‘Where are you going?’ asked Patel. ‘The car park is straight on here.’
‘I want to drive past the pumping station.’
‘What for? Someone could see us.’ Patel sounded agitated.
‘Relax. It’s quarter past ten. There’s plenty of traffic about and we’re in an unmarked white van. I just want to make sure about the railings.’
‘But Waheed already told you.’
‘I know he did,’ said Khan, checking his mirrors and slowing slightly as they passed the pumping station.
‘See, exactly as he said,’ said Patel. ‘Five-foot railings. Now let’s go to the car park like we agreed.’
‘All right, all right… I just needed to be sure.’
Patel shot him a sideways glance. ‘Don’t you trust Waheed?’
‘Of course,’ said Khan.
Patel, unconvinced, shot him another nervous glance but didn’t say any more. The unscheduled drive-by of the pumping station had already unsettled him more than enough.
The hill car park was as deserted as Malik had predicted, but Khan still took the precaution of driving head first into a parking place so that he and Patel were facing a clump of bushes. If he’d reversed in, any vehicle entering the car park would have caught them in the sweep of its headlights. Khan switched off the engine and they sat in silence for a few minutes, the only sound being contracting metal clicks from the van.
‘Do you think we’ll ever see our families again?’ asked Patel.
‘It’s enough that they will be proud of us,’ replied Khan.
‘Yes, but-’
‘Enough. We are soldiers on a mission. We must look forward, not back.’
‘You’re right. I wonder what the camps will be like? I’ve never been abroad… you?’
‘No.’
‘Our country… but we’ve never been there. Seems strange, don’t you think?’
‘Look-’ Khan’s angry response was cut short by a vehicle entering the car park, its headlights lighting up the shrubbery briefly, causing both men to sink down in their seats.
‘It’s slowing,’ hissed Patel.
‘It’s a car park.’
Patel sat motionless, staring straight ahead while Khan monitored the car’s progress in the van’s mirrors. It circled round to the opposite side of the car park, its tyres crunching on the gravel surface, and extinguished its lights as it drew to a halt.
‘As far away as possible,’ muttered Khan. ‘Guess what they’re doing.’
Patel didn’t respond. Humour was the last thing on his mind.
Conversation between the two men was uncomfortable and sporadic for the remainder of their wait, which was punctuated by the arrival of two more cars and the departure of the original one. ‘Like rabbits,’ muttered Patel when the third car drove in.
The last car left at one thirty a.m., allowing both men to get out and relieve themselves in the bushes. ‘I thought they’d never go,’ said Khan.
‘Me too,’ said Patel. It was the friendliest exchange they’d had.
At twenty to three, Khan, after checking his watch for the umpteenth time, finally said, ‘It’s time.’ The words acted as a safety valve. Their enforced immobility, which had been acting as a magnifier of all things bad for both of them, had come to an end and they were finally on the move. The tension didn’t return until they were drifting down the hill towards the pumping station in neutral.
Khan brought the vehicle to a halt and turned off the engine. They sat for a few minutes, watching the nearby houses for any signs of life, but windows remained dark and curtains were undisturbed.
‘Ready?’
‘Ready.’ Patel reached behind him and brought the box containing the bacterial cultures into the front of the van rather than go round and open the back doors. Khan took it out his side, then Patel got out carrying the bolt cutters and both men pushed their doors gently to. They didn’t want to risk slamming them and waking the neighbours.
Khan climbed over the railings first, dropping lightly to the grass on the other side, and turning to receive the box which Patel handed to him. Patel dropped the bolt cutters on the other side and climbed over to kneel beside Khan while they looked back at the houses opposite. Still no signs of life. In a spontaneous gesture, Khan held up his hand, inviting a high-five, which Patel performed with a smile.
Then both men were suddenly blinded as half a dozen searchlights were turned on and harsh male voices yelled at them from all directions. ‘Armed police! Get down on the ground! Get down! Hands on your heads! Armed police!’
TWENTY-SEVEN
The headline news next morning was that terrorist attempts to contaminate drinking water at pumping stations supplying large parts of four major British cities had been foiled by police. It was not yet known whether other attempts had been successful or if the captured terrorists had been responsible for the first attack. The population was urged to remain vigilant. All water should be boiled until the all-clear was given.
There was an air of so-far-so-good about the COBRA meeting at ten that morning.
‘I wouldn’t like to go public on it right now,’ said the Home Secretary, ‘but I think we may have got them all. All pumping stations have been examined thoroughly and none report any signs of interference during the night. I think we have to congratulate the police and our security forces on a job very well done.’
‘Was it a breakthrough or a tip-off?’ asked Steven. He thought it was a reasonable question to ask but the slightly embarrassed looks that passed between the heads of MI5 and Special Branch and the Metropolitan Police commander seemed to suggest not.
The MI5 man cleared his throat and said, ‘We did receive a tip-off, but it’s not clear at the moment whether or not it came from one of our undercover people.’
‘I see,’ said Steven.
‘I’m sure you appreciate the dangers involved in placing operatives in dangerous situations. We have to keep information about them as secret as possible.’
Even from each other, thought Steven, seeing what he thought might be a case of the right hand not knowing what the left was doing.
‘No matter,’ said the deputy Prime Minister, intervening. ‘The main thing is we have eight terrorists in custody.’
There were murmurs of agreement round the table.
‘Do we know anything about them?’ asked Steven.
‘First reports suggest they’re home-grown and very young,’ said the Met commander.
‘And presumably Asian?’
‘Yes, but born in the UK.’
‘But they must have been subject to outside influence, and given assistance,’ said Norman Travis. ‘You don’t exactly find cholera cultures in the cupboard under the sink.’
The MI5 head nodded. ‘It’s almost certain we’re looking at disaffected youths being exploited by Islamic terrorists for their own ends.’
‘After being recruited locally,’ added the Met commander bitterly. ‘This damned Afghan war is making it all too easy for these Fagin-like figures.’
‘Be that as it may…’ began the deputy PM, coughing to cover his embarrassment, ‘it’s a truly sad reflection on our society that British-born youths should feel so… un-British.’
The expression on the Met commander’s face suggested that such social considerations were the last thing on his mind. ‘Well, they’ll have the rest of their natural lives to reflect on their Britishness or lack of it from behind bars,’ he growled. ‘Perhaps we should be more concerned with those who’ve died and those who might yet join them.’
‘Indeed,’ said Norman Travis. ‘Our first priority must be to remain focused on stamping out the epidemic we still have on our hands. We can’t afford to let down our guard even if we have — hopefully — deactivated its source.’
‘Hear hear,’ said several round the table.
‘So we continue with the preventative measures we’ve put in place?’ said the deputy PM.