Martin looked up as Denham walked in. There were dark patches under his eyes and his hair was greasy and unkempt. He'd rolled his shirtsleeves up and loosened his collar. 'Any news?' he asked.
Denham shook his head. He looked at Carter and Fanning. They looked as tired as Martin. 'Why don't you get a bite to eat, or catch some sleep? I'll stay until you get back.'
'One of us has to be here all the time,' said Fanning.
'So toss for it,' said Denham. He smiled sympathetically at Martin. 'You should try to sleep, too.'
Denham sat down opposite him. 'The bomb in Milton Keynes. It was the van. The van we were looking for. The SOCO boys found part of the registration plate.'
Martin ran his hands through his hair. 'God. What if it was Andy?'
'I don't think it was,' said Denham.
A look of hope flashed across Martin's face. 'Why? Why do you think that?'
'She was too professional to make a mistake,' said Denham. 'She was very methodical. Cold as ice. It couldn't have gone off accidentally.'
'Maybe they wanted to kill her. Maybe they blew her up?'
Carter left the room. Denham lit a cigarette and blew smoke at the ceiling. 'If they wanted to kill her, they wouldn't use a bomb, and they wouldn't do it in Milton Keynes. We're pretty sure that it was a deliberate explosion. A test, maybe. Or a way of getting rid of the van and any other evidence.'
'But there was a body.'
'It could have been anyone, Martin. They wouldn't have gone to all this trouble just for a small bomb in Milton Keynes. Whatever they're up to it has to be much bigger than that.'
Denham saw Martin staring at the packet of cigarettes and he offered him one. 'I don't smoke,' said Martin.
'Good for you,' said Denham.
'I gave up. Fifteen years ago.'
'I wish I had the willpower,' said Denham.
Martin continued to stare at the packet. 'Fuck it,' he said, reaching for a cigarette. Denham lit it for him. Martin inhaled and coughed, then took another drag. 'Fifteen years,' he said quietly. 'You married, Liam?'
Denham nodded. 'Almost thirty years. Thirty years next year.'
'What's the anniversary? Platinum? Sapphire?'
'Something like that.' Denham grinned and tapped ash into an ashtray. 'Bound to be expensive.'
'Children?'
Denham's jaw tightened. 'A daughter.' He took another long drag on his cigarette, held the smoke deep in his lungs for several seconds, then exhaled between clenched teeth. 'She died.'
'I'm sorry.'
Denham shrugged. 'It was a long time ago. Leukaemia.'
'Oh, God. I'm really sorry.'
'Yeah, she was twelve. She'd been sick for two years – in and out of the bloody hospital we were. Chemotherapy. Radiation. Seems like most of the memories I have of her she was wearing a baseball cap.' He blew smoke at the floor.
'Children shouldn't die before their parents,' said Martin quietly. 'That's not how it should be.'
Denham nodded, staring at the floor. Fanning stood up uneasily and went over to the window. Denham looked up and locked eyes with Martin.
'If anything happens to Katie…' Martin said.
'We'll find her,' Denham assured him.
Martin's eyes were as hard and unyielding as plate glass as he stared at Denham. 'You have to find them both, Liam. You have to get them both back. I'll die without them. If they die, I'll die too.'
Denham reached over and gripped Martin's wrist. 'It won't come to that,' he said.
Martin pulled his arm away, embarrassed by the contact. He looked as if he wanted to say more, but he just shook his head and put a hand up to his face, massaging the bridge of his nose and blinking away tears.
Carter reappeared with a tray containing two plates of salad and two bottles of water. Denham gestured at the food with his cigarette. 'Not on a diet are we, Barbara?'
She smiled without warmth and put the tray on a coffee table close to the sofa. Denham stood up. 'I'll take this outside,' he said, nodding at the cigarette. Martin looked at the burning cigarette in his own hand, took a final drag and then stabbed it into the ashtray. Carter's smile was fractionally warmer. She sat on the sofa and began to peck at her salad with a fork.
Denham flashed an encouraging smile at Martin, but he was staring at the carpet. Denham took the lift down to the ground floor and walked out of Thames House, putting on his tweed hat and pulling it down hard as he headed towards the river. He turned up the collar of his jacket against the cold wind that was whipping in from the east. Out of habit he checked over his shoulder several times, but he wasn't being followed. He walked past several call-boxes and chose one down a side street, pulling out a handful of change and dropping two one-pound coins into the slot before dialling the number in Dublin. He smiled with satisfaction as the number rang out. Denham took pride in his memory, which was as close to photographic as it was possible to get, especially where names and numbers where concerned. It had been more than a decade since he'd phoned Eamonn Hogan, yet he'd instantly been able to retrieve the number from wherever it was in his brain that it had been filed away. He smiled as he remembered how his wife had always teased him because his recall of names and numbers was virtually infallible but he could never remember where he'd left his car keys or the television remote control.
Hogan didn't answer the phone himself, but an efficient secretary with a clipped Cork accent took Denham's name, asked him to hold, and then put him through almost immediately. 'Liam, you old rascal, how's retirement?' asked Hogan.
'Not as quiet as I'd hoped,' said Denham. 'Still Chief Inspector, then?'
'Aye. Too many black marks on my record to climb the slippery pole,' said Hogan. 'But I know where enough bodies are buried for them not to get rid of me. We've reached a nice wee impasse, so I'll give it five more years and then I'll be able to spend all my time on the golf course. What about you? Still fishing?'
'When I can. Look, Eamonn, I just wanted a word in your ear. Can you talk?'
'Sure.'
'George McEvoy. Remember him?'
'Unfortunately, yes. Right nasty bastard. Did the dirty for the IRA's Civil Administration Team, right?'
'That's him. Can you do me a favour – see if he's on your patch at all?'
'Why would you think he'd be in Dublin, Liam?'
Denham wasn't sure how much he could tell Hogan. They'd worked together on several occasions when Denham had been serving with Special Branch in Belfast, but they weren't friends, they had no real history together.
'It's difficult to explain, Eamonn, without me dropping myself in it. And you, too.'
Hogan chuckled. 'I don't think there's much you could say that would blacken my reputation any more than it already is,' he said. 'Where are you? Belfast?'
'London.'
'So what's with the query about McEvoy? Doing a little private detective work on the side, are we? Sweetening the pension?'
'I doubt that I'm going to get paid for this,' said Denham. He fed another pound coin into the slot, and followed it with two fifty-pence pieces. 'The thing is, I think McEvoy might be involved in something in your neck of the woods.'
There was a pause lasting several seconds. 'This wouldn't be about the Katie Hayes girl, would it?'
Denham cursed silently.
'Well, Liam? Would it?'
'I can see why you're a detective, Eamonn. Putting two and two together and getting five.'
'It's not that big a leap of intuition,' said Hogan. 'Two of my boys were pulled off a case a day or two back. Little girl went missing with her mother. They pulled in the father and sweated him overnight but couldn't pin anything on them. They were coming to the view that it was a domestic and the wife had gone off. They let him go with a view to keeping an eye on him. Then he vanished. My boys had made a few enquiries with his bank and his accountant and it seems he'd been liquidating all his investments. Before they could take it any further, I got a call from the Taoiseach's office. I was told to lay off the Hayes case. No explanation, no please or thank you, just that the matter was being pursued at a higher level. So, was I right? Do two and two make five? Or is it six? Or is your call from London a total coincidence?'
Denham smiled despite himself. Hogan was a cunning old sod. 'You know I can't tell you, Eamonn. But you're following orders, aren't you?'
'Oh, yes, I'm being a good boy. Wouldn't want to do anything to jeopardise my pension.'
Denham slotted in a few more coins.
'I'd like to tell you more, but I honestly can't. Maybe when it's over we can chat about it over a few glasses of malt, but at the moment things are too frantic. But I would be grateful if you'd keep an eye out for McEvoy. Or any of his associates.'
'And if he does turn up?'
'Then I'd appreciate an unofficial call.' He gave Hogan the number of the mobile phone that Patsy had given him. 'That's a mobile and it's not secure,' he warned.
'They never are these days,' said Hogan. 'Okay, I'll put him on our watch list. I'll think of some excuse.'
'Anyone else appeared in Dublin you wouldn't expect?'
'Not that I know of, but now you've raised it I'll put out some feelers. Now you be careful, Liam. You're getting too old for cloak and dagger.'
Denham snorted back a laugh and hung up. As he left the call-box, he lit another cigarette. It was the last in his packet and the packet had been the second of the day. His wife wouldn't be best pleased if she found it. He put his hands in his pockets and went off in search of a newsagent.
– «»-«»-«»Katie sat at the table, flicking through one of the comic books that the Nice Man had brought her. She had no idea what time it was or what day it was, but she was hungry, so she guessed it was almost lunch-time. She looked around the room. She had to find a way out. She had to escape. But how? There was only one way out of the basement and that was up the stairs and through the door. The last time she'd tried to run away she'd headed for the kitchen and that had been a mistake because the Ugly Man was there. She should have run the other way, to the front door. If she could get to the front door, then she could run away and shout for help. Someone would hear her. A policeman, maybe.
She looked up at the single light bulb hanging from the ceiling. If she tried to hide, they'd see her right away. They always switched the light on when they came down the stairs, no matter which of them it was. She needed to be able to hide in the dark and then run up the stairs before they saw her. She rolled up the comic and swished it through the air. If she could hit the light bulb, it would go out. But she was only little, she couldn't reach. She didn't think even her dad would be able to reach it.
She climbed on to the table and swung the comic at the bulb, but it was still too high. She frowned up at it. If she did break the bulb, it would be dark. There were no windows in the basement. She tutted, annoyed at herself for always thinking negatively. She had to get out, she had to get back to her mummy and dad, and if that meant being in the dark for an hour or so, it was a small price to pay.
She knelt down on the table and picked up the wooden chair she'd been sitting on. She hauled it up on to the table, set it down in the middle, and climbed up on it. It wobbled a bit, but not much. She swung the rolled-up comic and hit the bulb. It swung crazily back and forth, but it didn't go out. Katie waited until it had stopped swinging before lashing out again. This time the light winked out, though the glass didn't break.
She stood on the chair in darkness, suddenly afraid. She knelt down, almost lost her balance, and then clambered to the floor. It felt colder, as if the light had been keeping the basement warm, but she knew that was only her imagination. She groped around until she found her Garfield toy, then crawled to the bottom of the stairs, where she curled herself up into a tight ball and waited.
– «»-«»-«»Andy looked up from the wires that she was soldering and wiped her forehead with her sleeve. She blew on the silvery lumps of still-hot solder, then tugged gently at the wire to check that it was firmly fixed to the digital timer's circuit board. She had to force herself to concentrate on what she was doing. Her mind kept wandering to the briefcase and to what would happen if Green-eyes discovered it.
The Wrestler was stacking the last of the black bags in the centre of the main office area. There was up to thirty pounds of the fertiliser/aluminium mixture in each bag, a total of one hundred and thirty bags in all.
Green-eyes watched as Andy added a drop more solder to the join, then blew on it again. 'This sort of timer's reliable, is it?' she asked.
Andy nodded. 'The big advantage is that it can be set up weeks in advance. The IRA used it to bring down the Grand Hotel in Brighton. Remember, when they almost got Thatcher?'
'I remember. But we won't be needing weeks.'
'How long?' asked Andy.
'Let's get it set up first, then we'll worry about the time.'
Green-eyes straightened up and looked at her watch. It was the third occasion she'd looked at her watch in the past ten minutes, and Andy had the feeling that she was waiting for somebody.
Andy soldered one of the wires leading from the digital timer to a nine-volt battery. She'd already soldered another wire to the battery terminal, and she'd connected that temporarily to a bulb-holder into which was screwed a small bulb. Three other wires also ran from the timer to three other bulb-holders, which were also connected to batteries. Andy was using red wires from the timer to the batteries, blue wires from the batteries to the bulb-holders, and brown wires from the bulb-holders back to the timer. She fiddled with the timer and all four bulbs lit up.
'Excellent,' said Green-eyes.
'Do you want me to show you how to set the timer?' asked Andy.
'No need,' said Green-eyes. 'You'll be setting it, not me.'
'And you want me to finish it now?'
Green-eyes nodded.
The briefcase full of Semtex slabs was on another table. Andy went over to it and unwrapped the blocks one by one, putting the plastic wrappers to the side. She began to work the blocks together like a pastry chef, squeezing out the air and forming the high explosive into one malleable roll. It was hard work, and her hands were soon aching. She flattened it out into a rough oblong, then picked it up and put it back in the briefcase, pressing it firmly into all the corners. It filled the case to a depth of almost three inches. It was, Andy knew, capable of producing a shock wave so devastating that it would virtually vaporise everything within a hundred feet. Beyond that, shrapnel would kill anything up to five hundred feet away. But the purpose of the Semtex wasn't to produce lethal shrapnel – it was to act as an initiator to set off the four thousand pounds of fertiliser explosive. If the Semtex was destructive on it own, combined with the home-made explosive it would be a hundred times more devastating.
Once she was satisfied with the Semtex, she carried the case over to the table where the electrical circuit was. She put it down and turned to Green-eyes. 'You're sure you want me to assemble it now?'
'Bit late for second thoughts, Andrea,' said Green-eyes.
'It's not that. But if you want me to put the detonators in the circuit, we should unplug all the electrical equipment. The big stuff, anyway. The ovens and the tumble-driers.'
Green-eyes nodded. She went over and pulled the plugs out of the wall as Andy methodically removed the bulb-holders. The four silver cylinders lay in a row by Andy's right hand, their white wires neatly coiled together.
'What about the timer?' asked Green-eyes. 'Won't you have to plug it into the mains?'
'What?'
'The clock? The video recorder needs a mains supply. Doesn't the clock?'
Andy shook her head as she began wiring the detonators into the circuit in the places where the bulb-holders had been. 'No. The voltage is stepped down to about twelve volts. I'm running it off batteries.'
Green-eyes studied the circuit that Andy was assembling. 'And you're going to use all four detonators?'
'That's what you wanted.' She uncoiled the wires from the last of the detonators and wired it into the circuit.
'But that's how many we need, right?'
Andy nodded. 'One would do the job.'
'But the more the merrier, you said.'
'They weren't my actual words,' said Andy. 'But you want more than one in case there's a failure. And the more you have, the stronger the original detonation pulse.'
'A bigger bang,' said Green-eyes, with evident satisfaction.
Andy looked up from what she was doing. 'Have you ever seen what a bomb does? The effect it has?'
Green-eyes gave Andy a withering look. 'Of course.'
'So you should know it's not a laughing matter. It's not funny. People get hurt. Legs get blown off. Children die.'
Green-eyes slammed a hand down on the table, rattling all the electrical components. 'I know what a fucking bomb does!' she shouted. 'And so do you!'
Andy realised she'd pushed the woman too far and she averted her eyes, not wanting to antagonise her any more.
Green-eyes grabbed a handful of Andy's hair and twisted it savagely. 'You're the one who's blown up children, you bitch!' she yelled.
The Wrestler stood watching them, his hands on his hips.
'I'm sorry,' said Andy, trying to push her away.
'Sorry? Sorry for what? For blowing up children? For killing soldiers? What the fuck are you sorry for?' Green-eyes slapped her across the face. Andy stared back at her, not flinching. Green-eyes drew back her hand to hit Andy again, but before she could slap her there was a loud knock at the reception door and Green-eyes tensed. She lowered her hand and looked at her wristwatch. 'Go to the office, now,' she hissed. 'Close the door and don't open it until I come and get you.'
– «»-«»-«»Liam Denham was walking towards the office where Martin was being kept when he heard Patsy Ellis calling him. He went back along the corridor and found her sitting behind a desk in one of the offices.
'Your boss thrown you out on your ear, has he?' he joked as he removed his hat and unbuttoned his raincoat, but Patsy didn't return his smile.
'Come in and close the door, will you, Liam,' she said. Her voice was as flat and emotionless as her face, which Denham took as a bad sign. He closed the door and sat down on a chrome-and-leather chair facing her. The office was much smaller than Hetherington's down the corridor, with modern furniture and two paintings that appeared to be little more than dribbles of colour on pale blue canvases. The desk Patsy was sitting behind was glass and chrome, and Denham could see her legs through the transparent top. The only thing common to both offices was the computer terminal. Denham raised an eyebrow expectantly and waited for her to speak. 'What the hell did you think you were playing at?' she asked.
