Patrick nodded. “It’s ok,” he said. “Just, you know, take care of my dad and Naomi.”
***
Nothing felt real, Alec thought as he went downstairs and was fitted with his stab vest. He crossed the street, aware of the many eyes on him again. He wondered if Mari would be watching the news. If this would go out live. If she would be annoyed that he’d not taken Patrick over to her first. He almost laughed at the stupidity of that last thought. The oddest things occur, he thought. None of it was real; none of it made sense.
He got into the bus and took his seat, hoping he would able to drive the thing. It was an automatic and he’d only driven an automatic anything once before and that had been his Aunt Billie’s silly little car.
There was another stupid thought. Great Aunt Billie – Wilhemina, if she didn’t like you – had been dead these past five years.
A sound from the bank caused him to look towards the doors and the next minute they opened. The two gunmen had surrounded themselves with a human chain of hostages. They held hands and kept in close, prompted by the guns held to the heads of two. One was a woman Alec guessed must be Dorothy Peel and the other was Naomi.
Thoughts that this might come to a swift resolution here and now were dashed once and for all.
The windows on the bus had been hastily blacked out. Cardboard boxes cut up and taped in place. Logos for baked beans and washing powder where a view should be. The hostages shuffled aboard, urged into their seats at the barrel of a gun. Alec tried to talk to Naomi, but he had no chance. Ted Harper took position behind the driver’s seat, the shotgun against the back of Alec’s head and told him to keep eyes front and mouth closed. His son crammed against the bulkhead on the other side, sawn-off pointing backwards towards the rest of the passengers. Alec did not like to think what damage it could do in so confined a space. The younger man looked pale and tired and nervous. Dangerous.
Alec closed the doors.
“Now drive,” Ted Harper said. It was two-o-clock on the Wednesday afternoon.
CHAPTER 29
Alec drove so carefully he could have been carrying a load of nitro- glycerine. He’d never reckoned that driving with a gun to your head would make you more aware of road conditions, but it did have the effect of focussing the mind. He had no wish for Ted Harper’s finger to slip on the trigger.
It occurred to him for all of thirty second, that he being the driver, he might be able to swerve and throw Ted out of the way. He abandoned the idea immediately. Had Ted been the only gunman there might have been the chance of that working. But it would only take a fraction of a second for Allan Harper to turn the gun on him and fire and Alec, trapped in the driver’s seat, had nowhere to go.
Up ahead were two police motorcycles. Two more followed behind. Alec was glad they were there; it gave him something to follow. For some reason - fear, lack of sleep, combination of the two – he was not able to both concentrate on the route and keep his focus on driving. He was actually glad that this was an auto. He truly didn’t think he’d be able to change gear as well as point the vehicle, and accelerate at the appropriate time.
The journalists at one end of the street had been moved back to allow the bus to move through. Long lenses peered at him. Sound men chased their presenters. He caught sight of Simon standing at the end of the row with a photographer. Simon looked shocked to see him. As they drove away, Alec glanced into the wing mirror. He could see Simon talking animatedly to his photographer. Maybe, Alec thought, he was making sure he’d got the picture.
He wondered if any of them would try to follow and what safeguards had been put in place to ensure that they did not. He ran a checklist in his mind of things that should be done, then remembered that these tasks were no longer his to carry out.
He was, for the moment, just a driver. He should just drive.
The motorcycles had picked up the pace and Alec accelerated to keep his distance from them. “Keep it steady,” Ted Harper warned him. “No funny business. We set the pace, not them.”
Alec allowed his speed to drop off and the bikes fell back to keep with him. He wasn’t sure why Ted Harper wanted to slow down. In his position, he’d have pushed for speed. Maybe, he thought, Ted wanted to savour the moment. A police escort that had nothing to do with a prison van and a police officer at the wheel, compelled to do his bidding.
It was about fifteen miles, if Alec recalled correctly to the airfield. It backed on to the village of East Rydon, a prosperous little place beloved of the wealthier retired. A couple of miles beyond that was an army training camp and, if Bill Priestley was to be believed, they’d currently be positioning their own people as back up for the police riflemen.
Alec didn’t know if to feel happy with that arrangement or anxious, but then, he rationalised, that was simply because Alec had a strong dislike of guns in any form.
“We’ll be on the dual carriageway in a few minutes,” he told Ted Harper. “Do you want me to keep to twenty miles an hour, or can I keep up with the flow?”
“Just drive,” Ted Harper told him
***
Back on the High Street the reporters at both cordons had something to watch as a team of armed officers entered the bank. The building made safe, Hemmings entered with Sarah and Sam and others of his team.
“You must be Danny,” Sarah knelt beside the barely conscious man.
“Good guess,” he smiled weakly. “You Sarah?”
“Yeah.”
“Pretty as you sounded,” Danny said.
She returned his smile. “Save your breath. There’s an ambulance on the way.”
Gently, she peeled away the fabric adhering to the wound and examined it with gloved fingers. She had a first aid pack with her and she strapped a pad tightly in place, wadding both the entrance and the exit wounds.
“Bad, isn’t it?”
