by Bill Rogers
‘This is Bravo Charlie One,’ she said. ‘Please ask them to repeat the announcement. And I want repeated text messages sent to his phone.’
A minute passed and still no sign of Mwamba. The Security Coordinator’s voice broke in. ‘This is Bravo Charlie Two. I have confirmation that TFU2 are on approach and awaiting instructions on channel six.’
The operator beside Jo was pointing to the operational chart.
Jo nodded. ‘Bravo Charlie Three, please report your status,’ she said.
A male voice responded. ‘This is Tango Foxtrot Charlie,’ said the Tactical Firearms commander. ‘I have six authorised firearms officers. ETA two minutes. A further six on-call officers are on-site and in the process of being briefed and kitted up as we speak.’
Jo assumed that on-call officers referred to some of the traffic cops and Tactical Aid team, emergency-trained in the wake of the Arena Bombing to plug the gap caused by savage central government cuts.
‘Be advised that Papa Sierra is not yet located,’ she told him. ‘Please confirm that you are aware that Papa Sierra is assumed to be armed only with a .177-calibre air rifle? Over.’
‘So, advised,’ he responded. ‘Rules of engagement will apply.’
Jo ran through it in her head. Arrest, contain, neutralise, in that order. Not shoot to kill. Although, in practice, “neutralise” meant a shot to the chest, which would almost certainly be fatal.
A female voice, teetering on the edge of excitement, cut in. ‘Vehicle belonging to Hotel Mike has been located. Screen six. Screen six.’
Every head in the room stared up at the bank of screens.
The operator beside Jo pointed it out to her.
‘Where is this?’ she asked.
‘In the Frankie & Benny’s parking lot. Right in front of the Great Hall.’
‘Can we get a close-up?’ she asked.
The camera was already zooming in on a four-year-old red Nissan Qashqai.
‘He’s still in the car!’ she exclaimed. ‘Hotel Mike. Is that Foxtrot Mike he’s talking to? Can anyone see?’
Mwamba was in the driver’s seat, leaning over and talking to someone in the passenger seat. Just the top of the head was visible. A mass of curls. It had to be Françoise.
‘Nearest unit, please advise,’ said Jo.
A new voice, tight with tension. ‘Papa Sierra may be among the trees, on the bank!’
‘And there’s a motorbike in the bike bay beside the parking lot,’ said another voice.
The camera swivelled. Above a sloping grassy bank, on the north-west edge of the parking lot, a figure lurked in the trees. Black jeans, a black hooded top. Was that a backpack?
‘Can you confirm, Bravo Charlie One?’ Gordon asked.
‘Negative,’ Jo replied. ‘Standby. The build is right . . . but . . .’
The figure moved swiftly through the trees and stopped, half hidden behind the trunk of a tree on the edge of the top of the bank. The camera zoomed in. As the figure began to shrug off the backpack, Jo caught a glimpse of shoulder-length hair and a fledgling beard. Jo’s heart began to race.
‘Yes! Yes! Yes!’ she shouted. ‘All units. Papa Sierra sighted in woods above Frankie & Benny’s parking lot. Believed armed and dangerous. Approach with caution.’
She switched her attention to the Nissan.
‘Stay in the car,’ she muttered. ‘For God’s sake, stay in the car.’
Chapter 75
Henry Mwamba reached into his pocket and turned on his phone. ‘Françoise,’ he said, ‘I’ll just let Papa and Mama know we’re going to eat first.’
‘Can I play on the grass, Babu?’
‘Of course. But mind the cars and stay nearby.’
He put the phone to his ear.
‘What’s he doing?’ said Jo.
‘He’s got his phone out,’ said Nick Carter. ‘He must have switched it on. He’s bound to see all the messages we’ve sent.’
The passenger door opened and they watched the girl jump out.
‘No!’ Jo exclaimed, unable to stop herself. ‘Get back in the car!’ She pulled herself together. ‘Foxtrot Mike has left the vehicle,’ she said. ‘She is crossing the parking lot towards the grassed area. She is running up the bank. She is within feet of Papa Sierra. He has moved back out of sight. Now she is running back down again. Where is the firearms commander? Who is the nearest to the parking lot?’
‘This is Tango Foxtrot Charlie,’ said the TFC. ‘ETA one minute. Over.’