Denham raised both eyebrows and gave her a look of innocent bewilderment, but he knew that his goose was well and truly cooked. 'What do you mean?' he asked.
Patsy sneered at him contemptuously. 'You're too old to play the innocent with me, Liam,' she said, looking at him with cold contempt. 'K Division were on the hot line before you'd even hung up. What the hell did you think you were doing?'
'I thought I was helping,' he said.
'You were going behind my back. You were jeopardising an ongoing investigation. You've put hundreds of lives at risk, and if your pal Eamonn Hogan makes waves in Dublin you might well be responsible for the death of a seven-year-old girl.'
Denham reached inside his coat and took out his cigarettes and lighter, but she halted him with a stony look. 'No, not this time, Liam. I don't want you smoking around me. In fact, if it wasn't for your insight into Andrea Hayes, I wouldn't want you in this building.'
Denham put his cigarettes and lighter away. 'In my own defence, I would say that I didn't mention the kidnapping. I just asked him to keep an eye out for McEvoy.'
Patsy's fingers tapped on the keyboard, then she hit the 'enter' key with a flourish. Denham felt his cheeks redden as they listened to the conversation he'd had with Hogan, replayed through the computer's small but effective loudspeakers. Patsy made him listen to the entire exchange before tapping on the keyboard again. 'You even told him you were working for Five,' she said.
'Strictly speaking, Patsy, and I don't want to be pedantic, but if you listen carefully to what I actually said, I never talked about Five or the kidnapping.'
'Hogan said it. You didn't disagree.'
'For goodness' sake, what was I supposed to do? Lie to him?'
'What you were supposed to do was to concentrate on the job in hand, not phone your contacts in Dublin. If I wanted the Garda Siochana to be looking for the Hayes girl, I'd have made an approach through official channels.'
'And the only official action so far seems to have been to warn them off the investigation.'
Patsy narrowed her eyes. 'What are you getting at?'
Denham sighed. He hadn't wanted to pick a fight with Patsy Ellis, but he could feel himself being forced into a corner, and he'd never relished the role of human punchbag. 'I'm starting to feel that in the rush to apprehend the bombers, the little girl is being forgotten. That's all.'
'You're retired, Liam. You're here at my request. You're not here to direct the enquiry and you're certainly not here to criticise my performance.'
'I wasn't being critical, Patsy. That I wasn't. I was trying to help and I'm sorry if you think my attempt was misguided.'
'Misguided isn't the word that springs to mind,' said Patsy. 'I was considering reckless. Irresponsible, maybe.'
'I've apologised once, Patsy. I don't see what more I can do.'
'What's annoying me, Liam, is that you don't seem to appreciate the damage that your friend Hogan might do.'
'He'll be careful.'
'He's got more black marks on his record than I've had ladders in my tights, Liam. He's sailed so close to the wind that he's lucky to have a job, never mind a Chief Inspector's rank. If he was in the Met he'd have been out on his ear years ago.'
Denham wanted to defend Hogan, but he knew that to do so would only antagonise Patsy even more. He sat with his head down, holding his tweed hat with both hands and fingering the fly in the brim. 'You haven't got children, have you, Patsy?'
Patsy looked at him coldly. 'No, Liam, and at forty-three I doubt that I ever will. But I don't see what my lack of maternal instincts has to do with your irresponsible behaviour.'
'Somewhere in Ireland there's a little girl, scared out of her wits, a little girl who doesn't know why she's been taken away from her family, who doesn't know that she's a pawn in a bigger game. And down the corridor there's a father who's going out of his mind with worry. He doesn't know if he's ever going to see his daughter again. Hell, he doesn't even know if she's dead already, lying in a ditch somewhere with a plastic bag over her head or a bullet in her heart. When all this over, however it works out, Martin Hayes is going to want to know what we did to try to save his little girl. And just now, from where I'm sitting, it looks as if we're not doing a goddamned thing.' He raised his head and looked her squarely in the eyes. She stared back at him. 'I know there are hundreds of lives at stake, here in London. Hundreds of lives and millions of pounds. I know you have to consider the big picture. But I know what it's like to lose a child, Patsy. It's not something you're going to want on your conscience.'
Patsy continued to stare at Denham for several seconds. 'We're not going to agree on this, Liam,' she said eventually. 'I'm sorry.' She stood up. 'I'd rather you didn't leave the building again, until this is over.'
'So I'm under house arrest, is that it?'
'No. I just want you here if she does call.' She opened the door for him and he hauled himself out of the uncomfortable chrome-and-leather chair which had clearly been designed to be admired and not used. He massaged the small of his back with the knuckles of his left hand as he left the office.
'I suppose there is one good thing to have come out of your little escapade,' she said. 'We know that the GCHQ monitoring works. Your call was flagged immediately Hogan said "Katie".'
Denham nodded but didn't say anything. Patsy closed the door behind him as he walked down the corridor, reaching for his packet of cigarettes.
– «»-«»-«»Andy put her ear to the door and screwed up her face as she tried to hear what was going on outside. Her cheek was still smarting from when Green-eyes had slapped her. She hadn't expected her to react so violently. She wondered if it was guilt, if the woman was finally realising the horror of what they were doing. Bombs in the abstract could be fascinating, exciting even, but at the end of the day they were inhumane weapons of destruction that brought nothing but sadness and grief in their wake.
She heard a man's voice, but through the door it was little more than a faint rumble, and she couldn't even tell if it was the Wrestler or the Runner. The Runner hadn't returned with Green-eyes from the dry run – maybe this was him coming back now.
She looked down at the burgundy briefcase. If she was going to do anything, she had to do it now. The bomb was ready. All that was left to do was set the timer and put it in the middle of the bags of explosive. Green-eyes was more than capable of doing that on her own. Andy had reached the stage where she was dispensable, which meant that they'd either release her or kill her.
She knelt down and pulled the briefcase from under the table. The combination locks were as she'd left them, both set to eight-six-four. She flicked the catches and pulled open the lid. The mobile phone was there. But so was something else, something that took her breath away. Five videocassettes, small ones that had been taken from a video camera.
– «»-«»-«»Egan walked over to the pile of black garbage bags. 'All done?'
'All four thousand pounds of it,' said O'Keefe, pulling off his ski mask and rubbing his face. 'We should have asked for more money.'
'You're being well paid,' said Egan, lifting one of the bags to gauge its weight.
'What's going to happen to Quinn's share, now that he's… retired?'
'Retired?' laughed Egan. He was wearing a black leather jacket over a grey crew-neck pullover and black Levi jeans. He ran his eyes over the bags, counting quickly. When he was satisfied that the full complement was there, he turned to O'Keefe. 'Okay, Don. You and Lydia can split the money I was going to give to Quinn. Happy now?'
O'Keefe grinned and rubbed his gloved hands together. 'Suits me,' he said.
McCracken took off her ski mask and went over to the Semtex-filled briefcase. Egan joined her, and they looked down at the electric circuit that lay on top of the explosive. Egan cast his eyes over the tangle of wires. 'So everything's ready?' he said.
'All she has to do is push the detonators into the Semtex and set the timer. We don't actually need her for that.'
'No. She has to do it all.'
'So that her signature's on it?'
Egan looked across at her, frowning. 'Who told you about signatures?'
McCracken gestured with her chin to the office where she'd sent Andrea. 'She did.'
Egan's frown deepened. 'Not getting too close, are you?'
'Don't be stupid,' snapped McCracken. 'We were talking, that's all.'
Egan smiled amicably. 'Anyway, you're right. It's her signature that matters. It has to look like an IRA bomb, and even the slightest deviation will tip off the investigators. How's she been?'
'She's doing as she's told. What about her daughter?'
'Her daughter's fine. For the moment.'
O'Keefe came over and looked down at the Semtex. 'What happens to her? Afterwards?'
'The daughter?'
O'Keefe nodded.
'We'll let her go. This isn't about killing children.'
'And her?' O'Keefe nodded at the offices.
'Ah,' said Egan. 'That's a whole different ball-game. She has to go up with the bomb. It's not going to work if she's around to tell her story afterwards.'
'And us?' asked O'Keefe, watching Egan's face for any reaction. 'What about having us around afterwards?'
Egan grinned and put a hand on O'Keefe's shoulder. His leather jacket swung open and O'Keefe saw the butt of a gun in a shoulder holster. Unlike his own black nylon holster, Egan's was glossy brown leather that glistened under the overhead fluorescent lights.
'Don, you're as much a part of this as I am. You're hardly likely to go spilling your guts to the cops, are you? Plus, you don't exactly have an IRA pedigree, do you? I'm paying you to do a job, and providing you behave like a professional, I'll treat you like one. Might even have more work for you after this.' He patted O'Keefe gently on the cheek, then pulled a black ski mask from his jacket pocket. 'Right, final stretch. Let's get on with it.'
– «»-«»-«»Andy rocked back on her heels, staring at the five small videocassettes in horror. She picked one up. There was a handwritten label stuck to one side. Friday. She picked up a second cassette. Wednesday. On the first cassette that Green-eyes had shown her, Katie had said it was Saturday. On the second cassette she'd been shown, Katie had said it was Monday. The five cassettes in the briefcase were for the rest of the days of the week. They weren't being sent over from Ireland. They'd all been done at the same time. Andy felt suddenly sick at the realisation of what that meant. There was no proof that her daughter was still alive. Worse, the kidnappers had probably killed her after filming the seven cassettes. She put the cassettes back in the briefcase with trembling hands and picked up the cellular phone.
If Katie was dead, if she was really dead, then she had nothing to lose by calling the police. She switched on the phone and its display glowed green. It was a Vodafone digital phone, a Nokia, the same model that Martin used. She began to tap out the emergency services number, but stopped on the second '9'. What if Katie was all right, what if she was panicking for nothing? What if they'd made the tapes on the same day just to make life easier for themselves?
Andy cancelled the call. She stood up, tapping the phone against her leg. They weren't going to let her live after the bomb was ready, she was sure of that. They wanted her fingerprints all over the device so that it looked as if it was the work of the Provisionals. The deception wouldn't work if Andy was around afterwards, so they'd have to kill her. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. If they were going to kill her, what chance was there that they'd allow Katie to live? She opened her eyes and started to tap out '999' again. This time she stopped on the third '9'. What if she was wrong? If she called the police and Katie was still alive, what then? Green-eyes had made it clear that the kidnappers in Ireland were under orders to kill Katie if the London team were apprehended. Would the police be able to force Green-eyes to tell them where Katie was? She cancelled the call. It was a risk she couldn't take. The police's first concern would be the thousands of office workers in the City. They'd evacuate all the buildings in the area, there'd be sirens and roadblocks, and then they'd try to negotiate. Katie would be low down their list of priorities.
If she couldn't call the police, who then? Who could possibly help her? On the note she'd left behind the picture in her hotel room she'd told Martin to call her Special Branch handler, but he was in Northern Ireland. She wanted Liam Denham to explain to Martin who she really was, and why Katie had been taken from them. Martin deserved an explanation, and that was why she wanted her husband to talk to the policeman – it wasn't because she thought there was anything Denham could do to help her. Besides, even if she called Denham, what could he do? He'd probably call Special Branch in London but they were police, too. She needed experts, professionals. What she needed was the SAS, but she couldn't very well call up directory enquiries and ask for their number. She frowned. Maybe she could. Maybe she could call them and explain to someone what had happened. The SAS wouldn't bother with sirens and roadblocks – they'd storm the office and that would be the end of it. Except, of course, everyone would probably die. That was how the SAS worked. They went in with guns blazing, and their prime concern would be to stop the bomb going off, and the best way of doing that would be to kill everyone in the vicinity. And if Green-eyes and her companions were killed, who'd be able to tell them where Katie was being held?
Andy glared at the phone in her hand as if it were responsible for her predicament. She was in an impossible position. If she did nothing, she would almost certainly be killed. But if she called for help, her daughter would die. It wasn't a decision that anyone should be forced to make, and it wasn't a decision that Andy could make on her own. She tapped out the number of Martin's mobile, but it was switched off. She tapped out her home number. She had to speak to Martin. She closed her eyes and said a silent prayer as the number rang out.
– «»-«»-«»All four people in the room froze as the black phone warbled. Carter grabbed for one headset, Denham picked up the other. Fanning sat down and scrutinised the tape recorder. Martin stood motionless, staring at the ringing phone. Denham motioned for him to pick up the receiver.
Martin took a deep breath and snatched it up. 'Yes?'
'Martin, thank God you're there.'
Martin felt as if he'd been punched in the solar plexus. His whole chest went numb and he couldn't breathe. He tried to speak but no words would come.
'Martin, can you hear me?'
He swallowed, though his throat was painfully dry. 'I'm here, love.'
'Martin, I don't know what to do. You've got to help me. I can't face this alone. I…' Her words ended in sobs.
Denham frowned and scribbled a note on a sheet of paper. He held it in front of Martin's face. 'ASK HER IF ANYONE'S LISTENING.' Carter took off her headset. 'I'll get Patsy,' she mouthed, and dashed out of the room.
'Andy, love, it's okay. It's okay.'
'It's not okay. They're making me build a bomb, a huge bomb. Hundreds of people are going to die, Martin. But if I do anything to try to stop them, they're going to kill Katie.'
'I know. I know.'
'You know? What do you mean? You can't possibly…'
'Andy, is anyone there with you?' Martin interrupted. 'Can anyone hear you?'
'I'm in an office, on my own, but I don't know for how much longer.'
Denham took off his headset and reached for the phone. For a second Martin tried to keep hold of the receiver, but Denham flashed him a stern look and Martin relinquished it.
'Andrea. This is Liam.'
'Liam? Liam Denham? What are you doing there?' The confusion was obvious in her voice.
'We don't have time for that, Andrea. Where are you?'
'Are you in the house, Liam? Are you in Dublin?'
'I'm in London, Andrea. So's Martin. Where's the bomb, Andrea? Where've you built the bomb?'
There was a long silence.
'Andrea, are you there?'
'Oh, sweet Jesus,' said Andy.
'It's all right. We can help you, Andrea.'
'You know what's happened? You know about Katie?'
'Yes. Martin's told us everything. Where are you, Andrea? Where are you calling from?' He scribbled on the paper as he spoke. 'ARE WE TRACING THIS?' He caught Fanning's eye and tapped the paper with his finger. Fanning read the note and gave Denham a thumbs-up and an emphatic nod.
'Please, Liam, don't do anything that'll put Katie at risk. Promise me. Swear to me, Liam, swear to me now.'
The door opened and Patsy rushed in, followed by Carter. She picked up the headset that Denham had been using and hurriedly put it on, then stood next to Denham, her head tilted slightly to one side as she listened.
'I'll do what I can, Andrea.'
'If Katie dies, I'll…' She didn't finish the sentence.
'I know, Andrea. We'll be careful, we won't do anything that'll put her at risk, I promise.'
Patsy's face hardened and Denham turned away from her. He knew what she was thinking. He was making promises that she wouldn't be able to keep.
'I'll hold you to that, Liam. We both know what happened last time…'
'It was a terrible mistake, Andrea. A mistake.'
'Children died,' said Andy.
Patsy touched Denham lightly on the shoulder. He looked at her and she made a circling motion with her finger, telling him to hurry up.
'Andrea, where are you?'
There was a slight hesitation, then Andy cleared her throat. 'Cathay Tower. It's in Queen Anne Street, close to Bank Tube station. We're on the ninth floor.'
Patsy wrote down the address and nodded at Denham.
'Good girl,' said Denham. 'The bomb, Andrea. How big is it?'
There was another hesitation, then another clearing of her throat. 'Four thousand pounds.'
Patsy's mouth opened in surprise.
'What type is it?' Denham asked.
'Ammonium nitrate, aluminium powder, sawdust and diesel.'
'Initiator?'
'They've got Semtex, Liam. Semtex and Mark 4 detonators.'
