by Terry Toler
“Another problem is that I have no way of knowing which vehicle the bomb is in,” I said. “It could be in any of them.”
“It’ll be in a van for sure.”
“Or a moving truck. You know. Like a rental car van.”
“The missile wouldn’t work anyway,” Jamie said. “Assuming you could get on the bridge with it, you can’t fire it at the first van that comes on the bridge after four o’clock. It could just as easily be an innocent. Even if you did know which car, how would you get close enough to hit it? When was the last time you fired one? What if you shot wildly and hit an office building or something or blew a big hole in the bridge?”
“I know!” I said roughly. “I’ve already ruled out the missile. It wouldn’t work. I’ve been sitting here racking my brain trying to think of something that would.”
“You need to call Brad,” she said succinctly. “This isn’t our problem. We found the bomb. You found the bomb, I mean. We can’t be expected to stop it. And if we don’t stop it and it goes off, I don’t want us to take the blame for it.”
I didn’t mind that Jamie was talking in terms of we and us. We were married now. Everything I did affected her and vice versa. And she was right. I already had the vest bombing in the lobby of the hotel on my conscience. Too many things could go wrong on this mission. I’d done my job and found the date and location of the bomb. London authorities needed to handle it.
“You also have Weaver to consider,” Jamie said. “It’s not safe to show our faces in London at the moment. If Weaver or Pok see you on a camera, who knows what might happen.”
Jamie was right on all points. Talking to her had brought clarity to the situation.
I needed to call Brad.
He’d know what to do. And I’d better hurry. Four o’clock would be here before we knew it. Not much time, considering a major car bomb was about to explode on London Bridge.
26
Safehouse
3:53 p.m.
I hadn’t been this nervous since our wedding day. Which at this point, seemed like months ago. So much had happened since that day. Two knife attacks. Two acid attacks. Two vest bombers. And now, potentially a car bomb that could explode on the London Bridge at any time.
No wonder Jamie and I hadn’t been able to consummate our marriage. Even though Jamie was feeling better, the topic hadn’t even been discussed. The last thing on our minds was when we’d get the chance to have sex for the first time. After the car bomb crisis was over, the threat of a dirty bomb hung over us like a storm cloud about to unleash a torrential downpour. Or a tornado. Or a tsunami. Truthfully, we had no idea what was in store and I was dreading finding out.
After discovering the intelligence regarding the potential London Bridge bombing, I called Brad and discussed it with him. The decision was made that Jamie and I wouldn’t go into London but would stay at the safehouse. While I wanted to resist, I knew we’d made the right call. We’d leave it for the British authorities to handle. They had the manpower and resources to deal with the threat.
Brad notified MI6 and gave them the intelligence information without revealing how I came upon it. The British intelligence service was very appreciative, and Brad even gave me a rare “atta boy.” Compliments were few and far between when it came to Brad. While I appreciated this one, it seemed premature. I had no idea if my intelligence was correct or not. Curly drilled in us not to ever celebrate early on a mission. Success was never guaranteed, and a thousand things could go wrong. Save the pats on the back for when we were back home safely.
Brad also impressed upon MI6 the importance of making it seem like the security precautions were routine. While he couldn’t reveal why, he hinted that we had someone planted in the terrorist organization. Close to the decision makers. If it were obvious we were on to them, we’d blow his cover. Brad told them the asset was too valuable to lose which warmed my heart since he was referring to me. He also relayed to them that his source had already confirmed the existence of a dirty bomb, and that if we played our cards right, we had a good chance of uncovering where and when it was going to detonate.
MI6 followed Brad’s advice and played it the right way. They set up checkpoints at every bridge. A strategic move and one that would seem routine. After all, the royal wedding was tomorrow. Pok would know security would be tight. Traffic coming in and out of London would be monitored. It wouldn’t seem at all out of the ordinary for the bridges to be the checkpoint for incoming traffic. Hopefully, Pok wouldn’t make the connection to me.
