First Response

by Stephen Leather

  ‘Can I get you a coffee?’ asked Kamran.

  ‘Caffeine is the last thing I need right now,’ said Thatcher. ‘But I’d love a camomile tea.’

  ‘I’ll get it,’ said Lumley, heading out of the suite.

  Thatcher looked out over the special operations room appreciatively. ‘This is impressive,’ he said. ‘You’re getting live CCTV feeds from around the city?’

  ‘Everywhere we can,’ said Kamran.

  ‘We’ve been watching it on TV at Thames House. One hell of a day.’

  ‘And it’s getting worse by the minute,’ said Kamran. He gestured at a chair. ‘Make yourself comfortable while I bring you up to speed.’

  WANDSWORTH (2.45 p.m.)

  ‘Sami, I really have to go to the toilet,’ said Zoe. She was jiggling from foot to foot. ‘I’m going to piss myself.’

  ‘There’s nothing I can do,’ said Malik. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘You want to be handcuffed to someone who’s wet themselves?’

  ‘You can pee on the floor.’

  ‘Then it’ll spread everywhere. Ask them for a bucket or something.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘A bucket. I’ll pee in a bucket. And the kids need something to eat and drink.’ She nodded at the changing rooms. The two toddlers had been crying non-stop for the past fifteen minutes and no amount of shouting from Malik had quietened them down. ‘That’s why they’re crying, Malik. Kids cry when they’re hungry. You said they’ve got until six to free the prisoners. That’s more than three hours. Do you want kids crying for the next three hours?’

  Malik bit his lower lip. She was right. The crying was doing his head in and it was getting worse. ‘Okay, okay,’ he said. ‘Come on.’ He pulled the chain and they walked slowly towards the shop entrance. ‘Jamie?’ he shouted. ‘Jamie, are you there?’

  ‘I’m here, Sami,’ shouted the negotiator. He sounded far away, at the other end of the shopping centre, maybe. ‘Do you want me to come over?’

  ‘No, stay where you are. There’s a girl here who needs to go to the toilet. You have to get me a bucket or something.’

  ‘Okay, Sami, I can do that.’

  ‘And there are two kids. They need food. And something to drink.’

  ‘How old are the kids?’

  ‘I don’t know. Young.’

  ‘They’re two and a half!’ shouted the woman in the changing room.

  ‘Two and a half,’ repeated Malik.

  ‘I’ll get something fixed up. What about you, Sami? Are you hungry?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I could bring a pizza or something.’

  ‘I don’t want a fucking pizza!’ shouted Malik.

  ‘I could eat pizza,’ said the woman in the changing room.

  ‘We’re not here to eat fucking pizza!’ yelled Malik.

  ‘It’s almost three o’clock and I haven’t had any lunch.’

  Malik groaned. ‘Jamie, send in a pizza as well.’

  ‘No pineapple,’ shouted the woman. ‘I hate pineapple.’

  Malik muttered under his breath. ‘No pineapple on the pizza, Jamie. A bucket. And something for the kids. That’s all.’

  ‘I’ll get it sorted, Sami,’ shouted the policeman.

  ‘And I want some fags,’ said the woman in the changing room. ‘I’m gasping.’

  ‘You can’t smoke in here,’ said Zoe.

  ‘I need a fucking cigarette, darling,’ said the woman.

  ‘He’s got explosives strapped to him and you want to light a cigarette?’ Zoe looked at Malik and shook her head in disgust. ‘Some people, huh?’

  LAMBETH CENTRAL COMMUNICATIONS COMMAND CENTRE (3 p.m.)

  ‘Chief Superintendent Philip Gillard is on his way up,’ said Sergeant Lumley. ‘SO15.’

  ‘Finally,’ said Kamran. Acting as Gold Commander had been challenging but it had been the most stressful few hours of his life and he was looking forward to handing over the reins. He went out to the special operations room and met the chief superintendent at the entrance. Gillard was wearing a dark blue suit with a red and black striped tie, his black hair glistening as if it had been gelled. He was wearing black-framed spectacles and carrying a scuffed leather briefcase, and looked for all the world as if he had arrived to sell them life insurance. He shook hands with Kamran. His fingers were stained with nicotine and there was a wedding band on his left hand.

  ‘We’ve not met before, but I was at a presentation you gave on major incident procedure last year at Hendon,’ said Gillard. ‘It was good stuff.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Kamran.

