by Greg Elswood
Tears welled up in Orla’s eyes and Harry squeezed her hand. She couldn’t remember much of what happened at Liverpool Street. Her last clear memory was running away from the cart with Maria and Jacob. She had a vague recollection of being lifted from the ground, but nothing more until she drifted back to consciousness to the sound of nearby wailing and moaning. Jacob had been there with her, but she couldn’t recall seeing Maria.
‘I’m sorry, Orla, but I’m sure she’ll pull through.’ Harry knew that his words were inadequate, but he still had one further message for her.
‘Jacob is speaking to the counter terrorism team at the moment. They wasted no time getting here to interview key witnesses, even if they are injured, as it’s vital they find out everything as soon as they can, in case there are any more devices. Possible booby-traps.’
Harry waited for the implications to sink in before continuing.
‘You’ll need to speak to them soon. You know Michael, and he’s now on the run and we have no idea where he is. You may know something, anything, that will help. And you may need protection. You’re the only one other than Jacob and Maria who knows anything about him. They’re already checking out your flat.’
Orla looked up, her eyes wide with fear, although she didn’t ask Harry the question he was expecting. ‘What about Jenny and that barman James? They know Michael.’
Harry shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, Orla, they didn’t make it. They were in a group trying to get up the stairs. They were too close and never had a chance.’
Orla couldn’t breathe. She gulped the air and tears immediately streamed down her cheeks. She put her face in her hands and turned towards the wall. ‘No, no, no. I killed Jenny. If it hadn’t been for me, with Michael, she would still be alive.’
Harry wrapped his arms around her shoulders. ‘No, don’t do that. You’re not to blame. He was the murderer, not you. You had nothing to do with her death, or anyone else’s.’
But Harry knew he had no proof of that. After all, what did he really know about her? He held Orla, but when he glanced to the side, he saw the counter terrorism team watching them. They certainly wouldn’t give her the benefit of the doubt.
22
Brandon stood at his bathroom mirror and inspected his hair. He had picked a dark dye, although it hadn’t taken as well as he’d wanted and his hair still wasn’t his natural colour. But it was a step in the right direction and would be fine under his hood, for the time being at least, until it grew out or faded.
But he couldn’t worry about that right now. It was time to catch up on the news. The main story was bound to be his morning’s conquests, and he had a sudden urge to hear if any of his financial manoeuvres had been made public yet. He stepped into his den and was delighted by the opening line.
‘And now we return to our on-the-scene reporter at Liverpool Street, Justin Entwistle, who will bring us up to date with the latest.’
Brandon bounded over to his chair, but then froze in his seat when the picture changed to a grim-faced reporter who stood at a cordoned-off street junction. Behind him were scores of vehicles from the emergency services, with blue lights flashing everywhere. What the hell has happened? I can’t have done that. Brandon watched the screen open-mouthed.
‘We understand from the City of London Police that the death toll now stands at thirty-seven, with hundreds more seriously injured. Victims are being taken to several local hospitals including the Royal London, Barts, Mile End and various specialist burn and trauma units across London. Fire and ambulance crews are working to free people still trapped inside the station, with the structure having now been passed as safe following earlier concerns about falling debris from the roof.’
‘And is there anything you can tell us about who is responsible for this atrocity?’
‘The City Police and Counter Terrorism Command are remaining tight-lipped on that at the moment, and no established terrorist group has so far claimed responsibility. There appears to be some confusion about whether the bombs were detonated by the same people responsible for the earlier cyber-attack, one theory being that it was designed to knock out the City’s telecommunications network, thereby hampering efforts to get help and assistance to the scene. If that is indeed the case, it sends out a very chilling message about the ruthlessness and capability of this terrorist group.’
Brandon shivered in his chair. He couldn’t believe his eyes at the pictures of utter carnage, and the thought that Replicant may have somehow exacerbated the situation sent him into paroxysms of fear and guilt. But he kept watching, despite the torture. He wasn’t looking for news of his financial crime anymore, that was all forgotten now. He was glued to the screen in growing fear about the role he may have played in a completely different act of terror.
‘And the other result of knocking out smartphones is that there’s no amateur footage of what happened this morning. Usually by now there would be numerous videos circulating on the internet or recordings would have been handed to the police, but this attack is characterised by a lack of information so far. Again, was that a deliberate ploy by the terrorists? That’s something else we don’t know at this moment.’
Brandon slumped in his chair. Why had he disabled everyone’s devices? He hadn’t needed to do that to establish the botnet, it was just the best way of stopping people from trying to reboot their phones or changing their settings.
‘However, we have obtained eye witness accounts from survivors at the scene, and here are some of the things people have been telling us.’
The news channel showed a succession of short clips with survivors, whose reports varied according to their appearance and demeanour, ranging from the tattered, torn and emotional to the dishevelled and matter-of-fact.
‘There was someone shouting about a bomb and that set everyone running. Many were screaming, it was complete panic.’
