While the man had been talking, more police officers and paramedics were streaming in. Asmus didn’t waste any time on talk, just waved them towards the arena.
“We have people down on the ground and others still trying to get out, just do what you can.”
Asmus liked to think he was pretty fit, but by the time he reached his destination at the front of the auditorium, he was out of breath. He didn’t stop as he spotted steps that would get him onstage. It would give him a clearer view of what was going on.
To his surprise he had noticed two paramedics already there. Finally on the stage, he ran over and saw that they were treating a blackened body on the ground.
They watched him approach, their expressions grim. Asmus spoke first. “Is this who I think it is? And how did you guys get here so fast?”
One of the paramedics replied. “In answer to your first question, yup, it’s John Ryder. I don’t know how he’s alive. The answer to your second question is we are based inside for all major events, because nowadays you never know.” He paused. “I saw what happened because I was standing in the wings. He was about to say something then there was a blinding flash of light and a huge bang. My ears are still ringing.”
Asmus immediately got on his radio to command.
“Inspector Asmus here. I have credible witnesses describing what sounds like a bomb. I think we have to assume there may be more and we have hundreds of people still in the main hall. We need the bomb squad now, and we’re going to need more ambulances.”
Chapter 4
Brian Hooley banged his fist on the table. “This is ridiculous. We’re off on a jolly to France while all hell is breaking loose back home. Can you start thinking about the quickest way back to London… and how long before we arrive in Paris?” His impatient, rapid-fire delivery, contrasted with Roper’s cool and collected response, made it seem as though entering the tunnel had induced some sort of role reversal.
Roper took his time checking details on his phone. “We’re about thirty minutes out from Paris. Going back on the train is almost certainly the quickest way. We could fly – but that would mean getting out to Charles De Gaulle and then having to get in from Heathrow.”
“I agree - get us on the next train.”
“There’s a problem with that. The booking website says there’s no more space on the train, or the next one or the one after...”
Fortunately, Hooley was getting a grip. Normally, he was the one telling Roper not to get over emotional. He realised he was feeling guilty because their trip to Paris suddenly felt like a waste of time.
“The boss should be able to pull some strings. Or at least I hope she can. I’ll text her and see if we can get on the next available Eurostar as extras, or whatever they want to call us. I don’t care if we have to stand all the way.”
“Perhaps we could travel in the driver’s compartment?”
Despite the serious circumstances, Roper’s bright-eyed response made him smile. The world could be going to hell, but Roper’s inner geek was never far away.
Hooley picked up his phone and began compiling a message for Julie Mayweather, the newly appointed Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police, or the “boss of all bosses” as Hooley called her on the rare occasions they were together and no-one else was around.
He pressed send and sank back into his comfortable seat. The sudden realisation that matters were, for the time being, out of his hands had a strangely calming effect.
“Anything on the news yet?”
“They’re just starting to run the first reports. People down at Greenwich have already been tweeting photos and comments from the scene. Scotland Yard hasn’t put out a statement yet.” Roper paused and looked intently at his phone. “The Press Bureau has just confirmed there’s a major incident. The BBC says there are dead and injured. A couple of the papers are reporting an explosion. Terrorism cannot be ruled out.”
Hooley tapped the screen on his phone.
“I’ve had nothing since Julie’s office alerted us, which makes me fear the worst. It usually means the first responders have walked into something much bigger than they expected.”
Roper turned back to his screen and sat back, his eyes going wide.
“The BBC has just put out a ‘News Flash’. O2 incident confirmed as a bomb. More devices may be hidden in building.”
He read the alert out loud, causing Hooley to groan.
“What’s going on down there? Is anyone saying who might be responsible? Please don’t tell me we have ISIS gunmen down there shooting up the victims?”
Roper shook his head. “There’s no details like that, either official or otherwise. But the BBC has put out another flash to say that people are being evacuated from the area.”
The DCI was convinced he could feel his blood pressure going up the further the train carried him from a major incident. He glared at his handset, hoping that sheer force of will could compel it to reveal what was going on and get him and Roper back to London.
The loud beep announcing he had a personal message made him jump. He stabbed at his email icon and called up the text.
“Many dead and wounded. No further details at this time. French authorities are holding a Eurostar at Gare Du Nord. There are spaces. A group of French school children were due to go out to London for a few days but that’s been cancelled in the wake of the incident.”
He didn’t recognise the name on the message but saw it was from one of Julie’s team at Scotland Yard. He acknowledged receipt and got a reply almost instantly.
“Almost certainly a device has been detonated. The Commissioner now heading for the scene. She wants you to call her when you arrive back in London. You and Roper are now officially on the case.”
Chapter 5
The young woman was dressed in the green fatigues that marked out medical responders. She was small, dark haired and nodded as Asmus talked to her. She had been working on the wounded closest to the stage when he had found her.