  ‘This is our first time, so a few ground rules. When it’s just the two of us I’m Philip, or boss or governor, if you prefer. You’re Mohammed, right?’

  ‘Mo is fine,’ said Kamran.

  ‘So when it’s just the two of us I’ll call you Mo, if that’s okay with you. In front of the troops we use our ranks.’

  ‘Sounds good,’ said Kamran.

  ‘So what do I do desk-wise?’

  ‘We’re in the Gold Command suite,’ said Kamran. He took Gillard through to the room. ‘This is the Gold Commander’s station.’ He pointed at the desk he had been using.

  ‘What about you?’

  ‘I’ll take this one,’ said Kamran, gesturing at the workstation to the right of the Gold Commander’s. ‘Sergeant Lumley has been assisting me and is using that desk.’

  Lumley nodded. ‘Sir,’ he said.

  Chris Thatcher was sitting opposite Sergeant Lumley, studying a CCTV feed of the Wandsworth shop.

  ‘Bloody hell – Chris Thatcher!’ Gillard exclaimed.

  Thatcher’s jaw dropped. ‘Phil?’ He stood up and the two men embraced and patted each other on the back. ‘Must be, what, fifteen years?’

  ‘More like twenty,’ said the chief superintendent. He released his grip on Thatcher. ‘Chris and I were in the Flying Squad in the nineties,’ he said. ‘Snatcher Thatcher he was known as then.’

  ‘Chief Inspector Thatcher, actually,’ said Thatcher. He grinned. ‘And I seem to remember you being just a sergeant at the time, so a little respect is in order.’

  ‘Chris is a security consultant, these days,’ said Kamran. ‘He was over at Thames House so we’ve just pulled him in.’

  Lynne Waterman stood up and introduced herself. Gillard shook hands with her, then swung his briefcase onto the desk, hung his jacket over the back of his chair and sat down. He steepled his fingers under his chin. ‘Right, Mo, bring me up to speed.’

  Kamran spoke for the best part of fifteen minutes and the chief superintendent didn’t interrupt once. He nodded, he smiled occasionally, but most of the time he remained impassive as Kamran went through what had happened and detailed who was doing what in the special operations room.

  ‘Looks as if you’ve got everything on an even keel,’ said Gillard, when Kamran had finished.

  ‘There’s one wrinkle,’ said Kamran. ‘The only point of contact we have is this guy Shahid and he’ll only talk to me. That’s why Chris is here. I’m not trained in negotiation and his skill set will be helpful.’

  ‘How does Shahid get in touch?’

  ‘He calls my mobile.’

  Gillard frowned. ‘How did that come about?’ he said. ‘Protocol is to make contact through a landline and record.’

  ‘He came through to the SOR, and after our first conversation he said he’d only talk to me. He insisted on a mobile number.’

  The chief superintendent grimaced. ‘That’s unfortunate.’

  ‘I agree, but he was adamant.’

  ‘And he said he’ll only talk to you?’

  Kamran nodded.

  ‘Why do you think that is? Because you’re a Muslim?’

  ‘I don’t think so. If anything, he seemed perturbed by the fact I was Muslim. He was asking all sorts of questions about how often I prayed, stuff like that. In fact he was so busy interrogating me that we managed to get a location of the mobile he was using.’

  ‘That wa
s when the van got shot up?’

  ‘Unfortunate. They heard a car backfire.’

  Gillard rubbed his chin. ‘Right. A few basic necessities I need before I get stuck in. I’m a smoker. I’m guessing the front of the building is out of bounds.’

  ‘There’s a terrace outside the canteen on the third floor,’ said Kamran. ‘Most of the smokers gather there.’

  ‘And how do we go about getting coffee here?’

  ‘Sergeant Lumley can fix you up,’ said Kamran. ‘But the canteen is open twenty-four/seven.’

  Gillard smiled at the sergeant. ‘White, two sugars. And if there are any biscuits going, I’d be a very happy bunny.’

  Lumley headed out.

  ‘He’s good?’ asked Gillard.

  ‘First class,’ said Kamran.

  ‘So here’s how we’ll play it,’ said Gillard. ‘I’m Gold Commander, but you stick close to me and we’ll share the load. I get the feeling this is going to get worse before it gets better. When Shahid calls, you answer and you talk to him. But talk to our tech boys and see if we can get the conversations recorded. I’d also like to listen in when you’re on to him. And so should Chris, obviously.’

