‘Last chance,’ he growled. ‘Get it wrong next time and we’re out of here. But you won’t be because you’ll be dead. Just think about that.’
The manager hastily wiped the sweat from his hands on his trousers, and started again. As the lock clicked on the final number, this time he was able to turn the key. He then seized the handle and pulled the door open, swinging easily on its massive hinges.
It wasn’t a particularly big safe, because it wasn’t a particularly big bank – Morschel had chosen his targets carefully, avoiding the larger branches likely to be equipped with better security systems or safes that would be more difficult to crack. Inside there were piles of banknotes in multiple currencies waiting invitingly on the shelves, and the German could see dollars and euros as well as pounds.
‘Fill them,’ he ordered, tossing the two nylon holdalls to the manager, then stepped back to the door and glanced along the corridor to check that his men were still in control. The terrorist emptying the tills was now standing beside the counter, the bulging holdall at his feet. He nodded to signal that he was finished.
As the manager finished stuffing money into the holdalls he stepped back, trembling, clearly wondering if he was going to survive this encounter. The German slung his weapon, plucked both bags from the ground, turned and left the room without a word. As he ran towards the main door, his two companions followed him.
Outside, the fake ‘police’ van was waiting, blue lights flashing and the rear doors wide open. The three terrorists jumped in and slammed the doors shut. Immediately, the driver gunned the engine and accelerated hard down the street, the siren blaring to clear a path.
In the back, the leader pulled off his mask and looked at his watch. The entire raid had taken under four and a half minutes, thirty seconds less than Morschel had planned.
As the van screamed down the centre of the road, drivers pulling their vehicles over to allow it to pass, he took out his mobile phone, dialled a number and waited for the call to be answered. When it was, he said simply, ‘Alpha is complete.’
Hammersmith, London
Richter pushed open the door of Simpson’s office. The call from his superior had been brief, peremptory and almost entirely uninformative.
Simpson had the phone to his ear and silently pointed to the chair in front of his desk.
‘How many dead?’ he asked and jotted something on the pad in front of him, as Richter sat down.
A few seconds later he ended the call and gazed across the desk. ‘Now we know what Morschel and his merry men were talking about. An IED has just been exploded outside a bank in Greenford. What appeared to be a Metropolitan Police van arrived on the scene a few minutes later. Three men got out and robbed the bank, killing one of the staff members in the process. It’s still very confused over there, but the initial reports suggest maybe half a dozen people were killed, about thirty injured, one building was totally wrecked, and the robbery netted perhaps three or four hundred thousand pounds.’
Richter digested that for a few seconds, then shook his head. ‘I doubt it,’ he said.
‘What the fuck’s that supposed to mean? I’ve just come off the line to the Five duty officer, who was briefed five minutes ago by the Met. This has all just happened, so what exactly don’t you understand?’
‘I don’t mean about the robbery. I mean that if this is connected to Morschel, it’s not what he would consider a major terrorist attack. The conversation recorded by the German police in Stuttgart mentioned the “big one” in London. But to me, this incident sounds like the Germans just picking up some loose change to fund their operation.’
‘Six people are dead, Richter. Don’t forget that.’
‘I’m not. I just don’t think this is all that German bastard has got planned.’
‘So what, then, do you think would count as the “big one”? Doing a Guy Fawkes job at Westminster? Something like that?’
‘Maybe. Something impressive, that’s for sure, and knocking over a high street bank doesn’t count, in my opinion. Half the appeal for the terrorist mind-set is the shock factor, like knocking over the Twin Towers while most of the world sat and watched it on satellite television.’ Richter paused for a second or two, thinking. ‘How big a bank was it?’ he asked, finally.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I don’t know how they classify banks – branches, sub-branches or whatever. What I’m interested in is the size of the bank, and the sort of money it was likely to hold. In other words, was this a major bank raid that went wrong, with the result that they walked out with less than half a million? Or did they deliberately pick a small bank and get away with most of what was there?’
‘I see where you’re going with that,’ Simpson said. ‘I don’t know, but I’ll find out.’ He picked up the phone, to ask Thames House a couple of questions.
‘Right,’ he said eventually, replacing the receiver, ‘basically Five don’t know for certain because the Met haven’t told them – information’s still coming in, obviously – but they think it was just a small local bank, and the take was probably most of what was currently in the safe.’ Simpson eyed Richter questioningly. ‘You think this is just a diversionary tactic, that Morschel’s got something else up his sleeve?’
‘Makes sense to me. And while half the Met descends on Greenford looking for clues that they probably won’t find, I wouldn’t mind betting Morschel’s out there right now organizing another withdrawal somewhere else in London.’
‘You could be right,’ Simpson said. ‘I’ll pass that suggestion on to the Met through Five.’
‘It won’t help. There are probably thousands of banks in the Greater London area, and these bastards could be planning to hit almost any one of them. They have the element of surprise, and there’s nothing we can do about that. What are the plods up to now?’
‘They’re instituting checks at all exit points from the UK, working on the assumption that these guys are German and so they’ll want to get back to the continent with their ill-gotten gains.’
