Organising large groups of kids was always my idea of hell, but the teachers at St Ambrose had it down to a fine art. We emerged from the glass corridor on to the playground and instead of the chaos I had envisaged, we found four neat double lines of children. The classes were arranged in age order: kindergarten to the left, Year One in front of us, Year Two to the right. And if the relative size of the children wasn’t enough of a clue, the teaching assistants standing on either side of the diplomat’s kid would certainly have been a reliable guide.
“There he is,” Melissa said. “Let’s get him away from the crowd, just in case.”
We’d just started moving towards the youngest children when the alarm bells inside the school were switched off. Without them, we could suddenly hear the excited murmuring of the kids. The background hum of city traffic returned. And we became aware of another sound. Sirens. Several of them. At least four. And they were heading in our direction.
One of the teachers called for silence, then ordered the children to remain absolutely still. The last words had barely left his lips when the first of the emergency vehicles arrived. It was a police car, closely followed by a pair of fire engines and two ambulances. The car pulled over to the side, near the last of the Year Two children, and the fire engines swooped past it, not stopping till they were as close to the classroom building as possible. Their doors were thrown open and five firemen jumped down from each one, already suited up in their protective clothing. Like clockwork they started towards their prearranged positions, but before a single hose could be connected all ten of the men suddenly froze. They raised their hands, and I followed their gaze to two men I hadn’t seen before. They’d emerged from a black BMW that had made its way up the drive under cover of the second ambulance. They were both wearing suits. They were tall, each well over six foot. And they were both holding guns.
“Nobody move,” the first newcomer said. “Police. Now, listen carefully.”
“They’re not police,” Melissa whispered to me. “They’re Box. I recognise them.”
“I’m speaking to the fire crew only, now,” the newcomer said. “I need to know which one of you is in charge?”
The man who’d been first out of the leading fire engine raised his right hand even higher than it already was.
“Good,” the newcomer said. “I need your help. Because before a single drop of water gets sprayed anywhere, we need to test it. And that won’t take long, if you show me how to open the tanks.”
The fireman made his way to the back of his engine and started to climb the ladder which was built in to the vehicle’s bodywork.
“The hatch’s up here,” he said. “But you better haul your arse. We’ve got a fire to fight, here.”
The newcomer followed him up, pulled something about the size of an iPhone out of his jacket pocket, and held it to the mouth of the tank.
“Good,” he said, without looking at it, and I realised it must be a Geiger counter. “This one’s clear. Let’s check the other one.”
They repeated the procedure, and again the agent looked satisfied.
“Clear again,” he said. “Thank you. Now, please, carry on.”
The chief fireman waved his hand and the others sprang back into a blur of choreographed action. I guess they were eager to make up for lost time, but I wasn’t too worried about the fate of the school. I was pretty certain that whatever kind of device had caused the fire, it was designed to produce more smoke than flames. The idea was to provoke an evacuation, and that part of the plan at least had been successful. The diplomat’s son had been moved exactly where someone wanted him, and even though he was flanked by four armed guards, if the caesium hadn’t been intercepted, he’d have been as vulnerable as if he was standing naked and all alone.
Melissa badged the new agents, spoke to them for a moment, then started moving towards the line of kindergarten kids. I don’t know if it was down to the length of time they’d been standing there, the excitement of seeing the fire engines arrive, or the drama of the armed agents appearing, but the volume of noise they were making was increasing and their lines were becoming more ragged. And the degree of fidgeting had grown much greater, too. I started to follow Melissa and as I moved, I caught sight of something flying through the air. It was looping over my head. Something oval and black, like a large egg. The line of children instinctively broke as the object plummeted towards them, and it landed in the exact spot where a tall boy with glasses had been standing. I’d expected it to bounce, but instead it cracked open and the pieces stayed where they’d fallen. It didn’t make much noise, particularly in contrast with the shrieks that were coming from the nearest kids, but red smoke immediately started to spew from its cracked shell. The screaming grew louder and spread throughout the different groups of children, and the last vestige of discipline dissolved in the next split second. The smoke spread, whipped up by the rising wind, and amid the hysterical howling it became impossible to distinguish one set of panicking children from another. I could only hope that despite the chaos, the diplomat’s kid was still in safe hands.
“Gun,” one of the new agents shouted. “Get down.”
I spun round and saw spits of flame flickering from the muzzle of his 9mm. A man, twenty feet away from me, staggered back, clutching his chest. Kids were rampaging everywhere. I spotted a second man, twenty feet away in the other direction. He had another gun. He fired two shots, and the agent went down. Then he fired two more shots, over the heads of the children. The screaming became even louder, and under cover of the frenzied movement, the man turned and started to run.
“Stop,” Melissa shouted.
The man turned and fired at her. She slipped, but was straight back on her feet. She took two strides, then dropped down into a kneeling position, her weapon raised. Two more shots rang out, and this time the guy went down. He didn’t stay down long either, but wasn’t as controlled as Melissa. His gun arm was flailing, jerking so wildly it would have been impossible for him to hit anything he was aiming at. But it was guaranteed he was going to hit something, if he pulled the trigger again. And given the numbers, his most likely victim would be one of the children.
Melissa started moving towards him, stooping down to reduce the target she presented. The guy’s gun twitched in her direction, then snapped back to his left. The other new agent was moving, too. Melissa took advantage of the distraction he’d created and charged forward, straight at the guy. He saw her coming, but it was too late to bring his weapon to bear. Melissa launched herself at his chest, sending him reeling, and the agent and I reached them just as he hit the floor.
“You take him,” Melissa said to her colleague, as she regained her feet. “Make sure nothing happens. We need him able to talk.”
It took a moment to spot anyone we recognised from the Kindergarten, but eventually Melissa caught sight of the boy who’d almost been hit by the smoke grenade. We started towards him, watching as he was bumped and buffeted by bigger children who were in a greater state of panic. Then Melissa suddenly changed direction. She’d spotted the two electricians. There were at the far side of the playground, standing near the boundary wall. They appeared relaxed. Detached from the madness around them. And with no sign of Toby Smith.
“Where’s the kid,” Melissa said when we reached them, slightly out of breath from pushing through the crowd. “Aren’t you supposed to be with him?”