‘Go directly to the Frankie & Benny’s parking lot,’ she told him. ‘Immediately in front of the main entrance.’
‘Roger that,’ he replied.
‘All other units to the vicinity,’ she ordered, ‘but hang back. Do not engage. I repeat. Do not engage.’
Jo held her breath as the young girl began to run back up the bank. They saw her grandfather turn to look at her through the window, fear etched on his face. He frantically scrabbled to lower the window. The girl reached the top and turned. Mwamba opened his mouth to shout to her. Clements stepped out from behind his tree and grabbed the girl’s arm, pulling her towards him. He clamped her to his chest with his left arm.
‘What’s that he’s holding in his right hand?’ someone asked.
Jo instinctively craned forwards. ‘Papa Sierra has a gun. It looks like a long-barrelled pistol, possibly a target pistol.’
The girl began to struggle. Below them in the parking lot, the driver’s door of the Nissan began to open.
Jo wrenched off her headset and pushed back her chair.
‘What are you doing?’ Sarsfield asked.
‘I’m a trained negotiator and I’ve met Clements before,’ she said. ‘I’m going out there. Nick, take over. You’ve done your Command module. You are now Bronze Command One.’
She made sure her earpiece was secure, switched her Airwave radio on, and jogged towards the door. Carly Whittle paused for a second and then hurried after her.
On the screens behind them the girl was continuing to wriggle in vain. Clements was waving her grandfather towards him with the barrel of his gun.
‘SI Stuart, get back in there!’ said Gates, as Jo ran down the corridor towards the stairwell.
‘You have eyes on,’ Jo replied. ‘Bravo Charlie One and Sierra Charlie One are perfectly able to manage the situation. Mwamba and his daughter are the responsibility of me and my team. And so is Clements. I don’t want to be making life-or-death decisions from a control room.’ She was breathing heavily now. ‘I need to be where the action is. I need to see it, smell it, feel it. Besides. I’m the only trained negotiator on scene.’
Now she was at the foot of the stairs and racing towards the main exit. Behind her she could hear another set of feet on the stairs. In her earpiece she heard the firearms commander confirm that he was on scene, and Nick Carter describing Henry Mwamba standing beside the Nissan, frozen with fear and uncertainty. Jo burst out onto the esplanade. A member of Intu Trafford Centre security stood by an electric buggy, waiting for her. She leapt into the passenger seat while he switched on the ignition.
As they set off, Carly Whittle jumped onto one of the rear seats. ‘You’ll need someone to look after the girl,’ she said, forestalling Jo’s objection.
Off to the right, an unmarked black saloon with flashing blue lights sped towards them, accompanied by a marked Land Rover Defender.
‘Tactical Firearms are on scene,’ Jo said, her heart pounding in her chest.
‘Stop here,’ she ordered the driver, less than twenty metres from the Nissan.
Henry Mwamba had left the safety of the Qashqai and had started walking towards the grassed area where his granddaughter was still struggling to free herself.
‘Mr Mwamba!’ Jo shouted, climbing out of the cart. ‘Get back behind your vehicle.’
He turned towards her, exposing his neck. On the bank, Clement raised his pistol.
Before he had a chance to aim and fire, the girl kicked his shin and almost wriggled
free. Jo and Carly rushed forward, shouting as they went.
‘Bitch!’ yelled Clements, lifting the girl up and tightening his grip.
Mwamba had reached the grassed area and was starting up the bank. Without warning, Carly launched herself past Jo, grasped Mwamba around his chest with her left arm, reached between his legs with her right, lifted him clear of the ground and slammed him face first onto the bank. She lay on top of him, depriving Clements of a clear shot.
From behind Jo came a chorus of commands. ‘Armed Police! Stay where you are! Drop your weapon! Armed Police!’
Jo glanced over her shoulder. They had fanned out in a semicircle, their weapons trained on Clements. She turned back. Clements had his pistol against the girl’s right temple.
‘That is an IZH-Baikal MP-46M .177 target air pistol, single-stroke pneumatic,’ said a calm male voice. ‘Non-lethal except at close range.’
‘Potentially laced with a toxin,’ Nick Carter reminded them.
‘Roger that,’ said the TFU commander.