'And what stage are you at?'
Andy didn't reply.
'Andrea? How close to completion are you?'
'It's ready, Liam. All I have to do is set the timer.'
Patsy ripped off the headset and dashed across the office to the door, the piece of paper in her hand. She rushed out, leaving the door open.
'Liam, promise me you won't do anything until Katie's safe.'
'We'll do what we can,' said Denham, not wanting to lie to her.
'Liam, I want you to promise.'
Denham could hear Patsy shouting instructions down the corridor.
'Now listen to me, Andrea. If we're going to locate Katie, you're going to have to get them to let you telephone her, do you understand? If you can get her on the phone, we can trace it. No matter where she is, we can trace it. Just make sure that you use her name. You have to say "Katie", do you understand?'
'I'll try,' said Andy. 'But please, you have to promise me, don't let them storm the building, not until Katie's safe.'
Denham closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. He didn't want to lie, but he knew that the bomb was the priority, and that the life of a seven-year-old girl would come a poor second.
– «»-«»-«»Patsy rushed into the briefing room, waving the sheet of paper. There were more than a dozen people there, either working on computer terminals or phoning. 'Right, everybody, stop whatever you're doing and listen. We have a location.'
Phones were slammed down and all the agents watched her as she wrote the address on the whiteboard. 'Cathay Tower, Queen Anne Street. Ninth floor. Lisa, get me a large-scale map of the area, now.'
Lisa Davies got up from her computer and dashed out of the room.
'Anna, I need an architect's plan of Cathay Tower. Every floor. And I need to know the tenants on each floor.'
Anna Wallace picked up the phone and dialled a number.
'Our information is that a four-thousand-pound fertiliser bomb has been constructed on the ninth floor. David, I need to know what effect a bomb of that size will have if it goes off. Radius of damage, direction of blast – talk to our technical boys and any contacts you've got in RAOC in Lisburn.' David Bingham nodded and picked up his phone.
'Right, everyone else, I want you to split into four groups. We need observation points around the building and we need them fast. Eyes and ears, full thermal imaging, the works. Jonathan, find a base that I and the SAS officer in charge can use. I want everyone to gather in the gymnasium in five minutes.'
Jonathan Clare nodded, then half raised his hand. She encouraged him to speak with a raised eyebrow. 'Evacuation?' he said.
'No, not at this stage. If we start pulling hundreds of people out of the area, it's going to attract attention. We don't want them spooked. So mum's the word until I say otherwise. Am I clear on that? Another thing. We don't know what effect the bomb's going to have. If we fill the streets with people, an evacuation could kill more than it saves, if the worst comes to the worst.'
The agents in the room nodded. 'Right, let's get to it,' Patsy said. She looked at her watch. It was just after eleven o'clock in the morning. The City would be at its busiest.
– «»-«»-«»Andy cupped her hand around the bottom of the mobile phone. 'Liam,' she hissed. 'You mustn't let them do anything until Katie's safe. They'll kill her.'
'I'll do what I can, Andrea,' said Denham. 'But the best chance we've got of finding her is if you can persuade them to let you speak to her. Do you think you can do that?'
Andy walked over to the television. The remote control for the video recorder was on top of the TV set, and she picked it up with her free hand. She stroked it against her cheek, a faraway look in her eyes. 'I think so,' she said.
'Good girl,' said Denham. 'Now, who else is there, Andrea? How many of them are there?'
'Three. Two men, one woman. They keep their faces covered all the time they're around me. One of them's called Don. He's got a tattoo on his left forearm. A cross of St George. And I think the woman's name started with "McC". Or "'McK".'
'Irish?'
'God, Liam, I don't know. Her brother was killed by the SAS, so she's got Irish family, I'm sure, but the more I hear her speak, the more I think she's Scottish.' She tucked the video remote control into the back pocket of her jeans.
'Have they said why they're doing it?'
'No.'
'Do you get the feeling it's political?'
Before Andy could answer, she heard a noise behind her. Two figures wearing ski masks were standing at the open door. One was Green-eyes. The other man was a newcomer, short and stocky, wearing a black leather jacket and black jeans. Andy took a step back, her mouth working soundlessly. The man walked quickly towards her. His hand went inside his jacket and pulled out a gun.
Andy took another step back. She held the cellular phone in front of her in a futile attempt to keep him away, but he swept her arm away with his left hand and brought the gun crashing down against her temple. She barely felt any pain. Her vision blurred and then everything went black.
– «»-«»-«»Liam Denham frowned as he looked at the phone. 'What's wrong?' asked Martin. 'Let me speak to her.'
Denham replaced the receiver. 'She's gone.'
'Gone? Just like that? Didn't she ask to speak to me?'
Denham continued to stare at the phone, a look of concern on his face. 'Maybe she was interrupted. I don't know.'
'Did you hear anything?'
Denham shrugged. 'It just went dead.' He lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply.
'Now what's going to happen?' asked Martin.
Carter took off her headset and put it down next to the tape recorder. Fanning popped the cassette out of the recorder and slotted in a fresh one.
'We'll put the building under surveillance, I suppose,' said Denham. 'It's out of my hands, though, Martin. It's Patsy's game from here on in. Patsy and the SAS.'
'The SAS?'
'They'll have to go in. There's a time element, Martin. We can't allow the bomb to go off.'
'But Katie…'
'Katie's one little girl. We're going to do what we can, but a four-thousand-pound bomb could destroy the centre of the city. Hundreds could die. Thousands.'
Martin's lip curled back in a snarl and he pointed an accusing finger at Denham. 'If anything happens to Katie, I'm going to hold you responsible.'
Denham looked pained. 'Martin, this is nothing to do with me. I'm retired. I'm…'
'You're the one who got her into this. If it wasn't for you using her as an informer, none of this would have happened. She wouldn't have built bombs for the IRA, the kids wouldn't have died, and Katie wouldn't have been kidnapped and had a fucking gun pointed at her head.'
Denham looked away, embarrassed by Martin's outburst. Embarrassed and guilty, because deep down he knew that the man was right.
The office door opened. It was Patsy Ellis. She sensed the tension immediately and motioned with her head for Carter and Fanning to leave. On the way out, Fanning handed the cassette tape to her.
'What's going on?' She asked Denham. He nodded at Martin but said nothing. Patsy turned to face Martin. 'Well?'
'He said you're going to send in the SAS,' said Martin.
'That's a possibility, Martin. I'm not going to stand here and lie to you.'
'But we don't know where Katie is. If the SAS go in, we might never find her.'
'Martin, our best hope is for the SAS to get in there and secure the building so that the explosive officers can disable the bomb. Then we can get them to tell us where they're holding Katie.'
'And what if all the kidnappers are killed? What then?'
'That won't happen. The SAS are experts at this sort of thing.'
'The SAS will do what they have to do to neutralise the threat. If the people with Andy are armed, they'll be shot. I know what the SAS have done in Ireland. They kill people. They don't shoot guns out of people's hands, they shoot to kill. Look what they did in Gibraltar. Remember that?'
Patsy nodded. 'I remember.' An SAS team had shot and killed an IRA active service unit in Gibraltar. The terrorists were planning to explode a car bomb but they were some distance from it and unarmed when the SAS moved in. They were all shot dead. She put up a hand, trying to calm Martin, but he brushed her away. 'This is a different situation, Martin,' she said.
'No it's not!' Martin shouted. 'It's the same. It's exactly the same, only this time the bomb's ten times the size so they've even more of an incentive to shoot to kill.'
Denham walked away and stood by the window with his back to the two of them. He blew a plume of smoke through tight lips.
'No one's going to shoot to kill,' said Patsy. 'We're going to monitor the situation, see what they're doing, see exactly where they are.'
'Then they'll go in?'
'Maybe. Maybe not. We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. It could be that they'll simply set the bomb and leave, in which case we could move in without a shot being fired.'
Martin put both his hands up to his face and rubbed the palms into his eyes. He sat down at the table and sighed mournfully.
Patsy put a hand on his shoulder. 'We're going to do everything we can to get your daughter back, Martin.'
'I should never have called you. I should just have let Andy do what they wanted.'
'And then what?'
Martin looked up. 'What do you mean?'
'Do you think they'd just let her walk away afterwards? You seriously believe they'd let her go?'
'That was the deal.'
Patsy looked at him with barely concealed contempt. 'You don't make deals with terrorists, Martin.'
Denham snorted softly behind her, but Patsy ignored him.
'They'll get her to do what they want, then when she's no more use to them
'You don't know that.'
'I know how terrorists operate.' She looked at her Cartier wristwatch. 'Anyway, we're wasting time arguing about this. We have to go.'
'Go where?'
'We're setting up an observation base close to the target building.' She turned to Denham. 'Liam, you'd better come with us.'
Martin stood up. 'I'm coming too.'
Patsy shook her head firmly. 'No. You'd be in the way. You'll have to stay here. I'll have Tim Fanning stay with you.'
'I don't need a fucking baby-sitter, and I'm not staying here. If you're going to send in the SAS, I want to be there when you do it.'
'Absolutely not,' said Patsy. 'Liam, let's go.'
She made to walk by Martin, but he grabbed her by the upper arm, his fingers digging into the flesh. 'I have the right to be there,' he hissed. 'It's my wife's life on the line here. My wife and my daughter.'
'You're hurting me, Mr Hayes.'
Martin let go of her. 'I'm sorry,' he said.
Patsy rubbed her arm as she looked regretfully at Martin. 'It's okay. I do understand how you feel, honestly I do.'
'Then let me come with you. I won't get in the way, I just want to be there.' He gestured around the office. 'I can't sit here, not knowing what's going on.'
Denham walked over to join them. He stubbed out his cigarette in a crystal ashtray on the table that was already overflowing with butts. 'I'll stick with him, Patsy,' he said. 'And we might need an insight into the way she thinks, the way she'll react. It's been ten years since I worked with her. Martin here could be a help to us.'
Patsy looked at the two men, then nodded curtly. Denham and Martin followed her out of the office. Martin patted Denham on the back, unable to find the words to thank him.
They walked quickly along the corridor and down two flights of stairs to the gymnasium. It was a long room with high ceilings and views of the river along one side. Treadmills, stairmasters and exercise machines had been moved to the side to give the SAS troopers space to spread out their gear. There were fifteen of them, all dressed in bomber jackets of various colours, jeans and training shoes. Several of the men had opened long, thin metal cases, revealing rifles with telescopic sights attached.
Captain Payne was bent over a map with two of his men. He looked up as Patsy came over with Denham and Martin close behind. Patsy introduced Denham and Martin and they both shook hands with the SAS captain. Payne tapped the map. 'Cathay Tower,' he said.
'That's right,' said Patsy. 'Ninth floor.'
'Evacuation?'
'I don't see we have the time,' said Patsy.
'We're going to need the tenth floor. Minimum.'
Patsy nodded. 'I'll send my people in to clear the offices on the tenth. Will your men be going in?'
Payne shook his head. 'The troop at Regent's Park is already on its way. I'm to liaise with you and we'll use my men for surveillance and long-range sniping.'
Jonathan Clare walked across the gym towards them. Patsy turned her head and he gave her a thumbs-up. 'We have an observation point,' he said. 'Solicitor's office. Hetherington knows him, apparently. The office is being cleared now. Hetherington's gone straight over there.'
More agents were filing into the gym, forming a group in front of a wall lined with climbing bars. 'Is it okay if I address your men along with my people?' Patsy asked the SAS officer, not wanting to cut across his line of command.
'Go ahead,' he said with a grin.
Patsy strode into the middle of the gym. The forty or so people gathered there fell silent.
'Okay, we're going to have to move quickly, so this is the one and only group briefing we're going to have. From here on we're going to be thinking on our feet, so the one thing we all have to keep at the forefront of our minds is that we're dealing with a four-thousand-pound fertiliser bomb. Bigger than any bomb ever used by the IRA in Britain. Bigger than any non-commercial bomb used by any terrorist group anywhere in the world. Captain Payne and I will be based in an office overlooking the tower. Jonathan has the address and numbers. We'll have radios, but no one uses a radio in the vicinity of the building.'
She looked over at the SAS captain. 'Captain Payne, that goes for your men, too. Any radio transmission could set off the bomb.'
Payne gave her a curt nod.
David Bingham slipped into the gym, a notepad in his hand
'An SAS troop will be moving into the floor above where the bomb is located. Gordon, your team and Lisa's are to clear that floor. Subtly. It mustn't look like an evacuation. Lifts two-thirds full, a mixed group in each lift. Men and women – chivalry goes out of the window on this. No hanging around outside, but no coaches, either. Everyone out moves well away from the scene. You'll be working with SAS troopers, armed and in plainclothes.' Gordon Harris and Lisa Davies nodded. Patsy looked across at Payne again. 'We can lend your men suits.'
Payne grinned and several of his troopers laughed out loud. 'Think of it as camouflage gear,' he said to them, and they laughed again.
'We'll have snipers covering the area, and we're going to want long-distance surveillance mikes and thermal imaging equipment, with all feeds sent to our surveillance HQ. Jonathan, can you take charge of that? Get as many of our technical people on board as you need. Right, let's get to it.'
Patsy went over to Captain Payne as her agents rushed out of the gymnasium. 'Do you want to come with us, Stuart?'
Payne nodded. 'Do I need a suit?' he asked with a sly grin.
– «»-«»-«»Egan grabbed Andy by the hair and dragged her out of the office and along the corridor. McCracken followed him, holding the cellular phone which Andy had dropped. 'Find out who the fuck she was calling!' Egan shouted. He hauled her into the main office area, where O'Keefe was watching open-mouthed.
McCracken called up last number dialled and peered at it. 'Ireland,' she said. 'Dublin. She was calling her husband.'
Egan pulled Andy to the middle of the office and then let go of her hair. She flopped on to her side, snoring softly as if she were in a deep sleep. Egan drew back his foot and kicked her hard in the stomach. There was no reaction.
'What's happening?' asked O'Keefe.
'The bitch was on the phone,' said Egan. He turned to McCracken. 'Did she call anyone else?'
McCracken checked the mobile and shook her head. 'No. Just her husband.'
'Small mercies,' said Egan. 'What the hell was she doing with a phone anyway?'
'I don't know. It was in the briefcase. Locked.'
'Oh, that's all right, then,' said Egan, his voice loaded with sarcasm. 'I told you to watch her. I told you not to trust her.'
'I wasn't the only one here,' said McCracken. She flashed O'Keefe an angry look and he turned away, not wanting to be drawn into an argument.
'You were in charge, Lydia.' He knelt down by Andy's side and began slapping her face, trying to bring her round.
– «»-«»-«»David Bingham almost had to jog to keep up with Patsy as she walked through the reception area of Thames House. Directly behind her was the SAS captain and two of his troopers carrying kit-bags, and bringing up the rear were Denham and Martin.
There've only been three that come anywhere close to a four-thousand-pound device,' panted Bingham. 'The Baltic Exchange, Bishopsgate, and Canary Wharf. The Baltic Exchange bomb caused a third of a billion pounds of damage, Bishopsgate half a billion, and Canary Wharf a billion. The Canary Wharf bomb was one thousand pounds. All were detonated outside, so there was shrapnel damage over a wide area. If the bomb is detonated inside a building, it's confined to a smaller area but the damage will be greater. The building could come down. Depending on the direction of the blast, the building could fall vertically, which is what professional demolition firms try to do, or it could topple.'
They walked out of the building. Lined up in front of Thames House were a dozen large saloons, each with a driver. Patsy pointed to a black Rover. 'Liam, you and Martin take this one. Wait for Barbara and Tim – they'll be right down. Barbara knows where we'll be.'
Denham nodded, and he and Martin climbed into the Rover. Patsy, Bingham, the SAS captain and one of the troopers got into another Rover. The second trooper went over to Denham's Rover.
Patsy took the front seat. Bingham sat in the middle of the rear seat between the captain and the trooper and continued his briefing as the car accelerated eastwards, towards the financial district.
