by Rob Wyllie
The boy had been staring at him, paralysed with fear. And no wonder, because what the boy had witnessed didn't bear thinking about. Jimmy kneeled down in front of him. 'It's Ollie isn't it? I'm Jimmy, I'm a friend of your mummy's and I'm here to help you. Is that ok?'
The little boy nodded slowly then mumbled, 'I want my mummy.'
'She'll be here soon, I promise.' He wrapped his fist around his hand and squeezed gently. At least it was a trigger, not a timer. And then, the ghastly thought. What if it was both, he wouldn't put it past these bastards. Hopefully the police would be here in a minute and then they could get his old mates from the bomb squad on the case. But what if it was also a timer? Of course it will be, that's exactly what they would do. Shit.
Hearing footsteps behind him, he spun round, but it was too late to stop her entering the kitchen, as if he could do anything about it in his current situation. She stood frozen to the spot, unable to take in the scene of utter carnage that filled her field of vision. She staggered towards the wall before throwing up.
'Maggie, just close your eyes and get the hell out of here. Now!' She turned round in the direction of his voice, bringing her son into view. 'Ollie, Ollie, my Ollie!'
'It's a bloody booby-trap Maggie. A bomb. Please don't come any closer.'
'I'm not leaving Ollie. I need to be with him, whatever happens.' Of course she was never going to leave her son to his fate, what mother would? But maybe, just maybe, her presence offered a tiny glimmer of hope.
'Look Maggie, Ollie's holding a trigger in his hand. If he opens his fist, then that's it, the bomb goes off.'
She gasped and covered her mouth with her hand.
'I know, it's a shock,' Jimmy said, 'but I need you to help me. It's the only chance we've got, ok?'
She nodded but her eyes radiated fear.
'His little hand must be hurting so I need you to take over from me so I can take a closer look at the device. I need you to speak to him and tell him how important it is not to open his hand. Just for a second. Just when we're doing the switch. Is that ok?'
She sobbed but was able to wipe the tears from her eyes with her sleeve. 'Of course.'
Kneeling down, she planted a soft kiss on her son's forehead. 'Darling, I need you to be a big brave boy. You're very good at counting aren't you?'
'Yes, mummy I am.'
'And what's the biggest number you can count to my darling?'
He gave a weak smile. 'To infinity and beyond.'
'Infinity and beyond. That's amazing my love. So when I say go, start counting and don't stop squeezing your hand until you reach infinity. Can you do that for me?'
'Yes mummy.'
Jimmy gave her a silent thumbs-up. 'Just move your hand over mine. Once Ollie starts counting I'll slip mine out of the way and you can take over.'
She nodded. 'Ok, Ollie, are you ready? To infinity and beyond. One-two-three- go.'
Deftly, Jimmy slipped his hand away to be replaced in an instant by Maggie's. Mission accomplished. He kissed her gently on the cheek and whispered 'It's going to be all right.' He kept telling her that. He just wished he believed it. Now all he needed was a pair of scissors and a massive dose of luck.
And then he remembered that he had the number of Private Alex Marley tucked away in his phone book. Thank god, she answered on the first ring. 'Sir, long time no speak. It's great to hear from you again. What are you up to, enjoying civvy street?' As upbeat as ever.
'Well actually you might be interested to know I'm standing in a hundred-grand Hampstead kitchen trying to figure out how to disarm another bloody IED. I need your help.'
Instantly the cool professional soldier kicked in, her voice taking on an urgent tone. 'Roger sir, can I have a summary of the situation?'
'Looks like a standard IRA Semtex package, eight-wire device with a trigger and probably some sort of internal timer wired up as a booby trap. Seen anything like it before?'
'Yes, I think we have sir. Eight wire, did you say?
'Yeah, that's right.' He shot an encouraging glance at Maggie.
'That's fairly good news then sir.'
'It is?' He had to admit that he wasn't seeing much upside at that moment.
'Yeah, so they would have used two wires for the timer circuit and two for the trigger. That means there are only four decoys.'