Jo raised both arms out sideways, palms open. ‘Darren,’ she said, her tone sounding calmer than she felt. ‘It’s over. Let Françoise go. She’s innocent in all of this. You don’t want to harm her.’
Her earpiece had gone silent as everyone held their breath. The girl stared wide-eyed at her grandfather sprawled on the grass beneath DC Whittle’s body. Clements tightened his grip, causing her to gasp.
‘Don’t worry, Françoise,’ said Jo. ‘He isn’t going hurt you. Are you, Darren? And nobody is going to hurt you either, Darren. We understand what brought you to this. We can talk about it. Just drop your gun and let her go.’
For a moment it looked as though he might comply. Then he began to inch back towards the cover of the wood.
‘Stand still! Armed Police!’ they shouted.
Jo knew they were never going to fire. Not so long as that pistol was trained on the girl. Just as she thought they were going to lose sight of him the girl sank her teeth into his hand. He screamed and let go. She ran, stumbled against a trunk, tripped and fell. Jo raced up the bank towards her. She threw herself on the ground and wrapped her arms around the girl.
There was an explosion of voices in her earpiece and from the firearms officers yelling at Clements to drop the gun. He was standing six feet away, staring down at her, the weapon hanging by his side. His face was frozen like that of a statue expressing utter disbelief. For a moment she thought he was going to raise the pistol.
‘Don’t . . .’ she began, but the shouts drowned her out.
‘Drop your weapon! Do it now! If you do not, we will fire! Drop your weapon! Do it now!’
‘Darren, drop the gun!’ she shouted. She wondered if he had heard her.
His eyes flickered. He looked up. Made eye contact. Focused.
She nodded her head.
The pistol fell from his hand and bounced against the root of a tree.
‘Put your hands behind your head and step away! Do it now!’
Clements looked past her at Henry Mwamba still pinned to the ground beneath Carly Whittle’s spread-eagled body. At the semicircle of armed officers, their weapons trained on his chest. At the ring of emergency vehicles fifty yards behind them. There was something about his expression that for a split second caused Jo to fear that he might bend to retrieve the weapon, leaving them no option but to take him down.
‘Darren . . .’ she began to say.
But he turned his back on them and bolted into the woods.
Chapter 76
‘I’m not sending my team in there,’ declared the firearms commander. ‘He’s no longer armed as far as we can tell and they’ll be more at risk of shooting each other, or themselves. I need air cover, so that we can track him and be ready for him when he emerges.’
‘This is Bravo Charlie One,’ said Nick Carter. ‘Mobile Units One and Two move to cover the perimeter of the wooded area either side of the Regent Crescent parking lot.’
Jo watched Carly lead Mwamba and his granddaughter over to a paramedic unit.
‘Where are the dogs?’ she demanded. ‘And where is that AIR Unit drone?’
‘Right here,’ came the reply.
A station wagon had drawn up beside the Land Rover Defender. From behind the raised trunk emerged a man carrying a drone. He moved into an open space and set the drone down on the ground.
‘Give me one minute and I’ll have this airborne,’ he said.
‘We don’t have a minute,’ said Jo. ‘Make sure you’re patched into the Comms and keep a commentary going. I need to know exactly where he is. And make sure they know he’s no longer armed. We need him alive. He may know where that missing girl Melissa is.’
She turned and ran up the slope. The woods were more dense than she’d envisaged. But at least that meant it would slow him down too. She tried to recall the map on the screen in the control room. This patch of trees must be about two hundred and twenty yards long at its narrowest point and no more than a hundred and forty yards wide. They ran behind Frankie & Benny’s and encircled the Premier Inn, before petering out along the perimeter road. She decided to head for the longest stretch that curved around the right-hand side of the lodge, guessing that Clements would want to stay in cover for as long as possible.
‘AIR Unit One is airborne,’ said a new voice.
‘Go ahead, AIR Unit One,’ said Gordon Holmes.
‘I have one person on foot – no, make that two persons on foot – in the wooded area.’
‘Please designate furthest of those persons Papa Sierra, and the nearest Juliet Sierra. Proceed.’
‘Papa Sierra is one hundred yards ahead of Juliet Sierra, who is closing.’
‘Juliet Sierra is also knackered,’ muttered Jo as she wove between the trees.