'Initial damage will be the blast and ancillary shrapnel created in the explosion. The extent of that is going to depend on what's in the bomb and what's in the office. Wood, metal, glass – it'll all get thrown through the air at hundreds of miles an hour. Every building within half a mile could be affected. Then there's the damage caused by the destruction of the building itself. The people I spoke to said it will probably be damaged beyond repair. The roads around would be wrecked, and we've got the Central Line running underground fairly close. If the Underground is damaged, God alone knows how much it would cost to repair. Then we've got damage to basic services – water and sewage pipes, gas supplies, electricity, telecoms. The cost is incalculable. Billions. Plus the loss of business to the City. If a bomb that size goes off, the City will effectively close down.'
Patsy fingered her crucifix as she stared straight ahead. 'Casualties?' she said.
'The building is twenty-four storeys high. If we estimate a hundred and fifty people working on each floor, that's three and a half thousand or so. And if the building comes down, that's not a survivable scenario. Add to that anyone walking around the vicinity, anyone standing next to a window within half a mile of the bomb. Commuters on the Underground. Thousands dead. As many again injured.'
He paused for breath. He was sweating profusely, and he loosened his tie and undid the top button of his shirt.
'Of course, if it goes off at night, there'll be far fewer casualties, but we're still talking about property damage on a scale we haven't seen since the Second World War.'
Patsy twisted around in her seat to look at Bingham. 'As soon as we've arrived, you contact the Met's Explosives Office and liaise with them. We'll need a team of explosives officers ready to go in as soon as the area's secured.'
'Do I tell them why?'
'No. That'll have to be done at a higher level. Just put them on alert and refer any queries to Jason Hetherington's office.'
Patsy turned back and took her mobile phone from her bag. She tapped out Hetherington's number.
– «»-«»-«»Egan stood up and sighed in exasperation. Andy lay unconscious at his feet, breathing heavily. Her blond hair was matted with blood where he'd hit her with his gun.
'Why don't we just shoot her now?' said McCracken. 'The bomb's ready. We could set the timers and she'll go up with it.' She was holding her gun at her side, her finger inside the trigger guard.
Egan nodded at the pistol. 'Be careful with that, Lydia. Let's not be hasty, yeah?' He looked at his watch. Andy had been unconscious for more than fifteen minutes. 'I want to know what she said to her husband. She might have told him to call the cops.'
'All the more reason to kill her now,' said O'Keefe.
Egan studied him with unblinking pale blue eyes. 'Who died and left you in charge, Don?'
O'Keefe stared back at Egan, unfazed. 'Security's been breached. We don't know who she spoke to or what she said. For all we know her husband could be on the phone to the police right now. We have to go.'
Egan shook his head. 'She made one call. To her husband in Dublin. We've still got her daughter – she's not going to endanger the kid.'
'She saw the videos,' said McCracken. 'Maybe she thinks her daughter's dead.'
'So let's find out,' said Egan. He went over to the water-cooler and pulled out the reservoir. He up-ended it, splashing water over his jeans, and carried it over to where Andy lay. He slowly poured the contents over her until she began to recover consciousness, coughing and spluttering and putting her hands up to try to ward off the torrent of water.
– «»-«»-«»Patsy climbed out of the car and looked up at the office block. 'Tenth floor,' said Bingham. 'Donovan, Scott and Associates.' The black Rover containing Denham and Martin pulled up behind them. The SAS captain and his' two troopers carried their kit-bags into the office foyer, and they all rode up in the elevator together.
Two MI5 agents were in reception, and one of them took them through to a large office where Hetherington was watching a team of half a dozen of the agency's surveillance experts unpack their equipment as he talked into a mobile phone.
The office was huge, about four times the size of Hetherington's own, wood-panelled with a massive oak desk at one end, two four-seater chesterfield sofas and an oak table with eight chairs around it. There were more than a dozen small watercolours on the walls, with small brass plates below them identifying the artist and subject, as if the occupant of the office feared that visitors wouldn't appreciate the value of the artwork.
The blinds were drawn and the lights were on.
Bingham took out his mobile phone. 'I'll call the Met boys,' he said, heading back to the corridor.
The SAS captain and his two troopers dropped their kit-bags on one of the chesterfields and went over to the window. Patsy joined them, and they pushed the slats apart. Hetherington came up behind them, putting his phone away. He pointed to a glass and steel tower directly in front of then. The base of the building was obscured by a row of granite buildings, but they could see from the fourth floor upwards.
'The blinds are drawn. White vertical ones. See them?'
'Got it,' said Patsy.
'We've got people to the north and east,' said Hetherington.
'I'd like to put snipers on the roof here,' said Captain Payne. 'Can we have access?'
'It's being arranged,' said Hetherington. 'There's a roof garden up there but it's rarely used. I'll get someone to show you. Our people are installing long-range eavesdroppers as we speak. Patsy, a word.'
Two of the surveillance technicians were unpacking thermal imaging equipment from metal cases. Payne went over to watch as they attached the devices to tripods. They resembled huge pairs of binoculars with soda siphon cartridges attached to the top. They were similar to the devices that the SAS used, combining ambient-light image intensifiers and thermal imaging. They were capable of picking up heat sources through concrete, effectively allowing the viewer to look through walls.
Hetherington took Patsy over to the far corner of the office where there was a bronze statue of a turbaned warrior holding a spear that almost reached Hetherington's shoulder. 'The PM's been made aware of the situation,' he said. He fiddled with the tip of the spear as he spoke. 'He's in Bonn, but wants regular updates.'
Two technicians came in with more cases which they put on top of the table. They began unpacking laptop computers. Another technician snapped open a case and took out a satellite phone.
'One thing the PM's clear on – he wants the immediate area evacuated.'
Patsy opened her mouth to speak but Hetherington silenced her with a wave of a finger.
'There's to be no argument. He's taking the view that if we know there's a bomb in that building, it would be political suicide to allow civilians to remain in the area.'
Patsy nodded. If the PM had made a decision, there was no point in arguing.
'It will have to be low-key, of course,' said Hetherington. 'The last thing we want is for us to have people streaming out of neighbouring buildings.'
'So the Met's been informed already?'
'The Director-General's spoken to the Commissioner. He's unhappy about not being told earlier, but any political in-fighting is going to have to wait until later.'
'Good. I've requested a team of their explosives officers to be on stand-by.'
'That's already in hand. Now, the evacuation. What's the position regarding the building itself?'
'We're clearing the tenth floor and the counter revolutionary team is moving in. Once they're in position, we can use our people to clear the rest of the floors. But Jason, it's going to have to be done carefully.'
'Agreed. Carefully, but quickly. Let's use the lifts and the stairways.'
'I'll have the lifts fixed so that they don't stop at the ninth.' She fingered her crucifix. 'If we're emptying the building, we're going to have to stop anyone entering or leaving the ninth floor.'
'Ah,' said Hetherington. He patted the blade of the spear. 'I see what you mean. I'll get Captain Payne to assign men to the ninth-floor stairwell. How long do you think it'll take to evacuate the building?'
'Stairs and lifts?' She did a quick calculation in her head. 'An hour, maybe. I'd recommend we take everyone down into the carpark and out through there.'
'Agreed. Now, regarding the evacuation of the surrounding buildings. The Commissioner wants to set up roadblocks to stop anyone entering the area.'
Patsy pulled a face. 'Jason, if they see what's going on…'
'The blinds are closed – they can't see out. We'll tell everyone there's a gas leak. We'll have gas company people all over the place. We'll put a warning on radio and television.'
'That won't fool them,' said Patsy.
'No, but it's better than nothing. We have to evacuate, Patsy. The PM won't stand for anything less.'
Four more technicians rushed in carrying monitors, followed by a fifth man who was unrolling a cable. There were now more than two dozen people in the office, hard at work.
'And what about the people on the ninth floor?' asked Patsy.
'We evacuate, we contain the area, we assess the situation, and if at all possible… we negotiate.'
– «»-«»-«»Andy scuttled backwards, away from the man who'd been pouring water over her. She was soaked, and the side of her head ached from where he'd hit her. She had no idea how long she'd been unconscious, but with every movement of her head she felt as if she was going to pass out again.
'Who did you talk to, Andrea?' said the man. He had an American accent.
Andy put a hand up to the side of her head. When she took it away it was sticky with blood.
The man pulled a silencer out of his jacket pocket and screwed it into the barrel of his gun, watching her all the time.
'Who did you talk to?' he repeated.
Andy looked across at Green-eyes. She was also holding a gun and aiming it at Andy's chest. She looked back at the man. There was no point in lying because they'd have been able to call up the last number dialled on the mobile. 'My husband,' she said.
The man finished attaching the silencer. He leaned against one of the desks, the gun resting against his thigh.
'I wanted to know if he'd heard from Katie.'
The man's face was hidden by the ski mask, but Andy could see his eyes harden. 'Why would he have heard from Katie?' he asked.
'I don't know. I thought maybe the kidnappers might have called him. I saw the videos. I thought…' Her voice tailed off. She began to shiver, the effects of being doused with cold water coupled with the terror of her situation. It wasn't the fact that he was pointing a gun at her that scared Andy. It was the fact that he'd screwed on a silencer.
The man looked across at Green-eyes. 'The videos were in the briefcase,' Green-eyes explained.
The man nodded and looked at Andy again. 'And you thought your daughter was already dead.' He tilted his head to one side as he looked at her. 'She isn't, Andrea. She's still very much alive. The videos were to put your mind at ease, that's all.'
'If Katie's alive, there'd be no point in you making the videos. You could just have let me talk to her.'
The man stared at her with unblinking eyes. 'A fair point,' he said. 'But we didn't know what was going to happen in Dublin. If anything had gone wrong, we wanted to guarantee your co-operation.'
'Wrong? What do you mean, wrong?'
'Say the police had found her. Look at it from our point of view, Andrea. If something had gone wrong and we didn't have Katie, you'd hardly be likely to help us, would you? The videos were insurance against anything going wrong.'
Andy wrapped her arms around herself, still shivering uncontrollably. 'I don't believe you,' she said.
He gestured with his gun. 'I don't care if you believe me or not,' he said. 'The rules have changed. You're going to set the timer, right now.'
Andy shook her head.
The man levelled the gun at her left foot. 'I'll shoot your foot first. Then your knee. Then your thigh. Then your stomach. You'll do it eventually, Andrea, so why not save yourself the pain?'
'You're going to kill me anyway,' Andy said flatly.
'Dead is dead, that's true. But there are degrees of pain.' His finger tightened on the trigger. 'I know about pain, Andrea.'
Andy turned her head and closed her eyes, waiting for the bang, waiting for the bullet to tear into her flesh and smash through the bone.
– «»-«»-«»Martin tapped the technician on the shoulder. The man took his face away from the eyepiece. 'Can I have a look?' asked Martin. 'That's my wife over there.'
The technician stood to the side so that Martin could look through the binoculars. It was like looking at a negative film. The background was dark and he could make out vague dark green shapes. Desks. Chairs. Pillars. And four light green figures that flickered as they moved. 'What am I looking at?' he asked.
'Thermal images,' said the man. He was in his forties with a small moustache and thinning brown hair. 'It picks up heat. Body heat, electrical heat, any heat sources.'
Martin put his eyes back to the binoculars. 'So I'm looking right through the blinds? I'm looking right into the building?'
'That's right. These things can look through brick walls.'
Martin could see four figures. There was no way of telling which was male and which was female, no way of knowing which was his wife. One of the figures appeared to be sitting on the floor. Another was pointing at the seated figure. Was one of them Andy?
Anna Wallace came into the room, holding three cardboard tubes. 'I've got the floor plans,' she said to Patsy. 'All of them.'
She removed a plastic cap from one end of one of the tubes and shook out half a dozen architect's plans. 'This is the ninth,' she said, pulling out one of the drawings and laying it on the desk.
Captain Payne walked over and joined Patsy and Anna. He scratched his chin as he scrutinised the plan of the office. 'What do you think?' asked Patsy.
Payne tapped the area of the lift lobby, then ran his finger along to the reception area. 'This is a problem,' he said. 'Access here is through the main doors, but there's this left turn here to the reception. Then another turn to the open-plan area, which is where the tangos and the bomb are. It's going to take at least four seconds to take out the door and get into the main area. That's way too long.' He ran his finger across the plans to the windows on the far side of the building. 'We're going to have to go in through the windows. Here. And here.' He frowned and made a clicking noise with his tongue. 'The blinds are going to be a problem.'
'Why?' asked Patsy.
'We can't just go through the windows because our guys will get tangled up in the blinds. We're going to have blow them in. Shaped charges. And with a four-thousand-pound amfo bomb in there, that's going to be a tad… interesting.'
'We have visuals from Team A!' shouted one of the technicians. There was a bank of eight monitors on the table. On two of them were thermal views similar to the one that Martin had seen through the binoculars.
Captain Payne tapped out a number on his mobile phone. 'Yeah, Crosbie? We have four tangos. Repeat, four tangos.'
Martin looked at Denham and frowned. 'Tangos?' he mouthed.
'Targets,' whispered Denham. 'Tango means target.'
The picture on one of the monitors began to swing from side to side. Martin could make out more desks, a mound of something in the middle of the office area, but no more green, glowing figures.
'So far we have only four,' Payne said into his phone. 'Call me when you're in position.'
Payne clipped his phone to the belt of his jeans, then took off his leather jacket and hung it over the back of one of the chairs. He was wearing a black nylon shoulder holster; in it was a large handgun.
'Team B's on-line,' said another technician. Two more monitors flickered into life. Martin could see the same four green figures, but from a different view.
'What are we going to do about sound?' Payne asked Patsy.
'We've got laser mikes up on the roof,' she said. 'Shouldn't be long.'
'Do you want our team to try through the ceiling?' asked Payne. 'We could push fibre optics through.'
Patsy shook her head. 'Let's see how we get on with the lasers.'
Payne nodded and went over to the thermal image binoculars. One set was being connected up to a monitor.
Patsy peered at the monitors on the table. She pointed at a dark green mound in the centre of the office. Hetherington took his pince-nez spectacles out of the top pocket of his pin-striped suit and perched them on the end of his nose. 'That's it,' she said. 'A four-thousand-pound fertiliser bomb. Enough to blow the whole building to kingdom come.'
– «»-«»-«»Captain Paul Crosbie dumped his kit-bag on the desk and surveyed the huge trading floor. All around him were hundreds of computers, their flickering screens full of financial information. Telephones were ringing out, but apart from Crosbie and his men, the floor was deserted.
'Right, get geared up,' he shouted. 'Full O group in five.' He picked up a phone and tapped out a number. 'Stew? Yeah, it's Crosbie. We're in. I'll have Chuckit call you for the thermal imaging feed.' Crosbie read out the telephone number of the phone he was using and hung up.
'Chuckit!'
Brian 'Chuckit' Wilson, a tall, thin Scotsman with a shock of red hair, was opening up a laptop computer. 'Yes, boss?'
'Call Stuart Payne and arrange the feed for the thermal images.' He gave Chuckit a piece of paper with Payne's number on it.
Crosbie surveyed the troop. Including Chuckit there were fifteen men, but Chuckit would be tied up with the communication links. Normal operating procedure was for the troop to operate in four four-man teams, but on this occasion Crosbie had already decided to split the men into two groups.
The troopers were emptying out their holdalls and kit-bags and laying their equipment out on the floor. Black Nomex fire-retardant suits, GPV 25 body armour, National Plastics AC100 composite helmets, black flame-retardant gloves, respirators, ankle-high boots and abseiling harnesses. One of the troopers, a burly Cornishman called Coop, was unpacking lengths of wood from a bag and leaning them against a desk.
Weapons were being assembled with practised ease and laid out next to piles of ammunition. Heckler amp; Koch MP5 submachine-guns, Remington 870 pump-action grenades, Browning Hi-Power pistols and Haley and Weller E180 stun grenades. It was enough fire-power to fight, and win, a small war.
– «»-«»-«»The man grabbed Andy by the shirt collar and dragged her across the floor. 'Set the timer, Andrea,' he shouted. 'Finish the bomb or I'll blow your knee-cap off.'
