‘Don, shut up!’ she yelled into the mobile. ‘I know where they are! In fact, I’m standing barely a couple of hundred yards from the place. I followed Tom to his rendezvous with them.’
An incredulous ‘Christ Almighty’ was his reaction. Then: ‘Give me the details.’ She told him the location, a deserted factory on the Kennet near Newbury. ‘Stay put, Casey, the police will want a full debrief.’
She folded away her mobile. v
Mercs looked cheerful. ‘This is going to be the story of the decade and we’re in on the ground floor. Hal, I suggest you and Bodger go and hide yourselves somewhere that’ll give you the best angle. Otherwise the cops will kick us out as soon as they arrive.’
‘Eddie,’ Casey said reproachfully, ‘how the hell can you think about that at a time like this?’
‘Because, dear heart, I want to get back on the nationals.’
The first to arrive were CID detectives from Newbury, including one former AntiTerrorist Branch Officer. Their approach was stealthy and on foot, rendezvousing with the reporters on the opposite side of the river to the old brewery. Casey and Mercs outlined everything they knew about the building and its grounds, the number of terrorists they had seen and their transport.
Ten minutes later an armed response vehicle arrived on the scene together with the uniformed chief inspector of Newbury who deployed them discreetly to cover the gates to the factory yard from the roadside ditch. The Territorial Support Group began sealing off the area. Cars were strategically positioned in case the terrorists succeeded in making a breakout without their hostages.
Casey and Mercs were led half a mile away on the far side of the bridge to a playing field which had been designated the emergency RV.
‘Ours is just a holding operation until the big boys arrive,’ the senior officer explained. ‘It’s not helped by the fact that the Paddies have such a commanding view. Anyone is going to be a sitting target who pops his head up.’ The next thirty minutes were the longest that Casey could remember. Absolutely nothing happened. The chief inspector kept glancing at his watch, the other detectives shuffled their feet impatiently. Mercs yawned. Birds sang in the trees. A train rattled by on the nearby track towards London.
Then suddenly everything seemed to be happening at once. First the Chief Constable arrived by helicopter. Then a police car, with flashing lights but no siren, appeared at the edge of the field leading a convoy onto the grass of the marshalling area. Next came the command and control vehicle known as Zulu.
Police began spilling out of patrol cars, unmarked Q cars and white Transits, in just minutes the field filled with reinforcements from the AntiTerrorist Branch and marksmen in blue overalls from the SO 19 ‘Blue Berets’ unit who began unpacking their sniper rifles. Others were experts from TO7 Technical Support Branch and SO7, known as the ‘Dirty Tricks Department’.
With the sudden influx of new arrivals on the village green, the place was fast taking on the atmosphere of an intensely earnest carnival. Then the second helicopter arrived in a special area that had now been cordoned off for the purpose.
As the passengers stepped down, Casey recognised Don Trenchard. Others, whom she didn’t know, were John Nash from MI5, Jim Maitland of the AntiTerrorist Branch, a Home Office adviser, a Special Forces brigadier and two police superintendents who had taken a special two-week course in hostage negotiation at Bramshill-They went immediately to Zulu Control for a meeting with the Chief Constable.
Shortly afterwards two more helicopters, both Pumas, arrived with a contingent from the Duty SAS Squadron at Hereford, the leader of whom also made straight for Zulu Control to thrash out an Immediate Action Plan in case of a need for an immediate response.
While they were in conference more vehicles arrived: three fire brigade tenders and six ambulances were followed by two white Tacticas which had recently been withdrawn from London to 11 EOD at Vauxhall Barracks.
Then, quite distinctly, a distant single shot was heard. Casey looked at Mercs, who shook his head and shrugged. Suddenly all sense of carnival died in an instant. A little later an ambulance drove off; there was no siren.
It was two-thirty in the afternoon when the meeting ended and Trenchard emerged, making his way across to where Casey and
Mercs stood.
‘I think congratulations are in order,’ he said. ‘I can’t say what you did wasn’t foolish and dangerous in the extreme. But as you got away with it, I can’t say I’m not pleased you did.’
‘What happens next?’
‘Well, we’ve replaced the local firearms officers with SO 19 marksmen, so now the place is fully surrounded. Unfortunately the terrorists spotted someone during the manoeuvre. A policeman was shot dead. Since then the terrorists have been on the blower to Trafalgar House making all sorts of threats.’
Casey paled. ‘Oh, my God!’
He smiled reassuringly. ‘No, don’t worry. It was inevitable really. That old brewery is too well sited for a covert approach in daylight. And, anyway, threats are to be expected. The fact is the game is up for them and.they know it. It’s just a matter of time.’
‘How long?’
‘As far as they’re concerned, until the talks are concluded in their favour. Abe Powers reckons that could be at any time.’
Mercs had been listening in his usual deceptively casual manner. ‘So when do the Hereford hooligans go in?’
‘Speculation of that sort isn’t helpful. We’ll want to try and get the hostages out first. Try and negotiate something. Besides, we’re told the factory has been rigged with explosives and booby traps for a prolonged siege, fiven the roof apparently, to stop anyone having any bright ideas about landing helicopters. And as this is the AIDAN team, I think we need to take the threat seriously. Can’t really be too Rambo-ish about sending in the SAS.’
Trenchard left them then to join Nash and Maitland who waited by a Newbury Q car to take them nearer to the factory. He hadn’t mentioned to Casey or Mercs that it was he who had the job of initial negotiation. Only his fellow professionals knew why and even they were unaware of his own, very personal reasons for volunteering.
The police negotiator had persuaded the terrorists that it would be best for them to communicate by a secure landline telephone rather than mobiles, the transmissions of which could be intercepted by radio hams or the press. It was going to be Trenchard’s job to take it in.
As they drove by the perimeter hedge, they passed Captain Heathcote, complete in khaki bombsuit, checking the roadside ditch for explosives, using a ‘grudge’ detector to locate any hidden command wires.
‘I hope they’re playing this straight,’ Nash said.
Trenchard seemed unconcerned. ‘At worst they get a fourth hostage. At best we get three out.’
The car stopped behind the screen of trees and they climbed out. Trenchard shouldered himself into the police flak jacket and picked up the telephone and bolt cutters. ‘Good luck, Don.’
He stepped out in front of the gates, one SO 19 marksman hidden to one side in the ditch. Trenchard raised both hands and waved them slowly so that the watching terrorists realised who he was and what he was doing. Then he proceeded to snap the padlock chain and pushed open one of the wiremesh gates.
Maitland and Nash moved up behind him as he began walking across the expanse of concrete yard towards the distant factory, telephone in hand and the cable trailing out behind him.
‘Rather him than me,’ Nash observed.
‘And you say he volunteered?’ Maitland asked. ‘That’ll be worth a gong. Even if it is posthumous.’
The ATO was now splashing about in the ditch beside them where the water passed under a culvert in front of the gates. He pushed up the visor of his helmet. ‘Excuse me, gentlemen,’ Heathcote said. ‘But I wouldn’t recommend stopping there. I think you’ll find you’re standing on what could be about thirty pounds of Semtex. In an oil can. No firing cable I can see, so it’s probably radio-controlled.’