I still had eyes on him in Iran. Nothing in his actions gave me the impression that he thought he was being monitored. No precautions were being taken. He could do something as simple as put a post-it-note over the camera on his computer, and I wouldn’t be able to see a thing.
Pok did seem as nervous as I was. The closer it got to four o’clock our time, the more nervous he seemed. He was pacing back and forth like the Queen’s guard in front of Buckingham Palace. That led me to believe the intelligence was real. Something was clearly about to happen. The fact that he was pacing and not sitting with his eyes glued to the screen told me we still had more time.
My emotions were mixed. On the one hand, I had hoped I was wrong, and the bomb didn’t exist. Innocent people could be hurt. Soldiers and policemen could get caught up in the blast. On the other hand, I’d be vindicated. Weaver would have to quit harassing me. I’d be free to continue my intelligence work and find the dirty bomb.
Something I was doing anyway, while I had the chance. The afternoon hadn’t been wasted. During that time, I was able to find Pok’s actual location. It took several hours, but I tracked him to a spot just outside Zahedan, Iran, near the border of Pakistan. I gave Brad the actual latitude and longitude of the cyber lab, much to his delight.
Brad rarely showed emotion. When I told him the location, he was almost giddy. This would be a big win for him with his bosses. A confirmation that keeping Jamie and me associated with the Agency was the right thing to do. Brad had stuck his neck out for us. Without him, we might not have AJAX, the money, the jet, or more importantly, the opportunity to do what we loved. If a car bomb attack did occur, in a strange and ironic way, Brad would be vindicated for putting his trust in us. We’d be given more freedom to operate in the future and keep doing what we loved and lived for. Stopping bad guys who wanted to kill innocent people.
Jesus once said, “The poor you’ll have with you always.” It seemed like it could also be said that the terrorists, we’ll have with us always. Even though that was true, it didn’t damper my motivation to get rid of those I could. Like others who were called to help as many poor people as they could. Even if poverty and terrorism couldn’t be fully eradicated, at least we could make a dent and do our part to lessen the problem. Sometimes I wondered if we were making a dent.
Finding Pok’s location made it seem like we were. Brad said the lab was already on his radar based on suspicious activity spotted from satellites.
“Any chance we can take out the lab before tomorrow?” I had asked.
“We’re cutting it close. It’ll take us twenty-four hours to move our submarine into place so we can launch a cruise missile. We also have to get an order from the President to strike. The powers that be are waiting to see what happens with this car bomb. If your intelligence is correct, I would imagine the order will be given right away. We’re looking at tomorrow afternoon at the earliest.”
More than likely, that would be after the dirty bomb strike, but not by much. Regardless of what happened today and tomorrow, at least we were prepared to deal with Pok once and for all. This time tomorrow, he’d be a pile of ashes somewhere in Iran, and I would be able to sleep better at night.
The thought occurred to me to get on a plane, fly into Iran, and take out the lab myself. That idea was quickly dismissed. Not enough time. Also, my time was better spent in London, helping MI6 find the dirty bomb. Even if I’m able to discover Pok’s intentions tomorrow morning, that does
n’t mean we could stop it. We didn’t even know if we could stop the car bomb today.
We’d know soon.
The clock was ticking.
Slowly. But drawing closer to the time.
4:01.
Jamie and I had our eyes glued to my laptop. I felt utterly helpless to do anything about it and said as much to her.
“You did good,” she said. “I’m proud of you. Regardless of what happens. You’ve done everything you could.”
I turned my focus back to my laptop. Eight cameras were pulled up at once on the screen in separate boxes. British authorities had set up the checkpoint at Trolley Street—a good thirty yards before the entrance to the bridge. Authorities inspected vehicles and then allowed them to cross. A man with a long, metal rod with a mirror checked under cars for bombs. Foot traffic had been completely stopped, and the bridge was empty except for cars coming out of London and the periodic line of cars going in.
