First Response (6 page)

Bonnie stared in horror at the Asian man as he used his right hand to unbutton his coat and reveal that he was wearing an explosive-packed suicide vest.

‘
Allahu Akbar!
’ shouted the man, reaching into his coat pocket. He pulled out a metal trigger and held it above his head. ‘Everyone do exactly as I say or we all die!’

The Chinook did a slow circle two hundred feet above Wellington Barracks, then slowly descended to make a textbook landing in the centre of the parade ground. The twin rotors continued to whir as the back ramp lowered and eight SAS troopers came out, toting black kitbags.

Major Haydyn Williams was standing at the edge of Tarmac Square, a line of four black SUVs behind him. The men jogged over and formed a line in front of him, then dropped their bags beside them. All eight were part of the SAS’s special projects team, specialising in anti-hijacking and counter-terrorism.

‘For those of you who haven’t been watching the news, there’s been a spate of hostage-taking incidents across London this morning,’ said Williams, who had lost most, but not all, of his Welsh accent during his eight-year stint with the SAS. ‘The hostage-takers appear to be linked to ISIS and are wearing suicide vests. In each case the terrorist has handcuffed himself to a member of the public. It’s a delicate situation, to put it mildly.’

The Chinook’s engines roared and it lifted off, heading back to Hereford. The men kept their heads turned away from the rotor blast and the major waited until the deafening roar had faded before continuing. ‘This is how it’s going to work,’ he said. ‘You’re to be attached to the various armed police units attending the four incidents around the capital. You will be acting under the orders of the local Silver Commander in each case. For those of you not familiar with the way the cops operate, a Silver Commander is in charge on site. Usually an inspector but not always. He in turn reports to a Gold Commander, who in this case is at the special operations room in Lambeth. The Gold Commander decides overall strategy, the Silver Commander makes decisions on the ground. You do what the Silver Commander says. But I also want you using our own comms to stay in touch with Captain Alex Murray. He’s in the SOR so he’ll always have the big picture.’

The men nodded. Most of them were chewing gum, the only sign of the building tension.

‘Under no circumstances are you even to think of firing your weapon without being ordered to do so by the Silver Commander,’ said the major. ‘At the moment the cops are running the show so we have to play by their rules.’

‘What about if we come under attack, boss?’ asked a trooper. Ben Peyton was one of the youngest members of the group, though he had already seen plenty of action in Afghanistan and Syria. He was the linguist specialist in his four-man patrol, fluent in Arabic and French.

‘The intel we have is that the targets are only armed with suicide bombs,’ said Major Williams. ‘No guns, no knives, just a vest full of explosives. They won’t be attacking you. The risk is that they self-detonate and take out everyone close by. At the moment the police are containing them and are preparing to negotiate. Our task is to support the armed police units as they are now stretched thin. We’re in a support role in the first instance, but my personal feeling is that will change fairly soon. But until it does, you follow the Silver Commander’s orders to the letter.’

The men nodded, their faces impassive.

‘As soon as you’ve deployed, I suggest you all grab some cop kit so that you blend in. We’re under orders not to cover our faces so no ski masks or balaclavas. Dark glasses are fine, but the best way of staying below the radar is to blend. Understood?’ More nods. ‘So, any questions or are we good to go?’ The major looked down at his clipboard and began reading out their assignments. As soon as their name was called the troopers would pick up their kitbags and jog over to the waiting SUVs. Five minutes later they were all being whisked across the capital.

Joe Lumley twisted in his seat and waved his hand to get Kamran’s attention. ‘Lisa Elphick from the press office wants to know if you can spare her a minute or two.’ He pointed to the large viewing window at the far end of the special operations room. A blonde woman in her mid-thirties in a black blazer and white skirt was standing there. She gave Kamran a small wave when he saw her. He grinned and beckoned her in. She walked quickly over to the Gold Command suite and air-kissed him on both cheeks. Kamran had worked with the chief press officer on several occasions and always admired her professionalism and no-nonsense approach. She was totally trustworthy, which was a breath of fresh air in an organisation where the key to climbing the greasy pole of promotion depended, more often than not, on stabbing someone else in the back. ‘Busy day, I gather,’ she said.

‘You always were a master of understatement,’ he said.

‘How many now?’

