by Colin Forbes
Europeans always repeated their tactics. Especially when they were successful. He had to surprise them. His voice was calm as he spoke again.
'The plan will proceed. Mohammed was exaggerating. He became hysterical. I am now coming aboard Barge No. 2. Have a rope ladder at the stern I can use to come aboard.'
He turned to his deputy, saw that he had anticipated what Ali would need. He was lowering a small, powerful speedboat at the stern. He then shinned down the rope to take over the controls.
Ali was beside him before he had expected the commander's arrival. Ali spoke quietly, firmly.
'Top speed. Remember to zig-zag- the way you did once on the Nile. We will trick them.'
49
The SIS and SAS units were in position roughly midway between Westminster and Lambeth bridges. They were well-concealed. Paula wore her night-glasses as the menacing snout of the next barge appeared under Lambeth Bridge.
Once again she spotted the second weapon stationed on deck to take down the main struts of the next target. She reported to Sarge. The barge was clear of the bridge swiftly, helped by the turn of the tide now flowing downriver, by the wind which was gaining in strength…
She pressed the lenses closer to her eyes, puzzled. Could not believe was she was seeing. It was important to tell Sarge what she was seeing.
'Barge changing direction. Appears to be heading towards this bank, towards us.'
'I have seen,' Sarge replied. 'Thanks for confirmation.'
'That's not all. Wait a minute. I must be sure…'
She was scanning the deck from stern to prow. Large numbers of the enemy were crouched down on the port side. Their side. Why? Then she saw the barrels of many weapons perched on the gunwale. She made herself speak calmly.
'Arabs in force stationed along deck. Almost hidden by gunwale. A huge quantity of weapons ready to fire.'
'Thank you…'
Sarge raised his own glasses, swept them along the deck. She was right. He grasped at once the new tactic. Diabolically clever. He issued a new order.
'No one, repeat no one is to open fire whatever happens. They are waiting for us to do that – so they can locate our positions. We may come under fire. Do not reply.'
The barge, looking immense the closer it came, was sailing on an almost diagonal course across the river. Sarge could not fire his bomb and missile at this angle. But soon they would have to change course or hit the Embankment.
'No dinghies came our way. They will later,' Buchanan reported.
It was the first time the Superintendent had communicated with them. It told Tweed, Beaurain – and Sarge -that the police anti-terrorist force stationed on the opposite bank was in the closest touch with the situation.
'Turn, damn you,' Paula said to herself.
As though hearing her, the barge changed course to avoid collision with the Embankment. Then it began. A storm of bullets raked the Embankment and the area beyond. Once started, it never seemed to stop. Not knowing where their opponents were, the al-Qa'eda were doing everything possible to tempt return fire – so their enemy's locations would be revealed.
Paula crouched lower, pushed down by Beaurain. It took incredible will-power to stay still under the barrage of gunfire without returning fire. Paula gritted her teeth, hating this situation. She glanced at Tweed, was surprised at his clinical expression. Typical, she thought. In a crisis he freezes.
The murderous barrage continued. She heard a gulp from her left, saw Harry clutching his shoulder. He had been hit. Moving very carefully, she reached him, removed his hand – covered with blood. She felt inside her shoulder-bag, took out her medical kit.
Using scissors, she gently cut away a portion of his uniform from the top of his shoulder. She risked using her torch, shielding the beam with one hand. The bullet had grazed his shoulder, scooping out a shallow channel. She squirted antiseptic water on it, removed the blood. Harry was looking at her, smiling. He shook his head. This is nothing, his shrug told her.
When she had cleaned the wound she used an antiseptic pad to cover it. Fixed it in place with tape. No blood oozed from underneath the pad. She put her mouth close to his ear. It was the only way he'd hear her with the infernal gunfire continuing.
'Don't use your left arm. Not before we get back.'
'It's OK. I heard you. Thanks.'
A blasting explosion shook the ground under their feet. Now grenades were being hurled from the barge at random. Then the explosions ceased. She looked up.
