‘I understand that, Alex, but I have to stress that we need to talk to them before we move in. We have to give them the option of surrendering.’
‘We’ll do that, but I won’t be holding my breath.’
NEAR BROMLEY (6.54 p.m.)
Talpur looked at his watch. They had been driving south for less than ten minutes so, assuming they were taking the direct route to Biggin Hill, they must be somewhere near Bromley. Only the front windows had not been blacked out but he was so far back he couldn’t see much in the way of road signs. He could see the police motorcyclists ahead of the coach. He leant closer to the woman sitting next to him. ‘What is your name?’ he asked.
She sneered and said something to him in Arabic. He didn’t understand the words but the meaning was clear enough.
‘Listen to me carefully,’ he whispered. ‘I’m a police officer and I need your help.’
She spat in his face and turned away.
‘Thank you so much,’ said Talpur. He wiped his face with his sleeve. He turned to the man sitting on the other side of the aisle.
‘What is your name, brother?’ he asked.
‘We need to sit quietly,’ said the Asian man sitting by the window.
‘What’s your name, mate?’ Talpur asked him.
‘Zach. Zach Ahmed.’
‘Well, Zach, I’m a cop.’
‘You don’t look like a cop,’ said Ahmed. ‘Not with that beard.’
‘I’m undercover.’
‘Like fuck you are,’ said Ahmed. ‘Show me your warrant card.’
‘Undercover cops generally don’t carry warrant cards. It’d sort of negate the whole point of being undercover,’ said Talpur. ‘Look, we’re all in the same boat here. We all saw what happened this morning. But the windows are blacked out so Shahid can’t see what we’re doing.’ He nodded at the man sitting next to Ahmed. ‘What’s your name, mate?’
‘Mohammed.’
‘Where are you from, Mohammed?’
‘Sudan.’
‘Okay, Mohammed from Sudan, I need you to check how this vest is fastened. I’m going to turn around and I want you to reach inside my coat and see if you can work out how it’s fastened. There might be a lock or it might just be tied.’
‘Are you fucking stupid?’ said Ahmed, leaning forward to stare across the aisle at him. ‘We were told not to try to take the vests off. He said they’d explode, remember?’
‘I’m not taking it off, I’m just trying to find out how it’s fastened. He might have been bluffing.’
‘Bluffing? You remember what happened to that guy who didn’t do as he was told? He’s in pieces. Remember?’
‘Yes, I remember,’ said Talpur. ‘But those blacked-out windows mean Shahid can’t see what we’re doing.’
‘You don’t know what he can or can’t see,’ said Ahmed. ‘But you need to stop fucking about. You’re going to get us all killed.’
‘What is your problem, mate?’ asked Talpur.
‘My problem is that I know what will happen if Shahid finds out we’re not following his instructions. We’re nearly done, the ISIS prisoners are already at the airport, we’ll be there soon. Then we’ll be released.’
‘You have a lot of faith in Shahid,’ said Talpur.
‘He’s kept his word so far,’ said Ahmed. ‘The prisoners have been released so he’s got what he wants. Once they’re on a plane he won’t need us any more.’
‘Exactly,’ said Talpur. ‘So what’s to stop him just blowing us all the fuck up?’
‘We have to trust him,’ said Ahmed.
‘I don’t,’ said Talpur. He patted Mohammed’s leg. ‘Check under my raincoat. Just reach inside and pat my back gently…’
‘Mohammed, you so much as touch him and I will break your fingers!’ hissed Ahmed.
‘This is nothing to do with you, mate,’ said Talpur.
The man sitting directly in front of Talpur twisted around in his seat. ‘He is right, sir,’ he said quietly. He was darker-skinned than the other men, and taller, from Africa maybe. He had a thick scar across his cheek. ‘Better we sit quietly.’
Talpur shook his head in frustration. ‘You’re all making a big mistake,’ he said.
‘It is in the hands of Allah,’ said the man in front of him as he turned away.
LAMBETH CENTRAL COMMUNICATIONS COMMAND CENTRE (7.07 p.m.)
Kamran was watching two screens on the main wall of the special operations room. One was showing Sky News. Their helicopter had got as close to the airport as it had been allowed but they had lost sight of the coach and the channel was broadcasting now from the gates of the airport. Police were stopping anyone going in but they had allowed the news crews and photographers to set up a short distance away.
The second screen was showing the live feed from the police helicopter, which had been authorised to fly over the airport. The overhead view showed the coach a few hundred yards away from the airport entrance. Kamran twisted around and called over to Gillard, ‘They’re arriving at the airport now, Philip.’
The chief superintendent stood up and joined him at the doorway. The convoy was powering along the road, blue lights flashing. The lead police motorcycles turned into the airport and drove through the gate, followed by an ARV, then the coach.
The Sky News screen showed a close-up of the driver, who was turning his head away from the camera, then the blacked-out windows flashed by.
A third screen showed the feed from the hangar, where the SAS were waiting behind walls of sandbags, weapons at the ready. All eyes in the SOR were on the black and white view inside the hangar.
BIGGIN HILL AIRPORT (7.09 p.m.)
Hawkins heard the coach in the distance. ‘Here we go,’ he said. He was standing behind a stack of sandbags arranged at the side of the hangar. There were four more troopers behind another sandbag wall to his left.
The negotiating team from Bromley were waiting in the main terminal with the Silver Commander, Ian Adams. They had seemed relieved when Hawkins had asked them to clear the area. He’d gained the impression they were more used to dealing with domestic disputes and weren’t at all comfortable with the idea of negotiating with nine jihadists prepared to kill themselves and their hostages.
‘Everybody stay behind the bags until I say otherwise,’ said Hawkins. ‘It could be they’re after the SAS so let’s not give them the satisfaction.’
The engine growl got louder and then there was a squeal of brakes. The coach reached the open hangar doors and turned in. Hawkins peered over the top of the sandbags and caught a glimpse of Terry McMullen at the wheel, wearing his lucky flat cap. The coach reached the centre of the hangar and stopped. There was a wheeze of the air brakes being applied and everything went quiet. After a few seconds the door opened, but then everything was quiet again.
LAMBETH CENTRAL COMMUNICATIONS COMMAND CENTRE (7.10 p.m.)
‘The door’s open,’ said Gillard. Kamran’s mobile rang on his desk and he dashed over to it. Number withheld. ‘It’s Shahid.’ He waited for Gillard, Thatcher and Waterman to put on their headphones before he picked up the phone and accepted the call. ‘Yes?’ he said.
‘Mr Kamran?’
Kamran frowned. It was a man, but not Shahid. ‘Speaking.’
‘Do you have a pension, Mr Kamran?’
‘A pension?’
‘You might not be aware of the fact but the regulations regarding the monetisation of pension funds changed recently and we are in a position to offer you a package…’
‘You’re trying to sell me financial advice?’ asked Kamran.
‘We’re not trying to sell you anything, Mr Kamran, but I’m sure you would like to maximise the income from any pension fund you have, wouldn’t you?’