“I agree.”
The next train bursts out of the tunnel and into the station.
“My thinking is this,” Lewis says in a hurry. “Assume our terrorist, Sadiq, won’t have been aware how resistant tunnels are to explosives. Assume that he believed, when he was alive, that a big blast underground was going to cause massive, long term, structural damage – as well as killing lots of people in the short term.”
The train’s doors open and Lewis climbs in. Zeltinger steps forward to follow but Lewis holds him back with his hand.
“I think it best if you stay here and let me continue alone,” he says, and Zeltinger nods. “Go looking for somewhere like that, Saul. That’s where the room will be, I’m certain.”
The closing alert sounds and the doors slide shut. Now separated by the window glass, the two men can only eyeball each other. Lewis raises an eyebrow and gives his friend a slight shrug as the train begins to accelerate away.
Just one minute remaining, according to the platform clock.
Thankfully, Oxford Street is the next stop along the line.
116
For the moment, things seemed to be going according to the hastily improvised plan. Panich had been compelled to adjust and adapt everything following news of Virenque’s death. For now, he was on his own: it was him against Lewis – rather apt, he had thought, in a perverse way. One on one wasn’t ideal; but Panich felt confident in his own abilities. He always had. It was perhaps what had kept him alive all these years.
Oddly, he never had feared death: some might have argued that he’d been a better field agent for it. Now that his own life expectancy was measurable in weeks and not years, he was prepared to take greater risks than ever. Such as this newly improvised plan. The objective – bringing Lewis directly to him, alone – seemed to be achievable, thanks to the help he was getting from Vasily. The one-time Marine was already running, here, there and everywhere, completely at Panich’s beck and call. Designed to wear Lewis down; to shake off any who might be following; and to deliver him directly into Panich’s waiting arms. Vasily’s small army of London-based foot soldiers had been brilliant: at their unattributable best – ensuring that Lewis kept to the rules and deadlines of Panich’s deadly game of cat and mouse.
He, meanwhile, had nothing more to do than wait. Currently standing at street level, immediately outside Tottenham Court Road station, he was smoking a cigarette to calm his nerves. He looked at his watch. If all continued according to schedule, Lewis would be arriving at the station platform within the next half an hour.
His phone started to ring. It was Viktor Plushenko. Deciding to take the call, he discarded his cigarette, grinding out the stub with the heel of his shoe.
“How can I help?” he asked the oligarch.
“I thought you would like to know,” Plushenko said, his breathing heavy in Panich’s ear, “that I have found myself suddenly in possession of the missing Ben Lewis’s codes. I’ve had someone working the problem from, how shall I put it, a slightly different angle. In conjunction with the two codes you provided earlier, I seem to have the complete set. Which is good news, I hope you agree?”
“Yes indeed,” Panich said, his tone ambiguous, his mind spinning with the different permutations that Plushenko’s information allowed him to consider.
“So, once your other concerns in London have all been taken care of, I look forward to welcoming you back home and thanking you in person. Until then, goodbye.” The phone went dead.
117
In the wake of previous terror alerts in the United Kingdom’s capital, a dedicated digital radio network for use by police officers had been installed throughout the London tube network. Whilst the public were only able to access the internet whilst underground at certain major London stations, uniformed Metropolitan Police officers, together with members of the British Transport Police, had the ability to use their specialist radios throughout the entire network – even in the tunnels.
Left on the platform watching Lewis’s train depart, Zeltinger’s first action was to locate a policeman with a radio handset that worked. He found two such people, both arriving out of breath on the platform just as the train was pulling out of the station. Zeltinger waved his badge and soon the message was put out into the ether: Lewis was, in the next few seconds, due to arrive at Oxford Street station where he’d been instructed to wait on the platform.
This message, routed through the Met Police’s Command and Control centre based in Lambeth, was soon being distributed to various operational units in position across central London, now on the highest state of readiness. Time was not on their side. With a number of active units already diverted towards Green Park, the sudden change of focus to a different location was having the impact Panich had intended: creating confusion; and bifurcating valuable resources across multiple locations.
The one thing that Panich might not have thought about was that the message had also been sent to two other key people in London’s emergency response decision-making process. One was the Metropolitan Police Commissioner; and the other was to the office of London’s Mayor. At the time of the London Olympic Games, various strategic threats were analysed and a number of emergency response processes and protocols were rehearsed and implemented for the nation’s capital. These came together under the umbrella of London Resilience, an umbrella partnership of various emergency departments and interested bodies. Their role, in an emergency, was to co-ordinate London’s response to any major crisis. Two important decision makers in any such crisis response were London’s Police Commissioner and the Mayor. Given all of the events of the last twenty-four hours, one pre-planned response under active review was whether or not to shut down the entire tube network in the interest of public safety.
