St Thomas’ Hospital London
4-15 p.m.
April 19th
The DIC team at the hospital, where the taxi driver who’d got shot taking Mason over Vauxhall Bridge, consisted of two people rotating shifts of two hours. Jack was a good boss and knew that sitting in a hospital all day waiting wasn’t interesting to the kind of people he hired.
Sonita was one of the Euston Tower permanent staff. She liked the job, watching CCTV, listening to radio transmissions, checking e-mail submissions and the occasional special jobs. She was twenty two and made excellent money in a civil service job which offered a lot of interesting work. She might get a home based DIC job later on, when one became available, but the London jobs didn’t come up often and that’s where she liked to live. The hospital staff had been told to alert either her or her alternating watcher the moment that the taxi driver, Don Chapman, woke up.
“Mr Chapman is awake miss.” A nurse stood by her and leant in to speak quietly.
Sonita had been day dreaming and was for a moment flustered. She’d been excited by the CCTV footage of the last three days. She’d watched David McKie at the bus station and all the other action that had been captured, isolated and put together as a digital file for use in the building. She was wondering what it was like to hold the pistol, pull the trigger. She pushed away her thoughts and went into the room.
Don had a bandage over his head and was looking around the room.
“Who are you?” He croaked. “Not the press?”
“No.”
“Shame.”
“I expect you’ll get the papers here yet. I’m civil service.”
“Civil service?”
“Yes.” She winked.
“You look a bit young.”
“I’m the office junior, sent to do one job, ask one question.” She smiled.
“Well ask away pretty, but you only get the answer if I get a kiss.”
“You’re a well man, I can tell, but can you remember where the guy with the gun who got into your taxi was going.”
“Yes I can because when he pulled the gun and started shooting I thought ‘oh no I hope they stop him’.”
“Where were you talking him?”
Don told her
“Are you sure?” Sonita’s eye brows nearly touched her hair line.
“You don’t forget that in a hurry.”
To his surprise and delight Sonita kissed him on the lips.
“Thank you, Thank you.” She ran from the room for the nearest hospital exit and once outside switched on her satellite phone.
Euston Tower London
4-15 p.m.
April 19th
Jack Fulton burst into the Liam and David’s office.
“The target was Downing Street. I’ve called and they’re on alert. I’ve told the Prime Minister that I’m sending operatives to number ten. You two are to go, now. Check weapons and be ready.”
“You think Stanton’s going to get in there?” David thought it very unlikely.
“I’ve no idea, but he must have plan and a way in. Now get going. Take a laptop and satellite phone, keep in contact.”
They left the room. The pool car had been left waiting at the front of the building for them. It was a grey Citroen C4.
Jack went back to his office and called the PM to tell him that his men were on their way. He put out an alert for CCTV in the Westminster area to be scoured by every watcher; orders given to drop everything else. Jack made a personal call to Bill, the Westminster DIC operative, but there was no reply.
On Lord North Street Bill was conscious and heard his phone ringing, but couldn’t answer it.
At the gate to Downing Street the old man with glasses and thinning grey hair, brown mackintosh carrying a laptop bag, Sig 220 ‘rail’ in a shoulder holster noted the heightened security.
“Bill Hutchings DIC.” He showed the DIC pass.
“We’ve been expecting you.” Stanton kept calm, but inside he was grinning like a crocodile in an abattoir. This meant that DIC knew the target, but it also meant they had cleared the way for him, he knew he didn’t have long, but he was used to this kind of pressure.
The policeman’s radio crackled as he opened the gate.
“Where’s the other one there’s supposed to be two of you?” He suddenly asked.
“He’s circling the streets, ready for a sighting.” Stanton replied casually, sensing that the DIC units knew he was around and why. It seemed plausible. The line did its work. Stanton passed through the gate and was stopped by a second armed policeman.
“Can I check the bag please?”
“Sure. It’s my laptop and sat phone. Need to follow the updates.”
The policeman looked in the bag. There was a laptop and a satellite phone.
“Okay you can go in, but you need to hand over your weapon.”
Stanton pulled it from the holster.
“No need for that in there eh?” Stanton said
“Safe as houses Mr Hutchings.”
“I don’t think we’ll mention house prices in front of Mr Braine eh?”
The Policeman laughed.
Stanton walked up the street steadily and got to the door of number ten. The paperwork in the envelope had clearly said which room for that time of day. The Prime Minister was a man of habit. In this case it would be the small dining room.
Stanton got to the glossy black door with the armed policeman in front it. He was let in. He passed the porter’s chair, as shiny and black as the door and he took in the clock and Wellington’s travelling chest.
He was greeted by the Downing Street security chief.
“You from the DIC unit?”
“Yes. Bill Hutchings.”
“Well I don’t know how you can help. I’m not really sure about you chaps, but the PM said he wanted some of you here. There’s only you?”
“Yes, my partner’s doing a drive around, ready for action. Can I just set up in a room somewhere?”
“The PM will be in the small dining room shortly, if you go in there he’ll see you and you can update him.”
“Oh that’s brilliant! I need to log on and get an update, there may be news.”
Stanton made his way to the room. There was the strange feature of a fire place under the window. Stanton looked around for a place to put the bomb. There were unlit logs in the fireplace. He quickly opened the bag. Pulled out the laptop and opened it.
He had hollowed out the laptop with a knife creating a space for the ten centimetre long paper covered tubes containing, he assumed, plastic explosives attached to small detonator with a digital display which had a push button. The instructions were clear. The bomb was pre timed for ten minutes. Plant it and get out were the instructions. He closed the laptop and put it back in the bag, then got the satellite phone out.