He kicked her in the side and she grunted. She used the table leg to pull herself up and stared down at the open briefcase. The silver detonators lay on the Semtex, and around them the cluster of different-coloured wires. The timer was glowing, the digits all reading zero. Next to the timer were the batteries that she'd used to power the timer, and the four batteries she'd connected to the detonators.
'Do it,' said the man. He aimed the silenced gun at her left knee.
Andy sat down. She brushed her hair away from her eyes, then picked up an elastic band and used it to tie her hair back into a ponytail. One by one, she pushed the detonators into the Semtex.
She checked all the connections, then looked up at the man with the gun. She sniffed and rubbed her nose with the back of her hand. 'How long?' she asked. 'What do you want me to set it for?'
'One hour,' said the man. 'Sixty minutes.'
– «»-«»-«»The receptionist looked up from a glossy magazine as Gordon Harris and Lisa Davies pushed open the double glass doors. 'Can I help you?' she asked in a nasal South London whine. She brushed a lock of dyed blond hair away from her eyes with a scarlet-varnished nail. 'Who's in charge?' asked Harris.
'You mean the office manager?' asked the receptionist, deep creases cleaving across her forehead as if Harris had set her an especially difficult mathematical problem to solve.
'Managing director. Whoever the top guy is.'
'She's a woman, actually,' said the receptionist. 'Miss Daley.'
Lisa grinned across at Harris but he ignored her.
'Could you tell her a Mr Harris would like to see her…'
'Oh, she'll be far too busy to see you,' interrupted the receptionist.
Harris held up a hand to silence her. 'Tell her it's regarding business security and if she's not in reception in thirty seconds we'll be coming in to get her.' Harris flashed her a cold smile and nodded at the telephone in front of her.
The receptionist dialled a four-digit extension number with another scarlet-painted nail.
Harris looked at his watch as the receptionist spoke to Miss Daley's secretary. It was taking up to eight minutes to clear each floor.
The receptionist put the phone down. 'She's coming out.'
'I'm so thrilled to hear that,' said Harris.
Harris and Lisa waited over by two overstuffed black leather sofas. 'You do have a way of winning friends and influencing people, don't you?' chided Lisa.
'We don't have time for niceties,' said Harris. He nodded in the receptionist's direction. 'If it was up to me, I'd let her go up with the building.'
The doors to the main office area hissed open electronically and a tall woman in a dark business suit strode out. Unlike the receptionist she had natural blond hair, tied up at the back, and she was model-pretty with high cheekbones and deep blue eyes. Her cheeks were slightly flushed and she was clearly angry at the interruption, but Harris spoke quickly and earnestly, in a low whisper so that the receptionist couldn't overhear him.
When he'd finished explaining the situation, she asked if she could call her head office, but Harris shook his head. 'No outgoing calls,' he said firmly. 'Not to your head office, friends or relatives. Everyone must leave without saying a word to anyone outside the building.'
'For how long?' she asked.
'We don't know.'
'But this is a dealing room,' she said. 'We trade in millions every minute. You can't shut us down.'
'I'm afraid we can, Miss Daley,' said Lisa.
'But at least you can allow us to move to our emergency dealing room, can't you?'
'Where is that?' asked Harris.
'On the Isle of Dogs.'
'I don't see that that's a problem,' said Harris.
'But I'll have to get permission from head office,' said Miss Daley.
Harris shook his head.
'This is outrageous,' said Miss Daley.
Harris moved his face so that it was only inches from her face. She stared back at him unflinchingly. 'What's outrageous, Miss Daley, is that we are having this conversation, when we could all end up dying here. We have only minutes to evacuate the entire building. It's not a drill, it's not a game, we're not doing this because we've nothing better to do. Now, you either do as you're told or I'll have you arrested and thrown into a vomit-stained cell somewhere while we get someone else to clear your floor. Are we clear?'
'Crystal,' said Miss Daley quietly. 'But, Mr Harris, I'd like you to be aware that I'll be making an official complaint as soon as possible detailing your behaviour and attitude. Now, what do you need?'
'I need groups of ten to be brought into reception. How many staff do you have on this floor?'
'One hundred and twenty. Do we bring the women first?'
'No. A mix of men and women. But it mustn't look as if they're carrying all their belongings. Briefcases are okay, but this mustn't look like an evacuation. I don't want you to make a general announcement – you're to quietly approach individuals. Send them into reception in batches often. And make it clear, no phone calls to the outside.'
Miss Daley nodded. She turned and walked back into the dealing room. Harris turned to Lisa. 'Why don't people just do as they're told?' he asked.
'You could try saying please,' said Lisa.
'Please? You heard her – she was more concerned about money than about what might happen to the building. It's like those sad bitches who insist on going back into a burning building to rescue their handbags.'
Lisa smiled thinly at him. 'If I didn't know better, Gordon, I'd suggest it was your wrong time of the month.'
Before Harris could reply the electronic doors hissed open and the first group of ten office workers began filing through into the reception area. A male MI5 agent already had one of the lift doors open and Harris shepherded them towards it, explaining that they were to go down to the carpark in the basement of the tower block and exit from there.
– «»-«»-«»Patsy took her phone away from her mouth. 'Six floors clear so far,' she said to Hetherington.
Hetherington nodded his approval. He was watching the bank of monitors. There were now eight screens showing the thermal images. There were still only four figures, glowing green in the shadowy background. One of the figures was bent at the waist, obviously sitting, while the three other figures stood around it. Captain Payne stood behind Hetherington, his eyes flicking from screen to screen. Hetherington tapped the image of the seated figure on one of the screens. 'If I was a gambling man, I'd say that was Tango Four.'
Payne nodded. 'She's working on the timer.'
'Tango Four?' said Martin.
Hetherington turned, surprised at the interruption. He hadn't realised that Martin was there.
'Your wife,' said Hetherington.
'My wife has a name, Mr Hetherington,' said Martin. 'I'd be happier if you used it.'
'The tango designation makes identification easier,' said Captain Payne. 'We don't have time to memorise names.'
'My understanding is that tango means target,' said Martin. 'My wife is not a target. She's a victim. I don't want anyone referring to her as a target. She has a name. Andrea. Andrea Hayes.'
'You're quite right, Mr Hayes,' said Hetherington. 'I apologise.'
Before he could say anything else, one of the technicians shouted over at them. 'We have sound.'
The technician tapped the keys on his laptop and then started flicking switches on a console. There were small loudspeakers on either side of the bank of monitors. There was a hissing sound, then voices. The technician's Fingers played across the keyboard again. The voices became clearer.
'How are you getting this?' asked Martin.
Patsy leaned across and put her mouth close to Martin's ear. 'Lasers,' she whispered. 'We bounce lasers off the windows to pick up the vibrations caused by sounds inside the building.'
The volume was increased, and suddenly Martin realised that it was Andy's voice he was listening to.
'… going to do? You can't go through with this.'
She sounded close to tears.
'Set it, Andrea.' A man's voice. An American accent. 'Sixty minutes.'
Patsy looked across at Hetherington. 'Sixty minutes,' she mouthed.
'Do it, Andrea. Do it or I'll put a bullet in your knee.'
Hetherington walked away from the monitors, pulling his mobile phone out of his jacket.
'We're going to have to move fast,' said Payne. 'An hour's no time at all.'
'We have to talk to the PM first,' said Patsy.
'What's happening?' asked Martin, looking over at his shoulder at Hetherington, who was whispering into his phone, a look of urgency etched into his features. 'What's going on?' He was ignored. He stared at the bank of monitors as he realised for the first time what he was looking at. The man with the American accent was pointing a gun at his wife, and if she didn't do as she was told, he was going to shoot her.
– «»-«»-«»Andy sat back and closed her eyes. 'It's done,' she said. The digital display showed 01.00.
'Take it over to the bags,' said the man in the ski mask, gesturing with his handgun.
Andy stood up and lifted the briefcase. The man moved away from her as she carried it over to the pile of black garbage bags. She placed it on top of the pile and turned to face the man. The Wrestler and Green-eyes were standing by the line of ovens, watching.
'You know better than that, Andrea,' said the man. 'It has to be in the centre. Surrounded by the explosive.'
'It'll work on top.'
'I know it will. But we'll get a bigger bang if the explosive is piled around it.'
'There's four thousand pounds of explosive here. How big a bang do you want?'
'I want to bring the house down, Andrea. Stack the bags around the briefcase. And keep them tight together. We wouldn't the bags to be blown out without detonating, would we? Or was that what you were trying to do?'
'And then what? Then you kill me, right?'
The man said nothing, but Green-eyes took a step forward and pointed at Andy. 'That's right, you bitch!' she shouted. 'It goes up and you with it!'
'So I've got nothing to lose, have I?' said Andy quietly. She reached behind her with her right hand and brought out the video recorder's remote control. She slowly raised it in the air so that they could all see it, her thumb moving over the on-off button. 'If I press this, the bomb goes off.'
– «»-«»-«»Captain Payne turned to Patsy. 'What is it? What the hell's she holding?' On the monitors, the green figure that was Andy had one arm held up high as if pointing at the ceiling.
Martin gripped Denham's arm so tightly that the older man winced. 'What's she doing, Liam? What's happening?'
'I don't know, Martin,' said Denham, peering at the monitors.
'Liam,' said Patsy. 'Could she have rigged the bomb?'
'It's possible. But how? What has she got there?'
Captain Payne turned to Hetherington, pushing up the sleeves of his sweat-shirt. 'If she means what she says, we have to go in now,' he said.
'Let's see what she's up to,' said Hetherington.
'We have less than an hour, whatever happens,' said Payne. 'I recommend that we go in now.'
– «»-«»-«»Captain Crosbie adjusted his body armour. 'Right, orders group,' he said, and the fifteen troopers gathered for the pre-action briefing. To an outsider the men might have appeared over-relaxed as they listened to their commanding officer. Several were sitting on desks, swinging their legs. Coop was sprawled in a chair, chewing gum noisily. The laid-back attitude was deceptive, Crosbie knew. The troopers were trained to a standard few men could ever hope to achieve and would do everything asked of them. They were used to being addressed as professionals and had earned the right to be treated as such.
'Two teams of seven,' said Crosbie. 'If we get the green light, we go in on two sides, simultaneously. Three stages. One. Lower the shaped charges. Two men on each frame. No messing – we only get one chance at it. Down and blow them. Stage two. Flash-bangs. Sandy and Coop take care of them. Throw in, minimum delay, then drop to avoid the flash. Everyone else goes in immediately afterwards. Four troopers are coming in through the front door, but they're not moving until they hear the flash-bangs.' He gestured at Chuckit, who was sitting in front of his laptop and talking on the phone. 'Hopefully we'll be getting real-time thermal images of the floor below, but we can't bank on getting them before we go in. What we do know is that we have four targets. Tango One and Tango Two are male. Tango Three and Tango Four are female. Tango Four is the bombmaker, but according to Intel she's working under duress. Having said that, all are to be regarded as hostile. We don't have time to separate the wheat from the chaff. Tangos One, Two and Three are armed. Handguns.'
Several of the troopers were cradling their Heckler amp; Kochs. Crosbie held up his own weapon, a Heckler amp; Koch MP5SD, the silenced model of the MP5. 'Down below us is a four-thousand-pound fertiliser bomb, and our first priority is to secure it. We're not sure what it looks like, but keep all fire well away from it. I'm told it's relatively stable, but no one really seems to know what effect a nine-millimetre bullet travelling at four hundred metres a second is going to have on it. I'd rather not find out, so pick your targets. Who's got MP5SDS?'
Half a dozen of the troopers raised their hands. Crosbie named the two teams, dividing the men with silenced weapons so that there were three in each team.
'MP5SDS lead the way,' he said. The silenced weapons had a much lower muzzle velocity, which Crosbie hoped would minimise the chance of a premature explosion if a stray bullet should hit the explosive. 'Coop, how are you getting on with the shaped charges?'
'One done. I'll have the other ready in ten minutes.'
Crosbie nodded. The framed charges were made of light wood which Coop had nailed into rectangles the size of the windows they intended to blow out. Around the edges of the frames was PE4 plastic explosive connected up with a continuous ring of Cordtex detonation cord, and at the top was a primer and a detonator. The charges would be detonated by wire, and if Coop had done his calculations correctly they would blow in the windows and the blinds, but with minimum damage to the interior of the office. It was a delicate balance. Too little and the blinds might still be in the way when the troopers went through the window; too much and the fertiliser bomb could be accidentally detonated.
– «»-«»-«»Andy held the remote control to the side, aiming it at the briefcase, as Green-eyes and the Wrestler moved to stand behind the man in the ski mask. 'I didn't just wire up the timer,' she said, her voice cracking under the tension. 'I wired up the remote, too.'
'Could she do that?' Green-eyes asked the man in the ski mask.
'You'd better believe it!' Andy shouted.
'What do you want, Andrea?' asked the man in the ski mask.
'What do you mean, what does she want?' shouted Green-eyes. 'It doesn't matter what she wants. We've got guns. We'll fucking well shoot her!'
The man said nothing. His eyes continued to bore into Andy's as if he were trying to see into her mind. She stared back, refusing to look away, refusing even to blink.
'You can't shoot me,' said Andy. 'Because no matter how good a shot you are, no matter where you shoot me, I'm still going to be able to press the button. Even if you kill me stone dead, my hand is still going to go into spasm. The bomb'll go off. You'll all die.'
Green-eyes glared at the man. 'Is that possible?'
The man kept staring at Andy. 'If she's wired it that way, yes. The thing of it is, has she?'
Andy swallowed. 'There's only one way to find out,' she said, her voice shaking. 'I'll press the button and we'll all die.'
She raised her hand above her head.
'No!' shouted Green-eyes. 'Don't!' She lowered her gun, but the man in the ski mask kept his levelled at Andy's chest.
– «»-«»-«»Captain Payne looked over at Patsy. 'I recommend we go in now. If she presses that button, everyone dies.'
Patsy bit her lower lip as she stared at the thermal images on the bank of monitors. 'Are you sure you can take them out without the bomb going off?' she asked.
Payne looked pained. 'I can't promise. But I can tell you that in hostage rescue rehearsals we get the hostage out alive ninety-six per cent of the time. So long as the woman doesn't panic and accidentally set it off, we should be okay. We'll drop down on two sides. Shaped charges to take out the windows, flash-bangs to disorientate them, then the troopers swing in. Four of my men will take out the main door. It should be over in seconds.'
Patsy exhaled through pursed lips. She looked at Hetherington and raised an eyebrow. He nodded, pulled out his mobile phone and tapped out a number. Neither of them had the ultimate authority to approve the storming of the building. Only one man could do that. Hetherington walked to the far end of the office and began talking urgently into the phone. Patsy fingered her crucifix.
Martin turned to Denham. 'They can't go in now,' he said.
'They can, if that's what they decide is the best option,' said Denham.
'But what about Katie?'
'Katie's pretty low down their list of priorities right now,' said Denham. 'I'm sorry, Martin.'
Martin looked around the office frantically, as if searching for someone he could appeal to. No one was looking at him. Hetherington was still whispering into his mobile phone; Patsy, Barbara Carter and Tim Fanning were watching the bank of thermal image monitors; the SAS captain and two of his troopers were at the window, peering out at Cathay Tower between the slats of the blinds. Half a dozen technicians were gathered around laptop computers, their hands playing over the keyboards.
'Patsy, you have to hold off,' urged Martin. 'See what they do. If he lets her talk to Katie, we can find out where she is.'
'It's not my decision any more,' she said, avoiding his gaze.
Captain Payne had his mobile phone to his face. 'Stand by, stand by,' he said.
'What if Andy accidentally presses the button?' asked Martin. 'What if she panics? Flash-bangs are like grenades, aren't they?'
Patsy didn't reply. Martin looked at Denham. 'They're going to shoot her as well, aren't they? That's the only way to stop her pressing the button, isn't it?'
Denham averted his eyes. Martin held his arms out and waved them like a chick trying to fly for the first time. 'For God's sake, will somebody talk to me!' he shouted.
Patsy motioned with her chin at Fanning. 'Tim, take Mr Hayes outside, will you.'
Martin put his hands up in surrender. 'Okay, okay,' he said quietly. 'I'll be quiet.' He walked over to the window and stood next to the SAS captain.
