Dreams to Die For

by Alan G Boyes

  “Sir, I do of course concede that my two local senior officers, Maythorp and Curry, would not previously have encountered anything on the scale of this outrage, but they have enormous local knowledge and are excellent men. I am not sure if you are aware of the particular area, Chief Commissioner, but that knowledge will be absolutely vital.”

  Roberts did not know the area.

  “Possibly then, Sir, you are worried because Maythorp only carries the rank of chief inspector, not that of commander?”

  “Well, it had crossed my mind that given the sort of media exposure these events generate, it might be better for you to request someone of higher rank. I would be happy to facilitate that.”

  “Thank you, Sir, but with great respect it is not the number of flashes on the jacket that matter. Maythorp is our central area commander, despite having only the rank of chief inspector. He has passed every examination and been recommended for promotion several times, but he will not move outside of his beloved Highlands. It is not his ability that has curtailed his rank, but geography. Despite my personal recommendation, the last appointments review refused to raise his rank for the area he polices.”

  Roberts was rapidly realising that Duncan’s reputation was well-deserved and he was determined not to let the persistent Scottish colleague dictate the command structure. Duncan, also, was becoming concerned at the nature of the conversation. He did not wish to risk a confrontation with the chief commissioner. Roberts mixed in important circles and Duncan was aware that a word dropped in the ear of someone in Whitehall could see him sent on assignment to head up the training of a fledgling police force in some goddam Third-World country that had recently converted to something approaching democracy. Not his idea of fun. Duncan was also cognisant of the longer-term implications of the situation. If he asked for another commander to come in and take over, Duncan himself would be Bronze or Silver commander, when he should rightly be Gold. That could have unfavourable repercussions in any subsequent grading review, but in any event, he reasoned, how would Maythorp and the northernmost constabulary ever receive recognition for higher rankings if he now declined the so called ‘challenge’ spoken of by Roberts? He had an idea.

  “I shall, of course, take on the responsibility of Gold Command and for the reasons I have outlined, Keith Maythorp should head up Silver. John Curry should therefore be Bronze commander but perhaps the chief commissioner could spare a high-ranking ATU officer experienced in real front line situations to assist Curry. After all, Curry will be at the sharp end of all of this. It might be good for the press to know we put a top man there, alongside the expertise of the local chap.” Duncan spoke firmly, but not arrogantly.

  The chief commissioner smiled thinly, highly appreciative of Duncan’s cool assessment of both the tactical situation and the wider political implications and responded positively, “Detective Superintendent Bill Ritson of the ATU would be ideal. He has a lot of knowledge of this case and prior to joining ATU was a highly experienced Serious Crimes officer here in the Met. I will ensure he is tasked with joining up with Curry as soon as practicable. Thank you for the suggestion, Peter.” The Commissioner silkily replied, unruffled, charming.

  Duncan lost no time in contacting Chief Inspector Keith Maythorp at Fort William, informing him that he would lead Silver command and be responsible for tactical decisions and that Inspector John Curry was to head Bronze command. Curry was therefore the operational Bronze commander, the man in charge on the ground, the man at the scene of the attack. Duncan left the mention of Ritson’s appointment until the end of the brief conversation. There was no complaint from Maythorp.

  The Home Secretary had already decided to chair the Cabinet Office Briefing Room (COBR) unless the Prime Minister decided to intervene and do so himself. So far, he had declined. The COBR, sometimes referred to as Platinum command, role was to liaise closely with the Strategic Co-Ordination Group (SCG) headed by the Gold commander. The Home Secretary had gathered around him the chief commissioner of police, the heads of both MI5 and MI6, a senior representative from each of the remaining emergency and rescue services and a few trusted very senior civil servants. The Scottish Secretary from the UK government was in attendance and the Deputy First Minister from the devolved Scottish Government would be arriving within an hour. Two secretaries, whose role would be to ensure the huge white boards were written up with every development and time logged, plus some ancillary administrative help, completed the group. Urgency had been vital in setting up the command structures but it had still taken over an hour before all were in place.

  The Emergency Support Unit (ESU) is area-based throughout Great Britain and is always on a high state of readiness to be deployed once Bronze and Silver command have identified what particular resources are required. The ESU principally aims to put in place as much technical support as is needed by the command structure and to provide quality and up-to-date intelligence. It is staffed mainly, but not exclusively, with police officers who have received highly specialised training in a particular function, discipline or skill, and can, in extremis, include experts from outside the force. ESU personnel can be rapidly brought together and carry with them a vast array of technical equipment, often utilising specially adapted vehicles. Their luggage varies according to requirements but routinely will include silent drills for boring through walls into which minute cameras and microphones can be placed enabling the police to see and hear exactly what is happening inside a barricaded or closed room. Mobile cameras, electronic jamming devices and a plethora of other sophisticated gadgetry can also be deployed, along with items such as computers, lighting and noise generators. Trained riot control officers, hostage negotiators, explosive experts and so on, can all be part of an ESU task force. The TSG (Territorial Support Group) is the manpower equivalent to the ESU, providing non-technical but highly experienced and specialist personnel that will routinely include qualified firearms officers. Like ESU, the TSG will be called by Bronze when needed. Both ESU and TSG travel to the scene of an incident in unmarked vans and cars, and it has often been assumed that the UK’s world famous military SAS force is sometimes deployed at incidents under the guise of the police ESU and TSG units. The local ESU and TSG units were alerted within minutes of Mealag Lodge being identified and confirmed as the location of a terrorist attack.

