‘She’s at the Park Avenue. Get someone down there to keep a watch. Check with the airport car-hire companies and get a registration number if there is one. Then feed everything into Crucible. Our access only. I want to know everywhere she goes and everyone she sees.’
‘It’s as good as done.’
It was half past midnight when the first signal came through to the Section admin office.
Midgely had just glanced at his watch. ‘I know a place where we can get a late-night curry and a lager, if you fancy it? Celebrate your departure in style.’
Harrison put a brave face on it. ‘Sounds good, and it’s the best offer I’m likely to get. But promise me, no crying in your beer.’
The Yorkshireman almost smiled. ‘I don’t know how I’m going to live without you.’
‘You’ll get over it in time. Al will look after you.’
Midgely chuckled and glanced over his shoulder to be sure Pritchard wasn’t around. The Senior Expo had come in with the twelve to eight a.m. shift, overlapping with their own by one hour. The terrorists’ favourite time to strike.
Not that they were expecting anything. Since AIDAN’s own goal in Lambeth, there had been a sudden lull in activities. Clearly the incident had set the Provos back, maybe even resulted in a premature end to the whole campaign.
Perhaps his successor, arriving from Germany the next morning, would have nothing more exciting to do than supervise the 321 squad’s return to Belfast. Either way, it was no longer any of Harrison’s concern.
He put down the copy of the Royal Logistics Corps Gazette he was reading as he heard the duty officer take the radio call. ‘Central Ten Five Five receiving… Yes… Where?… Location Westminster Bridge, status not confirmed…’ The man swivelled in his seat, still listening intently to the voice in his headset and gave a thumbs-up. ‘Wilco, sir. We’re on our way. Please clear the area and check and secure an ICP on the north bank.’
Midgely was on his feet. ‘I’ll call Al.’
The desk phone rang and Harrison reached for the receiver. Til take it.’
As the Yorkshireman disappeared into the corridor, the voice of the AntiTerrorist Branch detective was almost shrieking on Harrison’s line. ‘Call from the Samaritans. Car bomb threat for vicinity of Westminster Bridge. Forty-five minutes warning received 0028 hours.’
‘Anything else?’ Harrison demanded.
‘That’s it.’
‘No codeword?’
‘No.’
Shit! A hoax or what? ‘Definitely not AID AN?’
‘Negative.’
, He hung up and the duty officer called across from the radio console. ‘Is that our confirmation?’
‘Yes, but no codeword.’
‘It looks like a car pulled up on the pavement, dead centre of the bridge. Hazard flashers on, bonnet up, and the driver walked away. Sound familiar?’
Harrison paled. ‘The flyover bombs.’
Another signal was coming up on the console and the duty officer turned away.
Al Pritchard strode into the room, Midgely at his heels.
‘Suspect car bomb on Westminster Bridge now confirmed,’ Harrison reported and gave the details.
Midgely grimaced thoughtfully. ‘No codeword, so it could be a copycat.’
Pritchard’s eyelids half lowered. ‘Or a rerun of the flyover bombs.’
‘And no codeword — to deliberately slow our response?’ Harrison suggested. *
The Sexpo nodded. ‘Midge, put out an all-units to have all bridges in central London checked and watched. If it is them, let’s get ahead of the game.’
But it was already too late for that. The duty officer had finished with the latest caller. ‘Vauxhall Bridge now, Al, the same setup. And this console’s lighting up like Blackpool seafront. I need backup, fast.’
Midge yelled down the corridor for the new shift members to man the switchboard and Harrison’s phone rang again. It was via another branch of the Samaritans. Vauxhall Bridge confirmed. No codeword.
‘You want my lads tasked, Al?’
Pritchard had accepted the inevitable. The prospect of car bombs, even if they weren’t AIDAN’s, left him with no real choice. ‘Your lads, Tom, but not you. You’ve barely fifteen minutes left to run, so let’s call it a day, eh?’
Bastard! ‘Sure, Al, if that’s the way you want it. You’re the boss.’
The acid smile. ‘I always have been.’
Within five minutes four Range-Rovers and four Expos with their backup were on the road together with three British Army Tacticas, which included the big Attack Barrow. They were racing after a rapidly mounting number of suspect river bridge car bombs, Waterloo and Battersea Bridges now added to the list.
Only Harrison and Midgely were left. The Yorkshireman telephoned the remaining Expos on leave and told them to report in — like yesterday! He also requested the army unit at Northolt be put on immediate standby.
Earlier Harrison had found himself thinking about Casey and whether they might be able to steal a few days away together. Maybe a quiet country hotel somewhere. Now all such fantasies were pushed rudely to the back of his mind. ‘Something else is brewing,’ he observed, lighting up his small briar pipe. It always helped his concentration.
‘How d’you mean?’
‘These bridge bombs aren’t hoaxes, Midge. No hoaxer abandons four cars — even someone else’s — simultaneously on one night. To my mind, no such idiot would find three friends daft enough to go along with it. That means it’s PIRA — but no codeword.’
‘So?’
‘They’re going for a spectacular. I don’t know where or how, but that’s what they’re setting up. I can feel it. Maybe these bridge bombs are quite basic, put in place by a regular mainland active service unit, or even their regular logistics people. They’ve spread our resources and now they’ll go for the big one. Then we’ll get our codeword.’
Midgely looked chastened, shivering suddenly in an imagined draught. ‘Al was right, Tom, you’ve just a few minutes left to run. Why don’t you go home? Close the door on all this. It’s not your worry any more.’ He smiled and placed his porky hand on his friend’s arm. ‘Sorry about that curry.’
The duty officer was busy again; both men turned as he completed his conversation. ‘Got something here, Midge,’ he called. ‘A fucking great dumper truck in the middle of the Blackwall Tunnel. And it’s AID AN.’
‘Oh, sweet Jesus,’ Midgely murmured, stepping forward to snatch the task-sheet. He stared at it, hardly believing. ‘A truck blocking the northbound tunnel. Car crashed into the side of it with a couple and a baby trapped. One policeman shot dead… What the fuck, this is some kind of sick joke!’ He shook his head. ‘Forty-five minutes to go, verbal to surviving police officer who confirms AIDAN codeword and a specific warning not to approach the vehicle.’
Harrison stared at the large-scale wall map of the London streets. ‘No one else is going to be free for half-an-hour at best. Midge. When will the first relief get here?’
‘He’s driving in from Carshalton.’
Too long, Harrison decided. ‘Then it’s you or me. I’ll toss you for it.’
Midge said: ‘Someone’s got to stay here, Tom, and you don’t qualify. Take the last Rover and get down there, I’ll join you as soon as the first relief arrives. With a police escort hopefully he’ll make it in another ten.’
Harrison was already on his way to the door. Til need a complete sitrep on my way, Midge. Update me on the radio.’
Outside the tarmac of the compound glistened with the rain that had been falling all evening without let-up. He splashed through the puddles as he ran to where the Range-Rover stood, white and shiny under the bright lights of the open garage. As he swung up into the driver’s seat, the allocated police escort vehicle was already moving into position, its blue strobe gyrating around the compound.