“You look as though you’ve lost a lot of blood. I’m no expert, but the shoulder joint’s a right mess. You’re in for the long haul, I think Danny.”
“Long haul both ways,” he said. “We’ll be going down for a while, I reckon.” He grinned suddenly. “Will you write?”
Sarah laughed. “You’re no longer my worry, Danny. Another hour or two and I’m headed back home.”
He grimaced. “Never get me a nice girl,” he complained. Then he frowned. “You really letting them go? Ted and Allan?”
“That’s not up to me.”
“Ah.” He closed his eyes. “Look, Ted deserves all he gets, but the kid, Allan, he was just trying to prove himself to his old man. All he did was wave his gun about a bit and do as he was told.”
“And what did you do?” Sarah asked him
“Me, oh I behaved like the fool my mother always said I was.” He closed his eyes and Sarah thought he might have passed out. She was relieved to see the paramedics coming through the door. Hemmings had been adamant they not be allowed into the street until the building was declared safe.
“Over here,” she called.
“Sarah?”
“Yes?”
“Tell them about Allan. Tell them if they take his dad out, he’ll be quiet as a lamb.”
“Why should you care?”
“I don’t know. Maybe ‘cos there’s no one else ever has.”
***
In the manager’s office, Hemmings was surveying the damage. He tugged on the desk and raised an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t have thought the kid could move that on his own, never mind drag it across the room. It weighs a ton.”
“Stronger than he looks,” Sam agreed. “Though I guess being shot at does tend to give you an incentive.”
The police surgeon was bending over Ashwin’s body. “Well, he’s dead,” he confirmed. “You can tell SOCO they can take over.”
“Like to guess as to when?”
“Get in touch with the insect man. He’ll have plenty of raw material.” He shrugged. “I’d say sometime on the first day.”
“Insect man?” Sam asked
&
nbsp; “Forensic entomologist. There’s a job title for you. Flies have a pecking order. The first lot arrives within minutes. According to what eggs have been laid and their state of development he can give you a pretty accurate timing. But I expect your man out there will be able to save you the expense anyway.”
Hemmings nodded. “Probably so.”
“So, “Sam asked. “Now what?”
“Oh, you should know,” Hemmings told him. “You’ve a talent for it.”
“We wait, “San guessed.
“Got it in one.” He stared at the broken glass fallen onto the tarmac in the yard. Jagged teeth of it still clung to the double frame. “Patrick was more than lucky,” he said. “His guardian angel deserves a commendation.”
***
Simon was getting over his shock at having seen Alec. What was going on? His mobile rang. It was his editor. His increasingly impatient editor. Film of the bus leaving had apparently been on the television and he wanted to know what Simon had.
“There’s going to be a statement made in a few minutes,” Simon told him
“And everyone will have that. Simon, you promised me something special here. I’d hate to think you were losing your touch.”
Simon stepped back from the crowd so he could speak without being overheard. “Ok, how’s this. The mother of one of the hostages is at my parents’ home right now,” he said. “Her grandson managed to escape earlier on today and is going to be taken to join her any time now. And the man driving the minibus with the hostages on board. He happens to be a good friend of mine. Clive, I’ve already been promised an exclusive on this one…”
“How much?”
Simon rolled his eyes. The glass was always half empty for this guy.
“Favour to a friend,” he said. “That cheap enough for you?”
“Nice one Simon. Don’t cock it up.”
Simon folded his phone and slid it back into his pocket, then looked round for his photographer. His mind was working overtime. Something on the Parker interview stuck in his mind. They’d wanted a plane, Mrs Parker had said. She’d overheard them discussing it and how they could take their money out with them. She’d rambled on then about a lot of other things, elaborating on the robber’s demands until her husband had begun to contradict her. But it made sense, and Simon, being local, had an advantage. He had a good idea where that plane might be taking off from.
“We’re leaving,” he told his photographer.”
Bobby Rowe looked at him as though he’d gone mad. “We leave now we’ll miss the press statement.”
“I can guess what’s in the press statement, Bob. We don’t need to listen to it. Look, I’ve a shrewd idea where that bus went to, now, you coming or what?”
Bobby Rowe took one last look at his rivals and colleagues crowding the barrier and followed Simon.
***
Andrews had been fielding calls from anxious, angry relatives. The situation had run ahead of police communications and many of the relatives had seen the news-flash showing the hostages being herded onto the bus.
Where were they going, what was happening. Why hadn’t they been told?
Calmly, Andrews told them what he could, but it wasn’t much more than they’d gathered from the news flash. In the end he called the hotel where the press conference had been held and asked if he could borrow one of their meeting rooms.
Better, he considered, to have everyone possible in one place as the dénouement to this unfolded. He left his assistants calling the relatives and telling them to come to the hotel. The hotel had cable and Andrews thought he could probably convince the manager to lay on a television in the room they’d been loaned. There might not be a budget for this, Andrews knew, but he figured the hotel manager would make his money back in good will and paid interviews later on.
As he was leaving one of his constables called out to him. “I’ve just been talking to a Mari Jones. She’s waiting for her grandson to be brought over to her. Reckons Inspector Friedman was going to do it. Any chance of an ETA?”
