‘Soho, Broadwick Street, to be precise. Initial reports sound like our boy’s back.’
They headed back downstairs.
‘There’s a car coming round to pick us up. Good driver, Alasdair Storry. He’s been driving for us for a while now. Used to be a bit of a boy-racer, then took up racing, but never managed to get out of the amateur ranks. We trained him up, gave him the skills he really needed to drive. High speed pursuit, evasive and tactical driving. He now drives royalty and foreign dignitaries who visit these shores. But even with Storry behind the wheel it’s still going to take us a while to get there at this time of day. ETA ten minutes. Rapid response, forensics and all emergency services are on their way.’
As they left the Thames House lobby, an unmarked Audi A8 pulled up at the kerbside. Blue lights in the front grille being the only clue to it not being a normal car. The specially modified six point three litre W12 engine growled as it idled, wanting to run free with the other animals. Alasdair Storry waiting to weave them through the traffic.
They climbed in, Virani took the front passenger seat.
‘Good afternoon Alasdair.’ She greeted the driver.
‘Ma’am.’ the holophrastic reply.
Sam and Nick got in the back and buckled up.
The Audi sped away from the kerb, up Millbank. It approached the roundabout at Horseferry Road. Storry skilfully manoeuvred the big vehicle through the throng of traffic, narrowly avoiding several other road users. They passed Victoria Tower Gardens, where only minutes before Sam was enjoying lunch in the sunshine. He couldn’t help but wonder at how surreal his life had become. He’d be a liar if he said he didn’t get a massive buzz out it. He studied the car interior.
‘An Audi?’ asked Sam. ‘Bit ordinary isn’t it? Where’s the Aston?’
Nick smiled, Virani tutted before commenting.
‘There it is again Sam, the famous Edwards facetiousness we all love so much. We use Audi as they fit in. Look around, the city’s full of the bloody things. Thinking about it, the country’s full of them.’
‘Good point.’ Sam agreed.
‘But have you ever seen anybody who’s happy driving one?’ She paused, not really expecting a response to her rhetoric.
‘No, didn’t think so. The nation’s middle management, all driving their dull little boxes to their dull little jobs. Each and every one of them believing he or she has the most important job in the world.’
‘That’s a bit harsh Jay.’ Exclaimed Nick. ‘Granted, they’re nothing to get excited about. Hell, my Ford Focus has more character in one headlight, but to label every Audi owner as a dull middle manager. Wow, that’s quite an insult.’
‘Did I ever tell you I can be a bit of a bitch, Nick?’ Nick was unsure how to reply to that, so he didn’t bother. She smiled, and continued.
‘Anyway, this is no standard A8. Bullet proof for one. Makes it a bit heavier, so the engine’s been modified and specially tuned. Gives five hundred and sixty horsepower compared to the standard five hundred. Nought to sixty, well you’ve just witnessed that. Fast. Run-flat tyres and a reinforced floor pan make this baby difficult to stop. And anyway, an Aston’s too small; we can’t stretch to three cars and three drivers just to take us a mile or so across town. Not during these times of austerity.’
‘No ejector seat or machine guns then?’ asked Sam with a grin.
‘How about rotating number plates and oil slick release?’ Added a smiling Upex.
Virani was just about to unleash a retort when the car came to an abrupt halt.
‘Sorry ma’am.’ announced Storry. ‘It’s as close as we can get. Emergency services are sealing off the area now, but it’s chaotic up there, so I’m afraid you’ll have to walk the last twenty or thirty metres.’
‘Thank you Alasdair, there’s no need for you to hang around, we’ll be here awhile.’
‘Thank you ma’am, and by the way, ma’am, I own an Audi.’
Virani shrugged, ‘I’m so sorry Alasdair, I hadn’t realised you’d given up on life. Do you cycle at weekends too? Full Lycra? Don’t worry, I’m sure your Audi isn’t at all boring. And if you ever feel that it’s not worth going on, I’m sure the department will try to help as best it can.’
Storry looked bemused as Virani closed the door, smiling as she alit onto the junction of Great Windmill Street and Brewer Street. Nick whispered to Sam.
‘She wasn’t joking, was she? She really can be a bitch.’
‘I heard that.’ Said Virani.
They walked around the corner from Brewer Street onto Lexington Street and were instantly thrown into chaos. Dazed and confused people wandering out of the dust. Some covered in blood, others moaning like zombies, some were just sat at the kerbside, staring at nothing.
It took Sam back to a film he’d seen as a teenager; Threads. Depicting a nuclear attack on Sheffield in the Eighties. One of the scariest, most thought-provoking films Sam had ever seen. Not scary due to visual content but due to subject matter.
The dust was starting to settle a bit as they reached the corner of Lexington Street and Broadwick Street, next to a damaged The John Snow. But as damaged as the pub was, it was nothing compared to what they saw as they looked right, toward where the replica water pump once stood. There was an eerie quiet, far from silent due to the moans of the victims, but still too quiet for Soho.
Emergency service vehicles were parked in just about every available space, their occupants rushing around the scene to try and help. The vehicles themselves had their emergency lights on but there was no wailing of sirens. The usual hustle and bustle of Soho had been replaced by a scene of death and destruction.
‘Fucking Hell, it’s like the start of the apocalypse.’ said Nick.
Bodies lay where they fell. There wasn’t much point in the ambulance crews attending to some of them; it was obvious they hadn’t survived. A workman in a high visibility jacket lay underneath a fallen pneumatic drill. It looked to Sam like the man’s legs had been crushed by the heavy machine landing on them. He was several metres away from the hole he’d been digging, sent flying by the blast, still using the drill. His groans sent a paramedic sprinting in his direction. One of his colleagues wasn’t so lucky, the corner of a building had collapsed on him, a high visibility arm and a booted foot protruding from the remains of the building. No point even looking, the amount of dusty blood seeping through the gaps in the mound of brickwork told the emergency teams all they needed to know.
A police officer approached the MI5 team, a roll of crime scene tape in his hand.
‘Excuse me madam, sirs, this area is about to be cordoned off, I’m going to have to ask you to leave, you can’t be here I’m afraid.’
As if in a well-rehearsed movement, the three drew their MI5 identification cards. The poor police officer didn’t know which one to look at first. He blushed and bowed slightly before announcing, ‘Terribly sorry ma’am, sirs, please proceed. A forensic team has just arrived, they’re looking for the blast point. There are still a couple of fires burning, and some buildings don’t look stable, so please proceed with caution, you can get a high-viz jacket and a hard hat from the first rapid response van.’ He pointed to a black Ford Transit parked at the end of an adjacent street.
Virani nodded her thanks and the three of them headed in the direction of the van.
‘Shame about the pub.’ said Nick, ‘I used to enjoy a pint there every once in a while.
Chapter Thirteen
‘Shit, Luke, it’s happened again.’ Culpepper strode purposefully into Fostervold’s office.
‘Soho. Why the fuck would anybody blow up Soho?’
Fostervold looked up from his computer screen. He pushed his keyboard back beneath the screen before looking at Culpepper.’