‘It was terrifying. Even from where we were at the other end of the station, we were lifted off our feet and the heat and noise were unbearable. But we are so lucky to be alive.’
‘A lot of people had already started to leave because of the phones not working and there was a bad vibe in the station. Then two men ran in. The second one appeared to be chasing the first, as he was yelling to stop him, that he had a bomb. Everyone just ran for the exits.’
‘We heard gunfire from the police on the upper level and knew it was for real. I’ve never been so scared.’
‘If it hadn’t been for the man who was chasing, I think more people would have died, as it was him that set everyone running. He was so brave to do that, and he pulled two girls away from the bomb. He looked like a tramp.’
The news report then returned to the studio, where the newsreader announced that they were switching to a live press conference, convened by the City of London Police.
To a melee of clicking cameras and flashes, the Assistant Commissioner laid out what they knew so far. Brandon watched, mesmerised by the event and the unfolding detail.
‘In response to earlier rumours, I can confirm that several people are helping us with our enquiries. In particular, we are interviewing one of the people who had been attending the cart that exploded, as well as the man cited in many eye witness accounts who pursued the bomber into the station. We have also detained a number of security personnel from the Broadgate complex and have taken scores of eye witness accounts. But our enquiries are still at an early stage and we would urge anyone with information to come forward as soon as possible.’
To repeated questioning, the Assistant Commissioner refused to reveal the identity of any of the witnesses or speculate on their potential role in the attack, and he then moved on to further updates. He advised the watching media that counter terrorism units had raided two premises in the Shoreditch area, one a residential apartment building and the other a lock-up near Old Street. As a result, the authorities now believed that the bombing had been carried out by a two-man cell of an Irish extremist organisation, and that one of the men
had set off the bombs at Liverpool Street and had died in the attack. The other was now on the run and was known under a number of aliases, most recently as Michael Sweeney. Members of the public were urged to contact the police if they had any further information on him or his whereabouts.
Finally, the briefing turned to the cyber-attack that had occurred before the explosions, where another officer read out a statement.
‘At approximately seven-thirty this morning, a computer virus was released that targeted hand-held devices such as mobile phones and tablets. We believe that it originated in the Liverpool Street area, although we are continuing our investigations to pinpoint the exact location. The virus spread quickly around the mobile network, infecting millions of devices, which then prompted a concerted attack against the UK’s banks in what is known as a Distributed Denial of Service attack. This temporarily disabled the banks’ IT systems, leading to widespread disruption of banking services. However, the situation is now under control and bank systems are slowly getting back to normal.
‘A taskforce has now been established, led by the Bank of England and including representatives from the financial services regulator, the Financial Conduct Authority, Government departments, mobile phone manufacturers and all of the banks targeted today. This group will investigate the shortcomings in handset security and bank systems that allowed this to happen.
‘We are continuing to look for the perpetrators of this distressing attack. We are keeping an open mind about whether it is linked to the bombing today at Liverpool Street, although at this stage we have reason to believe that the two are unconnected.’
Brandon had turned down all of his other news broadcasts so that he could concentrate on the statement and the subsequent barrage of questions from the impatient media. There wasn’t a single indication that the police were close to identifying him, but perhaps he wouldn’t know until his door was broken down.
***
Deep in thought at City Airport, Donovan was in a dilemma. She couldn’t believe what had happened this morning; today of all days.
It had all started so well. She had watched Paddy, Michael and the girl leave the lock-up for Liverpool Street, on schedule, with the carts loaded in the back of the van. There was no need for her to stay anymore and she was at the airport within half an hour, confident that she would be in the air by the time of the attack.
But soon after her arrival, all flights had been suspended. The airport authorities called it a computer glitch, although Donovan suspected that it was somehow linked to the strange problem with the phones. Like everyone else, her smartphone was stuck on an orange screen, updating, and there was no way of finding out what was going on with the operation. She had a feeling of dread that it had somehow back-fired, but she needed to know for sure, so she queued with a long line of other passengers at a public pay-phone, unaffected by the same issues as the mobile phones. She called it three times, but there was no answer from Paddy’s number.
Then came the news of the bombing at Liverpool Street. All TVs in the terminal were now tuned into rolling live broadcasts of the aftermath, and while her fellow passengers reacted in shock to the news, Donovan relaxed. She was sure that everything must have gone to plan, and maybe she just couldn’t reach Paddy because of the mobile phone outage, nothing more.
But the planes stayed on the ground and she was drawn to the screens as further details emerged, and it soon became clear that something wasn’t quite right. From eye witness reports, it appeared that Paddy may have sacrificed himself in the explosion. But what had happened to Michael? If he was now on the run, he may need help, and there was a risk that he might give away valuable information if he was caught. And who was the vagrant who had chased Paddy and what did he know about the mission and the Brethren? He could still cause them problems if he knew too much.
Then the mobile phones started working again and Donovan sighed with relief. She should now be able to reach Michael, and maybe agree how to deal with their troublesome meddler. She sent her message:
What’s happening? We need to deal with the tramp.
