First Response (27 page)

‘Please do not do that, brother. I do not want to die, not like this.’

‘Providing everyone does as they are told, no one will die,’ said Shahid. He ended the call and Bhashir put the phone back in his waistpack, then zipped it up.

‘We are to leave in five minutes,’ said Bhashir. ‘The government has released the prisoners.’

‘So you got what you wanted?’ asked the priest. ‘You can release us?’

‘Your parishioners will be freed when we go. But you have to come with me to the airport.’ He raised his left hand and jiggled the chain that connected them. ‘I don’t have the key for this.’

‘What will happen when we get onto the plane?’ asked Morrison. ‘Will you let me go?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Bhashir.

The priest frowned. ‘How can you not know?’

‘It’s not my decision.’

‘I don’t understand,’ said Morrison. ‘Surely once you have the plane and the prisoners, you just let us go, right? And you fly off to where you’re going.’ He took out his red handkerchief again to mop his brow. ‘And where is it you’re going?’

Bhashir shrugged but didn’t reply.

‘You don’t know?’

‘Priest, you ask far too many questions,’ said Bhashir. He sighed. ‘I want a cigarette so badly.’

The priest grinned. His hand disappeared into his vestments and reappeared with a pack of Benson & Hedges and a cheap disposable lighter. Bhashir stared at the cigarette greedily. ‘I told you it was one of the only vices I’m allowed,’ said Father Morrison. ‘But I suppose the question is, how safe are we smoking while you’re wearing that bloody thing?’

‘I don’t think a cigarette will set it off,’ said Bhashir.

‘You’re probably right,’ said the priest. He flicked open the pack and offered a cigarette to Bhashir. He took it and smelt it as Father Morrison took one for himself and slid it between his lips. The priest lit Bhashir’s cigarette, then his own, and the two men contentedly blew smoke up at the ceiling. ‘This is against the law, you know,’ said Father Morrison. ‘The church is classed as a place of work so smoking is forbidden.’

‘With all that has happened today, no one is going to be charging us with smoking,’ said Bhashir.

The two men chuckled. Father Morrison noticed that one of the parishioners, a black man in his seventies, was looking at them longingly and he waved his cigarette. ‘Do you want one, Mr Donaldson?’ The man nodded. ‘Mr Donaldson is a three-pack-a-day man,’ the priest said to Bhashir. ‘Do you mind if he lights up? We often have a cigarette together outside after the service.’

‘Why not?’ said Bhashir.

‘You’re a good man, Rabeel,’ said the priest. He held his cigarette above his head. ‘Mr Bhashir has kindly agreed that the smokers among you may light up,’ he called. ‘If you do light a cigarette, please respect those who do not smoke and move away from them.’

Three of the men, including Mr Donaldson, and one of the women took out their cigarettes and shuffled along the pews to the far side of the church before lighting up.

The priest tried to blow a smoke-ring but failed. He smiled. ‘Just a thought, Rabeel. If that does go off, do you think I will go to my heaven or yours?’

‘That’s a good question, Father Sean. There are supposed to be seventy-two virgins waiting for me.’

‘You see now, that’s my problem, Rabeel. Most of the virgins I come across are nuns and, truth be told, you wouldn’t want to be spending eternity with them.’ He took a last drag on his cigarette and flicked it away. ‘Okay, let’s get this show on the road.’

‘What show?’

‘It’s an expression.’ He crossed himself and took a last look around his church, wondering if he would ever see it again.

The two men walked to the door. Bhashir undid the bolts and pushed the large oak doors open. There was a white coach parked in the road, the engine running. The front door was open. All the side windows had been blacked out. Just in front of the coach were six white police motorcycles and another four behind it.

To the left, crouched behind a police car, two armed officers were sighting down rifles at them. Beyond them were more vehicles and a cluster of policemen in fluorescent jackets. One was holding a megaphone. ‘Please move to the coach,’ boomed an electronic voice. ‘You are in no danger.’

‘Easy for you to say,’ muttered the priest.

To their right, close to a large white van, there were two men in bomb suits. They both pointed at the coach.

Bhashir headed for it, the priest following. The driver looked down at them. ‘We’re on a tight deadline so if you could hurry up I’d appreciate it,’ he said. Bhashir nodded and went up the stairs, his left hand behind him. The priest followed. ‘Come on, come on,’ said the driver.