“My biggest concern is getting people out of here.” He looked around, his gaze taking in the activity all around the vast space. It looked chaotic but he got the sense there was order in what was happening and the earlier panic had settled into a sort of grim acceptance.
“Can you organise a check of how many people are going to need carrying out of here? The living and the dead, please. You’ll find me here when you’re ready. Just your best estimate will do, it will help me make sure all the key responder teams have the information they need. For the time being it’s down to those of us who are here right now, but that will change soon, once the more senior commanders are on site and rolling out the response.”
She didn’t waste words. “OK,” she said, running off towards one of the bigger groups of people. Asmus wanted to get everyone, including fatalities, out, but he had to be realistic and give the living priority.
He needed to take a moment to make sure he wasn’t missing something. He slowed his breathing and calmly looked around the area. He recalled a briefing he had two days ago by one of the team responsible for safety in the event of fire, or similar.
As well as pointing out the dozens of exits from the auditorium itself the man had been especially proud of two things.
“We have vents that open in the event of smoke or fumes which is a special feature of the dome. All around the perimeter are perspex shutters. In the event of emergency evacuation, they slide upwards. They’re our final emergency exits, if you like to think of them that way.
“We keep them in full operational order. The last test, supervised by me, was carried out last week without a hitch. They’re a hangover from the original design, when this place was called the Millennium Dome and being used as an exhibition space.
“Since then it’s undergone a huge makeover. The whole interior has been redesigned to accommodate the arena and all the different outlets you can see outside. It makes us one of the most interesting domes in the world.”
At the time Asmus h
ad been impressed, and as he took in the relative calm, he hoped this was a sign that the extra exits were making a difference. The way people were moving out at a steady pace suggested they were not being caught up in bottlenecks further on.
He heard loud barking and looked up expectantly. Two police handlers appeared with sniffer dogs, with two more behind. They knew what they were doing and headed off fast to quarter the area between them.
His radio squawked and a deep voice came on. “Chief Superintendent Tom Horsely here. I’m designated on-scene commander by AMIT but I’m still a few seconds out. Your Sergeant has told me what you’re doing, and I wanted to say well done. You should have the first of the bomb teams there already – and soon there’ll be more than enough officers to do everything you need.
“But there’s going to be a problem. There’s a Health and Safety assessment underway, even as I speak. You don’t need me to remind you that, if they’re concerned about the possibility of a second bomb, they’ll fall back on protocols which mean you having to pull out of the vicinity, together with any other responders who are with you.” There was distinct note of tension in his voice. “What’s your view about the possibility we might have a second bomb?”
“The honest answer is I don’t know. If I thought it was very likely, I would have pulled back already. What I can say is that the first device was very small and maybe it was only aimed at one person - John Ryder...”
There was a brief pause before the senior officer responded. “Understood. My advice is to keep doing what you’re doing and do it as fast as you can.”
With that he was gone. Asmus shrugged. He knew the officer could have ordered everyone out already. The man had just warned him he was on borrowed time.
He looked up to find the doctor running towards him. She stopped in front of him and caught her breath. “I’ve counted twenty-five bodies in the vicinity of the stage. We have a total of thirty-five injured who will need assistance. Of those, nine people are in serious to critical condition.”
It was cold comfort, but these figures were a bit better than Asmus had hoped for.
“OK. This is the situation. We need to get everyone out now, as fast as we can. Gold Command may well issue a withdrawal notice at any moment.”
He saw her face screw up with irritation and spoke urgently. While he shared her view, he knew he had to be realistic - there was no way he could ask others to risk their lives.
“There are real concerns that there might be another bomb. If they give the command to leave, that’s it. We have to go. Which is why we have to work as fast as we can.”
He thought she would argue but instead she smiled as she looked over his shoulder.
“Will that lot help?”
The Inspector turned to see a large group of paramedics trotting in. Even better they were carrying stretchers.
He turned to the doctor. “All yours.”
She ran towards the new arrivals and started issuing urgent instructions. Within minutes, the first of the wounded was being carried out.
To his relief, the Inspector realised that even the dead were being taken away. He would have hated it if a second device exploded and bodies were either damaged or had to be dug out of the rubble. There was enough pain for the families already without suffering that.
Asmus glanced up at the stage and saw that Ryder had gone. He wondered if the man was going to make it and why he had been singled out. He had always thought the entrepreneur was seen as a modern-day hero to millions.
He resisted the urge to go and check on the medical teams. They were doing their job and the numbers on the ground were thinning out. Twenty minutes had elapsed, and real progress was being made. He knew he was pushing hard but there was no other way.
Five minutes later, his radio squawked. “Tom Horesly here. I’ve managed to get you all the time I can but that’s it. We’re pulling back until we can confirm the area is safe. You need to get everyone out.”
He was gone without waiting for a reply. Asmus saw that the last few bodies were being picked up and ran over to help chivvy things along.
