by Guy N Smith
‘That's ok by me.’ Richardson cocked his head to one side. ‘I think I hear a vehicle pulling up outside. That will be the delivery I was telling you about, the bombs. Follow me.’
Outside a somewhat dilapidated, small van was parked up against the kerb. The worn lettering on the side stated that it belonged to 'W. Johnson, Decorator'. The occupant wearing soiled denims and a frayed cap had just vacated the driver's seat.
‘That's Williamson, at least that's what he calls himself,’ Richardson muttered to Mayo. ‘He was up here the other week delivering some firearms and ammunition.’
The man who called himself Williamson nodded to the others. ‘A couple of boxes for you, doubtless you've been expecting them.’ He moved to the rear of the vehicle, unlocked the double doors. ‘They're not particularly heavy, you can manage to carry one each.’ Which meant that he was not coming indoors. ‘I've got to get back to London. Another delivery.’
The cartons were fastened with strong brown tape partly obscuring some labels which stated that they had once contained biscuits from a wholesaler. Mayo lifted the heavier and larger one, Richardson took the other.
‘Our leader will doubtless be checking on their safe arrival,’ the man was already moving back to the cab. He had no intention of prolonging his call. ‘I'll see you next time there's a delivery,’ he slammed the door as he spoke, started the engine.
Richardson carried the smaller container, Mayo followed him indoors with the larger, through the main room to a smaller one at the rear, the door of which the former unlocked. It was lit by a small bulb in the ceiling which revealed a shelf wall containing numerous boxes.
‘Our armoury,’ Richardson explained, ‘all stocked for the day when the uprising begins.’
On a lower shelf was a selection of knives, large ones of the general household variety, their blades glinting where they had been honed to razor sharpness.
‘Let's have a look at these bombs,’ the smaller of the two men produced a penknife. ‘We need to familiarise ourselves with their working before they are put into operation.’
Both were of metal construction, the larger one cased in a flimsy container with wires and an instrument panel. The lid of the main container had a simple switch to open and close it. Richardson clicked it back, lifted the lid to reveal tightly packed flaked material.
‘I don't know what type of explosive it is,’ he stated. ‘I'm not versed in the details but we set this panel here to a date and time and that should do the trick. The most difficult part will be hiding it close to the cathedral, their security is top-notch. We'll have to make a visit along with all the sightseers first, work out how we're going to do it. It won't be easy.’
The smaller of the two bombs was cylindrical and had a belt attached to it. ‘That's for strapping around the waist,’ Richardson stated the obvious. ‘Then all the guy carrying it has to do is to press that switch and hey presto he and those in close proximity will be blown to smithereens!’ There was a small catch which opened the device, somewhat nervously he flipped it back. The interior was packed with the same pale coloured flakes of high explosive. He snapped the lid closed, let out a deep sigh.
‘I'm glad we're working together,’ there was no mistaking the relief in Richardson's voice. ‘The setting up of the cathedral bomb will be the most tricky part. As I said we'll have to sense it out first and then work out how we're going to do it.’
‘That's fine by me.’
‘Oh, and just a thought. In case anything should happen to me I'll give you the spare key to the armoury. We can't afford any slip-ups. Now, you're going into town to do some shopping so I'll leave you to it. D' you think it's wise to walk around in that garb wearing that big hat in broad daylight?’
‘I think it could be advantageous in the long run,’ Mayo replied. ‘I will probably draw a few curious glances from Joe public but these gangs who have moved in may well see me as a prospective ally. After all, we've got to get as many of them as possible working with us. So if they see me in the daytime they may well make contact after dark, just a thought.’
‘I'll leave it up to you, John.’
Shortly afterwards John Mayo set off for town. Already a plan to fail the proposed Spring Bank Holiday massacre was germinating in his mind. The fate of hundreds of innocent people was at stake.
Chapter Seven
Mayo did not hurry, sauntered down the wide streets until he reached the city centre. The shops were busy, there was a queue at the butchers.