‘Papa Sierra is heading towards the western perimeter of the woods where there appear to be ropes strung in the trees adjacent to a parking lot. There are multiple persons in that vicinity.’
‘That’s the Aerial Extreme ropeway and zipwire,’ said the security coordinator anxiously. ‘There’ll be scores of people on there. Lots of children.’
‘Mobile Units One and Two proceed immediately to southern perimeter of Regent Crescent parking lot, Zone Z,’ said Nick Carter.
‘That does not, I repeat not, include the Tactical Firearms Units,’ added Gordon Holmes.
‘Roger that,’ the TFU commander responded. ‘Our involvement would entail an unquantifiable risk to public safety. We have recovered the weapon and are now mobile and on standby, awaiting instruction.’
Jo’s breath was laboured. It was hard going over this uneven terrain in a stab vest and boots, with the ground wet and slippery. She could hear the excited chatter of children high in the wooded canopy off to the right. She saw a flash of movement up ahead. Black jeans against the brown tree trunks. Now she caught a glimpse of the black hooded top. He appeared to stumble over some roots, put out a hand and steady himself against a tree, before regaining his balance and hurrying on.
‘Papa Sierra has veered left away from the parking lot,’ said AIR Unit One. ‘Juliet Sierra is closing. Forty yards behind.’
Heartened by the news, Jo raised her pace.
‘This is Mobile Unit One. We have blocked the perimeter road opposite the Premier Inn.’
‘This is Bronze Command One. Where are you, Mobile Unit Two?’
‘Mobile Unit Two. We’re opposite the entrance to Aerial Extreme. Two on board. One other, plus dog handler and dog, now on foot.’
‘This is AIR Unit One. Papa Sierra has veered right. That is right, right, right. He is now heading west of the Premier Inn towards the perimeter road.’ Now there were several voices at once.
‘This is Bravo Charlie Two. The perimeter has an electric fence between it and the motorway. Papa Sierra has nowhere to go.’
Jo could see him now, less than twenty yards ahead of her. The trees were beginning to thin out too. ‘I have eyes on Papa Sierra,’ she said. ‘He does no
t appear to be armed. I repeat he does not appear to be armed.’
‘Roger that,’ chorused several voices.
‘This is Mobile Unit Two. We have Eyes on! Eyes on! Papa Sierra is crossing the perimeter road towards the fence. We are in pursuit.’
Jo burst through the trees and saw Clements directly ahead of her. He had crossed the road and was sprinting towards a marked crossing point. She’d narrowed the distance between them to fifteen yards as he disappeared through a gap in the fence. Behind her she could hear the mobile unit roaring towards them.
‘Papa Sierra is on a pedestrian and cycle pathway heading towards the Redclyffe Circle roundabout,’ said the drone operator. ‘Hold that. He’s turning left, left, left, towards the M60 motorway.’
Jo dug deep as she pelted up the ascending slip road after him.
Clements was now abreast of a large yellow sign depicting a tow truck which read FREE RECOVERY, AWAIT RESCUE.
If only.
She was five yards behind him as he reached the summit, turned right, and ran straight across the hard shoulder into the slow lane.
Jo stopped and shouted at him. ‘Darren – stop! Don’t be so stupid.’
Halfway into the second lane, he turned and looked over his shoulder at her.
The first of a line of cars speeding down the slope veered into the fast lane, causing another car to crash into the central barrier. The second car in the line had no time to react, struck Clements head on and threw him onto the windshield, over the roof, and into the path of a diesel tanker.
They saw it all on the screens in the Control Room. They heard the gasp of the drone operator, before he calmly announced: ‘Papa Sierra is down. I repeat. Papa Sierra is down.’
Jo closed her eyes and bent over with her hands on her knees, gasping for breath, willing the pounding in her chest to subside. She pressed the button on her Airwave radio to switch it off. ‘Shit! Shit! Shit!’ she muttered, before leaning on the guard rail and retching onto the bare earth beyond.
Chapter 77
‘It’s not as though you were in a car,’ said Gordon. ‘It’s not as though it was a pursuit. Not in the technical sense of the word. It wasn’t your fault, Jo – not in a month of Sundays. Nobody thinks that, and neither should you.’
