Meanwhile, the irate junior minister had been let out of the interview room and was now en route to 10 Downing Street, where he had been summoned to attend a meeting with the head of PR at the Cabinet Office.
Phase Two, which had commenced simultaneously with Phase One, involved the establishment of the exclusion zone.
Four Apache helicopters were tasked with marking the thirty-mile long boundary of the exclusion zone and the location of the fourteen decontamination centres. They used a combination of electronic and smoke beacons.
From listening to the conversations, Rafi had gleaned that the main problem was the large amount of radioactive material that the south-easterly wind had picked up and was depositing over a wide area.
The Kornet missiles had thermobaric warheads. These, it seemed, were different to conventional explosive weapons and used the oxygen in the air instead of carrying an oxidizer in their explosives. As one of the army officers explained, ‘They produce more bang for their bucks. Unfortunately there’s water surrounding the spent fuel rods. The thermobaric explosion will have extracted the oxygen from the water and liberated hydrogen gas, which will have made the bang even bigger. The ferocity of the blast will have vaporised much of the radioactive material and catapulted it high into the sky. The radioactive plutonium is heavier than lead, so thankfully won’t travel far. It’s the lighter and more highly radioactive isotopes in the spent fuel that will cause the problems. They will stay airborne far longer and are responsible for the unexpectedly large size of the exclusion zone.’
16 Air Assault Brigade, the army’s premier rapid reaction fighting brigade from nearby Colchester Garrison, Rock Barracks, near Woodbridge and Wattisham Airfield, parachuted in 750 troops using Hercules and transport planes. They were joined by soldiers from the 1st Royal Tank Regiment’s Nuclear Biological and Chemical Unit, stationed alongside RAF Honnington in Suffolk, who landed at London City Airport within fifty minutes of the first missile exploding. They were transferred by helicopter to the locations of the fourteen decontamination centres and were tasked with helping clear the ground.
The soldiers on the ground had already started securing the perimeter of the exclusion zone: they were stopping people from entering and directing those leaving the exclusion zone towards the nearest decontamination centre. The public were left in no doubt that the soldiers carried live ammunition and were prepared to use it, if necessary.
Meanwhile, 3,000 soldiers were being airlifted in from all round the UK to reinforce the cordon around the perimeter as quickly as possible. Commercial planes had been commandeered to assist in the troop movements.
Companies of soldiers were tasked with supervising the evacuees and corralling them into the holding areas, located adjacent to each of the fourteen embryonic decontamination centres and the adjoining medical centres which were triaging the casualties and dispensing radiation tablets.
It was calculated that over 1,000 decontamination shower units would be required to process the majority of the 900,000 people in around ten hours. Rafi couldn’t work out where all the planes and people came from. The screens showed the skies full of parachutes. Rapidly, it all became a blur. He stood watching but taking little in.
One question that had been exercising COBRA was how to make certain that the inner exclusion zone was completely cleared of people. A 90% rule was adopted. Speed was of the essence. Those who could be moved quickly were dealt with first. Reluctant individuals would be strongly encouraged to leave later in the afternoon.
The squadron of twenty-six helicopters that had flown in from the Netherlands, combined with the armada of private helicopters, were a godsend. Every available decontamination unit and the associated medical support teams within their range were commandeered and delivered to one of the fourteen decontamination centres. The ingenuity of the Royal Engineers and the soldiers from the Royal School of Military Engineering at Chatham and at Minley in erecting the decontamination centres tipped the balance. By the early afternoon 1,250 decontamination shower units were up and running.
Specialist army units moved in to coordinate the mammoth task of clearing the exclusion zone. They were joined by the Territorial Army’s Medical Services and Veterinary Corps.
Thanks to the forward planning, ‘Operation Counterpane’ had sufficient numbers of paratroopers on the tarmac on runways around the UK waiting to take off. Within eighty minutes of the missile explosion the thirty-mile perimeter had a significant military presence guarding the electronically tagged line. The line in the densely built-up areas was zigzag in shape. The smoke beacons marking the locations of the fourteen decontamination centres were clearly visible.
600 Regular and Territorial personnel from the Royal Military Police, Provost Staff and Guard Service arrived to work alongside the local police forces and emergency services. Their first job, with the paratroopers, had been to systematically block all the roads and side streets out of the exclusion zone so that no vehicles at all could leave the area. Lorries and cars were commandeered and used as barricades. Tempers flared as people were forced to walk to safety.
A one-way road system was established to funnel the traffic away from the exclusion zone. In the opposite direction the local police assisted by the Territorial Army established express ways to enable troops, the emergency services and their equipment to get to the perimeter of the exclusion zone. To stop the civilian movement of traffic and keep the roads moving for emergency vehicles, a curfew was imposed on the whole of the Home Counties.
One of the hardest parts of the operation was to stop panic setting in. All radio, cable and TV stations carried the same content. There was a message from the Prime Minister, followed by an explanation as to what was going on and what people should do.
Appeals for help with the rehousing of those dispossessed went out to councils and people living away from the exclusion zone.