  ‘I’ll get that sorted.’

  ‘When you spoke to him, what were your impressions?’

  ‘He’s organised. Confident. He knows what he’s doing. He asked for Gold Commander and it was his suggestion to release the kids in the childcare centre, as if he knew that was what I was going to ask for.’

  ‘But the fact you were a Muslim threw him?’

  ‘I think so. He wasn’t expecting it.’

  ‘And what about his voice? What could you tell?’

  ‘Do you mean could I tell if he was a Muslim? Not from his accent. South London, maybe. Essex. Twenties or thirties. Well educated.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘His vocabulary. His manner. There was no real emotion during the conversation. Like I said, there was a confidence about him. He seemed totally unfazed by what was happening.’

  ‘Okay, so what were you planning to do next?’

  ‘To be honest, I was waiting for him to call. I don’t see that we gain anything by negotiating with the bombers themselves. I don’t think the individuals on the ground have any negotiating power. They’re just the tools. Even if we do talk to them, I don’t think there’s anything they can do.’

  ‘And the guys on the ground? How are we getting on ID-wise?’

  ‘Fairly good progress on that front,’ said Kamran. ‘I’ll pull up the guys we’ve identified.’

  Kamran sat down and tapped on the keyboard. Gillard stood behind him. Kamran called up six photographs on his left-hand screen and he pointed at them one by one. ‘Rabeel Bhashir is in the church in Brixton. Mohammed Malik is in the shop in the Southside shopping centre in Wandsworth. Ismail Hussain is in the Fulham post office. Mohamed Osman is in the Kensington nursery. Faisal Chaudhry is in the pub in Marylebone. All are cleanskins, pretty much. Never red-flagged as terrorist threats in this country, no evidence of ISIS membership.’

  ‘And this one?’ asked Gillard, pointing to the final photograph.

  ‘I’m saving the best till last,’ said Kamran. ‘He’s a cop. An undercover cop with the National Crime Agency.’

  TAVISTOCK SQUARE (3.02 p.m.)

  As soon as they got within twenty feet of the bus, Biddulph could see that it was Kashif Talpur. There was no question about it. There was also no doubt that he was wearing a suicide vest packed with explosives. ‘What the fuck are you playing at, Kash?’ Biddulph muttered to himself.

  Talpur was standing next to the driver and on his left side was a woman who had clearly been crying earlier on but now had a blank look on her face as if she had emotionally shut down. The woman’s right hand was chained to Talpur’s left and in his right Talpur was holding what was obviously the trigger for the vest.

  Greene stopped and Biddulph almost bumped into him. He moved to Greene’s right side. Both men slowly raised their hands to show that they weren’t armed. ‘Kash! It’s me, Mark!’ shouted Biddulph.

  There was no reaction from Talpur, though several of the passengers had already spotted them and were peering through the windows. Biddulph realised that his voice wasn’t carrying through the helmet.

  ‘Kash!’ he shouted, louder this time, but there was still no reaction. He was side on to them, saying something to the driver. Biddulph looked at the upper floor of the bus. Two black schoolboys were looking down at him. And further along he saw a young mother cradling a baby and rocking back and forth.

  Biddulph began to remove his helmet but Greene realised what he was doing, put a hand on his shoulder and shook his head. ‘No way,’ said Greene.

  ‘I have to talk to him,’ said Biddulph.

  ‘That’s what the phone’s for,’ said Greene.

  ‘I’ve known Kash for years,’ said Biddulph. ‘There’s something not right about this.’

  As he was speaking, Talpur turned and spotted them. Biddulph saw the man’s mouth open and close but he couldn’t hear anything. He picked up the field phone with his left hand, held it up and pointed at it with his right, but that seemed to make Talpur even more agitated

  ‘I have to talk to him face to face,’ said Biddulph. ‘He can’t see who I am with the helmet on and he can’t hear a word I’m saying.’

  ‘If you take your helmet off and he detonates …’

  ‘If he was going to detonate, surely he’d have done it already.’

  ‘Your call,’ said Greene. ‘But it’ll be on your head.’ He grinned. ‘No pun intended.’

