On into the dispositions inside the aircraft. Where were the various groups of passengers? Where did Isaac stand when he was not in the main cabin, out of the range of the fish-eye that they showed him? Where did David stand at the rear? Where did the girl stand? Who had slept the night before, and for how long? Where did they sleep? What weapons had he seen? Did they have grenades? Were there explosives? How had they protected the doors of the aircraft? How was the trolley barrier fastened? What was the morale of the three? Who was the leader now?
The schoolmaster was no fool. He was not a man used to the world of strike and counter-strike, of government ministers and ranking policemen and troops, but he appreciated his purpose in the room. The killing ground was being prepared, the markers and the pegs and the tapes were being laid. He saw it in the face of the soldier, the one with the gun at his waist, who said nothing, wrote nothing, only listened. There would be more men like that, hard and cold-faced and who did not smile, whose attention was held by the task that confronted them. And he thought of his children who sat still and strapped in their upholstered seats, who had no defences, and would hold the middle territory between the troops and David and Isaac and Rebecca. Acceptable that he should die, and the man who had followed him, but the children…
'You cannot… you cannot… what will happen to the children? You will kill the children. On the plane these people will not hurt the children, they are correct to them. But if you go there, and you have to shoot, what will happen to my children?'
Not that any except Charlie understood what he said, just the signs of acute worry, and they moved away from him. It is not pleasant to look on a man who has broken, who can sustain nothing more, who is convulsed in weeping, who has gone beyond his own unexplored limitations.
"Nobody will hurt the children,' Charlie said.
' If you attack the plane and they resist, if Isaac and David resist, then there must be shooting. .. then the children will be hurt. They are in my charge and I am not there.'
'Nobody Will hurt the children. All of them will be saved. There is a science in these things and if we know where they are then there is no risk.'
'You confirm my fear. You will attack. There is no other reason f o r the questions that you have asked me.'
Charlie did not reply. There was nothing to say. He had seen the children on the television screen, their meekness and their submission, and he knew the hopelessness of giving the sort of guarantee he had just delivered. A used Ford and you don't need to service it for twenty years, bullshit. A science in these matters, crap and you know it, Charlie. He knew that when the troops went in the only thing that mattered was luck, a bloody great piece of luck. One good burst of gunfire, and that's all they have to get off, and what do you have? Fiasco, catastrophe, disaster.
Put the army in and what becomes the priority? Kill the killers, or save the hostages, or can you even differentiate? All depends on whether they fight. Isaac, the little bugger, he'll fight, perhaps David too if he's caged, and the girl, she might shoot if the hero boys are still standing. So how many lucky bullets do you need to hit those three and no one else? And how many from the opposition to screw the whole damn thing?
Charlie straightened and rested his hand on the Russian's shoulder.
' I think he's had enough. You should find him a bed and keep him on ice.'
'Express our thanks to him, please, Mr Webster,' the Home Secretary said. Dejected, oppressed by the knowledge that the decision for action was his, and could be passed to neither senior nor subordinate. The circle broke and formed an aisle through which Charlie led Dovrobyn. 'Keep him warm,' he told the inspector, 'and don't let the quacks give him a shot. We have to have him on tap.'
He walked back to the console and looked out through the glass at the Ilyushin. Same old story, nothing moving, nothing stirring, not a damn thing, just like always. But it was all going to start.
He heard the Home Secretary say to the soldiers, 'Well, Major Davies, can it be done, and with reasonable chance of success?'
'A reasonable chance of success, yes, sir. Shouldn't be too difficult. We know all we're going to.'
'When would you attempt it?'
'First light is ideal. But if there's deterioration we could have a go at dusk tonight. We could get in during daylight, but the risk all round is greater.'
A moment of consideration, as if the Home Secretary were rehearsing the sentence, then he said, 'Make the preparations that you deem necessary, Major.'
Thank you, sir. There's a DC6 over on the far side. Height to the doors is right, width of fuselage about the same, wing cover on approach matches. We'll do a bit of work with it, and you'll be contacted as soon as we're happy.' 'Thank you, Major.'
The session was concluded. Davies bustling on his way. Conversation mounting. A lightening of the atmosphere now that the crucial decision had been taken. Charlie sought out Clitheroe, tugged at his shirt sleeve and took him to the far corner, away from the crowd that now sensed blood and waited for the chase.
' It's a bit early, isn't it?' Charlie urged. 'We've hardly talked to them yet, and now we're ready to plunge in.' ' It wasn't my advice.'
'But the tactic is to wear them down. Nag away at them, starve them out That's the way it's done. What the Americans do, the Dutch, what we've tried in the past.'
'Correct. That is the traditional way of handling these affairs. As I told you the present course of action is not the one that I recommended.' 'What are you going to do about it?' 'Mr Webster, I'm not here to do anything. I'm here to give opinions when they are requested. My brief goes no further.' 'So what's changed, what's put the balls into them?' 'You have, Mr Webster. Your little games out on the tarmac have changed all that. Don't stop me, don't look aggressive. You asked me a question and I'll give you an answer. They were sitting in here watching Mr Dovrobyn, believing he was about to die. They didn't like it, they didn't like the helplessness and impo tence
– that was a word that was flying round this room a fair bit – and they saw what you did. Probably you shamed them, shamed them into showing what they now regard as courage. They had been led to understand that there was no intervention they could make, and you demonstrated that there are occasions when a physical course of action can be both justified and successful. Now they wish to follow your example. Virility, I suppose, comes into it, they wish to match your virility. Don't look pained, Mr Webster, don't regard me as an idiot. We've been through all this while you were bringing your rescued princess back from the dragon's castle, we've ah had our say. Myself, the policeman, army liaison, the civil servants. Mine was a lone voice because I cannot offer exact solutions. I can only surmise what a state of mind will be, given certain deprivation factors. I understand a smattering of Russian, Mr Webster, from my college days. I gather you told Mr Dovrobyn that there was a "science on these matters", referring to the. question of storming the aircraft. A "science" implies a solution if a correct procedure is followed. I cannot supply a "science", only an opinion, and that is why I am not listened to. And you must allow for the death of the second hostage: it has deeply shocked our masters. They were not prepared for it, and therefore their anger is all the greater. And they are fearful now of seeming weak.'
' It's bloody nonsense,' said Charlie quiedy.
'Not so much nonsense as cowardice, Mr Webster. They are unwilling to repeat an experience.
They do not have the courage. The previous two occasions when they have been confronted with this type of situation there had been no killing of hostages. Neither in Knightsbridge nor in Balcombe Street. They could afford to be patient then; there were no corpses for the world to see, to bear witness to their inability to intervene with a strong hand. You have to comprehend and perhaps you do already that the basis for the respect held by the Western democracies for the urban guerrilla is that so few persons can appear to ridicule the power of an established and elected government. By your own assessment only one of the persons on the aircraft is, as we would say, the hard-liner, with the other two his followers. Yet look around and count up the effort, the ingenuity, the technology, the striking power that has been assembled to eliminate this threat. All of this concentration was sitting on its collective backside, wondering what to do.