‘To make a point, Jim, to make a point.’
Culpepper looked confused.
‘What do you mean, Lucas?’
‘Well, he, they, whoever, is sending a message. Telling the authorities he can strike anywhere, anytime. What are the media saying?
‘Not a great deal. Looks similar to the Knightsbridge bomb. Quite a few casualties, couple of fatalities. Those closest to the blast didn’t stand a chance.’
He sat in a chair opposite Fostervold and looked through the window behind his business partner, out over London.
Less than an hour later, the team was back at Thames House. Virani had called a briefing and gathered them in the operations room. Nick Upex had been studying the footage from cameras close to the blast site.
‘Nick, CCTV, what have we got?’
‘Again Jay, just like last time, not much. People using it, most not. A tramp throws a brown bag away. Just another bin in another London street.’
‘Hang on Nick, back up a bit. A tramp? Like at the first bomb site?’
‘Yeah, but Jay this is London. The tramps are only outnumbered by the pigeons and rats. And bankers, if we’re talking vermin.’
A ripple of laughter crossed the room. Virani settled the crowd with a simple but authoritative hand gesture.
‘But Nick, it’s the only connection between the two incidents. The only lead we have. Get his image blown up, sent out to the Met. I want this man found, Nick. Send a team out, have them searching a half-mile radius of the bomb site. Keep extending that radius until this man is found.’
‘Okay, Jay, I’ll get on it. I’ll run his image through the CCTV facial recognition system, see if we can get a pattern of movement and last known location.’
‘Thank you, Nick. Everybody else, as you were. We need leads, clues, anything. This tramp is the best we have at the moment, but there must be something we’re missing.’
‘Anything else, James?’ Fostervold enquired.
‘Sorry mate, was just taking in the view. Yours always seems more vibrant than the view from my office.’
‘Apart from the smoke rising from Soho.’ Replied Fostervold dryly, quickly followed by. ‘Too soon?’
‘Just a bit, Luke. The media are saying that these attacks seem to be aimed at maximum disruption, not maximum fatalities.’
‘How So?’ Fostervold asked, returning to his keyboard, pulling it back across his desk allowing him to start working again.
Culpepper got up and walked to the window, gazing towards Soho. It seemed so peaceful up here. Apart from the smoke, there were no clues that anything had happened.
‘Jim?’ Fostervold’s voice was slightly raised, his partner, his friend, seemed distracted.
Culpepper snapped out of his trance, returning his attention to Fostervold.
‘Why are the media saying that?’ continued Fostervold.
‘Oh, yeah, sorry. The design of the bombs. After Knightsbridge, MI5 released a high level technical description of the device. One item of note was that it didn’t contain any shrapnel.'
Fostervold thought about this for a moment. No shrapnel did indeed point toward disruption, not fatalities. Most home-made bombs are designed to send pieces of shrapnel across the blast radius, causing as much damage to anyone in the vicinity of the blast. Ball bearings, nuts, bolts, nails. Anything that could maim or injure as it was sent, indiscriminately hurtling through the air.
Nick Upex stared at the screen. Another twenty minutes had passed. He clicked pause on the video playback machine then rubbed his tired eyes. He then sat back in his chair and stretched his arms above his head before leaning forward once more and noticing the figure on the screen.
‘Jay, we’ve got him!’ He shouted across the operations room. ‘Soho Square. Looks like he’s having a kip on a bench. I’ll get blues-and-twos over there to pick him up.’
‘Well done, Nick. Maybe now we can start piecing things together. Let’s play softly, softly with this one. If he’s just a tramp, which it looks like he is, then we don’t want to scare him. We don’t want him clamming up. If, however, he’s a well washed upstanding member of the public, masquerading as one of the great unwashed, then we use any means necessary to get information out of him. Understood?’
Nick gulped. He looked uncertain about the last instruction. ‘Yes, boss. I’ll get interrogation room three prepped for his arrival.’
‘Good. Make sure there are fags and booze visible in the room, but nothing too strong when it comes to booze. We may have to keep him topped-up, use his addictions to our favour, but we don’t want him getting pissed and passing out.’
‘Come on, Sleeping Beauty, rise and shine.’ The policeman gently rocked the tramp’s shoulder, the man stirred, opened his eyes to see two Metropolitan Police officers standing over him and another one crouched next to him, rocking him, waking him.’
‘What is it? I ain’t done nuffin’. If it’s about the dregs from the pubs, I bin doin’ that for years. No-one’s complained before.’
The police officer stood.
‘Sir, I don’t know exactly what it’s about. We’ve merely been asked to collect you, but I’d like you to come with us to Thames House. The Security Services would like to ask you some questions.’
The tramp started to sit up, he stopped to cough. He removed his beaten old flat-cap and scratched his head through matted hair.
‘Well I s’pose I’d better come with you then. Not gonna cuff me are ya?’
‘No sir, there’s no need for that, you’re not under arrest. We can offer you a shower and a hot meal though.’
‘Well why didn’t you say so? Lead the way.’
Chapter Fourteen
The team was once again assembled in the operations room, Virani was updating them on the events of the day.
‘The homeless gentleman is currently being questioned, we hope he has something of use. It’s a long shot, but the only connection between the two explosions. Nick is currently asking him a few questions.
‘Other than that, there are no new leads. There were thirty seven casualties and three fatalities. Forensics are searching for device fragments, but I think we all know they’ll find a piece of late-nineties circuitry, which doesn’t help at all.
‘Sam, anything new from the auction data?’
‘Nothing yet, Jay. To be honest, I think it’s a dead horse. There’s just too much of it. We’re contacting people who’ve bought the exact models, or their chargers, but nothing. Most are just collectors, or have found an old phone in a drawer and want to charge it to see what’s on it.
‘There’s no time to check alibis, so we’re using gut instinct based on the profile provided by the forensic psychologist. So, male, thirty-five to fifty. Possible military history or connection to the military. Possible radical views, but due to the fact that nobody has claimed responsibility, probably not.
Which means a lone wolf. Working on his own, to his own agenda, with his own end-game. That makes him extremely dangerous, wraith-like. He could just pop up at any time and blow the shit out of another part of London.’
‘Thanks for your colourful, yet informative update, Sam. It’s unlike you to be so dramatic.’ Virani said. ‘But I have to agree. If he’s working on his own then he’s extremely dangerous.’
Nick Upex entered the room.
‘I think you need to hear this Jay.’ He plugged a digital voice recorder into an amplifier at the front of the room and pressed play.
‘My name is Nick Upex, I’m a Technical Analyst for Her Majesty’s Security Services. Would you please confirm your name?’