Andrews hesitated. Should he tell her that Alec was on the bus? He took the phone. “Mrs Jones, PC Andrews here. I think DI Friedman must have been delayed. Things started happening at a hell of a rate.” He paused. “You saw the news-flash. Look, I’ll collect Patrick myself and drop him off. I take it you don’t want to come to the hotel? No, look, I’ll be with you in, say, three quarters of an hour.” He ended the call and stood thinking for a moment, calculating the time. Then turned to the young officer that had taken the call.
“Got to make a detour, Jenny. You get over to the hotel and see if you can sort out a TV set in the room, greet the relatives. They’ll have their liaison officers in tow, so you’ll be all right. Got that? Oh, and Jenny, don’t mention where DI Friedman is just now, the Super wants that kept under wraps.”
No one had spoken much since they boarded the bus. Naomi, sitting close to the back, heard Alec say something to Ted Harper, but the engine was noisy and she couldn’t make out the words. Hearing his voice was comforting though. Comforting and, at the same time, upsetting. To have two of the people she loved most in the world in such danger was almost more than she could bear. She comforted herself with the thought that Patrick, at least, was safe. Maybe that gave some hope to all of them.
She was exhausted and her mind wandered in random directions. For an instant it nagged at the thought this might be her final day alive. The next thought was that at least this would be over for Patrick’s birthday. Then she had to figure out if that was tomorrow or the following day. This was only the third day of the siege, she told herself, but already she was so disorientated. How did people manage who were subjected to this for weeks or months or years? Did it assume a kind of normality? Did the outside world take on a greater sensation of threat and captivity become almost comforting.
Right now, all she wanted to do was sleep. For a day, two days, a week. How much sleep would cure this need?
Beside her, Harry thought about his son. Sixteen years. And it seemed like yesterday when he’d first held Patrick in his arms. That tiny, squalling bundle he had loved with a passion from that first moment. A passion he wasn’t always sure he was able to convey. Did Patrick know how much he loved him?
“Do you think he knows,” he asked Naomi. “Patrick, I mean, just what he means to me?”
“He knows,” she told him. “Of course he does.”
Did his mother know what had happened, Harry wondered? Mari, surely, would have informed her? Had their places been exchanged, Harry would have been on the first flight. Was she on her way?
Harry still didn’t understand how he and Caroline had come to marry in the first place. Looking back, divorce seemed an almost inevitable conclusion. That they had been intimate for long enough to produce a son was little short of a miracle.
Maybe, he thought in a woozy, unconnected way, that had been the purpose of it all. Some divine plan to produce Patrick.
He glanced across at the seats opposite. Tim and Megan held hands Both their hands folded together, bodies leaning in towards the other, heads almost touching.
Ask her, Harry thought. You want to so much. Ask her to marry you, now, while you’ve got the chance.
Dorothy and the brigadier sat in front of them, eyes forward, backs straight. “They’re just as scared as we are,” Harry breathed.
“Who?
“Dorothy and Peter Hebden. The brigadier. Do you really think he was a brigadier?”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. Tim should ask Megan you know.”
He didn’t need to explain “I know,” she said
He caught Allan looking at him and he fell silent.
Would they be released once they got to the airfield? What would happen then? “If we get the chance, we run,” he said to Naomi.
She squeezed his hand. “You’d have a better chance without me.”
“Never,” Harry told her. “That I’d never do.”
**
*
Hemmings had called everyone together for his statement. He stood atop the bank steps, the crime scene tape a demarcation line behind him, the half open doors revealing movement as the white clad SOCO moved in their painstaking search for evidence.
“I’ve got a brief statement, “ Hemmings said. “I’ll tell you what I can, but in order to protect the hostages, there are limits on what I am able to say.
“As you are all aware, at two PM today a minibus carrying six hostages and two gunmen left this bank for a destination I cannot yet reveal. I am able to confirm that the seventh hostage made a successful escape bid earlier this morning and is now safe and well and back with his family. I’m not yet at liberty to reveal his name.
“I can reveal, however that the other two gunmen were left behind here in the bank. One is seriously injured. The other is dead and the evidence leads us to believe he was killed shortly after the raid began. The wounded gunman is in police custody. He is being treated for his injuries, but us expected to recover.”
“And the condition of the hostages?” Someone shouted. “Shots were fired. Are there any injuries?”
“Shots were fired, resulting in the injury of the third gunman and also the shattering of a rear window within the building. No hostage was injured by shots fired during the siege. I’m sorry,” he went on,” but that’s all I’m prepared to say at present. I’ll ask you now to return to the barriers. Further details will be given out as the situation becomes clearer. “
“Mrs Parker said they asked for a plane. Is there any truth in that?”
“Mrs Parker, in her interview, stated that she believed the robbers had made a number of requests. We are not in a position to verify that. Now, as you can appreciate, there’s still a hell of a lot to do.” Ignoring other shouted questions, Hemmings crossed the road to the greengrocer’s shop and went back inside.
***
Patrick had been watching from the window. Someone had wrapped a blanket round his shoulders and he no longer shivered. Napoleon nuzzled at his hand and he stroked the dog’s head.
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