Bhashir went to sit on the seat behind the driver but he shook his head. ‘Not that close. Move down. And get a move on.’ Bhashir walked down the coach and sat on the right-hand side, next to the window, the priest beside him. The driver closed the door. The motorcycles switched on their flashing lights, giving everyone on the coach a bluish tinge. The coach lurched forward as if the driver wasn’t used to the controls. They quickly reached forty miles an hour. Traffic had been diverted from the route and they sailed through any red traffic lights as they headed north to Wandsworth.

Kamran looked up at the main screen on the wall. It was showing a feed from Sky News, a helicopter shot of the police transport van driving down a deserted road, police motorcyclists leading a convoy of marked and unmarked vehicles. Across the bottom of the screen a headline read, ‘RELEASED ISIS PRISONERS HEADING TO BIGGIN HILL AIRPORT.’

‘They’ll be there by six,’ said Gillard, as if reading his mind. ‘The roads are being cleared along the route. Did you get the RAF sorted?’

‘All non-essential personnel have been moved out,’ Kamran confirmed. ‘There’s a parking area they can use to wait in.’

‘What will happen to the TV news helicopter? Will they be allowed to fly over the airfield?’

‘We’re closing the airport as of five thirty, so in theory there’d be no problem allowing it, but I don’t want Shahid seeing what we’re doing. If he spots the van parking at the RAF base he might realise we’re up to something.’

Gillard nodded. ‘Talk to Lisa Elphick. They can have news crews at the entrance to the airport showing the van and the coach arriving, but make it clear the helicopters have to stay away from the airport itself. The only chopper allowed above Biggin Hill is our own.’ He looked at the SAS captain. ‘Alex, your men are going to have to start thinking about moving their coach out of the hangar.’

‘How long have we got?’ asked Murray. ‘The more they rehearse, the better.’

‘What do you think, Mo?’ asked Gillard.

Kamran rubbed his chin. ‘Eight to pick up but we’re clearing the roads so an hour and a half until they’re ready to head to Biggin Hill. Southwark to Biggin Hill is about half an hour on a regular day, maybe twenty minutes with the roads cleared.’

‘That takes us past the six o’clock deadline,’ said Murray.

‘The ISIS prisoners will be at Biggin Hill by six,’ said Kamran. ‘We’re assuming that’s the deadline that has to be met. I’d suggest your men continue to rehearse until six thirty.’

Chris Thatcher stood up and waved a hand apologetically. ‘I don’t want to rain on anyone’s parade, but have you considered that this might be a way of them attacking the SAS?’

‘We’ve considered that,’ Murray said. ‘If they do detonate at the same time in the hangar, there’s a chance they could take out a dozen SAS men.’

Gillard turned to Kamran. ‘Could that be what they’ve got planned?’

‘It doesn’t seem to be how ISIS or Al-Qaeda operates,’ said Kamran. ‘They want to inspire terror so they go for civilians wherever they can. The old IRA was a different kettle of fish. They tended to attack military targets. But these jihadists are looking for shock value and they would have got that by blowing up nine different locations in London at the same time.’

‘We need to do as much as we can to protect your people, obviously,’ Gillard said to Murray.

‘We’ve got sandbags in place and our guys will stay behind them for as long as they can,’ he replied. ‘But obviously if we have to storm the coach, all bets will be off.’

Kamran’s phone rang and he answered it. It was Mark Biddulph. ‘We’ve spoken to the three passengers released from the bus,’ he said. ‘Something weird came up that I thought I should run by you.’

‘I’m listening.’

‘One of the kids says that Kash whispered something to him about condoms as he got off the bus.’

‘Condoms?’

‘I know, it’s bloody weird, right? But the boy swears blind that Kash said he wanted to know if the boy had a condom. A Durex, specifically. He asked him twice.’

‘Just as the boy was getting off?’

‘Yeah, he grabbed him and whispered in his ear.’

Kamran looked up at one of the screens on the wall, showing the feed from Tavistock Square. ‘It wasn’t “Durex” he was saying, Mark,’ said Kamran. ‘It was “duress”. He’s under duress. Somehow he’s been forced into this.’

Malik heard his name being called. ‘Sami! It’s me, Jamie. Can you hear me?’

‘I told you, I’ve nothing to say to you!’ shouted Malik. ‘Leave me alone.’

‘The coach is here to take you to the airport.’

‘What coach?’

‘The Belmarsh prisoners have been released,’ shouted Clarke.