The barge had turned away from the Embankment, was heading towards mid river. All around them the cluster of trees they had sheltered under were shattered. Paula, knowing she'd not be seen now, stood up. The barge was heading straight for Westminster Bridge, the prize target.
The SAS unit was stationed nearer the target, to the left of where the SIS sheltered. Sarge was now able to adjust his large mortar, using its laser beam to aim the bomb. He looked at his subordinate, saw he was rapidly adjusting the angle of the missile launcher. He nodded.
The huge shell sailed towards its target, dropped neatly down the main hatch. At the same moment the missile whipped out of its muzzle, landed on the smaller weapon at the bows.
Paula felt sure the massive explosion was greater than she had witnessed with the first barge. The vessel shook from stem to stern. Flames lit up the river, then dense clouds of black smoke drifted above the flames. The barge began to heel over to starboard.
In the deckhouse Ali was badly shaken, but nothing in his expression showed. He realized the entire barge would be going down. He turned to the skipper he had taken over from.
'I have to leave to check the other barges. You are now in command
…'
He shinned down the rope ladder still attached to the stern. The small speedboat had been moored above the rudder. His assistant was already inside the speedboat, ready to operate the controls. AH lost his calm for a brief moment. He shouted at his assistant.
'Get us the hell out of here. Back to Barge No. 4, my original command post.'
'Immediately,' said the assistant, who had cut the mooring rope. He started up the engine, swung the speedboat away from the huge vessel which was turning turtle. Ali pushed him aside, grabbed the wheel.
'You forgot. For the sake of Allah we zig-zag. '
50
'Everybody into the jeeps. Move if you value your lives.'
There was an urgency in Sarge's communication Paula had never heard before. Out on the river the barge was still wallowing above the surface. She tried to help Harry as they rushed to the jeeps. He smiled, pushed her away.
'I can get there. Shoulder just aches a bit. I can use both hands to operate a sub-machine gun…'
Everyone was inside a jeep in record time, even carrying their satchels and weapons. The SAS unit had already swept past under Lambeth Bridge. She looked back as Tweed rammed down his foot on the accelerator. She then realized the foresight Sarge had shown, the reason for his urgency.
The full length of the barge suddenly sank swiftly deep down into the river. Its descent, so swift, added to its weight, divided the river briefly. She felt sure she had a glimpse of the river bed. Then two monster waves swept towards each bank, struck them like a cyclone, hurling unknown tons of water across the Embankment and up the sides beyond the pavement. They would have been inundated. She sighed with relief as they sped under the bridge and the river became normal.
There would have been no time for the crowds of men aboard to leave. They were now entombed in the sunken barge lying on the river bed.
The Arab commander of the three remaining barges, proceeding upriver, Sarge correctly guessed, would not try the same trick again. Sarge simply moved his three firing points closer to the target bridges, but far enough away so they would not be touched by his own bombs exploding.
Two barges were sunk by his bombs. They sank slowly, giving al-Qa'eda time to lower men in dinghies. But this time, on Ali's orders, they headed towards the right bank. None of them reached the
shore alive. Buchanan's anti-terrorist squad killed them all while they were still on the river.
Barge No. 5, with Ali now aboard, assigned to destroy Chelsea Bridge, received its bomb and missile as soon as it was well clear of the bridge, earlier than Ali had expected.
The vessel burst into flames along its whole length. The Arabs in dinghies, who had fled the barge, again headed for the right bank. Again, Buchanan's men, some using flame-throwers for the first time, killed all the Arabs before any came near the river bank.
The barge, which must have carried a large reserve of ammo, suddenly blew up. The deckhouse was hurled into the sky, fell back into the river, disappearing with a sinister hiss. Other sections flew skywards, descended, to be swallowed up by the fast-flowing river. Buchanan later congratulated his men on doing a great job.
Despite all his other responsibilities, Buchanan had not forgotten the captive guard at Dick's wharf. He disagreed with the decision that they should not risk rescuing Proctor.
After all it was his city, his side of the river. Therefore he gave careful instructions to Sergeant Mackie, marksman. Marler was recognized as being the top marksman in Europe, but Mackie was number two.