'Hang on a minute. Does that mean...'
'...fifty-fifty chance sir. Much better than the two out of eight that we normally get.'
'And that's supposed to be good news?'
'Yes sir. I'd best let you get on. Over and out.'
So that was what it now came down to. The lives of Maggie, her son and his own resting on a fifty-fifty throw of the dice, or more accurately, a fifty-fifty snip with a pair of scissors. But as Marley had said, nothing to do but get on with it.
'Scissors!' he barked. 'Where are they kept?'
'I used to keep them in the top drawer. Just left of the hob,' Maggie shouted.
He'd forgotten this was no longer her home. He just hoped Angelique hadn't had a reorganisation. Yanking open the drawer, he rummaged around in the untidy pile of utensils. There they were, thank heavens for that. Two steps and he was back in the pantry, where Ollie was still counting in a lilting rhythm '...sixty-five, sixty-six, sixty-seven...' He hoped to hell he would reach one hundred.
He dropped to the ground, laying on his stomach so that he was eye-level to the device. Eight wires, colour-coded, but the problem was only the bomb makers had the key to the code. He shuffled up close, squinting hard to focus on the gap where the wires emerged from the buff-coloured padded envelope. It was hard to be sure, but was there the tiniest of gaps between the first two wires and the remaining six? He looked again. Yes, it was only a fraction of a millimetre but there was a definite gap. He spun onto his back, pulled out his phone and called Marley again, spitting out the question.
'Would we expect the wires to the battery to be next to one another?'
Her reply was instant. 'Yes sir, it's the only way they could route them. Problem is, you usually can't tell which two by looking.'
But maybe today, they had got a lucky break. Trouble was they wouldn't get to know if he was wrong. And now it was the moment of truth.
'Maggie, I'm going to cut the wire. You know what that means. You should say your goodbyes to Ollie. Just in case.'
But there was nothing to say. He knew she loved him more deeply than any love in the history of the universe, and saying it wouldn't make it any truer. Besides, it was all going to be fine. Fifty-fifty. Given the shit she had been through in the last eighteen months, surely this time the fates would take pity on her.
'We're good. Cut it Jimmy.' She closed her eyes and rested her cheek against Ollie's.
This was it. Decision time. He had no idea where it came from, but bizarrely he began to hum a familiar lilting tune. Que sera sera, whatever will be will be. Red and green, it had to be these two. Cut either, or both, and you cut the power to the detonator. Bomb disarmed, job done. He positioned the blades over the two wires, being careful to move the others well out of the way. Come on man, just do it. Unless you want the timer to do it for you anyway. He tightened his fingers on the grip and squeezed hard, looking away, as if that was going to make any difference. Snip. And then nothing. Glorious, sweet, life-affirming nothing.
He ripped the package off the leg of the chair and slid it along the floor until it rested against the back wall of the pantry. Wrapping his arms around the chair, he picked it up with Ollie still tied to it. The boy was still counting '... ninety-eight, ninety- nine, one hundred.'
Jimmy beamed a huge smile at him. 'A hundred. That's amazing mate, you can stop now. Come on Maggie, time to get out of here.' As if she needed to be told. They struggled down the hallway, reaching the front door just as the shriek of sirens announced the arrival of the Met, led by Jill Smart and Frank Stewart.
'Christ what's happened here?' Frank asked. 'C'mon, let me help you with the boy.' Gently, they l
aid the chair down on the driveway.
'Wouldn't rush in there if I was you,' Jimmy cautioned. 'Bit of a mess. And you need to call the bomb squad fast.'
Maggie was feverishly trying to free her son from his bonds, but not making much progress. From the depth of a trouser pocket, Frank retrieved an old-school flick knife.
'Allow me madam.' With a couple of expert slashes, Ollie was free.
There were of course hugs and kisses and tears and thank-yous, and chilling cold sweats when they each contemplated what might have been. For Jimmy, there was overwhelming relief that he hadn't lost another one. For Maggie, the weird realisation that the murder of her husband of eight years had triggered no emotion whatsoever. For now at least. Perhaps the eighteen months of sheer hell had shredded her capacity to feel anything, but whatever it was, right now she was glad he was dead, and Angelique too. Meanwhile, little Ollie was still counting. To infinity and beyond.
