappeared over the edge, the rest of the troopers took their places, Heckler amp; Kochs at the ready.

  – «»-«»-«»The window to Andy's left exploded in a shower of glass. A fraction of a second later, the window behind her also erupted inwards, spraying her back with glass. Two metal cylinders bounced off the floor, the size and shape of cans of beer. Time seemed to stop for Andy. Everyone seemed to have frozen to the spot. The man in the ski mask's mout
h was wide open. Green-eyes had her hands up in front of her face to shield herself from the flying glass, the gun forgotten in her right hand.

  Andy had no idea what had happened. She wondered if the bomb had gone off, if she was already dead and it had happened so fast she didn't know it. She tried to move but her limbs were locked in place. She couldn't move. She wasn't conscious of breathing or of her heart beating.

  The man in the ski mask started to react, swinging his gun around, bringing it to bear on the window closest to him, his mouth open as if he were about to scream.

  The two cylinders exploded at exactly the same time. There was a flash of light, so bright that Andy was instantly blinded, then her world exploded.

  – «»-«»-«»Martin jumped at the sound of the explosions. 'What the hell was that?' he shouted.

  'Flash-bangs,' said the SAS captain. 'Stun grenades.' He moved closer to the monitors, pushing Martin out of the way.

  On the eight screens, three green figures were staggering around the office. One of them twitched and fell. Over the loudspeaker came the muffled rat-tat-tat of rapid fire from a silenced Heckler amp; Koch. More green figures were flowing into the office, moving quickly and purposefully.

  'Who's that? Who's been shot?'

  'I don't know,' said Payne. 'We've no radio contact.'

  Martin peered over the captain's shoulder. 'Is it Andy?'

  'I don't know,' said Payne sharply. Two single muffled shots barked from the loudspeaker. The sound of a silenced handgun.

  – «»-«»-«»Green-eyes was in spasm on the floor, though she was obviously dead. The right-hand side of her head was missing, exposing white skull and pink brain matter, and there were four blossoming red patches on the front of her overalls. Her gun, unfired, lay close to her twitching right hand. Andy stood transfixed, unable to comprehend what was going on around her, her ears still ringing from the stun grenades. To her left, two men dressed in black overalls and with black submachine-guns strapped to their chests were swinging in through one of the broken windows. They had respirators and dark goggles on and black webbing belts around their waists. The man in the ski mask was facing the other way, both hands on his pistol. He'd fired twice at three more SAS troopers who had come swinging in through another window in the wake of the grenades. He'd hit one in the chest with one of his shots, but the bullet had made a dull thudding noise as it had smashed into the soldier's body armour. The troopers were bringing their submachine-guns to bear on the man, but he threw himself to the side, rolling behind a desk.

  There was a crashing sound from reception and the stamping of boots. Andy held her hands up in surrender, the remote control still clasped in her right hand. 'Don't shoot!' she screamed. Her voice sounded far away, as if it belonged to someone else.

  The man in the ski mask rolled again and came up in a half-crouch, taking aim at Andy's chest. With his free hand he ripped off his ski mask. He had, Andy realised, a very ordinary face, devoid of distinguishing features. There was no expression of anger on it, nor fear. His features were totally blank as he pointed the gun at Andy's chest and tightened his finger on the trigger.

  Andy sprang to her right and fell against one of the ovens. The two men who'd just piled in through the window to her left were unclipping themselves from their ropes. One of them swung his submachine-gun towards her. She wanted to scream that she wasn't a threat, that the man was about to kill her, but the only sound she could make was a low growl.

  The man's silenced gun coughed and a bullet zipped by her head as she fell to the ground and scrambled away on all fours. The remote control dropped from her hand as another bullet thwacked into the ovens behind her. Four more soldiers came hurtling down the corridor from reception, guns at the ready, their boots beating a rapid tattoo on the floor.

  She stood up, and one of the SAS troopers fired his submachine-gun. His aim was off and bullets raked the ceiling above her head, shattering the tiles. Chunks of polystyrene cascaded around her like a heavy fall of snow. The man with the handgun fired at the troopers and hit one in the respirator. The trooper slumped to the floor, blood pouring from around his face mask.

  Andy dropped to the floor and rolled over, broken glass cutting into her flesh. She slammed into something soft and yielding and found herself face to face with the Wrestler, his eyes wide and staring, blood congealing between his teeth.

  Andy groped for his gun. Her trembling hand made contact with the handle of the weapon, but when she pulled it wouldn't come free of the holster. She remembered the strap around the hammer of the gun and felt around with her thumb. There was a rat-tat-tat of silenced gunfire followed by two distinct shots, and she heard a body crash to the floor. She looked up. The man was only feet away from her. His face split into a malevolent grin and he fired at her, point blank. Andy twisted to the side, throwing out her hands for balance, and felt the bullet sear along her outstretched arm and into her shoulder. She screamed in pain and fell backwards.

  The SAS troopers were shouting staccato commands at each other, but she couldn't make out what they were saying. There was another burst of automatic fire and the sound of bullets hitting metal.