At the time the message from Zeltinger was being relayed, the Commissioner was at her desk, evaluating various incident reports received during the last twenty-four hours. She had already formed a view that it was fast approaching a decision point. When she heard of the latest developments at Knightsbridge and Green Park tube station, her mind was made up. She simply needed the Mayor to agree with her recommendation. Unfortunately, the Mayor was less immediately available, at the time on stage, speaking to business leaders at a major conference being held at the ExCeL centre. It wasn’t until a full ten minutes later, when an aide was instructed to walk to the podium and whisper urgently in his ear, that the matter received his rightful full attention. It was an important ten-minute delay: one that was to be very helpful to Oleg Panich.
118
No sooner does the train begin entering the station at Oxford Street than Lewis feels the phone vibrate again in his pocket; the wireless network signal is once more re-established.
Central Line westbound platform two minutes.
Immediately the doors open, Lewis begins to run. The transition from one line to the other necessitates a small maze of pedestrian tunnels. He hears someone running in his wake, trying to keep up. He has to believe it is one of the good guys: perhaps the police, who knows? He passes a surveillance camera, one of thousands positioned throughout the tube network. Assuming enough operators were able to keep track, Lewis tries doing the maths as he runs. Two hundred and seventy stations: large stations – say those with several interchanges – probably had seventy or more cameras; small stations, about ten; on average, say thirty to forty. In total, about ten thousand cameras across the whole network. That was a lot of close circuit television feeds to be watching. Lewis presumes the security services and police have the means to radio ahead in the tunnel network – but doesn’t know for certain. Right now, his focus is on staying alive and getting to the next platform within the allotted time limit. He also has to assume that others, like the people in his wake, are able to keep track. He runs down the staircase to the platform level: to his left is the line heading east; to the right it heads west. Lewis tu
rns right, as instructed. There is a train already at the station with its doors open.
Get on now.
The phone in his pocket buzzes its command. Lewis looks around, trying to see who has sent this message. Irritatingly, he can see no one. He jumps on board as instructed, just as the doors close, still looking to see who might be typing a message. There is no one. Too late, two of his pursuers arrive at some speed on to the platform, just out of time to grab hold of the closing doors. Lewis recognises one of them: it is the woman, Naomi, from Liverpool Street station earlier. One of Laura’s team. He shrugs his shoulders at her futile attempt to bang on the door to halt the train: instead it picks up speed as it leaves the station and enters the tunnel.
Where to next?
The journey to the following station, Bond Street, takes less than a minute, the sensation of speed in the tunnels surprising. As soon as the train enters the platform, the phone buzzes once more; it doesn’t even come to a halt before Lewis is reading the next message. This one has another photograph. It is of Borys. The pained expression on his face tells its own story.
Stay on board. His life is in your hands.
Lewis debates disobeying the instruction and leaving the train. Heading to the surface and taking his chances. He has the phone: Panich could track him down. After all, he, Lewis, has the code Panich craves. Then he looks at the photograph and reminds himself that such thinking is fantasy. Lewis has no intention of leaving the train.
The doors close and the train starts moving again, speeding westward, the next station Marble Arch. Lewis tries to imagine the ground resources on the surface and what they must be doing. A number will have been sent to Green Park. Then, almost immediately, Lewis is directed to Oxford Circus – so there’s a mad scramble to get more people despatched to that station. However, very quickly, Lewis is on the move again: a different line, this time westward. But for how many stops? Each time, no one can predict the next move. The whole thing is akin to a massive three-dimensional chess game. Is there a strategy the police could adopt to ensure they didn’t lose Lewis, given their starting position? By sending reinforcements to the next station, Bond Street, perhaps? Or even the one after? What if Lewis had been instructed to change trains at Bond Street? Every station presents a choice, a potential dilemma. Winning by conventional rules of play is likely to be impossible. Despite all of the CCTV cameras and clever police radios, Panich is likely to win: unless the authorities were suddenly to change the rules; such as shutting down the tube network or turning off the station Wi-Fi.
Seconds later, the carriage bursts out of the tunnel into the light of the next station, Marble Arch.
When, and only when, you hear the door-closing signal, jump out at last second and wait on platform.
That is clever: how to abandon your tail in one quick manoeuvre. The doors open, and a few passengers get off. Lewis waits. Hardly anyone is getting on board. Then the shrill warble begins. As instructed, Lewis steps onto the platform. The doors slide shut in his wake. He looks up and down the platform as the train departs. No one has got off after him.
He is on his own.
The station is in the middle of a major upgrade. There don’t appear to be any closed circuit television cameras that he can see from where he is standing. Perhaps this is a temporary dead zone in the CCTV system? That’s all Lewis needs.
The phone buzzes once again. How are they doing this?
Take next eastbound train from adjacent platform.
He must be getting close. There are no longer time limits in the messages.
As he boards the train less than one minute later, he starts to prepare mentally.
It is going to happen any time soon. He senses it.
He is ready.
Bring it on.