The helicopters that had completed their sorties collecting the decontamination equipment and medics were tasked with flying in Territorial and Regular Army soldiers in protective clothing to work with the paratroopers to create corridors within the exclusion zone. These corridors channelled people towards their nearest decontamination centre. Those who couldn’t walk were transported by army vehicles. The longest walk was three miles; thankfully most people had less than a mile.
The brigadier and his team were in charge of identifying and unblocking bottlenecks. The decontamination centres were their main headache. They implemented a fast track system. At the holding areas alongside the decontamination centres, units were set up, screening people for alpha, beta and gamma radiation. Where ‘Within nominal’ readings were detected, people were given potassium iodate tablets, sent away from the exclusion zone and told that they didn’t need to be decontaminated.
Initially, those people from the fringes of the exclusion zone were found to have negligible levels of radiation and were sent on their way, but soon the contamination levels rose as the radioactivity travelled with the wind and a point was reached where everyone had to undergo decontamination. Logistical problems were experienced as families found that they were being split up in the process. Contaminated children not of school age were allowed to have a parent with them. All other schoolchildren separated from their parents were fast tracked and moved to nearby schools to be reunited with their families as quickly as possible.
It was a bitterly cold day. Thankfully, many of those who had been out in the open had the benefit of wearing heavy winter clothing and much of the radioactive material was removed by simply stripping them of their clothes.
Once naked, the radiation readings were taken again. For those with external contamination and whose skin was intact, it was a relatively uncomplicated procedure: a wash under a shower of warm water and a good scrubbing with a soft brush or surgical sponge. These soon ran out and were replaced with strips of towel. The small proportion with more severe contamination was moved on to a second decontamination section for more thorough treatment.
The brigadier and his team had devised a processing system which enabled those running the holding areas and the decontamination centres to keep track of people’s identities. Bar coded hospital wrist and ankle tags were used and these gave details of whether the person’s identity had been confirmed before they had been parted from all their belongings. This data was cross referenced with a central database, along with their digital photograph and their basic biometric details.
London City Airport was turned into a transport logistics centre. It was cleared of all its civilian traffic and became a military airport. The runway, at 1,319 metres, was long enough for it to take the CN-235 tactical military transport and Hercules planes. Its close proximity to the exclusion zone was a stroke of luck.
Nearby, on the southern edge of the exclusion zone, the army had set up its field HQ. The coordination of people’s movements, prioritising the casualties and the problems of the long queues at the emergency decontamination units were an administrative nightmare. Logjams became common place as the newly-built system struggled to deal with the huge numbers. Nevertheless, substantial progress was being made.
An SOS had gone out to all neighbouring countries which could get decontamination equipment into London City Airport within three hours. The Belgians, Dutch, French, Germans and Irish all contributed to this urgent request from COBRA. By midday their transport planes started landing with their cargoes of decontamination equipment, medics and medical supplies. By early afternoon, planes were stacked high above the southern approaches to the airport, waiting for a landing slot.
Phase Three was proving more difficult. How were the watercourses to be dealt with? Radioactive particles had been thrown violently into the air by the explosion. Those that entered the nearby canal, the River Lea, or the water table would be transported slowly towards Docklands in the City of London. Unless they were stopped quickly, the scale of the exclusion zone would have to be widened, threatening Docklands and the eastern fringes of the City of London. Colonel Gray’s team was given responsibility for coordinating this.
Rafi and Kate stood at the side of the Ops Room looking on in awe. The Air Chief Marshal’s military machine was an impressive sight. The scale of the operation beggared belief. By early afternoon the last task given to the Wood Street Ops Room in respect of Stratford had been completed and an exhausted Air Chief Marshal handed over to COBRA and the command centre in Wilton, near Salisbury.
Under the watchful eye of the brigadier, the focus of the Ops Room moved back to coordinating the capture of the terrorists.
Rafi was feeling gutted and his sense of guilt refused to go away. He became aware that Ewan was standing next to him.
Ewan had a good idea of what was going through Rafi’s mind and put his arm around his shoulder. ‘You know, had it not been for your early warning, we would be faced with a catastrophic disaster far bigger than anything we are witnessing. Your forewarning gave the Air Chief Marshal the opportunity to take the unprecedented step of putting the whole UK military machine into a state of readiness a full five and a half hours before the train was hit. Your determination to beat the terrorists has enabled us to have a response time we could never have dared dream of. I know it won’t make you feel much better, but thank you.’
Whilst all eyes were on the unfolding disaster at Stratford, MI5 had been tasked with the surveillance of the two Chechen terrorists who were on the run. Without their Kornet and Vektor missile launchers they no longer posed a serious threat to national security. The PM, in approving the plan to let the terrorists run, had made it crystal clear that if they posed any danger to the public they should be stopped by whatever means necessary. The object of the exercise now was to round up the terrorists, their associates and their ringleaders.