An hour later, Donovan’s flight was ready, but she’d had no reply. The operation was still at a critical juncture and she wasn’t sure if she should sort it out herself, or if she could rely on Michael. Last Call. She shook her head, made her decision, and joined the taxi queue to return to the City.
***
Jacob spent a weary couple of hours with the Counter Terrorism Command in their makeshift interview room at St. Bartholomew’s Hospital. During his interrogation, he recounted several times what he’d seen and heard at the lock-up and gave his version of events at Liverpool Street. They also asked numerous questions about Orla and Maria, and from the tone of their questions it was clear to him that they were trying to ascertain if the women might have known about the bomb before it exploded or if they were innocent victims of the atrocity.
Eventually they finished their questioning and excused him, and Jacob found Harry waiting for him in the corridor. Unlike the first time they’d met at the Refuge’s medical bay, there was no frostiness between them, bound as they now were by mutual trauma, and Harry gave Jacob an update on Orla and Maria.
‘What you did this morning was heroic,’ Harry said. ‘You saved many people, including the lives of these two young women.’
‘Nothing heroic about trying to save lives. Anyway, look about you, I didn’t do a very good job, did I?’ Jacob swept his arm around the scene of suffering in the hospital. ‘And I even got you involved, lured you straight into the path of the bastards, could have killed you. How’s that heroic?’
Harry knew that, despite saving possibly hundreds of people, Jacob would blame himself for not rescuing more. He would always ask himself if he could have reached Paddy, or shouted louder or run faster. Harry let it go.
‘Well get some rest, anyway. The Refuge will give you a bed for a few days, which may keep you out of harm’s way. And I’m not talking about terrorists this time, it’s the media you want to keep away from. They seem to have latched onto your story and they will follow you anywhere, on or off the streets. Talking of which, I suggest you don’t leave the hospital by the main entrance, as they’re waiting for you there.’
Jacob looked at Harry with a bemused look. ‘First you call me a hero, then tell me to act like a coward. I’ve faced worse than a mob of journalists.’
‘Suit yourself, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.’
Harry’s tone was light-hearted, quite an achievement in the circumstances, and he stretched out his hand. ‘Good luck, and thank you. From everyone you did save this morning.’
The two men shook hands and Jacob sidled away past the gurneys lining the corridor.
***
Still glued to his screens, Brandon listened to the news while trying to watch the markets. It had been an eventful morning for equities and he was glad he’d had the sense not to take any large positions in anticipation of the fall-out from his virus attack. That would have raised a red flag to any regulator or investigator looking for unusual or suspicious activity, and he’d known he couldn’t take that chance.
‘Further details are emerging on the cyber-attack this morning. According to unnamed sources in the financial markets, during the attack there were a series of unusual payments linked to accounts controlled by the Bank of England. We understand that this included a number of transactions in Bitcoin, the fast-growing cryptocurrency known to be a favoured way of moving money around the criminal world, owing to its relative anonymity and lack of government regulation. The Bank of England hasn’t responded to our requests for comment, so we must emphasise that these are currently unsubstantiated rumours, but we will bring you more when we have it.’
Brandon was both unnerved and excited by this report. Although it proved his transactions had gone through, it also increased the chances of linking everything back to him. He was confident in the precautions he had taken, yet he couldn’t help glancing at his front
door.
‘But now we are going back to today’s main story, the bombing of Liverpool Street. We have a sensational update on the identity of the man who tried to thwart the attack by chasing the bomber into the station. A video has now been posted on various social media websites that is claimed to have been recorded on a camcorder by a tourist at the station. It appears to show the bomber running past the camera and then, seconds later, a man in pursuit. The pictures are grainy and slightly shaky, but it is the first video evidence we have of what happened this morning. Some viewers may find the scenes upsetting.’
Brandon watched, spellbound, as a man of around sixty years of age ran towards the camera, before passing within a few feet of the lens. Behind, another man was chasing him, but before he came into focus the camera swung round to follow the first. There was a clearly audible bellow of ‘Stop him, he has a bomb. Someone stop him!’ and then, moments later, the cracking sound of a shot. Mayhem ensued, and just before the screen turned to the floor amid scenes of scrambling and screaming, the camera caught the profile of the pursuer the moment he passed.
The video was one of the most haunting recordings Brandon had ever seen. His stomach lurched and he retched, and he looked down at his feet and gasped for breath. He forced himself to look back up, at the still shot of the man’s profile on screen, while the newsreader revealed the results of their channel’s research.
‘We have tracked down the man shown in this video and can reveal that he is an ex-British Army soldier now living on the streets of London. A short time ago, we caught up with him returning to a homeless shelter on the edge of the City, as these exclusive pictures show.’
Jacob’s return to the Refuge was now on screen. A reporter shoved a microphone into Jacob’s face and then tried to follow him into the lobby, but a stern-faced Ginger held up his hands and refused him entry. The reporter’s pleas for comment went unheeded, but the triumph of his scoop was evident when he turned to the camera.