‘It’s true,’ called Laura, from the changing rooms. ‘It’s all over Twitter. They’ve let the prisoners go and they’re on the way to the airport.’

‘It could be a trick,’ said Malik. ‘They could be lying.’ He walked slowly to the entrance of the store, pulling Zoe with him. He peered out and saw three armed policemen pointing their weapons at him. He pulled back. ‘They’re going to shoot me,’ he said to Zoe.

The phone buzzed in his waistpack and he flinched. Zoe gasped, then they both smiled ruefully as they realised it wasn’t the vest. Malik used his left hand to pull out the phone and take the call.

‘Sami, my brother,’ said Shahid. ‘It’s time to leave.’

‘They’ve agreed to let them go?’

‘Of course they have, brother. There was never any doubt. Now this is what you have to do next. You and your hostage will be taken downstairs and put onto a coach with the rest of the brothers. I will be watching, so stay alert and focused. For this to work, everyone must be on the coach, do you understand?’

‘Yes,’ said Malik. ‘But if you have the ISIS prisoners, why can I not remove the vest now?’

‘Everyone must go to the airport, Sami. Everyone. Once there and once the prisoners are on the plane, then, and only then, will it be over. Do you understand?’

‘I suppose so,’ said Malik.

‘There is no suppose so,’ said Shahid. ‘You must do exactly as I say. Disobey me and everyone dies. We are close to finishing this, Sami. We will get what we want, but you have to follow my instructions to the letter. Go with your hostage to the police. Keep the trigger in your hand and show them that you are willing to press it. Take the stairs down to the coach. Do not let them put you in the lift. Tell them to keep their distance. At least ten feet from you at all times. And even when you are on the coach, do not relax. Stay vigilant.’

‘What happens when we get to the airport?’ asked Malik. ‘I don’t want to leave the country.’

‘One step at a time, Sami,’ said Shahid. ‘Just take your hostage down to the coach.’ The line went dead.

‘What’s happening?’ asked Zoe.

Malik put the phone away. ‘It’s over,’ he said.

‘You’re letting me go?’

Malik shook his head. ‘No, you are to come to the airport with me. You will be released there.’

‘I can’t,’ she said. ‘I’m seeing my boyfriend tonight. He’ll be really pissed off.’

‘There’s no choice,’ said Malik. ‘You have to come. But it should all be over by six. You can still see your boyfriend. And you can text him and tell him you’ll be late.’ He walked towards the shop entrance, tugging at the chain so that she followed. He raised his right hand in the air. ‘Jamie, we’re coming out! Don’t shoot!’

‘No one’s going to shoot you, Sami!’ shouted Clarke. ‘Just walk slowly and keep your hands where we can see them.’

‘We’re not to use the lifts,’ shouted Malik.

‘That’s not a problem,’ said Clarke. ‘We can take you down the escalators.’

Clarke was standing next to another officer, both wearing black bulletproof vests with POLICE across the chests. Standing next to them was a figure in a green suit with a mask like a spaceman’s helmet.

‘This man will take you down,’ said Clarke. ‘His name’s Rick. He’s with bomb disposal.’

Malik stopped and waved the trigger over his head. ‘Don’t come near me!’ he shouted.

Clarke held up his hands. ‘It’s okay, Sami. Stay calm. He’s just here to escort you to the coach.’

‘Tell him to keep his distance!’ shouted Malik. He pointed at the armed police who still had their weapons trained on him. ‘And tell them to get back, too.’

‘No one is going to hurt you, Sami,’ said Clarke. ‘We’re here to help, that’s all.’

‘You can help by keeping away from me,’ said Malik.

Several more police officers emerged from the shop behind Clarke, all wearing black vests.

‘I’m serious!’ shouted Malik. ‘All of you, keep your distance!’

The man standing next to Clarke said something to the other officers and they all went back into the shop. Malik moved to the middle of the walkway. He could see inside the shop the police were using. It sold sports gear. There were more than a dozen people there, some in uniforms and some in regular clothing, but they were all wearing protective vests.

He and Zoe moved to the centre of the walkway. They looked over the railing at the lower level. There were more than a dozen officers in fluorescent jackets. ‘You all need to keep well away from me!’ he shouted.

He took Zoe to the escalator and they stood together as they went down to the ground floor. He held the trigger up in the air and shouted for them to stay back.

Jamie Clarke appeared at the top of the escalator. ‘Sami, I’m coming down!’ he called. ‘I’ll lead you out to the coach.’