  Biddulph put the phone down, straightened up, then slowly removed his helmet. It snagged on something and Greene had to help him wiggle it off. As soon as the helmet came free, Biddulph heard Talpur screaming at him: ‘Get the fuck away! Both of you!’

  Biddulph put the helmet down next to the field phone. Greene was using the digital camera on video mode.

  Biddulph held up his hands and took a step towards the bus. ‘Kash, it’s me, Mark!’

  ‘Fuck off!’ shouted Talpur. ‘Just get the fuck away before we all die!’

  Biddulph took another step towards the bus. ‘Kash, mate, whatever the problem is, we can talk it through. I’m here to help.’

  Talpur said something to the driver and a few seconds later the door rattled open. Talpur stood in the doorway, glaring at Biddulph. ‘Listen to me and listen to me good!’ he shouted. ‘You coming here is putting everyone at risk. Do you not understand that? You need to go away – get the hell away from here – because if you don’t this vest will go off and everyone dies.’ He turned and spoke to the driver and the door closed.

  ‘Looks like he doesn’t want to talk,’ said Greene. ‘But leave the phone where it is, in case he changes his mind.’

  Biddulph picked up his helmet and the coil of wire attached to the field phone. The two men walked back to the cordon with Biddulph playing out the wire behind him.

  LAMBETH CENTRAL COMMUNICATIONS COMMAND CENTRE (3.04 p.m.)

  Sergeant Lumley stood up and waved over at Kamran. ‘ISIS have just posted a propaganda video on YouTube, claiming responsibility for what’s happening,’ he said. ‘Dozens of fundamentalist Twitter accounts are now tweeting about it.’

  ‘Can you put it up on the big screen?’ asked Kamran.

  ‘No problem,’ said the sergeant. He tapped on his keyboard and the YouTube main page appeared on the screen. Kamran stood up and Gillard joined him.

  Shahid was dressed in black and was wearing a black ski mask. Behind him was the black and white flag of the Islamic State of Iraq and Syria. He stood with his arms folded. ‘ISIS is prepared to do whatever is necessary to force the British government to release the ISIS fighters it is currently holding in Belmarsh Prison,’ he said.

  The flag disappeared and was replaced with a view of an Iraqi street. A man was walking towards an American checkpoint while soldiers in desert camouflage aimed their weapons at hi
m. Shahid was obviously standing in front of a green screen and the image was being superimposed behind him. He pointed at the man and as he did so he exploded and the checkpoint was destroyed.

  ‘ISIS suicide bombers are now in place at nine locations around London,’ said Shahid.

  The suicide-bomber footage was replaced with a TV news shot of the Brixton church where the first bomber had struck.

  ‘There is an ISIS warrior at this church, and if the six ISIS freedom fighters are not released by this evening, the warrior will destroy the church and everyone in it.’ On cue, the church exploded.

  Kamran flinched even though he knew it was only a CGI special effect.

  A map appeared on screen with nine cartoon bombs dotted around the capital, marking the location of the suicide bombers. ‘Other warriors are around the city, ready to give their lives in order to force the government to release the ISIS prisoners,’ said Shahid, folding his arms.

  The background became a rapid series of images of the effects of the Seven/Seven bombings in London – images of bodies on stretchers being carried from Underground stations, of damaged Tube carriages and the bus blown apart in Tavistock Square.

  The camera went in close on Shahid’s mask. ‘What happens next is in the hands of the prime minister,’ he said. ‘If he releases the ISIS Six, lives will be saved and he will have proven himself to be the better man. But if he insists on unjustly imprisoning the ISIS warriors, his citizens will die. He knows what needs to be done.’ Shahid raised a clenched gloved fist above his head. ‘Allahu Akbar!’ he said. ‘Allah be praised.’ The screen went black and then the ISIS flag appeared, wreathed in flames. It stayed on the screen for almost a minute as background chants of ‘Allahu Akbar’ grew louder and louder.

  ‘Two hundred thousand hits already,’ said Gillard, as the video came to an end. He looked at Lumley. ‘Can we talk to YouTube and get them to take it down?’

  ‘I can make the call, but even if we get them to take it down it’ll be copied and back up within minutes,’ said the sergeant. He peered at his computer screen. ‘It’s already on five other sites. Make that six.’

  ‘They really know how to use social media,’ said Kamran. ‘Videos of beheadings, video tutorials on how to sign up and what life is like as an ISIS soldier, all professionally done.’