Earlier, Mackie, his rifle strapped over his shoulder, had cycled to Dick's wharf. Marler would have admired how silently Mackie moved when he reached his objective. He had descended to the main building where lights shone in a large office. Peering through a window, he saw Proctor tied to a chair. He also saw the brute of a guard armed with an automatic.
The last barge, destined to target Albert Bridge, was still moored to the wharf. As Mackie watched he saw the guard go to a window, peer down at the barge where men were removing mooring ropes. It was about to sail.
Mackie tested the window, was surprised to find it was not locked. Al-Qa'eda's security was not perfect. The guard had his back towards him, watching the crew below, as Mackie slowly pushed the window open, inch by inch. Hinges well oiled.
One of the crew on the wharf beckoned to the guard, pointed to a rope ladder slung over the side of the hull, the escape route. The guard came back into the room, checked his automatic. He then walked behind Proctor, raised the gun to lay it alongside Proctor's head.
Mackie coughed. The guard swung round, removing his weapon from Proctor's head. Mackie shot him twice – once in the head just in case he was wearing a bullet-proof jacket – then in the back below the left shoulder-blade. The guard toppled down forward, hitting the wooden floor with a thud.
Mackie climbed inside, ran to the prone guard, kicked away the automatic close to his hand. Bending down, he checked the carotid artery. Nothing. Dead as a dodo. He turned to Proctor, who had a dazed expression.
'Don't worry. I'm British anti-terrorist squad. Let's get these ropes off you. Expect you'll want to call your wife.'
51
'No sign of the SAS jeeps,' Harry called out.
Paula had helped him up into the rear of the jeep driven by Tweed. She looked back. Harry was right. There were three jeeps behind them but they carried the rest of Tweed's team. Beyond that there was empty Embankment as they headed for Albert Bridge. Driving with one hand, Tweed reached for his radio-telephone, hoping it had not been disconnected.
'Sarge, any hope of saving Albert?'
'Sorry. None. We have used up our special equipment. Only just come into service. I raided the store. Keep well clear of Albert. I leave it to you and Buchanan to deal with any enemy who might survive. My unit has been proud to cooperate with yours. Until next time…'
Then the connection was broken. The SAS had gone, as invisibly as they had arrived. Paula caught a glimpse of police cars racing along the opposite bank, keeping pace with Tweed's unit.
'I at least want to see Albert,' she said.
'But not too close,' Tweed warned.
'At least we've saved five out of six major bridges,' Newman commented over the phone, which was independent, but had earlier been linked with Sarge's communication system.
Tweed parked close to the Chelsea Royal Hospital area. The other three jeeps pulled up behind him. He jumped out, went back to them.
'I am now giving you a direct order. You will stay here and go no closer to the bridge. You probably heard Sarge's warning. We can do nothing to save Albert. But, as Newman said, five out of six major bridges saved is a good score.'
'We may be able to take a few more of them,' said Harry, now standing beside Tweed, his sub-machine gun tucked under his right arm.
'It's coming now,' Paula shouted.
On the opposite shore Buchanan stood outside the lead police car. Many vehicles were parked behind him. The dreadful silence had returned, the silence Paula found so eerie. She was standing on the Embankment, holding her camera. She knew the pictures she would take would be horrific but she felt she needed a record. She took two quickly.
The sixth barge, which had, according to plan, left Dick's wharf so late, was hardly moving as its bows thrust under Albert Bridge, reminding Paula of the snout of some monstrous shark.
In the deckhouse Ali was controlling the barge's momentum with great care. He had fled in his speedboat back to the last barge when he realized his operation had ended in disaster. And Abdullah had promised it would make the Trade Center operation in New York look like child's play.
He reversed the engines briefly, to halt the barge with the main hatch under the centre of the bridge. Then he ran out, along the deck, dropped down the ladder into the main hatch. He threw away the ladder.
He was going to press the two buttons for detonation himself. Ali would die with his remaining men. He stared round at the men with him on the base of the hull. They were kneeling on their prayer-mats, facing east.