He was aware of curious sidelong glances from those around him. His shrewd gaze flicked over those he passed. There was no sign of any who might have belonged to the drug gangs which were moving into the area, at least none who were recognisable as such. They were lying low by day, would emerge after dark.
He bought some cigarettes, then entered a shop which offered an array of general goods for the average householder, umbrellas, and various containers for the kitchen. His searching gaze picked out a selection of shopping bags in all sizes for the convenience of the housewife. He moved to examine these, and found that which he was seeking, a large vinyl one that would accommodate a sizable purchase at a supermarket. He bought it and moved on.
A pet shop offered everything which the animal owner might need, dog and cat food of innumerable brands, dog leads of all types and lengths, a selection of rubber bones and other toys.
‘Can I help you, sir?’ An assistant came from behind the counter.
‘Yes, I'd like some cat litter of the clumping variety, a sizable bag, if you've got one, or two smaller bags.’ Mayo held up his recently purchased shopping bag. ‘I'll carry it in this.’
‘Ah, this will suit you, sir,’ the other lifted up a 10kg sack, eased it into the bag which Mayo held open. ‘Have you far to carry it?’
‘My car's not far away,’ Mayo lied. ‘I'll be fine.’
He left the shop, set off on the long walk back to his temporary base. On the way, he paused at a convenience store, purchased some packet of biscuits, enough to hide the contents of his heavy shopping bag.
Fortunately, on his return there was no sign of either Richardson nor the other occupants of the house. He entered his small room, pushed his recent buy beneath the bed. Only then did he let out a sigh of relief. His mission had been successful, the next stage would be more tricky. He stretched out on the bed, relaxed.
Sometime later the door creaked open. It was Richardson who stood there, a strained expression on his scrawny features. ‘Done your shopping?’ he grunted.
‘Yes, just a few things I needed.’
‘Zinovsky called me whilst you were away. He was just checking that the bombs had arrived safely. And one other thing,’ Richardson grimaced, ‘he is coming here for the Spring Bank Holiday. He wants to witness the devastation, multiple deaths. I half expected it.’
‘Well, he doesn't bother me.’
‘Not right now because you're useful to him. But one mistake and you'll end up crucified like that copper. And don't forget, he has connections with Satan!’
‘I'll bear it in mind.’
‘Anyway, tomorrow we'll have a walk up to the cathedral, see where we can hide the bomb. That will be the trickiest bit.’
‘I'm sure we'll manage.’
With the approach of evening, Mayo retired to his room, stretched out on his makeshift bed. There were around a dozen others in residence, he could hear their voices from downstairs, an aroma drifting up from the pot smokers.
It could be a long wait before he put the next part of his plan into action. He relaxed, there was no hurry. He heard Richardson mounting the stairs, his footsteps along the adjacent passage as he made his way to his room to retire for the night.
More movements downstairs as some of the others headed for their sleeping quarters. He wondered about Gemma Jones; there was no sound from the opposite room. Hopefully she was asleep.
Finally, he made a move, crept out of his abode, tiptoed downstairs. The main room was empty.
/> He returned upstairs, dragged the heavy shopping bag out from beneath his bed. He experienced a fleeting sense of tension, the last thing he needed was to meet one of the others.
Back downstairs he headed through the smoke-filled kitchen to the door of the 'armoury'. He felt in his pocket to reassure himself that he still had the spare key to the door. In his other pocket his handgun nestled, if he was discovered then he would have no alternative but to use it.
He unlocked the door, closed it after him and switched on the light. On the shelf in front of him were the two boxes containing the bombs. He extracted the larger one first, placed it on a nearby packing case.
He paused, listening. Silence.
He withdrew the small fastener and lifted the lid, viewed the flaked contents. A sigh of relief because to some extent they resembled the cat litter in the bag at his feet. There were several empty cardboard boxes in a pile under the shelving, he selected one, opened it and carefully poured the contents of the bomb into it. That done, he replaced them with the pet products, pouring slowly and carefully until the device was filled. He clicked the catch shut and gave a sigh of relief and satisfaction as he placed it back on the shelf.