  As Andy hit the ground she saw the man fire at an SAS trooper and hit him in the neck. The trooper twisted around as blood sprayed from the wound.

  Andy rolled, pain lancing through her injured shoulder, came up on all fours and crawled under one of the tables. Ahead of her was Green-eyes, blood pooling around her chest, her head twisted grotesquely to one side. Andy saw her gun and grabbed for it as another burst of bullets sprayed along the ceiling above her, ripping out tiles in a shower of polystyrene.

  The handle of the gun was wet with blood, and Andy seized it with both hands, rolling over until she was on her back. The man was bent low, the gun turned almost upside down so that the handle was pointing up at the ceiling. Andy squeezed the trigger, praying that the safety catch wasn't on. Her ears roared as the gun fired, again and again as her finger tensed instinctively on the trigger. Blood spurted from the man's chest and Andy kept firing. The man staggered backwards. He tried to straighten up but his body began to twitch as if electrocuted. As the room began to spin around Andy, she became dimly aware of the sound of multiple gunshots coming from all around her. The upper half of the man's body turned scarlet and the phone shattered as bullets raked across what was left of his chest, then his face disappeared in a shower of red and white and he pitched sideways.

  The last thing Andy saw was three troopers with goggles and respirators staring impassively down at her like giant insects considering their next meal.

  – «»-«»-«»The loudspeaker was suddenly silent. Then there was a man's voice. A gruff Scottish accent. 'Area secured!'

  'They're in,' said the captain, relieved.

  'Thank God for that,' said Hetherington.

  'Andy. What about Andy?' Martin peered at the monitor closest to him. There were three figures sprawled on the ground. Around them moved a dozen or so flickering green shapes.

  Captain Payne put his phone to his ear and listened, nodding and grunting. He turned to Patsy. 'Tango One and Tango Three are dead, Tango Two is dying. Tango Four is wounded but will survive. You can send in the explosive officers now.'

  Martin's mind whirled. Tango Four was alive, the others dead or dying. But which was Andy?

  Patsy came up behind him and squeezed his shoulder. 'It's okay,' she said. 'Andrea's alive. Your wife's okay.'

  – «»-«»-«»McEvoy took the mobile phone away from his ear. 'Shit,' he said.

  'What happened?' asked Canning. 'Gunfire. Then the line went dead.' Canning glowered. 'Gunfire? Are you sure?' McEvoy looked contemptuously at his partner. 'I've heard guns before, Mick.'

  Canning ran his hands through his unkempt hair. 'Maybe he'll call back.'

  'I don't think so.' McEvoy put the phone down on the coffee table. 'I think it's over.'

  Canning paced up and down. 'Shit. Shit. Shit. What the fuck are we going to do?'


  McEvoy looked at the.38 Smith amp; Wesson which was hanging in a nylon shoulder holster on the back of the sofa. Egan's instructions had been crystal clear. If the connection was cut, kill the girl. But Egan was probably dead. 'We go,' he said quietly. 'We pack up and go.' He picked up the holster and fastened it across his chest.

  'You clear the cottage, I'll check the girl's okay.'

  'I'll do it,' said Canning. 'She's still scared of you.'

  McEvoy sighed. 'You're a sad bastard, Canning. Okay, you sort the girl out, I'll put the gear in the car.'

  Canning went into the kitchen. He opened the fridge and took out three cans of Coke and a bottle of Ballygowan water. His woollen ski mask was on the kitchen table and he pulled it on. He picked up the drinks, went over to the door leading to the basement and pulled back the bolts. He groped for the light switch and found it, but when he flicked the switch the light didn't come on. He cursed under his breath and moved slowly down the stairs, softly calling Katie's name.

  He reached the bottom and peered into the gloom. 'Katie. Come here. Stop messing about.' He could just about make out the bed in the light from the open door at the top of the stairs, and he headed towards it. He heard a scuffling sound behind him and turned to see the little girl scampering up the stairs.

  Canning dropped the cans and the bottle. The glass smashed and water splashed over his feet as he rushed after her. 'George, she's coming your way!' he shouted. He took the stairs two at a time and hurtled into the hallway. McEvoy was standing there, his arms outstretched. The girl was frantically trying to pull the front door open. She hadn't noticed that it was bolted. The bolt was high up, way out of her reach. She turned and tried to run to the kitchen, but McEvoy was too quick for her. She skidded to a halt and turned, but her face fell when she saw Canning. He strode over to her and picked her up around the waist. She kicked him and beat him around the head with her little fists. 'Stop it, damn you!' Canning shouted as he carried her back down the hallway to the basement door.

  He took the stairs slowly, allowing his eyes to get used to the gloom. Katie carried on kicking him, but she was tiring and the blows didn't hurt. His shoes crunched over the broken glass and he dropped her on to the camp bed. She lay there sobbing, her knees drawn up against her chest. 'Jesus, girl, no one's going to hurt you. We're going.' He wiped his mouth with his sleeve and glared down at her.