‘Five,’ said Kamran.

‘Twitter’s gone into meltdown,’ she said. ‘We’re getting copied into a lot of it so our feed is being overwhelmed. They’re letting their hostages tweet, which is a first.’

‘A first here, maybe, but it happened during that ISIS attack in Paris. It helps to spread the word.’

‘Hashtag ISIS6 is what they’re using now. Some of the hostages are even posting selfies.’

Kamran looked over at Lumley. ‘Let’s get that checked, Joe,’ he said. ‘See if there are any decent pictures we can use.’ He sat down and smiled at Elphick. ‘So, how can I help you, Lisa?’

‘We’ve had a request from the media, obviously. They want a pool journo in the SOR. Ideally one TV crew and one print.’

Kamran shook his head. ‘No can do,’ he said.

‘I thought as much, but I had to ask.’

‘There’s too much operational stuff on the screens,’ said Kamran. ‘And too much info being shouted about.’

‘I already explained that,’ she said. ‘I said that afterwards, when it’s been resolved, we can give them a press conference here and show them around but that’s it.’

‘That would certainly be doable,’ said Kamran.

‘I’ve had requests for interviews with Bomb Squad and firearms spokespeople but I’ve explained that we’re swamped,’ said the press officer. ‘At the moment they’re getting most of their info from social media. I thought it might be helpful if I put a couple of press officers here full time and they can feed information out. Information that you want out there, obviously.’

‘That sounds like a plan. But I’d prefer them to run everything through Sergeant Lumley, just to be on the safe side. There’s a lot of operation information that we don’t want out there.’

‘I’ll make sure that happens,’ said Elphick. ‘Now, in terms of talking to the TV, do you want to do that?’

‘I won’t have time, Lisa. Can’t the deputy commissioner do it?’

‘I think he’s trying to distance himself from the operational side,’ she said.

‘In case the shit hits the fan?’ Kamran grinned. ‘Can’t blame him, can you? Did he put my name in the frame?’

‘He said the best spokesman would be someone involved directly.’

‘To be honest, I might be running the SOR but I think the spokesman needs to be at a higher level.’

‘It really is a poisoned chalice, isn’t it?’

‘Unless it gets resolved, in which case they’ll all be falling over themselves to talk to the press. Why don’t you step up, Lisa? You know how to handle journalists.’

‘They want someone in uniform,’ she said.

Lumley looked up from his screens. ‘We’ve managed to get a live feed from inside the shopping centre,’ he said. ‘From inside the actual shop.’

Kamran stood up. ‘Duty calls,’ he said. ‘Sorry.’

‘I’ll send a couple of press officers over,’ she said. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll make sure they keep out of your way. And let me know if you change your mind about going on TV.’

Elphick waved, and as she left Kamran went over to Lumley’s desk and peered over his shoulder. There was a black and white CCTV image of a young Asian man handcuffed to an even younger girl. Half a dozen women of various ages were huddled in a corner. Kamran couldn’t tell if they were staff or shoppers. The quality wasn’t great but it was good enough to see what was going on. The man was holding something in his right hand. The trigger to the explosives, presumably. He was shouting something at the women. Several of them were holding their mobile phones.

‘How are we getting this?’ asked Kamran.

‘The videos in the stores all feed through to a central control room, mainly so they can watch out for shoplifters,’ said Lumley. ‘After Seven/Seven we started talking to all the centre owners about direct video feeds, and most of them now have it in place.’

‘No sound, though?’

‘Unfortunately not.’ He gestured at the screen. ‘Their tweets are starting to come through now, all with the hashtag ISIS6.’

‘Who’s Silver Commander there?’

Lumley looked at his notepad. ‘Inspector Ross Edwards.’

‘Can you get him for me?’ Kamran went back to his desk to get his coffee but realised the mug was empty.

Inspector Adams rushed into the suite. ‘There’s been another, sir. An ARV’s on the way. A pub in Marylebone. The Grapes.’

‘How many hostages?’ asked Kamran.

‘We don’t know for sure. But a pub at lunchtime. Dozens, maybe.’

Kamran sighed. ‘Okay. As soon as you’ve found out who the Silver Commander is at the pub scene, let me know. In the meantime make sure Fire Brigade and Ambulance know what’s going on and where they’re needed. And we’re going to need one of TfL’s traffic experts in here. All those road closures are going to play havoc with the traffic flow.’