The ambulances had arrived to take them to the Royal Free. For Maggie and Jimmy, the injuries were merely psychological, as if that wasn't bad enough. Ollie would need a couple of stitches above his eye and an x-ray of that cheek to make sure there were no broken bones. As to the impact on his little mind of the unspeakable horrors he had witnessed, that would have to wait until the hoards of counsellors and psychologists were sent in to do their work. Tonight, for the first time in over eighteen months, he would sleep under the same roof and in the same room as his mummy, and for both of them, it was a heavenly bliss that could not be described in words.
For the professionals of law-enforcement, late on the scene but relieved that events had turned out well, there was now only one priority, as voiced poetically by Detective Inspector Frank Stewart.
Where the fuck was Dr Tariq Khan?
Chapter 30
You could do a lot of things in Department 12B that you couldn't do over at Paddington Green nick. Things like giving two amateur investigators a fake pass to Atlee House and a quiet desk in the corner.
'Does Jill know about this?' Maggie asked as Frank led them down the warren of corridors to the depressing open-plan space they had newly-christened the Operations Room. DCI Smart had decamped to Paddington to head up the case leaving Frank behind, 'nominally in charge of the office' as she had described it.
'Yes, of course,' he lied. 'Tough case like this, we need all the resources that we can lay our hands on.' That much at least was true.
'Did you see her on the news last night? Did a good job I thought. A telly natural.' After the horrifying murder of Saddleworth and his daughter, no stone was being left unturned in the search for the missing Dr Khan, and DCI Smart had decided that a direct appeal to the public was called for. As well as the televised police press conference, photographs of the missing scientist would be plastered on every vacant wall from Lands End to John O' Groats, although logic suggested that he would be holed up somewhere in the North West, close to where he grew up, it being an established fact that fugitives from justice were generally picked up close to their own manor. Not that Khan was exactly fleeing justice, but broadly speaking the same rules applied.
Now Frank was revealing that he had that morning spoken with a detective constable with the Gloucestershire force who had been sent to interview Khan's wife. Contrary to his expectations, Mrs Khan had not denied knowledge of her husband's whereabouts, but was adamant that she would never reveal the location where he was hiding. When asked, politely according to the officer's account, to hand over her phone, she had consented, adding something along the lines of did they think she would be so stupid as to make that sort of school-girl error. Subsequent review of her phone logs, both mobile and landline, had revealed no calls to or from his phone since he had disappeared. Similar scrutiny of those of his three teenage daughters had also drawn a blank. Social media, the same. This was one disciplined operation.
'Take her in to a quiet interview room and water-board her' had been Frank's helpful advice, the slow-witted yokel DC responding in all seriousness that they didn't do things that way in their neck of the woods.
'Doesn't she realise the danger they are all in?' Jimmy said. 'I'd be shitting myself if I was them given what has been happening.'
'The local plod says she's in complete denial about all of it. But they're posting twenty-four-hour surveillance at the house and also keeping tabs on the kids’ school. Don't worry, they are taking this very seriously.' He sounded more convincing than he actually felt.
Eleanor Campbell swung by their desks, noisily sucking up the dregs from a grande strawberry milkshake. She pointed to the new occupants of the corner desks.
'Who are these two?' Frank might have known that little miss I'm-not-doing-anything- until-I've-got-the-form-signed-in-triplicate would sniff out anything irregular.
'Work experience students.'
'Does Jill know about this?'
The lie was much easier the second time around. 'Of course she does Eleanor. Naturally.'
'I can like easily check.'
Maggie stood up and reached out her hand. 'Maggie Bainbridge. You must be Eleanor Campbell. Frank has told me so much about you. All good, I hasten to add.'
'Oh has he?' Her expression visibly softened.