‘That’s probably a waste of time, seeing how leaky the Channel ports are.’
‘Agreed. Apart from that, they’re probably chasing down the only actual lead they’ve got so far.’
‘The fake police van?’
‘Exactly The witnesses aren’t going to be a lot of help, since most of them would still be in shock after the explosion, and I doubt anyone would have noticed a little detail like the van’s number plate. But it’s possible we might get something useful from the CCTV cameras in the area.’
And don’t forget that van had to have come from somewhere. My guess is they stole it and faked the markings themselves, but there’s a possibility they hired it from one of those companies that supply film props. Somebody’s chasing that down already, I hope?’
‘If they aren’t, they will be as soon as I’ve briefed Five,’ Simpson said.
And the same applies to the gear these guys were wearing. I presume they were all dressed as policemen?’
‘So I’ve been told.’
‘OK, what do you want me to do?’
Simpson looked surprised. ‘Get yourself over to Green-ford, of course. It’s only just up the road. Five want a liaison officer there, as usual. More importantly, you know about Morschel, and the plods don’t, so you might come across something that’s significant. You’re still armed, presumably?’
Richter eased open the left side of his jacket and nodded. ‘Right, then,’ he said, standing up. ‘I’d better get going.’
A2, south-east London
The Mercedes finally reached the dual-carriageway section of the A2, and Morschel began to accelerate, though checking his speed and watching out for cameras.
His mobile rang as they passed Bexley and Hagen picked it up to answer it. The conversation was brief, just a few words.
‘The second group’s in position, and both vehicles have reported ready,’ he announced, but almost immediately the phone rang again. This tim
e the conversation took longer, and when Hagen ended this call he was smiling.
‘Alpha is clear and complete,’ he said. ‘They’ve ditched the police van and everything except the weapons, and they’re now in their getaway cars and heading for the Channel ports. They’ve split the take between them, and a rough count gives us just over four-hundred-thousand pounds’ worth of mixed currencies in total.’
‘Good. If the other groups are as successful, we’ll have sufficient funds to last us for quite a while. And as long as this last phase works as we’ve planned, we’ve got the final payment from our Islamic colleagues to look forward to as well.’
Hagen looked at the dashboard clock, then down at the road map on his lap. ‘We’ll reach the marina in about ten minutes, so we’re pretty much on time.’
American Embassy, Grosvenor Square, London
News of the bank raid had reached Grosvenor Square at about the same time as the Security Service duty officer at Thames House had been notified, and the information, although sketchy, was flashed to every computer within the building as a ticker running across the bottom of the screen. When Carlin Johnson saw it, he knew exactly what it meant. VIPER had to be running, and Stevens must still be out there, somewhere. He also knew it was time he left the building.
As he stood up, his computer emitted a soft tone indicating receipt of an email, so he sat down again and clicked the mouse to open it. It originated from Langley encrypted and designated for his eyes only. Johnson ran the decryption routine and studied the text. Then he sat back in his chair and muttered a single expletive. All his contact back at Langley had been able to find out so far was that the person who had run the searches on Walnut was John Westwood, and that wasn’t good news. West-wood was a Langley wheel, not some inquisitive junior officer who could be easily warned off. But, Johnson now reasoned, if Stevens was still out there directing VIPER, the endgame was now so close – a matter of hours, rather than days – that it might not matter. Once the final phase was complete, he could locate Stevens – not difficult, because the man had been given an emergency contact routine – and eliminate him.
That would neatly tie up the sole remaining loose end, and none of the other four people indoctrinated into the operation would be able to say a word about it, ever, because the whole plan was their idea, and admitting to any part of it would be tantamount to signing their own death warrants. And VIPER had been specifically designed to point the finger of suspicion in a direction well away from Langley Virginia, so once the job was finished and Stevens was dead, that would be the end of it. Whatever trail there might be would stop right there.
Greenford, London
Finding the scene of the bombing wasn’t difficult. Richter just followed a couple of speeding police cars and an ambulance, then stopped the pool Ford, half on the pavement, just short of the location and walked the rest of the way.
The street was a scene of devastation. On one side of the road and across half of the pavement was the floor-pan and a scattering of other mechanical components that had previously comprised a medium-sized van. Twisted, burnt and blackened bits of the bodywork were strewn around the scene, some of them dozens of yards from the epicentre of the explosion. Brick rubble, broken glass and pieces of shattered timber from the partially destroyed building added to the mass of debris.
The street was still chaotic, with police officers, firemen and ambulance crews running in all directions, trying to help the injured, or putting out the handful of fires that had started and generally trying to restore some kind of order. The flashing blue and red lights of the parked vehicles provided a kind of surreal additional illumination, and shouted orders and cries of agony from the wounded victims combined to create a continual torrent of noise. Lying close to the remains of the van, half a dozen motionless shapes testified to the horrendous effectiveness of the attack.