Sergy Kowshaya, fired up by the success of his missile attack at Cruden Bay and his escape from the hail of bullets, had in a well-executed move swapped his motorbike for an elderly-looking car. Unbeknown to him, however, he was being observed. He opted for a circuitous route up the coast to retrieve the Vektor mortar he’d left in the utility van the afternoon before. The van was parked on a grass verge in front of a terrace of cottages, 2.5 km to the north-west of the St Fergus gas terminal.
Sergy made good time to the van and, 300 metres short of it, he steered over to the bushes at the side of the road, stopped dead and inspected the scene in front of him. All was quiet. He felt under his leather jacket for his Stechkin automatic pistol. He paused and then continued on his way towards the van. Adrenalin pumped through his veins. He knew he would be vulnerable as he approached the van. If the security services were on the ball, there was the possibility that they could have pieced together the location of his second target. If so, they would be watching the surrounding area like a hawk for all unexplained movements.
He stopped his car in front of the van, pulled out a set of keys from his jacket pocket, walked over and opened the van’s sliding side door. On the floor were two heavy-duty workman’s tool bags. He lifted them up, turned and made for the small gap in the hedgerow a few metres away. He dropped to his knees, opened the first bag and lifted out the Vektor mortar. In moments it was pointing through the gap towards the St Fergus gas facility and storage tanks over the slight hill in the distance. He had already calculated the sets of angles of trajectory and compass settings required in ballistic mode. The missiles would explode above the main storage tanks.
In the second tool bag, lying next to the mortar, were twenty missiles. He pulled opened the top of the bag, picked up a missile and in a fluid movement dropped it down the barrel of the mortar.
‘Svoloch!’ he swore in Russian. The bloody thing had misfired; either the firing pin was damaged – but he’d checked it the day before – or it was a bad missile. There was an outside chance that the missile could go off at any moment. The odds were that the missile was a dud, but did he want to risk it exploding as he got it out of the barrel?
Sergy then did what he would never have done on the battlefield: he left the mortar where it was, put his hand into a side pocket of his jacket, fished out a small explosive with a timing device, armed it and placed it in the bag with the nineteen remaining missiles. He stood up, returned to his car and left the scene, heading towards a small industrial unit on the outskirts of Peterhead.
He was in contemplative mood; he was £3 million richer after his success at Cruden Bay, but destroying the St Fergus facility would have earned him a further £1 million. He abhorred the sense of failure, but whether he had £3 million or £4 million in the bank made little difference – he was now richer than in his wildest dreams.
Moments after Sergy’s car has disappeared out of sight, the three special services men who had been watching his every move broke cover. They had known that the terrorist would suffer a misfire, as they had removed the firing pin, and had watched Sergy place an explosive in the bag with the missiles. The nearest soldier was seventy-five metres away. He spoke with his commander. It was agreed that the terrorist had left an explosive with a time delay to cover his tracks. It was now time to decide whether to investigate or wait for the big bang. The SAS soldier ran crouching close to the ground. If it had been him, he would have set the device to explode in ten minutes in order to give him time to get away from the scene before it went off.
He opened the bag. His eyes locked on to the small explosive device. It was a small but lethal piece of plastic explosive with a sophisticated timing device. The digital readout showed 0:37. Delicately, he picked it up and walked fifteen paces out into the field, placed it on the ground, turned and ran for cover.
Sergy wound down his window; it was a bitterly cold day and the heater of his old car barely made an impression on the wintry air flooding inside. He heard the dull bang of the explosion; it was far quieter than he’d anticipated. His mind put two and two together. Koit, the Russian bastard, had sold them duds. He wound up the window and thought unspeakable thoughts. Suddenly, not having the full £4 million r
ankled.
Twenty-five minutes later and still thinking foul thoughts, Sergy arrived at the industrial property that had been his base for the past twenty-four hours.
Away from prying eyes, he swapped his car for an old moped and changed into scruffy sailor’s clothes. Unbeknown to him, the front of the property was being watched. It was one of those on Rafi’s list.
Sergy opened the back door to the industrial unit and left via an overgrown dirt track on a short cut through an adjoining property. He came close to losing those watching him, but as he turned into Catto Drive his moped chugged straight past the nondescript MI5 communications vehicle coordinating his surveillance. Instead of heading straight for the harbour he went to a truckers’ café a mile away. Here he consumed a hearty English breakfast washed down with several cups of coffee, read a tabloid newspaper and watched, with pleasure, the awful news on the small television secured to the wall. The team watching his every move kept their distance.
Just before noon he paid, got on his moped and headed slowly towards the docks. He counted three police cars with lights flashing pass by. They paid not one jot of interest in him. At the docks, he parked a short distance away from the trawler Northern Rose, went into a warehouse and came out moments later carrying a crate of supplies. He headed towards the trawler and climbed on board, as she was slipping her mooring lines.
Sergy stood on the deck for a few moments, as if he was looking for a colleague, then went below deck. Northern Rose motored out to sea then steered northwards on to a course that would take her safely past Rattray Head. An hour later she changed course to north-north-west, heading towards Duncansby Head, the Orkney Islands and the Pentland Firth.
The MI5 team were pleased to see Sergy safely on board. He was away from the public and the prospect of collateral damage had receded.
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