‘Don’t move,’ she ordered. ‘At this range I can choose whether I hit you in the heart or perhaps the head. Either way, if you move you’re dead.’
Jameel stood still. ‘Who are you?’ he asked.
‘Silence!’ Anna ordered, or you leave here in a box.’
‘What’s going on?’
‘Silence!’ ordered Anna again. ‘You’ll get explanations in good time.’
Jim walked over. ‘Need a hand?’ he enquired.
He didn’t wait for an answer. He swivelled Jameel around and with a firm grip secured his hands behind his back with a pair of handcuffs, and then proceeded to frisk him. ‘He isn’t armed; he’s all yours.’
‘Thanks,’ said Anna, ‘Why do you boys get all the fun?’
Jameel looked from Anna to Jim. ‘Who are you?’
‘Friends of Maryam,’ came Jim’s reply.
At that moment, an urgent message came through to the command centre from the Nimrod. ‘Moroccan air traffic control has picked up a distress call from the helicopter pilot.’
They played it back. ‘Sheikh Tufayl, a worthy friend of Mohammed, has been kidnapped by hijackers at Safi docks. The hijackers have a large motor vessel. There have been shootings and killings; we are all in grave danger.’
The pilot had started to repeat his message, facing away from Colin, when he heard the thump of the butt of his gun against the window. He turned, looked down the barrel of Colin’s gun and fell silent.
‘Moroccan air traffic control has informed the police and the Royal Moroccan Air Force,’ came the message from the Nimrod.
‘Time to get out,’ ordered the command centre. ‘We suggest you take Golden Sundancer. Get out of there quick. You probably have less than five minutes before the local police arrive and less than half an hour before fighter planes come to have a look.’
Clive shouted to Mark. ‘We have to get Sergy. I left him trussed up in a cupboard in the harbour master’s office.’
The two men left for the office at a sprint.
The command centre was speaking to the commander on Puddle Jumper. ‘There isn’t time to transfer the prisoners to your vessel. Take command of Golden Sundancer; check she has enough fuel and prepare her for immediate departure. Suggest you take your local charts with you and leave now.’
The commander grabbed his charts and a few personal belongings and called across to his wife to gather up all she needed quickly. They ran as fast as they could in the direction of the terrorists’ boat.
The PM was winding down his speech. ‘I have set the scene for the next phase of British politics. It will be consensus politics. The three largest political parties speak for ninety five percent of those who voted in the recent general election and their representatives in the Cabinet will have much work to do.’ He paused as the members of the minority parties stirred with disaffection. ‘However, I recognise that it would not be a good idea to leave out members of the minority parties, especially those representing the regions.’
The PM looked across to the minority parties and their representatives. ‘I am aware that there are some very able people who sit in this House, who are not members of one of the three main parties. Rest assured, you will have a role to play. I have been heartened by the generous offers of help that have come from Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland. As part of the Union, all parts of the UK will have responsibility in shaping our countries’ future. London has been the powerhouse that has driven the UK economy for decades. Post-Stratford, it is an inevitable truth that London’s economy will struggle, with nearly one-sixth of its population displaced and almost one-twentieth of its land now unfit for human habitation. Our capital must now be joined by cities across the UK in the quest to regain our competitive and prosperous economy. Regional cities must pick up the baton and push our economy forward.’
He glanced to his left towards the Speaker. ‘These are exceptional times. I propose to break with tradition, if the Speaker permits, and ask the Chancellor of the Exchequer to follow me with his proposals on how to get this great Country back on its feet. After the Honourable Member has set out his proposals, I shall face any questions the Members of this House might wish to put.’
The Speaker nodded and the PM picked up his watch.
If all went to plan the Chancellor would need to speak for just less than fifty minutes, plus the time it took to capture Maryam. Then the news of the terrorists’ capture could be made public and the round-up could begin.
The PM stood aside to let the Chancellor move to the dispatch box. The Chancellor took off his watch and placed it to one side in front of him. He had with him his notes and a small pile of different coloured wallet files, which he stacked neatly next to his watch.
The polite silence continued for the Chancellor. Rafi sensed that the fireworks were being reserved for the questions after his speech.
The Chancellor’s face was strained and unsmiling. His voice was unruffled, but sombre. ‘Our economy and the Government’s finances have suffered a second massive blow. Just as we thought we were coming to terms with the first shock to the system – the debilitating effects of the global credit crunch – we have been hit by a nuclear catastrophe. We face financially perilous times which will necessitate significant changes in order to steer our economy back to safe waters.’
Those in the Chamber sat in silence as they waited for the gravity of the position to be fully revealed. ‘I will, this afternoon, set out how the Government plans to remedy the position and I shall be introducing a range of initiatives to facilitate the rebuilding of our economy…’
The commander had reached Golden Sundancer – a big sister to Puddle Jumper. He bounded up on to her fly deck. ‘Phew!’ The ignition key was still in place.
He turned the key and pressed the ignition buttons. The turbo diesels roared into life. He ran through the checks.
He was talking to himself under his breath. ‘The auxiliary fuel tanks are both empty, but the main tank is probably good for 100, maybe 150 miles. That should be more than enough. This is going to be fun!’ He never dreamt that he would find such heavy duty power again. ‘It’s going to be like the Sabre class vessels; what a way to feel young again!’
He called across to Lieutenant Anna Gregson. ‘Cast off and stow the fore and aft springs – then man the bow line.’
In the direction of Lieutenant Janet Steiner he shouted, ‘Prepare to stow the gangway. And Jim, man the stern line.’
The commander saw the door to the harbour master’s office swing open. Clive and his SAS colleague, Mark, were carrying the deadweight of the bear-like terrorist; they had an arm under each of his shoulders, leaving his feet to drag along the ground. They were doing something more than a trot, but they were still over 200 metres away. The commander did some mental arithmetic.
Meanwhile Colin had handcuffed the helicopter pilot to his joystick and as a parting gesture fired a couple of bullets into the helicopter’s radio and fuel tank. For the time being at least the helicopter would be going nowhere. He then tidied up the bodies of the six bodyguards and left them sitting on the concrete with their guns on their laps.
The commander called across to Jim. ‘Move the stern painter to the starboard side and make certain it can run freely around the bollard on the quayside. Stand by the cleat until you receive further orders.’
‘Aye, aye, sir. Runs freely,’ came the reply.
‘Lieutenant Gregson, check that the bow painter runs freely and prepare to cast off.’
‘Runs freely, sir.’
The commander turned to his wife who was standing behind him. ‘Darling, would you please find a boat hook and when I say “Cast off bow”, push hard at the quayside wall and swing the bow out into the harbour?’
He turned and looked astern. ‘Jim, when I call “Cast off bow”, let out three metres of mooring line – no more – and hold her until I say “Cast off stern”. Mind there are no knots to snag the rope -and watch your fingers!’