  Gold, Silver and Bronze commanders, and COBR, sit in specially designed and equipped rooms used for no other purpose but for an emergency. One of the very first tasks is to switch on the monitors and sound equipment so that whenever the ESU can supply the link to an incident site, the command centres are ready to receive it. Curry, with a few officers, took over the Eagles Rest Hotel and declared the Bronze command centre operational at 1:45pm. On the way to the hotel, he called in the area ESU with his initial assessment of his requirements. Some travelled at full speed by vehicle from Inverness to the hotel, where they began setting up their satellite broadcasting equipment, whilst the remainder were forming and obtaining other necessities. A helicopter equipped with a surveillance camera and long-range microphones was also despatched. TSG officers started to arrive an hour later. Initially they made the hotel fully secure and safe, clearing it of residents, but later TSG would assist with any possible attack on the terrorists. It was 3pm.

  The delay frustrated Curry. As with all commanders faced with the awesome responsibility of dealing with an outrage, he needed quality information and resources. His limited forces were gradually mobilising, but he was desperate for more manpower. Had the incident occurred in a large city, officers for things like traffic management and control could fairly easily be found, but the Scottish Highlands were thinly resourced and geographically were a long way from the big metropolitan forces. Curry did what he could. He set up a road block at the A87 Kinloch Hourn road junction and ensured that the Skye bridge at the Kyle was also closed and blocked. As other traffic units raced to the area, he was able to seal off more roads, limiting and finally closing potential vehicular esc
ape routes. He decided not to risk sending Greaves, or anyone else, along the dam road until he had further intelligence and increased specialist support at his disposal.

  71

  Cindy and Paulette were so dazed and shocked, it was several minutes before either one of them spoke.

  “Can you get free?” Cindy asked.

  “No. The straps are too tight, what about you?”

  “The same. We must keep trying, though.” They struggled to pull themselves free, but the strong nylon restraints dug deep into their flesh and hurt their wrists. Exhaustion and despair gradually overtook them and Paulette was becoming tearful and ever more worried about her husband.

  “We must do something, we must. They will kill him, I know they will. Cindy, help me. Please help me,” she blurted out amid her sobbing.

  Cindy wanted to help but she was unable to move either.

  “The woman said that it was not their intention to hurt Dean. We have to trust her. She helped us and had no reason to lie.”

  Cindy tried to reassure her friend, but inwardly was not confident. Whichever way she looked at it, she and her friends had got caught up in a major terrorist plot and her own experience of being frightened and alone in the dusty swirl after the bomb went off in the train, kept flashing back into her mind. The women began to shout out for help, they painfully tried to lift themselves up, raising the chairs before sitting back on them trying to bang them on the stone floor, but no one heard and no one came.

  “Margaret and Sandy might come back soon, let’s hope so” said Cindy.

  “What time were they planning to return? asked an anxious Paulette.

  “About five, but they may be back sooner,” Again Cindy tried to inject a positive note, but Paulette started to cry again.

  “That will be too late.” Her simple words needed no answer. Both women looked at each other and eventually leant back in their chairs, once more defeated and bereft of any ideas.

  * * *

  “Have we gotta take this deer all the way down the hill?” Josh Atkins was not accustomed to carrying much weight and the dead beast, albeit shared by his three companions, was causing him to be out of breath.

  “I was thinking the same Gordon.” Dean Assiter, the eldest of the four clearly needed a rest and they agreed to stop a while. They lowered the deer onto the ground and the four quickly sat back and relaxed on the stubby, wet grass. Mattar and Bagheri were waiting in the tunnel entrance and, as time passed without the shooting party showing, became increasingly anxious.

  “Nasra, come in Nasra,” whispered Bagheri into his radio.

  “You are very faint, I can hardly hear you. Over”

  “Can you see them? They have not arrived, yet they should be here by now.”

  “No. Maybe they have gone a different way.”

  “We are in the tunnel and we cannot see them, but if we come out at the same time as they appear we will be in real trouble.”

  Fadyar interrupted, “This is Fadyar. You will all stay where you are until I say so. Do not break your cover.”

  “Understood. Out.”

  Five more minutes passed and then distant voices slowly descending the hill were heard by Bagheri, who inched back into the dark recess of the tunnel. Mattar leant up close to the iron grille barred entrance and eyed their quarry, slowly coming into better view.

  “An agent is first then Truscott, then Assiter and then an agent at the rear. This is good. As they are carrying the animal, they will not be able to react quickly and raise their weapons. You take the one at the rear, I will deal with those at the front,” Mattar started to unleash his grenade from his belt as he spoke.