Fanning looked at Patsy for guidance and she gave him a small shrug.
Hetherington clicked his mobile phone off and walked over to Patsy. 'The PM says to go in,' he said.
The SAS captain looked over his shoulder. 'That's a green light?' he asked Hetherington.
'Affirmative,' said Hetherington. 'And may God help us all.' He turned to Patsy. 'I think we should all move out of the room. Just to be on the safe side. Flying glass and such.'
Captain Payne put his phone to his mouth. Martin moved quickly, pushing the phone away with his left hand and grabbing for the man's gun with his right. He gripped the butt of the weapon and pulled it from its nylon holster. It came out smoothly, and before he realised it he was pointing the gun at Payne's head. Martin had never fired a gun in his life, but he knew enough to realise that there was a safety catch and he fumbled it into the off position with his thumb as he took a step backwards.
'Don't be stupid,' said Payne, holding his hands up, fingers splayed.
'Martin, for God's sake, what are you doing?' shouted Denham.
Martin kept the gun pointed at the captain's head. 'Tell your men to keep their hands where they are,' he warned. 'If either of them makes a move towards their weapons, I'll shoot you.'
'You're not going to shoot anyone,' said the captain.
'Martin, come on, calm down,' said Patsy soothingly.
Martin stepped to the side so that he could see everyone in the room, though he kept the gun levelled at the captain. Hetherington watched in amazement, his mouth open wide, his phone at his side. The two troopers were looking at their officer, waiting to see how he'd react.
'Martin, I know you're under a lot of strain at the moment,' said Patsy. 'But this isn't helping anyone.' She took a step closer to him.
'Stay where you are!' Martin shouted. 'If you come any closer, I'll shoot him.'
'That wouldn't be very smart, Martin,' she said.
Martin ignored her. 'Tim, push that desk against the door. Do anything else, anything at all, and I'll shoot him.'
The two troopers were moving away from the captain, one going to the left, one to the right. Martin waved the gun at Payne. 'Tell them to stay where they are,' he hissed. 'I'll try to shoot you in the leg, but I've never fired a gun before so I might hit you somewhere fatal.'
'That'd be murder,' said the SAS captain. 'Cold-blooded murder. Are you up to that, Martin? Are you up to shooting an unarmed man?'
'You've just been discussing killing my wife,' said Martin. His arms were beginning to tremble and he fought to keep them steady. 'You don't seem to have any problems with that.'
Fanning finished pushing the desk up against the door.
'Sit on the desk, Tim. On your hands.' Fanning did as he was told. Martin looked at the SAS officer, and waggled the gun at him. 'If anyone tries to come in through that door, they're going to have to come through Tim,' he said.
'I gathered that,' said Payne.
'Now, tell your men to take their guns out of their holsters. Tell them to use their thumbs and one finger. Then I want them to eject the thing that holds the bullets.'
'The clip?'
'The clip. Drop the clip on the floor, then the gun. Then they're to kick the guns across the floor to me.'
'You can tell them yourself,' said Payne.
'They're soldiers, and you're their officer,' said Martin. 'And if they don't do what you say, you're the one who's going to get the bullet.'
The captain nodded at his men. They slowly followed Martin's instructions. He kicked the guns under the desk, out of reach.
'Martin, have you thought this through?' said Patsy. 'Have you thought what's going to happen when this is over? You'll be in court for this. You'll go to prison.'
'Maybe,' said Martin. 'But you haven't given me any choice, have you? If the SAS go in, my wife and daughter are going to be killed. If that happens, I don't think I care much either way what happens to me.' He gestured with the gun. 'I might even end up using this on myself.'
'Now you're being stupid,' she said.
'We'll see.' He moved to the side so that he could see the thermal image screens. 'Turn up the sound, will you?'
Patsy turned up the volume. Everyone turned to look at the monitors.
– «»-«»-«»Andy held the remote control above her head, her thumb resting on the on-off button. 'I will do it,' she said. 'You're going to kill me anyway, so I've nothing to lose.'
'Yes you have,' said the man in the ski mask. 'There's Katie.'
'Katie's dead already.'
The man lowered his gun. 'No. She's not.'
Andy shook her head, blinking away the tears that were stinging her eyes. 'I don't believe you.'
The man stretched out a hand as if he were trying to calm a barking dog. 'She is, Andrea. I promise you. She's fine. The men she's with were told to look after her.'
Andy sniffed. Her arm was starting to ache and she wanted to change hands, but she didn't want to give the man in the ski mask an opportunity to shoot her.
The Wrestler cursed and Green-eyes turned to look at him. 'I'm going,' he said. 'You don't need me any more.'
'No,' said the man in the ski mask. 'We all stay until it's finished.'
'Fuck you,' said the Wrestler. 'You've got your bomb. I'm sure as hell not going to be here when it goes off. Just make sure you transfer my money into the bank. If you don't, I'll come looking for you, Egan.' He turned and walked towards the door, muttering darkly to himself.
– «»-«»-«»Patsy looked at Denham. 'You hear that? "Egan", he said.' She turned to Carter. 'Barbara, get on to records. Anything we have on a man called Egan. Aliases, everything. Notify GCHQ, too. And get them to liaise with the NSA. Search for any calls mentioning Egan. Then contact the FBI, crosscheck with them.' Carter nodded and picked up the phone.
'Wait!' said Martin.
'Martin, she's only going to make a phone call. We have to know who this Egan is.'
Martin hesitated, then nodded. Carter dialled a number and began to whisper urgently into the mouthpiece, a look of fierce concentration on her face.
There was a coughing sound from the loudspeaker. On the two screens, one of the flickering green figures slumped to the floor. 'They've shot someone!' said Captain Payne.
'Who?' shouted Martin. 'Who's been shot?'
'I don't know,' said the captain, striding towards the monitors.
'For God's sake, is it Andy?' He kept the gun aimed at Payne's back.
Martin stared in horror at the monitor closest to him. One of the green figures was standing over the figure on the floor, pointing down. There was a coughing sound again. The sound of a silenced gun.
'It's not her,' said Payne. 'He's shot the man. Shot him twice.' The SAS captain slammed a fist into the palm of his other hand. 'Now,' he said. 'We have to move now. They're all distracted – we'll be in there before they know it.'
'No,' said Martin. 'We wait until they've made the call. Then we'll know where Katie is.'
'They're not going to let her speak to your daughter,' said Payne. One of the SAS troopers, the one on the captain's left, moved slightly so that he was at the edge of Martin's vision.
'Stay where you are!' shouted Martin.
'They're going to trick her, Martin,' said the captain. 'It's a distraction – she'll be so focused on the phone. He's killed one of his own people – he's not going to think twice about killing your wife. Think, man. They're not going to let her live, not after this.'
'No!' shouted Martin.
'You've got to let us go in, now.'
'He's right, Martin,' said Patsy. 'The SAS are professionals – they train for situations like this.'
'We can do it, Martin,' said the captain, his voice soft and persuasive.
Martin put a hand up to his forehead. 'You're confusing me,' he mumbled.
The SAS trooper lunged towards Martin, his hands outstretched, going for the gun in Martin's hand. Martin turned, his mouth open in surprise, but too slowly to get his gun around. Denham was quicker – he threw his tweed hat at the trooper's face and stuck out his foot, tripping the man up. The trooper tried to regain his balance, his arms flailing in front of him, but he pitched forward on to his knees. Martin jumped back, covering the man with his gun, both hands on the butt, his finger tight on the trigger.
Everyone froze. Martin's eyes were wide and staring and he was breathing heavily. His arms were shaking, and he had to force himself to relax the pressure on the trigger. 'Easy, Martin,' said Patsy. 'Take it easy.'
Captain Payne moved away from Martin, his hands up in surrender. 'It's okay. We're all cool, Martin. No one's going to hurt you.'
'Sorry,' said Denham, picking up his hat. 'I must have slipped.'
The SAS trooper glared up at him, then got to his feet.
'Damn you, Liam,' hissed Patsy.
Denham smiled in a cold imitation of an apology. 'What are you going to do to me, Patsy? Have me sacked?' He nodded at the green screens. 'Let the girl have her chance. She deserves it.'
'Thanks, Liam,' said Martin, covering Payne with the gun.
'Don't thank me,' said Denham. 'We're both up to our necks in shit now.'
The office went silent as everyone strained to hear what was being said over in Cathay Tower.
– «»-«»-«»Andy stared in horror at the pool of blood that was slowly spreading around the Wrestler's head in a gruesome parody of a halo. The man in the ski mask had shot him twice. Once in the back as he walked away, once in the side of the head as he lay twitching on the floor, face down. After the second shot the Wrestler had stopped moving.
Andy tried to speak, but no words would come.
Green-eyes was also stunned. The two women looked at each other, then at the man in the ski mask. 'Why?' asked Green-eyes.
'First rule of this business, always obey orders. Second rule, never use names. He broke both.'
Green-eyes glared at the man. She raised her gun so that it was aiming at his chest. 'How do I know you won't kill me? When it's all over. How do I know you don't want me to go up with the bomb?'
The man pointed his gun at her, smiling. 'Would you prefer that? How about we have a quick draw here and now. First one to pull the trigger wins. Are you up for that?' He straightened his arm and aimed at the centre of her face. Green-eyes flinched and the man laughed sharply. 'Look at you. You don't have the balls to shoot me, and you know it. Pull yourself together. Can't you take a joke?'
Green-eyes gestured at the body on the floor with her gun. 'That's not funny. That's not even close to funny.'
'He was walking out on us. I paid you all for your unswerving loyalty. To carry out your tasks without question. Without disobedience.' He levelled the gun at Andy once more. 'Anyway, we're wasting time.'
In her terror at witnessing the killing, Andy had forgotten the remote control in her hand. She waved it in front of her face, her thumb poised over the on-off button. 'If you shoot me, I'll still have time to press this. Then we all die.'
'I understand that, Andrea. But I know you don't want to die. No one does. Who'll look after Katie if you're not around? Who'll grow old with your husband?' He took a step closer to her.
'No!' she screamed. 'I mean it! I will! I'll do it!'
The man took a step back. 'Okay, take it easy,' he said, his tone conciliatory but firm. 'What is it you want?'
'I want to go home to my family.'
'You can do that. We can all walk out of here.' He looked at his watch. The bomb had been active for almost ten minutes. 'We walk out of here and once the bomb has gone off, you can leave.'
'And my daughter?'
'We've no interest in hurting children, Andrea. We just want this building blown up.'
'Why?'
The man shook his head. 'You don't need to know.'
'Once the bomb goes off, you're going to kill me anyway. I know you are.'
The man shook his head. 'No, we're not. I swear it.'
Andy's mouth was so dry that she could barely speak. She rubbed her mouth with the back of her left hand. 'You want it to look like an IRA bomb. If I go up with it, that's what everyone will think, that the IRA used me to build it. If I'm alive, your deception isn't going to work.'
Green-eyes and the man looked at each other. Andy knew that she was right. That had been their plan, right from the start.
'So maybe it's better if we all die,' she said. 'Together.' She pointed the remote control at the man as if it were a gun and she was about to fire.
'Wait!' he said. For the first time there was a hint of uncertainty in his voice, as if he finally believed that she might do it.
'I want to know why,' said Andy. 'I want to know why you've done all this. Kidnapped Katie. Forced me to build the bomb for you. Is it because you want to blame the IRA? You want to derail the peace process?'
The man in the ski mask snorted dismissively. 'You think we'd go to all this trouble over politics?' He laughed sharply. 'I tell you, the IRA would have been a hell of a lot more effective if they'd hired me.'
'So why, then? If it's not politics, why?'
The man stared fixedly at Andy, then nodded slowly, as if he'd come to a decision. 'It's about money, Andrea. Dollars. Millions of dollars. Hundreds of millions of dollars.'
Andy frowned, not understanding.
The man waved his gun around the office. 'Look around you. What do you see, Andrea?'
Andy said nothing, not sure what he was getting at.
'Prime City office space? The sort of office you could rent to a bank or a broking firm? An appreciating asset?' He shook his head. 'Appearances can be deceptive. It's worthless, Andrea. The whole building's fucked.' He gestured at the floor with his gun. 'The steel's corroding. It was built on the cheap and now the whole structure's almost ready to come down.'
Andy put a hand to her head. She was confused and finding it hard to breathe, as if something had been tightly wound around her chest.
'The people I work for bought the building last year. They're Chinese – they thought they were getting a good deal and they paid in cash. A lot of it was dirty money. Corruption. Drugs. Triad money. Just over two hundred and fifty million pounds. Four hundred million dollars. The vendors were Russians, but the Chinese didn't know that because the deal was handled by a German middleman. As soon as they handed over the money, the German disappeared. So did the Russians.'
'I don't understand,' said Andy. 'You're confusing me.'
'Try and focus, Andrea. They were conned. The Chinese were taken for a quarter of a billion pounds. What they thought was a solid-gold investment turned into a millstone around their necks, if you'll excuse the mixed metaphors.'
'Didn't they get it surveyed?'
'Oh, yes. By a partner in a big City firm. He's disappeared, too.'
'So what's that got to do with all this?'
The man shook his head impatiently. 'The building has to come down, Andrea. It has to be rebuilt, which will cost almost as much as they've already spent. And since the meltdown in Asia, they don't have the money. But if it should be destroyed in a terrorist bombing, then the government becomes the insurer of last resort. They get paid in full.'
Andy stood transfixed, the remote control in her outstretched hand. 'That's what this is all about? You took my daughter. You kidnapped me. You're going to kill God knows how many people… just for money?'
The man laughed harshly. 'For a lot of money, Andrea. A hell of a lot of money.' He nodded at Green-eyes. 'That's not why she's doing it, of course. She wants revenge. But she's getting paid, too. So, if you do push that button, if you do set the bomb off, you'll be doing us all a favour. The Chinese'll get their money back, she'll get her revenge on the country that killed her brother, and I'll be paid in full.'
'Except you'll be dead, of course.'
'What if I were to offer you money, Andrea? What if I were to give you half a million dollars? What's that in your money? More than three hundred thousand pounds? I'll give you three hundred thousand pounds to put down that remote control and walk out of here.'
Green-eyes turned angrily to the man in the ski mask. 'What? You can't be serious.'
'It's none of your business.'
'It's totally my business.' said Green-eyes.
'You work for me. If I want to hire Andrea, that's up to me.'
Green-eyes walked over to the window and stood staring out over the City, her arms folded across her chest.
'Half a million dollars, Andrea.'
'No.'
'How much, then? How much to buy your co-operation?'
'I want my daughter back. And I want to go home.'
The man stared at her in silence. He clicked his fingers at Green-eyes and she looked over her shoulder at him. He clicked his fingers again. 'Give me the phone,' he said. Green-eyes handed over the mobile and he used his thumb to tap out a number. 'I'm calling your daughter,' he said.
Andy narrowed her eyes, suspecting that he was trying to trick her. She held the remote control above her head again.
The phone started to ring and the man put it to his face, keeping the gun pointed at Andy's chest.
– «»-«»-«»Patsy and Hetherington looked at each other in astonishment. 'Do you believe that?' asked Hetherington. 'That's what this is all about? An insurance job?'
'There's no reason for him to lie,' said Patsy. 'He doesn't know we're listening in.'
'It's hard to credit. That they'd be prepared to kill so many people for money.'
Patsy shrugged. 'I've heard of shipowners scuttling ships with their crews on board to get insurance. This is just on a bigger scale, I suppose.'
'I didn't follow what he said,' said Martin. 'They're blowing the building up for money?'
'They want to make it look like a terrorist incident,' said Patsy. 'If the building was uninhabitable because of structural faults, the owners would have to bear the cost. As they've recently acquired it, they probably haven't got insurance. But if it's damaged in a terrorist bomb, then ultimately the government will pay. If what he says is true, the Chinese investors would get their money back in full.'
'So now it's over. We know what he's up to. He can't get away with it. All you have to do is to tell them that and they'll give up. They have to.'
'It's not as simple as that,' said Patsy. 'They've got a four-thousand-pound-bomb over there.'