‘I’ve had Transport for London on twice now asking if they should close the Tube down.’

‘That’s not our call,’ said Kamran.

‘That’s what I said and suggested they call the mayor’s office. They did and the mayor passed them back to us.’

Kamran’s brow furrowed. It looked as if no one wanted to make a decision, which during a crisis tended to be par for the course. No one was ever punished for indecisiveness but plenty of careers had been ended by a wrong decision taken in the heat of the moment. ‘I’ll talk to him,’ he said.

Adams smiled his thanks and left. Lumley stood up. ‘Inspector Edwards is holding on line two.’

‘Thanks, Joe. Do me a favour and get me a coffee, and as soon as I’m done with Inspector Edwards, see if you can put me through to the mayor.’

Kamran picked up the phone and sat down. ‘Ross, long time no see. How’s the wife?’

‘All good, Mo. The chemotherapy’s taking its toll but the doctors are pleased with her progress.’

Kamran had been Edwards’s sergeant at Savile Row police station almost a decade earlier and the two men had always got on well together. Their paths had continued to cross, and a few months earlier they’d had a catch-up drink during which Edwards had revealed that his wife had been diagnosed with breast cancer. ‘Give her my love, please.’

‘I will, Mo. Thanks.’

‘So how are things there?’

‘We’ve one ARV and we’re waiting for more. The floors have been cleared and within the next five minutes or so we should have the whole centre to ourselves. I’m waiting for a negotiating team and until they arrive we’re keeping our distance.’

‘We’re getting a live feed from the video in the shop. Are you seeing it?’

‘I’m in the security centre now. So yes.’

‘Looks to me as if there’s only the one way in and out.’

‘That’s right, there’s no back entrance to the shops.’

‘Are you planning on a face-to-face negotiation?’

‘I was going to leave that up to the experts, Mo. There’s a phone in the shop we can use. Just be aware there’s a lot of glass around. If he does detonate it’ll cause mayhem.’

‘Okay, we’ll be watching on the video feed but keep us posted.’

‘How many others are there?’

‘Five plus you. The first was in Brixton, then the Southside shopping centre, followed by Fulham, Kensington and Marble Arch. And I’ve just been told about a pub in Marylebone.’

‘This is a fucking nightmare, isn’t it?’ said Edwards.

‘You said it.’

‘Shit! Please tell me we’re not the first on the scene,’ said PC Connor O’Sullivan, as he brought the patrol car to a halt outside the Grapes. There were half a dozen people standing on the pavement looking at the pub but none of them was wearing uniform and there were no emergency vehicles in the street.

‘Luck of the Irish,’ said the PC in the front passenger seat, Emma Wilson.

‘This isn’t funny, Emma,’ said O’Sullivan. He had been with the Met just three years and Wilson had even less experience. They had been heading out to offer home-security advice to a couple of pensioners in St John’s Wood when the call had come in and there had been no one else to take it. A reported suicide bomber and hostages. O’Sullivan’s heart was racing and he fought to stave off the panic that was threatening to overwhelm him. A suicide bomber? A fucking suicide bomber? His hands were shaking as he turned off the engine.

‘Where are the ARVs?’ he muttered.

‘En route,’ she said. ‘We just have to hold the fort until a senior officer gets here.’

‘So we just stay in the car, right?’

‘No, Connor, we get out and do our job.’ She patted his knee. ‘We’ve been trained for this. We just follow the protocols and we’ll be fine.’

‘A fucking suicide bomber, Emma.’

She forced a smile. ‘It’s a major incident and we treat them all the same,’ she said. ‘SADCHALETS, remember?’

O’Sullivan nodded. He remembered the mnemonic:

S – Survey the scene.

A – Assess the situation and gather information.

D – Disseminate the information to the control centre.

C – Casualties: check the number of dead and injured. Hopefully none, so far.

H – Hazards: identify the existing hazards. Presumably a deranged suicide bomber.

A – Access and Egress for emergency vehicles.

L – Locate: confirm the exact location of the incident.

E – Emergency services and evacuation: list which will be needed.

T – Type: assess the type of incident and its size.