The problem with a checkpoint was that it became a target. There really wasn’t anything the people guarding the area could do to stop a terrorist from driving a vehicle right up to their location and exploding a bomb. The best they could do was keep it off of London Bridge and away from as many people as possible.
4:08.
Each minute that passed was more agonizing than the previous.
The scheduled time passed.
Not surprising, considering the checkpoint had bottlenecked traffic in line to go across the bridge. I had a camera view going back nearly a mile on the road leading up to the entrance to the bridge. Jamie and I were scanning each camera angle, looking for any suspicious vehicles.
I was certain Weaver, Pok, and MI6 were doing the exact same thing.
We were looking for a van or rental car truck. That seemed to be the vehicle of choice for car bombers.
4:17.
Still no signs of any suspicious vehicles. I began to wonder if my intelligence was correct. I hoped it wasn’t.
Then I saw it.
Not a van. Or a rental truck.
A two door older model pickup truck. Faded blue. It came to a stop at the end of the line of traffic. Then did a U-turn and sped away. Four men were sitting in the bed of the truck. The camera angle was from a distance, but the men had beards, longer hair, and looked middle eastern. No doubt in my mind, they were the terrorists with the bomb.
I hoped MI6 saw them as well.
The vehicle went out of camera view. Maybe they were abandoning their mission.
I had my doubts.
What was the truck doing? Were they leaving? Were they coming back? Were they going to a different location?
Before I could pull up another camera to track their location, the truck suddenly appeared back in the frame.
Going at a high rate of speed. At first, I thought it was going to ram the last car in line. Instead, it jumped the curb and drove on the sidewalk. The rims had sparks flying from them as the tires went flat.
Several pedestrians were in its path. Panicked bystanders struggled to get out of the way. One man jumped into the bushes. Another pushed a woman next to him out of the way as the truck barreled into him and dragged him several feet.
Adrenaline pulsed through me like a fire hose had been turned on at full pressure.
Jamie was on the edge of her seat. Her jaw was clenched. Her shoulders raised. Her fists balled. As if she were prepared to jump through the screen and stop the horror unfolding before our eyes.
The truck slammed into a concrete barrier a good fifty yards before the checkpoint. I grimaced as I half expected the truck to explode on impact.
The four men in the back jumped out of the bed and began running. Away from where the vehicle had come to a stop. The opposite direction of the bridge. Away from the waiting soldiers.
The driver of the vehicle tried to back up and get the vehicle moving again. The rims just spun on the concrete, sending more sparks flying. I kept expecting the explosion that hadn’t come. The sparks alone could ignite the bomb.
Soldiers with machine guns closed in on the vehicle. They opened fire. The truck was still running, but I could see the driver slumped over the wheel. The windshield was riddled with bullets. More soldiers fanned out in the street to clear people out of their vehicles and away from the threat. We could see hundreds of people running for their lives.
They had to hurry. The bomb could explode at any time. I had no way of knowing if it was on a timer or a detonator. More than likely, it was attached to the undercarriage. For a second, I wondered if we’d dodged a major catastrophe, and the bomb malfunctioned.
As if on cue, a fireball erupted on the screen. A plume of black smoke filled the sky. The truck rose twenty-to-thirty feet in the air and landed in a crumpled mess almost in the same spot where it had crashed into the barrier. I almost jumped out of my chair.
When the smoke cleared, I had a better view of the scene. Fortunately, the blast was contained somewhat by being under the truck. Only the closest cars were affected. Windows were blown out of restaurants and shops.
The surrounding restaurants normally had outdoor seating, but the authorities had wisely evacuated those areas prior to four o’clock. If not, hundreds of people could’ve been in the bomb blast. The injured seemed to be limited to the pedestrians who had been on the sidewalk when the truck barreled through.
The four men.
Where were they?