Richter was aware that he was essentially a spectator, and that there was almost nothing he could do to assist either the police or the casualties. And, frankly, he wasn’t convinced that there was any point in him being there at all. Any clues left in the bomb vehicle would no longer exist, unless some forensic genius with a microscope managed to pick something out of the total wreckage. The bank raid, too, had been fast, brutal and extremely efficient, and he doubted very much if the bad guys were incompetent enough to leave behind anything that might help identify them.
He watched the activity from the end of the street, taking in the scene and snapping a series of pictures with a small digital camera. The images might help him reconstruct the sequence of events when he got back to Hammersmith. Or not, as the case might be. He really didn’t know, and didn’t particularly care. The bomb had exploded, the bank had been robbed, and there was nothing that anybody could now do about either event apart from clear up the mess. In his opinion, the most important thing was to try to deduce where the next raid would take place.
And that, as Richter had already pointed out to Simpson, was going to be sodding difficult, given the number of banks scattered across London. And it wasn’t just banks: there were also building societies, jewellery shops and a host of other potentially attractive and high-value targets in the city. Assuming the gang was planning another hit – and that was still Richter’s best guess – they could next strike absolutely anywhere.
The bank itself was fairly small, with houses on one side and shops on the other, and faced a short parade of businesses on the opposite pavement, where the van had been parked. There was nothing about the street, or the bank, or anything else that Richter could see that struck him as being even slightly unusual. It was an entirely typical London thoroughfare. Without looking at the street names or consulting a map, there would be no way of telling exactly where it was located.
That started a new train of thought. Richter took a few last pictures, trying to get a panorama of the scene in front of him, then walked back to his car and rummaged around in the glove-box. He pulled out a London and Home Counties A-Z road map that showed the entire city and a good portion of south-east England, opened it up and studied it for a few minutes.
Then he started the Fiesta’s engine, put the car into gear and performed an illegal U-turn before heading back towards Hammersmith. On the way, he pulled out his mobile and told the duty officer what he thought he might have discovered.
Chapter Fifteen
Monday
Hammersmith, London
‘This is bloody thin, Richter,’ Simpson snapped. They were again meeting in his office, the Home Counties map lying open on the desk between them.
‘I know it is, but you told me to visit the scene of the Greenford bombing, and this is the only useful conclusion I reached.’
‘Useful? That’s not what I’d call it. Is this really all you could come up with?’
‘Simpson, a fucking bomb had gone off. What did you expect me to find – a trail of fingerprints? Maybe a picture of one of the bad guys lighting the fuse? The whole street’s like a war zone, plods and medics running in all directions, blood, bodies and bits of debris all over the place. This was the only thing that struck me while I was there and, yes, I might be completely wrong.’
‘I don’t think “might” is the correct word, Richter. You really think the terrorists chose that bank in that street simply because it would be easy for them to get to the motorway after they’d done the job? Give me a break.’
‘I didn’t actually say that. What I suggested was that the proximity of the A40 and the M4, two major roads heading directly out of London, might have been a contributing factor in their choice. That’s all. Obviously they would also have had to scout the area, select their target and probably go inside the bank a few times to check the layout. But if they do another one, as I believe they will, I’ll bet it’s also close to a major arterial road. Look, these guys are probably German, so they won’t know London well, and the last thing they’d want to do is get stuck somewhere in the backstreets, trying to find a way out. This isn’t s
ome real-life rerun of The Italian Job.’
‘I’m not convinced by any of this, Richter. I still think we may have already witnessed Hans Morschel’s “big one”.’
‘Not a chance.’ Richter shook his head firmly. ‘I reckon this is something his group’s organized just to get us looking the wrong way and put some extra funds in his pocket. I’m convinced he’s got something else in mind. And another thing. That first bomb blast was in north-west London, so if there’s another IED somewhere in the city, my bet is it will also be north of the river.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I think Morschel is deliberately trying to get us to concentrate our resources in the wrong area. Most of the Met’s mobile patrol officers are now probably in the Greenford area, leaving the way clear for another attack somewhere else. Once that happens, there’ll be two serious crime scenes in London, and they’ll become the total focus of all police activity. So if Morschel has got something much bigger planned here, it will almost certainly involve a target south of the river.’
‘Like what?’
‘Take your pick. There are plenty of possibilities, but my guess is that he’ll be aiming to hit something instantly recognizable, like the Royal Festival Hall, the London Eye or maybe even Vauxhall Cross. Don’t forget, the IRA did a fair bit of damage there with their homemade mortar.’
‘Yes, but Legoland’s pretty well protected these days. I doubt if even a suicide bomber could get close enough to do much damage, and I don’t think Morschel’s men are likely to have embraced radical Islam.’
‘It’s well protected on the south side, from the road, but what about from the Thames? Suppose Morschel is planning something with a stolen boat or a barge? Remember that sodding great fertilizer bomb the IRA detonated in the City? That was just a truck bomb, so think how much more explosive they could pack into a barge. And, come to think of it, the Palace of Westminster is another obvious target in the area.’
Timebomb (Paul Richter) Page 26