The smaller bomb followed suit. That done he put the remnants of the litter back in the shopping bag followed by the explosive material.
His first step was completed. He opened the door, switched off the light and locked up. On tiptoe, Mayo returned to his abode and hid the bag beneath the bed. On his next nocturnal roam, he would smuggle it out and dispose of it in a place of safety. In all probability, anyway, it would be harmless away from the connection within the originated containers.
Hardly had he stretched out on his bed when he heard the door immediately opposite click and crack open. Doubtless that was Gemma Jones needing the loo at the far end of the passage. He had not so much as glimpsed her for days. In all probability she had sought refuge in her room now suddenly finding the present rough company not to her liking. Maybe her original dream was turning sour.
Now what? He drew a deep breath, let it out slowly. There was a pause and then the door creaked open. The light on the landing revealed what was clearly a very nervous Gemma Jones, her mousy coloured hair uncombed, a dressing gown draped around her thin figure.
‘I'm... I'm sorry to disturb you,’ she spoke in a whisper, ‘but I was wondering if… if we could have a chat… I need to talk to somebody and… and you're not like that lot here… nor Richardson.’ She glanced behind her as if she feared that the latter might suddenly appear.
‘Come inside,’ John Mayo swung his legs on to the floor, ‘and close the door behind you.’
There was an uneasy pause, she stood there wringing her hands together, looked up and down the landing.
‘Well,’ Mayo broke the silence, ‘you don't need to be afraid of me. How can I help you?’
‘I… I,’ Gemma stepped into the room, clicked the door shut behind her. ‘I'm very much afraid, Mister Mayo.’
‘Call me John. Well you'd better tell me all about it.’
‘I've been very foolish,’ she licked her lips nervously. ‘I… I didn't realise what all this was about. It sounded great, overthrowing those who rule the UK, make all the laws, tread on the ordinary folk. Richardson has tried to radicalise me but I hate him for it. I don't want any part in mass murder. He boasted that they are planning to blow up the cathedral, and a suicide bomber into the crowds on Market Street on the Spring Bank Holiday. John… I want to go back to my home in Wales.’
‘Then why don't you just scarper after dark when everybody's asleep?’
They'd find me, hunt me down,’ she was close to tears. ‘I know too much. They would kill me.’
‘What's your name?’ The last thing he wanted her to know was that MI5 had her on file, had shown him a photograph of her.
‘Gemma, Gemma Jones.’
‘How old are you, Gemma?’
‘Twenty last birthday.’
‘I see. Well, maybe I can help you. I think we can work together.’
‘You're different from the rest of this scum, John.’
‘Many thanks, that's a big compliment. I just drifted in here and Zinovsky wants me to assist Richardson.’
‘He's a bastard. He… he's already raped me.’ Her voice trembled, she was close to tears. ‘Is… is there any way you can help me. I just want to go back to my folks.’
‘Maybe,’ he stroked his chin, became deep in thought. ‘Tell you what, there's no reason why we shouldn't have met as your room is opposite to mine. He wants us to have a nosey around the cathedral, look for somewhere this bomb can be hidden. I reckon if you came with us we could create a family appearance as far as the security blokes are concerned. You know, dad and daughter, Richardson an uncle accompanying us.’
‘Urgh! So what do we do? I don't want to be part of mass murder.’
‘Could you trust me? I'm not one of them in the true sense. Just a hanger on.’
‘But Zinovsky has chosen you to assist Richardson in mass murder!’
‘That's how it seems. If I said it won't happen would you believe me? But I am not going into details. Just accompany us on reconnaissance of the cathedral and leave it at that for now.’
‘All right,’ she nodded. ‘I'll go along with you.’
‘Good. I will fix it with Richardson.’
The following morning dawned warm and sunny. Richardson was already in the kitchen area along with half a dozen bleary eyed youths when Mayo went down.
‘I guess we can do a recce of the cathedral today,’ the other looked up. ‘Best if you don't wear that big hat and draw attention to yourself. I'll find you another.’