It took me nearly a minute to change the camera views. I went from camera to camera, down Borough Street, searching for them. I saw them running in the same direction but at different speeds. They appeared to have knives in their hands. It appeared that they were headed for Borough Market. A highly trafficked tourist spot.
The nightmare wasn’t over yet.
27
The British response to the terrorist attack was impressive.
Jamie and I were glued to the television for more than two hours. The four terrorists who jumped out of the truck had gone to the Borough Market armed with knives. Exactly what I’d feared. One of the men killed three people outside of a local bistro off Borough High Street. According to reports, the victims had just finished a late lunch and were exiting the restaurant when they happened upon the man. He attacked them before they had a chance to defend themselves.
The other three continued on to the market where they stabbed anyone and everyone in their way. Stories of heroism filled the airwaves as the attackers were ultimately confronted by individual bystanders who fought back. Londoners and tourists alike threw bottles and rocks at the attackers. A local restaurant owner hit one of the terrorists over the head with a chair. Another man fought one of them with his fists. He was stabbed repeatedly with a knife but kept fighting until he collapsed on the ground in a pool of blood. His condition was unknown.
A number of civilians were rushed to the local hospitals, and some were in surgery. According to the news reports, a call went out requesting blood donations, and lines were so long they were turning people away.
The four terrorists were ultimately shot and killed by British Transport Police officers who arrived at the market and confronted the men. Only eight minutes passed between the time the truck slammed into the concrete embankment, and the terrorists were killed. MI5 and MI6 had obviously kept some men hidden in the area, ready to respond. Something I was thankful for. As far as I knew, my cover was not blown, and Pok wouldn’t suspect anything.
I looked at the feed of Pok’s cyberlab and was sickened by what I saw. It looked like an office party had broken out. Pok and the Iranians were celebrating like their team had just won the Super Bowl. I wished that cruise missile could hit them right at that moment and ruin their celebration. The fact that they’d get theirs tomorrow was the only consolation. That and the bombing would’ve been a lot worse had I not discovered the plan in advance. The British authorities had mitigated the damages as well as could be expected.
Metropolitan police issued a “Run, Tell, and Hide” notice and sent it out thr
ough all of social media. The alert came on our phones within minutes of the attack. While the location of the threat was identified and we were miles away, everyone within a twenty-mile radius got the alert. An initiative put in place after previous attacks. Instructions were given to evacuate all the buildings near the London Bridge and stay clear of the area. Additionally, it said to remain calm and contact authorities if they saw anything suspicious. From the security camera feeds, I could tell people were taking their advice.
Authorities were worried about other potential attacks, but I wasn’t. It seemed to me like Pok made the splash he wanted. Tomorrow was the big day. The last thing Pok would want would be to launch so many attacks that the authorities canceled the wedding. Or severely restricted access to the point that launching a dirty bomb would be impossible. MI6 could lockdown London in a second if they wanted to.
That would blow Pok’s plan out of the water. I was certain he was done for the day.
Even with the limited nature of the attack, security was tight. The underground stations were closed and cordoned off. No one was allowed in or out of the subway station. Helicopters landed on London Bridge, and a stream of what appeared to be SAS, Special Air Service military units, filed out. The men set up a perimeter.
Police boats filled the River Thames and for the first thirty minutes, organized chaos ensued. Now they were patrolling the river, just in case. More confirmation to me that we did the right thing letting the British authorities handle the threat.
When the smoke settled, the initial reports were that eight people lost their lives, not including the five terrorists. Thirty-six people were injured. Six critically.
It could’ve been a lot worse.
***
Iran
Things couldn’t have gone better, as far as Niazi was concerned. British authorities set up checkpoints and limited the damage, but the bomb still exploded. Niazi seemed pleased which was all that mattered.
Pok wasn’t as excited. He expected to see Halee somewhere at the site. Now he wasn’t sure if Alex was watching him or not. If he wasn’t, that would throw a serious kink in his plan.