“OK people. We have to move out now.”
The last few paramedics ran on ahead, including the doctor – until, at last, Asmus was the final one inside and it was time for him to get out as well. He stepped smartly towards the exit. A fleeting smile crossed his face. If he got blown up, his wife would kill him.
He never reached the doors. The pressure wave picked him up and carried him back into the now deserted arena. It happened so fast that he never knew anything about it.
His family would never be the same.
Chapter 6
As her jet banked for the run into London City Airport, Valentina Ferrari made some last-minute checks on her make-up. She doubted there would be photographers around, but you never knew.
She was the current head of the European Union’s Competition Commission and next year she planned to run for the Italian Presidency. Donatella Versace had approached her and offered to be her personal dresser, so she knew she looked good.
Which she did. Her outfit today was an understated pant suit. She’d been measured for it during a trip to Washington a few months back. Donatella herself had supervised, joking that the outfit was a bargain. “You look a million dollars and it only cost $10,000.”
She reflected that the fashion boss had been more than proven right. It was the type of thing she could wear often, always look elegant, and send a message that here was a woman who meant business. Even if the price was beyond ordinary Italians.
She had flown into London as part of a wide-ranging inquiry into the technology business. Among the issues were claims that technology companies were abusing their market dominance to extract high prices from consumers – as well as abusing data protection laws.
As the plane taxied to a stop, she thought about her upcoming meeting with law makers at the House of Commons. Even though Brexit was stalling UK politics, she wanted to brief British MPs and seek their support.
After a few moments, her security detail informed her it was safe to leave via the front steps. She walked a short distance across the tarmac and into the back of a gleaming black Range Rover, with blacked out rear windows.
The Italians might make the most glorious sports cars - regrettably her surname name was the only link to the Ferrari motor company - but you had to give the Brits credit for making luxury cars to be chauffeured around in. Her vehicle was one of a matching pair with the second Range Rover carrying security people supplied by the British. They had also supplied her driver and his front seat companion as well. The cars swept out of the airport, preceded by a pair of motorcycle outriders, and an unmarked Jaguar saloon. As they headed into London, Ferrari glanced up at the towers of Canary Wharf. She never failed to be moved by the thoughts of the billions that flowed through the London financial markets.
The rest of Europe looked on enviously. The markets in France, Germany and Italy were hardly trivial but they all bowed down before the might of the City of London and its multiple layers of expertise.
Ferrari dismissed these thoughts. She wanted to go over, yet again, the key points of the report that had brought her here today. The car was so comfortable and silent that she was barely aware of the journey, and it was surprisingly smooth until they joined the Victoria Embankment at Blackfriars.
Ferrari sat in the front Range Rover, behind the motorcycles and the unmarked car, and with the second Range Rover behind her. The plan was to continue along the Embankment until Westminster, where regular traffic would be halted to allow the small convoy to sweep past Big Ben and straight into the Palace of Westminster via New Palace Yard.
Suddenly the two police riders turned right and disappeared with lights and sirens blasting.
Buried in her documents on the state of the UK economy, Ferrari was unaware of the exchange that had just taken place, nor did she notice as her driver looked in his rear-view mirror and tensed slightly. Her assistant was sim
ilarly absorbed in his reading material.
The driver murmured into his throat mic, which triggered a response from the other vehicles as people swung round in their seats to look behind them. About a hundred yards away, a pair of motorbikes were edging their way through the line of slow-moving vehicles. Both drivers were in heavy black leathers, their faces hidden behind black visors.
The bikes moved closer before they disappeared behind a red double-decker bus and stayed out of sight for the next few minutes. At last, the traffic started to speed up – and the driver of the first Range Rover realised he had been gripping his steering wheel hard.
“Has anyone got eyes on those bikes?”
“Negative,” came the response from the team in the rear Range Rover. “They’re still behind the bus, as far as we can tell.”
Somehow sensing her driver’s concern, Ferrari looked up and glanced out of the window. Moments later, she was thrown back in her seat by a surge of power as the driver hit the accelerator.
It was too late. The first motorbike was alongside them, and the pillion passenger was wielding the type of battering ram used by police to smash open doors. It made short work of the rear window, sending shattered glass into the car and covering the terrified IMF boss.
“Get down, get down! Hit the floor!” The driver was screaming at her, but stark terror froze her in place. His urgent instructions were far too late.
A long thin shard of glass had penetrated her left eye – but, even as her body started to react, the second bike was alongside them, and this time the pillion passenger was armed with a shotgun, carefully sawn off to maximise impact.
He calmly poked the weapon through the window and was relieved to see that Ferrari was conveniently still sitting there, unmoving. The gunman fired at point blank range, blowing Ferrari’s face right off and covering her screaming assistant in blood, bone and sinew.
Just Kill Them Page 2