'Technical genius he says you are.' With a twinkle in his eye, Jimmy looked at her and smiled his devastating smile. 'I'm Jimmy Stewart, it's great to meet you. A real pleasure.' That was the clincher. Eleanor was in, no matter what roguery Frank was planning. She perched herself on the edge of his desk and expertly propelled the empty cup into the waste bin.
'I assume you guys are looking for that Khan dude right?'
'You assume correctly,' Frank said, 'along with the whole of the Met, MI5, MI6 and every other police force in the land. Don't tell me you've started watching the news?'
She looked horrified. 'No way. But Khan is one real sick dude. I've got his three-point-four and it rocks.'
'I think sick is a term of approval Frank,' Jimmy said. Eleanor looked at him suspiciously, unsure if he was taking the piss or not.
'Three-point-four? What's that?' Maggie asked.
'It's his new version. Just beta and so it's pretty buggy but it's got some awesome features.'
'Ah right,' said Jimmy, beginning to cotton on, 'this is some software of Dr Khan's, is that it?'
'That's it. He put it up on the dot-gov secure download site so that we hackers could try and break it. It like takes face rec to a whole new level. It's now got enhanced landmark processing, family recognition search, cell synchronisation and public CCTV integration right out of the box. It's like, wicked.'
Frank furled his brow. 'Has anybody got a bloody clue what she's talking about? Can you run that past us again Campbell, this time in English.'
She threw him a pitying glance. 'There's a limit to how simple you can make it mate, and I think you're way below that limit. But I'll try and give you the idiot's version.'
Frank ignored the insult. 'Can't we just see this magical three-point-four? Like, on a screen?'
'No chance. It's classified. And these two certainly can't.'
Jimmy spoke softly. 'I understand totally Eleanor...' He lingered on her name, '... but it would really help us to understand what it's all about. We won't tell anybody, honest.' Frank smiled as he saw her resistance start to crumble.
'Well ok then. Come over to my lair.'
Her desk was surrounded by a wall of wide-screen monitors, four wide and two deep, like she was running a NASA mission control franchise. Frank guessed that she was interpreting their amazed expressions as envy.
'Great for gaming. Not that I'm into that. As if.' She rattled a few instructions into the remote keyboard and a left-hand screen filled with a face shot of a bearded man of South Asian appearance. 'Dr Tariq Khan in person. Well, not in person, but you know what I mean.' Alongside the image, a table revealed his personal details, date of birth, address, occupation, passport number, bank accounts and much more besides. 'I think he's hacked GCHQ's HR database to
harvest some test data. All his colleagues are on there. Bad man.' It was a compliment.
'So, nice and secure then?' Maggie said. The irony was wasted on Eleanor. She clicked a button and immediately Khan's face was painted with an intricate array of dots and gridlines. 'That's three-point-four's new landmark algorithms. Twice the resolution of three-point-three and nearly up to Chinese standards. And it's got an ethnicity differentiation processor now too. We don't think Beijing can do that yet.'
'Duh?' Frank said.
'Ethnicity differentiation. The old version only worked reliably on white faces.'
'This is awesome,' Jimmy said. 'And what about all that other stuff you talked about, are you able to show us any of that?'
She threw him a glance that said for you, anything. 'Sure. Where did you say this guy was from again?'
'Blackburn. That's in Lancashire.' Frank was pretty certain that Eleanor would never have heard of it.'
'Lancashire. That's in England, right?' A couple of clicks and she was scrolling down a selector box headed CCTV Integration. 'There it is, Blackpool'.
'Black-burn.'
'Whatever.' Another click, and a video feed from what looked like a shopping mall appeared on one of the monitors.
'Is this live?' Maggie asked.
'Pseudo live. There's about a ten-second delay for the servers to process the images and make it available to the network.'
'Good to know,' Frank said.
'So just remember this is a beta version, so it might not work, but we'll have a go anyway.'
She clicked a button labelled 'Match' and then leaned back in her chair. A few seconds later red-bordered boxes started to appear above the head of each of the shoppers captured in the video. Inside each box were two numbers, one labelled Mobile and the other Match %.