It would have been a magical end to a trying day had Casey’s telephone not begun to ring. She stirred and sat up, pulling a dustsheet around her shoulders as she reached to answer it.
‘Hello, Casey Mullins.’ Her eyes widened, taken aback as she listened before turning to him. ‘It’s your friend Don. He wants to speak to you.’
Harrison’s own surprise had turned to irritation even before he took the receiver. ‘Don? Why the hell are you phoning at this time — and where the hell did you get the number?’
Trenchard’s voice was brisk. ‘Don’t ask, Tom. I just guessed you might still be with her. I heard what happened in the Haymarket…’
‘That can wait till we meet,’ Harrison snapped.
‘Did you see the newsflash on the television?’
Casey’s set sat in the corner, not yet plugged in since the move. ‘No, I didn’t.’
‘Then you don’t know?’
‘What, for Christ’s sake?’ Irritation turning to anger.
‘That car you cleared. It blew up at the police station compound. They reckon there was a separate bomb built into a false exhaust pipe. Two coppers died and seven were injured.’
Harrison stared at the blank wall. Cars and derelicts. The old nightmare was coming back to haunt him.
The Home Secretary wore the benign expression of the schoolroom swot. The goody-goody teacher’s pet who i made head prefect before going on to Oxford and being called to the Bar. No doubt he’d have made judge if naked ambition for power hadn’t side-tracked him into politics. Despite the horn-rimmed spectacles, he retained a youthful face that belied his years. His carefully cultivated reputation was one of fairness and approachability.
Nevertheless, Harrison felt less than comfortable standing before the minister’s vast desk in the elegant, old office of state with its smell of beeswax and leather. He might have been more at ease if Al Pritchard and Jim Maitland of the AntiTerrorist Branch had not been standing at his side.
And it didn’t help that he’d had an argumentative meeting with Pippa at her father’s house the night before. It had ended with young Archie in tears. Harrison realised in retrospect that he shouldn’t have gone. Suddenly he didn’t feel he could trust his own judgment any more. At least professionally, he hoped he still knew what he was doing.
It was two days now since the bomb in Haymarket and twenty four hours since Casey Mullins’s latest article had appeared in the Evening Standard to reassure Londoners that the bomb-disposal experts were beating the terrorists. How many readers believed her didn’t really matter as Don Trenchard had pointed out. What was important was that the AIDAN active service unit believed it, and on that question only time would tell.
‘Please take a seat, gentlemen,’ the Home Secretary invited. His tone was humble, almost apologetic. ‘You will appreciate that this is a very trying period and I thank you all for finding the time to put together proposals when I have no doubt that you are at full stretch.’ He looked directly at the Senior Explosives Officer. ‘Mr Pritchard in particular I thank for allowing our colleague Major Harrison to examine the modus operandi of his Section. However much I assure you to the contrary, I expect such action will inevitably be seen as a lack of confidence by Her Majesty’s Government. That, however, I promise you, is not the case. But events in the last few days vindicate our decision to bring in a little recent Northern Ireland experience to the capital. I’m sure you’d agree?’
Al Pritchard’s face was grimly impassive. He could barely bring himself to nod his acknowledgment, let alone force out the required response between clenched teeth.
‘Yes, Minister.’
‘I’m glad you see it our way.’ He leaned forward, elbows on the desk and his chin cupped in his hands. A deliberately informal gesture to put them at their ease. ‘So, Major Harrison, if we were to give you carte blanche, so to speak, what steps would you take to protect this fair city?’
Harrison cleared his throat and glanced at the notes on his lap. ‘First, Minister, what I have to say is in no way critical of the Section or the way that it’s been run.’ That wasn’t strictly true, but he wasn’t looking to make a lifelong enemy of Pritchard. ‘Secondly, I am fully aware of the political importance of not having London appear to have become as fraught as Belfast or Londonderry. After all, that is the reason the Section has maintained a low profile, although that has necessarily meant increasing the risk factor to its personnel in some instances. This approach has worked well, mostly, until now. But it has resulted in underfunding, which is again understandable given the demands for resources in other areas of policing. It has also resulted in a decline in expertise on the technical front.’
He was aware of the rasp of indignation under Pritchard’s breath.
The Home Secretary raised his famous quizzical eyebrow. ‘That’s very blunt of you, Major. How do you mean?’
‘As I’m sure you know, sir, in Northern Ireland we use the robot Wheelbarrow for most jobs. Three types actually. The standard Mark 13, a new small version called Buckeye for high-rises or confined spaces and the big Attack Barrow specifically designed to tackle car bombs. With sufficient warning, in the city centres we can usually deal with any device in between two and three minutes of arriving on scene. The method’s efficient and it’s saved a lot of lives and property.’
The minister turned to Pritchard. ‘I understand you, too, have these robots?’ v ‘Yes, sir, the standard versions and not the very latest mark. But we do have call on army backup from 621 Squadron at Northolt.’
Harrison said: ‘The point is that Northolt is thirty minutes’ travel time to central London. And the Section’s robots are kept in reserve and are rarely taken on a task. That inevitably means that the Expos become rusty as operators and the machines themselves fall into disrepair. Again funding plays a part. In normal times, this might not present a serious problem, but these are not normal times. Particularly in view of the renewed use of car bombs here on the mainland. And I’m given to understand that a long terrorist campaign is anticipated.’
The Home Secretary nodded his agreement. ‘So what would you recommend? That the Explosives Section deploys its robots more frequently?’
‘No, sir, it’s too late for that. It would take months of practice for the Expos to reach what I would consider acceptable levels of efficiency and we don’t have the time. My recommendation is that we bring out three top teams from the Province with their equipment, including the big Attack Barrows. Under less pressing circumstances I’d suggest we reinforce from 11 EOD here on the mainland — they have operators with recent Ulster experience. But complete teams from 321 have a wealth of special kit and are bang up to date. These should be stationed with the Section for the duration of the emergency to operate alongside Mr Pritchard’s officers. I’ve taken the liberty of checking with my Chief ATO, Colonel LloydWilliams, and he concurs with my assessment.’
‘Wouldn’t that leave the Province itself vulnerable?’ the minister asked.
Harrison shook his head. ‘For the moment, the AIDAN team doesn’t appear capable or inclined to operate in two places at once, which suggests they are a fairly small, independent unit. So, while they are on the mainland, that should be our main concern. We can draw on our other UK teams as replacements and step up SpecialtoTheatre training. Meanwhile London would have the cream of our operators to combat the worst of the threats.’
The Home Secretary sighed deeply. ‘The army on the streets of London, Major, it won’t look good on the television news. There’ll be a loss of confidence abroad and it will hit the tourist trade.’