Ali took a deep breath. Then pressed the first button, then the second. The huge shell-like bomb streaked upwards, aimed at the the centre of the bridge. He clasped his hands in prayer, his last movement.
Gazing through the viewfinder of her camera, Paula saw a huge object hurtling upwards. A brief vision. Then the world exploded. Deafening thunder rolled down the river. A swift blinding flash.
The entire centre of the bridge shattered, great sections of it hurtling into the sky, taking for ever to descend and disappear under the water. Waves rolled towards both shores. Fragments of white-painted railing hurtled up even higher to greater altitudes. Chunks of masonry the size of huge boulders flew across the Embankment, crashed into the houses in the Cheyne Walk area. The initial ear-splitting crash when the bomb hit had died down. Now they could hear the masonry fragments hitting buildings like a bombardment. On both sides of the river. A lot of black smoke obscured the wreckage which had once been a bridge. The breeze blowing downriver cleared the smoke, revealing the ghastly spectacle of the remnants of the bridge which had spanned the Thames for so many years.
Paula could take no more photos. She stood staring, camera held in hand by her side. The barge had gone as if it had never existed. Confined under the bridge, it had taken the full force of the devastating explosion. Later its entire savaged hull was found on the river bed.
Only one section of the bridge still seemed intact. On the left bank side a third of the span perched over nothing. Tweed pressed his binoculars to his eyes. Just in time to see the span wobble, give way, plunge down into the river. Albert Bridge was no more than a memory.
'Well,' Newman said, 'now we can see what we saved the other major five bridges. London would have been bisected for years.'
Paula turned away. She no longer wished to look. As she did so she heard on her headset Buchanan's firm voice.
'I think everyone might like to know Proctor, the hostage guard at Dick's wharf, was rescued. Alive and well, he's on his way home to meet his wife.' 'Thank God,' Paula whispered.
52
During the long, slow, circuitous drive back to Park Crescent Newman sat next to Harry, behind Paula. He explained he'd handed over the wheel of his jeep to Beaurain. After this remark no one spoke for a long time. Tweed broke the silence
when they were close to Park Crescent.
'Tomorrow we all have to keep our appointment with Warner at Carpford. It is only polite to do so.'
'So we can all come with you?' checked Paula.
'Yes, everyone. I don't think he's expecting anyone except me, but he'll have to put up with that. We were all part of what happened.'
'Forecast is for a clear sunny day tomorrow,' Newman said cheerfully, then shut up.
He didn't think Paula would appreciate the remark. From the way she was sitting, motionless, he guessed her mind was on what they had seen during the last moments of Albert Bridge. He thought of something else.
'Interesting that this time no dinghies were lowered. None of al-Qa'eda survived.'
'No they didn't.' Paula's tone of voice was a mix of cynicism and contempt. 'They thought they were on their way to heaven – where seventy-two beautiful young girls would be waiting, available. They've got a hope.'
'Just before everything blew up,' Newman began, 'through my binoculars I saw a slim, intelligent-looking man run from the deckhouse to the main hatch. Struck me he could well have been the mastermind behind the whole operation.'
'Maybe,' said Tweed. 'While I remember, travelling with us to Warner's meeting tomorrow we shall be taking Billy Hogarth and Margesson with us. So you know, Bob, how many four-wheel-drives we'll need.'
'Billy Hogarth and Margesson?' queried Paula. 'Why?'
'Because they live in Carpford.'
'Oh, I see,' she said. But in fact she didn't.
'Well, at least,' Newman said, 'there won't be any more of those disappearances. I wonder what did happen to those people. Such a strange mixture.'
'One other thing,' Tweed said as they reached Baker Street, a stone's throw from Park Crescent. 'I've invited Buchanan to join our party tomorrow. He played a great part in what was achieved. So add him to your list, Bob.'
'Quite a party then.'
Approaching Park Crescent, Tweed eased the jeep on to the pavement. It was the only way to get there. The road was solid with traffic bumper to bumper, and nothing moving. A uniformed policeman rushed up to him, furiously indignant.