‘Fair enough. By the way, I've been making some plans. We don't want to draw attention to ourselves, so I've been chatting to Gemma. She's agreeable to accompany us. With luck we'll be passed off as father and daughter accompanied by an uncle. That way we won't arouse suspicion.’
‘Hmm,’ Richardson looked thoughtful. ‘Well, maybe it's a good idea. I'm working on Gemma, she's becoming radicalised, one of us. I shagged her; you wouldn't believe it but in her early twenties she was still a virgin!’ He sniggered. ‘No more, I reckon that fuck was a turning point in her life. She's no longer mummy's little darling, like us she wants to see the UK overthrown, under jihadist rule.’
Mayo disguised his revulsion. What a bastard Richardson was!
‘This right-wing lot have got to be wiped out,’ the other continued. ‘Nazis and jihadists will never mix even though both hate democracy. Zinovsky is working on that, along with Hamza bin Laden, so he told me the last time he was up here.’
Mayo nodded. ‘He's got the right idea.’
‘Too true. And don't forget that he's a Satanist. The Master will guide him. There's going to be some corpses and,’ he sniggered, ‘body parts littering the streets before this is over.’
‘We'd better make a move,’ Mayo's appetite for breakfast had waned. ‘I'll go and get Gemma.’
Chapter Eight
Mid-morning saw the trio trudging through the side streets towards the city centre. Richardson led the way with Gemma and Mayo at his heels. The latter had exchanged his fedora for a somewhat worn cap which had been loaned to him. He retained his jacket and trousers, after all some of the shoppers wore black jeans and dark tops.
In Market Street, Richardson paused to survey the scene of the proposed smaller bomb.
‘Ali Amani, that's the slim guy with the broken nose,’ he spoke to his companions in a low voice, ‘has volunteered to blow himself up amidst the crowds.’ He gave a short laugh. ‘A really dedicated member of our lot. I shall miss him but it's all in a good cause.’
Mayo glanced behind him, viewed the towering statue of the famous Dr Johnson on the cobbled square. On the opposite side of the street was the great man's birthplace, a house which has now become a Museum. History as well as lives would be destroyed if the proposed explosion went ahead.
They walked alongside the
Minster Pool. Mallard and half a dozen Canada geese were resting on the water, quacking and honking contentedly. The Cathedral Close was crowded, tourists taking photographs and admiring the magnificent edifice. People were entering and leaving through the wide open doorway.
‘What's going on there?’ Mayo halted, watched a group of workmen clad in overalls hacking with pickaxes at the slab walkway to the left. A sizable heap of broken paving stones was piled up nearby.
‘Looks like they're renewing the broken slabs,’ Richardson answered. ‘Just in case the visitors trip over.’
‘Let's take a closer look,’ Mayo moved ahead of his companions.
A couple of labourers struggled to extricate another slab, heaved it onto the sizable heap of extricated ones.
‘Warm work,’ Mayo spoke casually to the nearest worker.
‘You can say that again,’ the labourer mopped his brow with a soiled handkerchief. ‘This should have been done weeks ago. The bloody clergy are worried about somebody tripping over, breaking an arm or leg and suing them. We've got to replace these with this lot before the holiday,’ he indicated a couple of piles of replacements. ‘They can't collect the rubbish until after the holiday so there'll be a heap of smashed slabs on every photo the visitors take. Still, that's not our worry.’
‘Anyway, you're doing a fine job,’ John Mayo moved away.
‘Well, we'd better go inside,’ Richardson was already moving towards the entrance.
‘We don't need to,’ Mayo halted him in his tracks.
‘But... but we've got to look for a suitable hiding place for the big one.’
‘We don't need to. I've already found it and you couldn't have a better one. It makes our job much easier and far less risky. Those broken slabs are excellent cover.’
‘I'm going to relax by the Pool for an hour or so,’ Mayo announced as they left the crowded Cathedral Close. ‘I need a breather in the fresh air.’
‘Well, I've got work to do,’ Richardson announced. ‘There's a very promising youth joining us. One of our contacts is bringing him over from Dudley. He could be very useful to us on our next mission.’