119
Another minute, and the train arrives back at Bond Street: same station, same line: but different platform, now heading in the opposite direction. The doors open but his phone doesn’t buzz. Lewis peers out, seeing who is on the platform. Several people are about to board, none of them uniformed police: the CCTV cameras are thankfully back in evidence; Lewis hopes that a vigilant operator might yet spot him. He looks at the map. The next stop is Oxford Circus; after that Tottenham Court Road. When is this all going to end? Sometime soon, he is certain. He checks the phone again. The network strength is strong. Still no message.
The doors close and the train continues its journey eastward: towards the City of London.
Is the City of London where he is being taken? A bomb below Bank station would cause massive damage. Or would it? Lewis finds he needs to correct himself, even as he considers it. Massive damage in theory: perhaps not in practice. The City feels like an important commercial target: is it a serious enough terrorist target? He doesn’t believe so but what does he know? He puzzles over what else might be a serious target, between there and here?
The train clatters into Oxford Street Station and draws to a stop. He checks the phone. Still he has good signal strength. Still there is no message. The doors close and the train starts to accelerate once more. Beyond busy Oxford Street, what next before they reach the City? The following stop is Tottenham Court Road. Nothing much happens there apart from a busy traffic intersection, the large tower block, Centre Point – and of course, suddenly Lewis remembers: the station is currently a building site. It is being transformed, as part of the Crossrail development.
Crossrail: Lewis feels the blood run cold in the pit of his stomach once more. Crossrail is a terrifyingly real terrorist target. He looks at the Central Line station map above his head to remind himself of the stations on this route that are impacted by Crossrail. Bond Street, now behind them; and on this tube line, both Tottenham Court Road and Liverpool Street stations up ahead.
At which point the train pulls into the next station: Tottenham Court Road.
Almost immediately, he feels the phone buzz in his pocket.
Leave the train and head immediately for the Northern line platforms.
Once again there is no pre-set time limit.
Is the puppeteer still pulling strings?
Or has the final performance already begun?
120
At the British Transport Police’s CCTV control centre based near London’s Euston Station, a small, dedicated, team had been attempting to track Ben Lewis’s movements. Their starting point had been the moment Lewis had entered the Underground network at Knightsbridge station. It was exactly the sort of operation that they trained for repeatedly. It never was easy; however, this particular team of crime reduction officers, led by Superintendent Amanda Savage, were considered amongst the best at their job.
The problem with tracking individuals using camera surveillance was the multiplicity of image locations and camera angles that constantly needed to be synchronised and cross-referenced. One day London might have a fully automated facial recognition system: in the reality of today’s world, Amanda Savage’s team had been compelled to do most, if not all, of the hard graft themselves.
The Railway operators and London Underground were each responsible for their own camera networks. Across the entire London Underground system, there were some eight thousand, five hundred CCTV cameras in operation around the clock. One additional difficulty facing Savage’s team was that, for a variety of reasons, not all the cameras at every location were in operation. There were various reasons for this: many times this was down to camera malfunction; other times it was due to planned maintenance or upgrades to the equipment. More recently, station refurbishment projects had also created a number of short-term surveillance ‘black spots’. Marble Arch, currently in the middle of a station upgrade, was a good example. Here most, if not all, of its cameras had been removed pending the arrival of newer and better equipment at the completion of the works. Also affected were several of the stations impacted by
Crossrail engineering works. One of these was at Tottenham Court Road. Here, early work to refurbish the station had been halted to allow station remodelling and rebuilding to begin. Camera systems at the station had, therefore, been in a state of flux for some time, significantly increasing the number of black spots throughout the station.
Surveillance of Lewis had proceeded well all the way to Oxford Street station. The team had tracked him as he had run to change from the Victoria Line to the Central Line train. They had seen him get on the train at Oxford Circus; they had, however, been unable to observe him changing trains and direction at Marble Arch station. Their working assumption, therefore, had been that Lewis had still been continuing in a westerly direction. It had only been when, after several minutes – and thus several feeds from other stations further down line the line – when no further sign of the man had been found that Savage had suggested a different possibility: could Lewis have disembarked the train at Marble Arch? If he had, then only three options were possible: firstly, he might have left the tube network completely; secondly, he might still be there; or thirdly, he might have switched trains and headed back in the reverse direction. It had taken a few minutes of frantic searching by the whole team before one team member found an oblique image of someone looking like Lewis peering around the door of an eastbound train at Bond Street Station.
121
Lewis stands on the station platform and waits for the Central Line train to depart. He is instructed to head to a different line. Lewis is going to take his time to get there.
Several passengers are walking in the same direction. The station is fully functioning, even though it has the look, in places, of a building site. He climbs up a staircase to an underground lobby where escalators out of the station head upwards: it is also where a pair of escalators down to the Northern Line platforms are located.
The Gambit (Ben Lewis Thriller Book 2) Page 29