'But don't you see,' pleaded Martin. 'If you tell them we know what they're up to, they have to give up.'
Over the loudspeaker, they heard the man call out to Andy. 'They're on the line,' he said.
'I want to talk to her,' said Andy. Her voice sounded strained, as if she was close to tears.
'We should go in now,' said Captain Payne.
'No!' said Martin. 'Wait until she speaks to Katie.' He looked at Patsy. 'They'll be monitoring the call, right?'
Patsy nodded. Martin kept the gun aimed at the captain, but turned to look at the thermal image monitors. As he did, something hit him in the small of the back, pushing him forward. As he fell, Patsy grabbed the gun and twisted it out of his hand. She shuffled sideways, keeping the weapon away from Martin as he struggled to regain his balance. Payne swiftly moved over to her and took the gun from her.
It was Tim Fanning who'd hit Martin, creeping up behind him while his attention was focused on the monitors. Fanning grabbed him around the neck and wrestled him to the ground. The two men rolled over on the floor. Fanning was younger and stronger and within seconds he was on top, his knees pinning down Martin's arms.
Captain Payne grabbed his phone. 'Stand by, stand by,' he shouted. 'Move in on my word.'
'No!' Martin bellowed.
Patsy looked at Hetherington, and he pursed his lips and nodded. Patsy opened her mouth to give the SAS captain the go-ahead, but before she could speak Denham stepped forward.
'Patsy, they're using the mobile. We can trace the call within a minute. We can find out where Katie is.'
Patsy glared at him, then turned to Payne again.
'One minute, Patsy,' said Denham. 'You can give her one minute, can't you?'
'Please,' begged Martin from the ground.
Patsy looked down at Martin. He was straining to get up but Fanning was too strong. Blood vessels were standing out on Martin's temples and there were flecks of saliva on his lips. He looked like a wild animal in fear of its life.
'Please,' he said again.
Patsy gritted her teeth. 'Damn you,' she said. 'Damn you both.' She held up her hand to Payne, gesturing for him to wait. 'Tim, call the telecom people, right away. Trace that call.'
Fanning climbed off Martin and rushed over to a phone. Martin got slowly to his feet and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
The captain pressed his lips together tightly, impatient to get the operation under way. He put the phone to his face again. 'Stand by, stand by,' he said.
Everyone in the room stared at the bank of monitors.
– «»-«»-«»The man in the ski mask kept the gun aimed at Andy's chest as he listened to the phone. 'Yeah, it's me,' he said. 'Hold the line, yeah?'
'Let me speak to Katie,' said Andy.
'Then what?' asked the man, holding the phone by his side.
'Then you let her go. Then we walk out of here.'
The man shook his head. 'I don't think so.'
Andy waved the remote control. 'You don't have a choice,' she said. 'If I press this, we all die.'
'You don't want to die, Andrea.'
'Neither do you.'
'Who'll look after little Katie? Who'll watch her grow?'
'My husband. At least she'll know that I did what I could to save her. I won't have died for nothing.'
The man smiled thinly, then slowly raised the phone. Andy stepped forward, thinking that he was about to hand it to her. He didn't. He put the phone to his mouth. 'Listen to me,' he said into it, speaking loudly so that his voice echoed around the office. 'Listen to me carefully. If the line goes dead, if I get cut off for any reason, kill the girl and get the hell out of there. Do you understand? If the line goes dead, you kill the girl.' He listened, nodded, then held the phone down by his side again. He sneered at Andy. 'Right,' he said flatly. 'Go ahead and press it. If we die, she dies.'
– «»-«»-«»Lisa Davies pressed the button to keep the lift doors open as the ten office workers piled out. Two MI5 agents guided them through the carpark like collies marshalling a small flock of sheep. One of the agents, a thirty-something man in a dark suit and highly polished shoes, whispered that the office workers weren't to run, and that they were to turn right as soon as they left the carpark exit. Other agents would be there to advise them where to go next.
Lisa stabbed the button to close the doors and watched the floor indicator rise slowly through the numbers. The four floors above the bomb were already clear. So were six of the floors below. She looked at her wristwatch. The seconds were ticking away. The lift reached the ninth floor, the floor where the bomb was. A four-thousand-pound fertiliser bomb. Lisa shuddered. She wondered if she'd feel anything if the bomb went off. Would the shock wave kill her instantly, or would it blow her into the air in a hail of shattered steel and glass? She stared at the floor indicator, willing it to change. Ten. Eleven. What would happen if the bomb exploded while she was on one of the higher floors? Would the building collapse in a shower of debris, crushing the life out of her? Would she die instantly, or would the life slowly drain from her as rescuers searched in vain through the thousands of tons of rubble?
Lisa shook her head, trying to dispel the tormenting images. There was no point in worrying about what might happen. She had her orders, and she'd follow them. She'd been told to evacuate the building, to get everybody out, and that's what she would do. The floor indicator reached fourteen and the lift juddered to a halt. The doors rumbled open. Gordon Harris was there with the next ten office workers. They were mainly women; Lisa saw just two men standing at the back. She ushered them all inside with urgent whispers. 'Come on, come on.'
'What's happening?' asked one of the women, grey-haired with a pair of spectacles dangling around her neck from a thin silver chain. 'Is there a fire?'
'No, there's no fire,' said Lisa. 'But we have to get you all out as quickly as possible.'
'But what's happening?' repeated the woman, her voice trembling. She dabbed at her eyes with a lace handkerchief.
'That's the lot,' said Harris. 'I'll head up to the fifteenth.'
Lisa pressed the button to close the doors. The grey-haired woman burst into tears. Lisa looked at her watch again, even though she was aware it was a futile gesture. She didn't know how much time they had, and she realised that it was probably best that she didn't know.
– «»-«»-«»Patsy tapped her foot impatiently. It seemed to be taking a lifetime for the telecom experts to trace the call. Martin looked hopefully across at her and she gave a small shake of her head.
The SAS captain walked over to her. 'We have to move in,' he said. 'The clock's still ticking, remember? I make it fifteen minutes so far.'
She looked at him icily. 'I'm hardly likely to forget,' she said.
'Just a few more minutes,' Martin pleaded.
'We don't have a few more minutes,' said the captain. 'We have to get in there so that the explosives officers can get to work on the bomb. If we leave it much longer, even if we go in we won't be able to prevent the bomb going off.'
Martin pointed at the monitors. 'Don't you understand what's going on there?' he thundered. 'If you go in and that phone gets cut off, they'll kill Katie. We have to know where she is.'
'And if that bomb goes off, hundreds of people are going to die!' shouted the captain. 'Including my men.'
The two men stood just feet apart, glaring at each other.
'Easy, gentlemen,' said Hetherington, quietly but firmly. 'We're not fighting each other here. The enemy's over there. Let's not forget that.' He raised an eyebrow at Patsy. She shook her head. 'It's a mobile,' she said. 'Southern Ireland. That's all they know so far.'
Hetherington went over to Martin and put a hand on his shoulder. Martin could see in the man's eyes what he was going to say, so he spoke first. 'No!'
'If you're going to hate anyone for this, Mr Hayes, you have to hate me. It's my decision.' He turned to the captain. 'Send in your men, Captain.'
Payne took two steps over to the phone he'd been using and picked up the receiver. 'Can you hear me? It's a green light. Go, go, go.'
Patsy slammed down the phone. 'We've got a location!' she shouted.
– «»-«»-«»'So it's your call, Andrea,' said the man. 'Press the button and everyone dies. Including your daughter.'
'Let me speak to her.'
'It's too late for that.'
Andy held the remote control in front of her, her hand shaking uncontrollably. He'd beaten her. There was nothing she could do. Whatever she did, she'd lose. And she could see from the look of triumph in the man's eyes that he knew it, too.
'It's over, Andrea.'
He pointed the gun at her head and took a step towards her. Andy took a step back. She looked around in panic. There was nowhere to run.
'Give me the remote control, Andrea. You know you're not going to press it.'
Green-eyes aimed at Andy's head, her finger tightening on the trigger. 'Let's shoot her!' She shouted. 'Let's just fucking well shoot her.'
The man in the ski mask ignored the outburst. He kept his eyes totally focused on Andy, his arm outstretched towards her. 'Give it to me, Andrea. It's over.'
– «»-«»-«»Captain Crosbie dropped the phone and adjusted his respirator. He raised his arm, his fist clenched. 'Go! Go! Go!' he shouted.
His men had split into two teams and had removed windows from the north and west sides of the building in preparation for the assault. On his command, each team dropped a shaped charge down on ropes, while Sandy and Coop pulled pins out of the top of stun grenades, holding the triggers in place as they stood on the window ledges, abseiling ropes around their waists. One trooper on each team was holding the trigger to detonate the shaped charge, and they nodded to each other and pressed their triggers at the same time. There were two loud explosions from below, and immediately Sandy and Coop dropped down, stun grenades at the ready.
As they disappeared over the edge, the rest of the troopers took their places, Heckler amp; Kochs at the ready.
– «»-«»-«»The window to Andy's left exploded in a shower of glass. A fraction of a second later, the window behind her also erupted inwards, spraying her back with glass. Two metal cylinders bounced off the floor, the size and shape of cans of beer. Time seemed to stop for Andy. Everyone seemed to have frozen to the spot. The man in the ski mask's mouth was wide open. Green-eyes had her hands up in front of her face to shield herself from the flying glass, the gun forgotten in her right hand.
Andy had no idea what had happened. She wondered if the bomb had gone off, if she was already dead and it had happened so fast she didn't know it. She tried to move but her limbs were locked in place. She couldn't move. She wasn't conscious of breathing or of her heart beating.
The man in the ski mask started to react, swinging his gun around, bringing it to bear on the window closest to him, his mouth open as if he were about to scream.
The two cylinders exploded at exactly the same time. There was a flash of light, so bright that Andy was instantly blinded, then her world exploded.
– «»-«»-«»Martin jumped at the sound of the explosions. 'What the hell was that?' he shouted.
'Flash-bangs,' said the SAS captain. 'Stun grenades.' He moved closer to the monitors, pushing Martin out of the way.
On the eight screens, three green figures were staggering around the office. One of them twitched and fell. Over the loudspeaker came the muffled rat-tat-tat of rapid fire from a silenced Heckler amp; Koch. More green figures were flowing into the office, moving quickly and purposefully.
'Who's that? Who's been shot?'
'I don't know,' said Payne. 'We've no radio contact.'
Martin peered over the captain's shoulder. 'Is it Andy?'
'I don't know,' said Payne sharply. Two single muffled shots barked from the loudspeaker. The sound of a silenced handgun.
– «»-«»-«»Green-eyes was in spasm on the floor, though she was obviously dead. The right-hand side of her head was missing, exposing white skull and pink brain matter, and there were four blossoming red patches on the front of her overalls. Her gun, unfired, lay close to her twitching right hand. Andy stood transfixed, unable to comprehend what was going on around her, her ears still ringing from the stun grenades. To her left, two men dressed in black overalls and with black submachine-guns strapped to their chests were swinging in through one of the broken windows. They had respirators and dark goggles on and black webbing belts around their waists. The man in the ski mask was facing the other way, both hands on his pistol. He'd fired twice at three more SAS troopers who had come swinging in through another window in the wake of the grenades. He'd hit one in the chest with one of his shots, but the bullet had made a dull thudding noise as it had smashed into the soldier's body armour. The troopers were bringing their submachine-guns to bear on the man, but he threw himself to the side, rolling behind a desk.
There was a crashing sound from reception and the stamping of boots. Andy held her hands up in surrender, the remote control still clasped in her right hand. 'Don't shoot!' she screamed. Her voice sounded far away, as if it belonged to someone else.
The man in the ski mask rolled again and came up in a half-crouch, taking aim at Andy's chest. With his free hand he ripped off his ski mask. He had, Andy realised, a very ordinary face, devoid of distinguishing features. There was no expression of anger on it, nor fear. His features were totally blank as he pointed the gun at Andy's chest and tightened his finger on the trigger.
Andy sprang to her right and fell against one of the ovens. The two men who'd just piled in through the window to her left were unclipping themselves from their ropes. One of them swung his submachine-gun towards her. She wanted to scream that she wasn't a threat, that the man was about to kill her, but the only sound she could make was a low growl.
The man's silenced gun coughed and a bullet zipped by her head as she fell to the ground and scrambled away on all fours. The remote control dropped from her hand as another bullet thwacked into the ovens behind her. Four more soldiers came hurtling down the corridor from reception, guns at the ready, their boots beating a rapid tattoo on the floor.
She stood up, and one of the SAS troopers fired his submachine-gun. His aim was off and bullets raked the ceiling above her head, shattering the tiles. Chunks of polystyrene cascaded around her like a heavy fall of snow. The man with the handgun fired at the troopers and hit one in the respirator. The trooper slumped to the floor, blood pouring from around his face mask.
Andy dropped to the floor and rolled over, broken glass cutting into her flesh. She slammed into something soft and yielding and found herself face to face with the Wrestler, his eyes wide and staring, blood congealing between his teeth.
Andy groped for his gun. Her trembling hand made contact with the handle of the weapon, but when she pulled it wouldn't come free of the holster. She remembered the strap around the hammer of the gun and felt around with her thumb. There was a rat-tat-tat of silenced gunfire followed by two distinct shots, and she heard a body crash to the floor. She looked up. The man was only feet away from her. His face split into a malevolent grin and he fired at her, point blank. Andy twisted to the side, throwing out her hands for balance, and felt the bullet sear along her outstretched arm and into her shoulder. She screamed in pain and fell backwards.
The SAS troopers were shouting staccato commands at each other, but she couldn't make out what they were saying. There was another burst of automatic fire and the sound of bullets hitting metal.
As Andy hit the ground she saw the man fire at an SAS trooper and hit him in the neck. The trooper twisted around as blood sprayed from the wound.
Andy rolled, pain lancing through her injured shoulder, came up on all fours and crawled under one of the tables. Ahead of her was Green-eyes, blood pooling around her chest, her head twisted grotesquely to one side. Andy saw her gun and grabbed for it as another burst of bullets sprayed along the ceiling above her, ripping out tiles in a shower of polystyrene.
The handle of the gun was wet with blood, and Andy seized it with both hands, rolling over until she was on her back. The man was bent low, the gun turned almost upside down so that the handle was pointing up at the ceiling. Andy squeezed the trigger, praying that the safety catch wasn't on. Her ears roared as the gun fired, again and again as her finger tensed instinctively on the trigger. Blood spurted from the man's chest and Andy kept firing. The man staggered backwards. He tried to straighten up but his body began to twitch as if electrocuted. As the room began to spin around Andy, she became dimly aware of the sound of multiple gunshots coming from all around her. The upper half of the man's body turned scarlet and the phone shattered as bullets raked across what was left of his chest, then his face disappeared in a shower of red and white and he pitched sideways.
The last thing Andy saw was three troopers with goggles and respirators staring impassively down at her like giant insects considering their next meal.
– «»-«»-«»The loudspeaker was suddenly silent. Then there was a man's voice. A gruff Scottish accent. 'Area secured!'
'They're in,' said the captain, relieved.
'Thank God for that,' said Hetherington.
'Andy. What about Andy?' Martin peered at the monitor closest to him. There were three figures sprawled on the ground. Around them moved a dozen or so flickering green shapes.
Captain Payne put his phone to his ear and listened, nodding and grunting. He turned to Patsy. 'Tango One and Tango Three are dead, Tango Two is dying. Tango Four is wounded but will survive. You can send in the explosive officers now.'
Martin's mind whirled. Tango Four was alive, the others dead or dying. But which was Andy?
Patsy came up behind him and squeezed his shoulder. 'It's okay,' she said. 'Andrea's alive. Your wife's okay.'
– «»-«»-«»McEvoy took the mobile phone away from his ear. 'Shit,' he said.
'What happened?' asked Canning. 'Gunfire. Then the line went dead.' Canning glowered. 'Gunfire? Are you sure?' McEvoy looked contemptuously at his partner. 'I've heard guns before, Mick.'
Canning ran his hands through his unkempt hair. 'Maybe he'll call back.'
'I don't think so.' McEvoy put the phone down on the coffee table. 'I think it's over.'