  Oblivious to the danger awaiting them, Assiter’s party continued their descent unaware that every step took them a moment nearer their death. As soon as they were level with the tunnel entrance, Mattar threw open the gate, pulled out the firing pin on the grenade and threw it at the feet of Atkins, the agent at the front. The blast killed him outright and Gordon was hurled clean off his feet, landing unconscious twenty feet away. The animal trussed to the pole dropped to the floor, and as Chuck Drew went for his automatic, he was hit by a hail of sub-machine gun fire from Bagheri’s Israeli made Galatz. Bagheri had loaded the detachable magazine to its capacity of twenty rounds of 0.308 calibre bullets and half were discharged with frightening force and accuracy into Drew’s body and head, his protective vest proving totally inadequate for such a close range and high-powered onslaught.

  Assiter yelled “Don’t shoot, don’t shoot” and held his arms aloft.

  Saying nothing, his two assailants quickly held him and removed his rifle, throwing it onto the ground. Bagheri and Mattar each grabbed Assiter by an arm, and half ran, half marched him down the hill where Khan met up with them.

  “Well done my brothers, well done. Praise be to Allah.”

  An excited Khan switched on the radio, “Success, Fadyar, success. We are on our way.”

  “Excellent. Out.”

  Fadyar started up the Land Rover and turned it around to face in the direction of Kinloch Hourn.

  “What do you want? Who are you?” Assiter gasped out the questions between taking large gulps of air, struggling for breath as he was pulled, half stumbling, down the hill.

  “No questions,” retorted Bagheri. “Do as we say and you will not be hurt.”

  The group soon reached the road and the waiting Fadyar. She handcuffed Assiter using some of the nylon straps left by Donaldson and the struggling US Secretary of State was bundled into the rear of the Land Rover, quickly followed by Khan. Mattar jumped into the driver’s seat and Fadyar into the seat beside him just as Bronze commander, Curry, made a fateful wrong decision and issued orders to a police traffic observation helicopter. Curry’s urgent briefing to the pilot was totally inadequate merely telling him to fly along the Kinloch Hourn road and over the Mealag area on a reconnaissance mission. He needed information quickly, and impatiently exercised his operational command prior to awaiting the arrival of all his specialist units.

  72

  Paulette Assiter was slowly recovering from her ordeal. The bleeding from her swollen lip had stopped and she was telling herself how much worse it would have been had the foreign woman not intervened. She shivered as she remembered the steely look in Donaldson’s eyes as he removed her robe and fondled her breasts. She started to recall the morning’s events in more detail and particularly the indignities he inflicted on Cindy.

  “Did, did, that horrid man hurt you? I’m sorry Cindy, I should have asked long before now. Are you alright?”

  “Yes, I think so.” she lied. “I’m sore and bruised, but he was shot just before… he… Thank God.” Cindy found it hard to speak of the traumatic experience and started to cry. The ordeal had left her stunned and she also felt ashamed of herself for not putting up more resistance. She kept recalling the morning she had a coffee with Donaldson that had seemed to trigger his assault on her. Had she been provocative? Should she have changed out of those stretch jeans and that old T-shirt? Was she flirting with him? She was beginning to doubt herself. Maybe she was to blame and said as much to Paulette.

  “No, Cindy. You were not to blame for that… that animal. You did nothing wrong. That woman said he had done terrible things before.”

  She had forgotten all about what Fadyar had said, and Paulette’s words immediately lifted Cindy’ spirits.

  “Thank you Paulette, but what about you? He hurt you.”

  “It was only a bit harder than my first encounters with the boys at school. You know, all grab!”

  Cindy laughed and then the two of them giggled uncontrollably for several minutes, releasing their tensions. Suddenly Paulette became serious.

  “The knife, Cindy. What happened to his knife? The woman didn’t have it when she left and I don’t remember him holding onto it? Where is it?” Paulette’s recollections were proving invaluable.

  “You’re right! Yes. It might still be here, somewhere.” Cindy was no
w looking about her, straining at the bindings fixing her to the chair.

  “It must have dropped on the floor, must have.”

  Cindy started rocking her chair back and forth until it crashed onto its side, taking Cindy with it.

  “Ouch. That bloody well hurt,” swore Cindy, but she immediately started manoeuvring across the wet floor using her body to provide the propulsion. As she rounded the table she shouted, “I can see it, it’s near to the Aga. He must have dropped it when he hurled the kettle at the woman”.

  She worked her way over to the stove.

  Slowly and painstakingly, she turned the handle of the knife so she could hold it firmly in her hand and she then wriggled her way back to where Paulette was still seated.

  “I can’t uncut my own straps but I may be able to do yours” Cindy called out.

  Carefully, she slid her body so that the hand holding the knife was adjacent to Paulette’s right leg. Cindy slipped the knife under the plastic and gently pushed it further forward. The lethally sharp blade instantly cut the tightened nylon strap. She repeated the process for Paulette’s left leg and then Paulette was able to move herself easily to where Cindy could cut one of the bonds restraining her wrist. It took less than a minute for both women to be free. They stood up and hugged and kissed each other, tears of joy and relief spreading down their cheeks.