Canning paced up and down. 'Shit. Shit. Shit. What the fuck are we going to do?'
McEvoy looked at the.38 Smith amp; Wesson which was hanging in a nylon shoulder holster on the back of the sofa. Egan's instructions had been crystal clear. If the connection was cut, kill the girl. But Egan was probably dead. 'We go,' he said quietly. 'We pack up and go.' He picked up the holster and fastened it across his chest.
'You clear the cottage, I'll check the girl's okay.'
'I'll do it,' said Canning. 'She's still scared of you.'
McEvoy sighed. 'You're a sad bastard, Canning. Okay, you sort the girl out, I'll put the gear in the car.'
Canning went into the kitchen. He opened the fridge and took out three cans of Coke and a bottle of Ballygowan water. His woollen ski mask was on the kitchen table and he pulled it on. He picked up the drinks, went over to the door leading to the basement and pulled back the bolts. He groped for the light switch and found it, but when he flicked the switch the light didn't come on. He cursed under his breath and moved slowly down the stairs, softly calling Katie's name.
He reached the bottom and peered into the gloom. 'Katie. Come here. Stop messing about.' He could just about make out the bed in the light from the open door at the top of the stairs, and he headed towards it. He heard a scuffling sound behind him and turned to see the little girl scampering up the stairs.
Canning dropped the cans and the bottle. The glass smashed and water splashed over his feet as he rushed after her. 'George, she's coming your way!' he shouted. He took the stairs two at a time and hurtled into the hallway. McEvoy was standing there, his arms outstretched. The girl was frantically trying to pull the front door open. She hadn't noticed that it was bolted. The bolt was high up, way out of her reach. She turned and tried to run to the kitchen, but McEvoy was too quick for her. She skidded to a halt and turned, but her face fell when she saw Canning. He strode over to her and picked her up around the waist. She kicked him and beat him around the head with her little fists. 'Stop it, damn you!' Canning shouted as he carried her back down the hallway to the basement door.
He took the stairs slowly, allowing his eyes to get used to the gloom. Katie carried on kicking him, but she was tiring and the blows didn't hurt. His shoes crunched over the broken glass and he dropped her on to the camp bed. She lay there sobbing, her knees drawn up against her chest. 'Jesus, girl, no one's going to hurt you. We're going.' He wiped his mouth with his sleeve and glared down at her.
He heard McEvoy come down the stairs behind him. He turned to look at him. McEvoy's face was set hard and he had the.38 in his hand. 'What are you doing with that?' asked Canning.
McEvoy pulled back the hammer with his thumb. 'She's seen my face, Mick.'
'We'll be well gone by the time the cops get here. She's a seven-year-old kid – she's not going to be able to tell them anything.'
'It doesn't matter,' said McEvoy, pointing the gun at the girl.
Canning stepped in front of the gun so that the barrel was levelled at his stomach. 'George, listen to me. If you kill her in cold blood, they'll never stop looking for us. We'll be branded as child-killers. If they catch us, they'll throw away the fucking key.'
'I'm not happy about this, but she saw my face. You shouldn't have let her get away from you.'
'So it's my fault, is it?'
'I just call it the way I see it,' said McEvoy. He moved to the side, trying to get a clear shot at the girl.
'You've wanted to off her from the fucking start,' said Canning. 'No way are you going to do this.' He grabbed the gun in McEvoy's hand, forcing his thumb between the hammer and the chamber.
'What the fuck are you playing at?' McEvoy shouted. 'Egan said do her. We've got to do her.'
'No,' hissed Canning. 'It's over.'
'She's seen me.'
'She's a fucking kid, George.'
McEvoy tried to pull the gun away from him, but Canning held firm, keeping the barrel pointed down towards the floor. Katie was sitting up on the camp bed, watching them nervously.
'It's all right for you, you've got your fucking mask on. She's going to tell the cops everything. And you've just told her my name.'
Canning seized McEvoy by the throat and pushed him back against the wall. He put his masked face right up against McEvoy's ear. 'Walk away, George.'
McEvoy glared at him. 'They're going to be coming for us, Mick. I heard what happened. Gunfire. Hecklers, Mick. The fucking Sass. Egan's dead. They're all dead – the Sass don't take prisoners. If we don't kill the girl, she'll identify us and the Sass'll be after us.'
'There's a big difference between kidnapping and killing. If we leave the girl alive…'
'What? They'll forget all about us? Yeah, and maybe we can go and live with Elvis.'
'We've got enough time to run. They'll look for us, sure, but they'll be a hell of a lot more determined if we've killed her. It'll be no stone unturned if we're child-killers, George. You wanna be a child-killer, George? You want that on your conscience?'
McEvoy nodded slowly. 'Okay,' he said.
'We lock her in the basement, then we piss off back to Belfast,' said Canning. 'We can make a call on the way.'
'Okay,' said McEvoy.
Canning slowly released his grip on McEvoy's throat. 'Let's get our stuff together,' he said.
McEvoy drove his knee into Canning's groin and hammered the butt of the handgun against the side of his head. Canning staggered back, bent double. McEvoy hit him again with the gun, slamming it against the back of his neck. Canning fell to the floor, stunned.
'It's all right for you, you piece of shit,' McEvoy hissed. 'She hasn't seen your fucking face.' He turned and pointed the gun at Katie. She rolled off the camp bed and ran to the bottom of the stairs, but McEvoy moved to intercept her. 'Stand still!' he shouted.
Katie skidded to a halt. 'Please don't,' she said, her voice quivering with fear.
McEvoy aimed at her face and his finger tightened on the trigger. Canning lurched to his feet, roared and threw himself at McEvoy's gun arm. He kicked the man's legs from underneath him and McEvoy hit the floor, hard. The gun went off but the bullet went wide and buried itself in the ceiling. Canning dropped down on top of McEvoy, fumbling for the gun. He seized McEvoy's wrist with both hands and twisted, but he couldn't loosen the man's grip.
McEvoy bellowed like a bull in pain. He tore at Canning's woollen ski mask with his left hand and ripped it off Canning's head. Canning locked eyes with him. McEvoy grinned. 'Now she's seen us both, what are you going to do?' McEvoy hissed.
Canning said nothing. He grunted, twisting the Smith amp; Wesson around, towards McEvoy's chest. Behind them, Katie edged along the basement wall to the stairs, her arms outstretched like those of a tightrope walker fighting to keep her balance.
McEvoy threw Canning's ski mask away and clawed at his face, hooking his nails into the man's eyes. Canning yelped and thrashed his head from side to side, continuing to hold on to the gun. He forced the barrel towards McEvoy's chin. The gun went off again, the bullet grazing Canning's cheek and slamming into the wall, where it sheared off a hand-sized piece of plaster. Canning's ears were buzzing and he could feel blood dribbling down his cheek.
McEvoy stopped scratching at Canning's face and used both hands to struggle for the gun. He pushed Canning with his knee and the two men rolled across the floor and banged into the table. McEvoy got on top and used all his weight to force the barrel down towards Canning's neck. Spittle peppered Canning's face. McEvoy was breathing heavily and his eyes were wide and staring, all his efforts concentrated on the gun.
Canning twisted to the side, and as McEvoy lost his balance Canning pushed the gun into the man's chest. He managed to get his own finger inside the trigger guard and the gun went off twice. McEvoy stiffened, then blood seeped between his teeth and he rolled on to his back. Canning lay gasping for breath. He pushed himself up off the floor, still holding the.38, and looked around the basement. Katie had gone. He heard footsteps running along the floor above his head and rushed up the stairs. He found Katie in the kitchen, trying to pull open the back door.
'It's locked,' he said.
She stopped fumbling with the handle and slowly turned to look at him. Her lower lip was trembling. 'There's blood on your jumper,' she said. 'And on your face.'
Canning put his hand up to the bullet wound on his cheek. It was smarting and still dripping blood. The blood on his pullover wasn't his. It was McEvoy's. He grabbed Katie by the shirt collar and led her back down into the basement. She didn't struggle or protest, and when he told her to sit on the bed she did as she was told.
Canning flipped out the cylinder of the.38. Two shots left. More than enough. He clicked the cylinder back into place. He pulled back the hammer. 'Close your eyes, Katie,' he said.
'I won't tell anyone,' she said. 'I promise.'
'Yes you will.'
She shook her head firmly. 'I won't. You can run away. I won't tell the police what you look like. I won't tell them what you did to him.'
'They'll find out anyway.'
'You could bury him outside.'
'The police will find me, Katie. They'll find me and then you'll identify me.'
'I won't. I promise. Please don't kill me.'
Canning pulled one of the wooden chairs closer to the bed and sat down on it, facing the girl. 'Katie, you don't know what the world's like. You're just a kid.'
'I know that adults aren't supposed to hurt children,' she said sullenly.
'I don't have any choice,' he said.
'It's not fair,' whispered Katie.
Canning smiled despite the enormity of what he was going to have to do. 'Life isn't fair,' he said. 'When you get older you'll…' He left the sentence unfinished. She wasn't going to get any older. Her life was going to end here and now. In the basement.
Katie pointed at the door. 'You could lock me in and go away,' she said. 'When the police find me, I'll tell them you didn't hurt me.'
'It won't work like that,' said Canning. 'They'll keep looking for me until they find me. What we've done is so bad they'll never stop looking. If you hadn't seen my face, it wouldn't matter, but you know what I look like. And the police will make you tell them.'
'They won't. I…'
Canning held up his hand and she stopped talking, waiting to see what he had to say. 'Let me tell you what would happen, Katie. They'll catch up with me eventually. Maybe in a week. A month. A year. But they'll get me eventually. They'll send policemen to talk to your mum and dad, and they'll all take you to the police station. They'll be really nice to you and tell you what a brave girl you are. They'll probably give you a Coke or a 7-Up or something, then one of them will sit down and talk to you. Probably a policewoman. Young. She'll talk to you like a big sister. She'll tell you that they've caught me but that you've got to identify me. She'll tell you not to worry, that they'll put me in prison for a long, long time, and that I'll never be able to hurt you or any other little girl again. Then the nice policewoman will take you to room and she'll show you a window. She'll tell you that there's a line of men on the other side, that you can see them but they can't see you, and she'll tell you to look carefully at all their faces and to tell her which one I am.'
'I won't tell them,' said Katie.
'You're seven years old,' said Canning coldly. 'You won't be able to stand up to them. You'll look along the line of men and you'll see me and you'll point me out. Close your eyes, Katie.'
Katie did as she was told. 'I won't tell,' she said. 'I promise.' She kept her eyes firmly closed and made the sign of the cross over her heart. 'Cross my heart and swear to die.'
– «»-«»-«»Two green-overalled paramedics were wheeling a trolley through a police cordon as Patsy, Martin and Denham walked up. Martin ran over to the trolley. It was Andy. She was paler than he'd ever seen her, her hair tied back in a ponytail, dark patches under her eyes. She reached out with her hand and he interlinked his fingers with hers. A large dressing had been taped to her left shoulder and there were two dressings on her arm which had been placed in an inflatable splint. Blood was seeping through the dressings and she winced in pain as she tried to sit up. 'Katie…' she said.
'Lie down, miss,' said one of the paramedics, a stocky thirty-something woman with short permed hair. 'We have to get you to hospital.'
Andy gripped Martin's hand, her nails digging into his flesh. 'I'm not going anywhere until I know that Katie's safe.'
'She's losing blood,' the paramedic said to Martin.
'I'm okay,' said Andy. She gritted her teeth as a wave of pain washed over her.
'Andy, you have to go to hospital,' said Martin. 'I'll come with you.'
'But Katie
Denham appeared at Martin's shoulder. 'Our people are on their way to Katie now,' he said.
'Liam?' said Andy. Her eyelids fluttered. She was obviously close to passing out.
'Yes, Andrea. It's me. You did well. We'll take it from here.'
'I want to stay here until I know what's happened to Katie.'
Patsy took her mobile phone from her jacket and pressed it into Andy's hand. 'As soon as we know where she is, we'll call you,' she said.
Denham nodded at the paramedics and they wheeled her towards the ambulance. Martin went with them.
'Do you think she's still alive?' asked Patsy as they watched the paramedics lift Andy into the vehicle. Martin climbed in, the doors were slammed shut, and a few seconds later the ambulance drove away, sirens wailing.
'God, I hope so,' said Denham.
A uniformed policeman examined Patsy's credentials and waved her through the cordon. Denham shrugged. 'I'm with her,' he said.
'That's fine, sir,' said the constable. 'I could tell you were in the job.'
Denham smiled to himself as he followed Patsy into the lift. Retired for ten years and he still looked like a policeman. He wasn't sure if that was a compliment or not.
They rode up to the ninth floor in silence. The doors opened and two more uniformed constables stepped aside to allow them into the office. Half a dozen Scene of Crime Officers in white overalls were moving around like silent ghosts, fingerprinting and collecting fibre samples with pieces of tape, all their evidence going into labelled plastic bags.
Two SAS troopers stood by the window, their automatic weapons clasped to their chests. One was smoking a cigarette, the other was laughing. There was broken glass everywhere, and Patsy and Denham crunched over it as they walked to the pile of black garbage bags in the middle of the main office area. Two Metropolitan Police explosives officers were crouched over the bags, gingerly moving them apart. Both men were wearing olive overalls, and Patsy was surprised that neither of them was wearing protective armour. In Belfast, the EXPOs never went anywhere near an explosive device without full body armour and protective helmets. She realised that it was probably because the bomb was so big that if it did go off, no amount of protection would help.
'Everything okay?' she asked.
One of the EXPOs looked up and grinned at her. 'Safe as houses,' he said. He was barely out of his twenties, with a shock of red hair and acne scars across his cheeks. 'SEXPO's got the detonator. You could drop this lot out of the window and it wouldn't go off.'
'SEXPO?'
'Senior Explosives Officer.' The redhead nodded over at an older man in overalls who was standing by one of the desks. 'Our boss. Dave Hoyle.'
Patsy and Denham went over to Hoyle. He was peering at a digital display through a magnifying glass, examining the wires that protruded from the back of it. There was a tangle of wire next to the digital display and four small cylinders, the size of Parker pen refills. Patsy had seen detonators before, in Belfast.
She introduced herself and Denham, but Hoyle just grunted. He was a big, bear-like man with thick fingers that dwarfed the delicate electronics he was examining.
'It was live?' asked Patsy.
'Oh, yes. Timer was set. Twenty minutes left on the clock before we got to it.'
'No problems?'
'Simple circuit. Nice work. A woman, they said?'
'That's right.'
'They always do neat work, women. Tidy. Precise. Just look at the soldering.'
He handed the magnifying glass to Patsy, and she used it to examine the wiring. She had no idea what she was looking at and she gave it back to Hoyle none the wiser.
'No booby traps?' asked Denham.
'No, it was a simple enough circuit,' said Hoyle. 'No photoelectrics, no tremblers, no collapsing circuits. EXPO-friendly, it was.'
'What about the remote control?' asked Patsy.
'The what?' Deep frowns creased Hoyle's forehead.
'The infrared remote control. She had it rigged so that if she pressed it, it would go off.'
Hoyle's frown deepened. 'No way,' he said. 'Timer, batteries, detonators. There was nothing else in the circuit. Pressing the remote control wouldn't have done a blind thing.'
'Are you sure?'
Hoyle looked offended. Patsy began to laugh, and Hoyle stared at her in surprise. She shook her head, still laughing. 'She was bluffing,' she said to Denham. 'She was bloody well bluffing.'
Denham's mobile phone warbled and he took it out and put it to his head. Patsy stopped laughing as Denham listened, then frowned. 'Yes, Eamonn.' Patsy watched Denham's face, wondering if it was good news or bad.
Denham put his hand over the bottom of the phone. 'They've found Katie.' A smile spread across his face. 'She's okay. They locked her in a basement. She's scared but she's okay.'
Patsy grinned. She took a quick step forward and hugged Denham, burying her face in his chest and squeezing him so hard that he gasped.
Denham hugged her back, then pulled away. 'I have to call Andy,' he said, then he smiled. He held out the phone to Patsy. 'Why don't you do it?'