He heard voices. He slid the bomb under the grate with the unlit logs and straightened up as the Prime Minister and his security chief came into the room. Stanton quickly flipped open the stolen DIC Sat phone, closing the laptop as they entered.
“Yes… yes… okay… no.. I’ll be there straight away.” Stanton acted out the end of the phone call. The Prime Minister unused to waiting looked impatiently at him.
Stanton closed the phone.
“I’m sorry sir I apologise. My Partner’s on an unconfirmed sighting on Lord North Street. I’ve got to get to him. Jack Fulton’s orders we’re to go in pairs at the moment.”
“That’s fine. Things are secure here.” The security chief spoke with slight anger. It all seemed like a waste of time.
“You’re rather old for duty rota aren’t you?” Mr Braine asked, knowing the DIC rules.
“I work around here, my patch. I know the faces. There are more men on the way.”
He grabbed the laptop bag.
“Well thank you anyway er…?” Mr Braine left the space for the name to be proffered.
“Bill Hutchings Mr Braine.”
“Right Bill.”
Stanton made his way out and the Prime Minister sat down as his afternoon tea was brought in. Stanton got to the gate, was handed his pistol and was on his way to Parliament Square with little trouble. He pulled out the green coloured ‘disposable’ Bic cell and pressed dial when the one number in the phone memory came up.
Traffic had held up the Citroen C4 with McKie and Kershaw in. In spite of Liam’s best efforts it took them what felt to be an age to get there. They got to the end of Downing Street and jumped out holding badges in front of them. In spite of the badges four MP5’s were levelly held in their direction.
“McKie and Kershaw, DIC, we’re expected.”
“Your man’s just been here, name of Hutchings, Bill Hutchings.”
“Bill Hutchings.” Liam and David looked at each other. Liam pulled out his satellite phone and called Jack. David spoke to the policeman.
“We were the only two sent.”
“He had a badge, laptop bag like yours, went in came out left and collected his weapon, said he’d had an ID on a suspect had to get to his partner…”
Liam interrupted.
“Jack says Bill Hutchings is the Westminster DIC, sixty years old, wouldn’t be sent…and he’s tried to phone him with no contact”
The policeman got on his radio and called security in ten Downing Street. David stood by the half open gate. Liam got his laptop out. He held it on his arm, plugged the satellite phone in and ran his finger rapidly over the mouse pad.
“This isn’t right.” David protested.
“You’ll have to wait sir.” The policeman replied implacable and annoyingly calm.
“Where is the PM?” David asked, becoming exasperated.
“I couldn’t say sir.”
Liam held the laptop up to the police man.
“Is this the guy you saw?”
“Well yes and no, it looks like him but the other man was bulkier, stronger looking… Stop where you are!”
David pushed his way through the gate and ran. The police man raised his MP5.
“For god’s sake get the PM out, it must be a bomb!” McKie shouted.
“Don’t shoot him we’re government security I’m telling you we sent no-one else, the man who came through was an imposter, it must have been Stanton.” Liam shouted.
The policeman looked at his colleague. The policeman held his MP5 on David’s receding back, the other held his aimed at Liam’s chest. David had made it to the glossy black door. The policeman there had drawn and was aiming his pistol at McKie. David stopped.
There was a crackle of radios and the weapons dropped. Liam’s phone rang. It was Jack, he’d cleared a path. David burst through the famous door and onto the checked black and white floor. The security chief was waiting for him.
“You McKie?”
“Yes. Where’s the PM?”
“The small dining room as always at this time of…”
David bounded into the room. The Prime Minister looked up startled.
“You need to leave now sir.”
McKie grabbed him, and manhandled him towards the door. They got to the door of the small dining room and there was a sharp bang and a flash of white, McKie pushed the PM to the floor half way through the door way, covering him with his body, as an orange ball of smoke enveloped them.
Euston Tower
London
4-30 p.m.
April 19th
Jack sat in his office looking at CCTV images on his laptop, stunned at the sight of smoke billowing from the window above the fireplace in the small dining room of ten Downing Street. There were fire engines and ambulances on the scene. It was a manic gaggle of activity and uniforms. He sat wide eyed looking at the scene; a scene he knew would be on the news within minutes.
Jennie Millington, the head of the audio unit in the technical department walked into the office. She put a laptop on the opposite side of the desk to Jack. She fiddled with it and looked up ready.
“You’re going to be really happy with this Jack…” She became silent and turned the sound up. Jack was drawn away from the drama on his screen by the sound of Sternway’s voice.
“You’re a lovely lady Mrs Robinson and people like you do scare me a little, but you tell Tarquin that it will happen in the next hour, as arranged, and if he doesn’t show some backbone he’ll regret it.“
“… It’s not even fuzzy we’ve been using this new programme we got from the CIA…what?” Jennie became aware of the look on Jack’s face. “Oh yeah shocking right he practically threatens to kill the home secretary…”
Jack looked at Jennie. This was his department, made up of enthusiasts like Jennie. He looked at her, wispy untidy blonde hair, held back by a mass of hair clips, blue jeans, trainers and GAP T- Shirt. She had lean, neat and fashionable black spectacles. They were his department, The Department for Internal Concerns, and they’d failed. The biggest concern, the ultimate terrorist prize had been won.
“Jack?”
The phone rang. Jack’s brow furrowed, quizzical and then a slight smile and sigh of relief.
“A smoke bomb? Just a smoke bomb?” He almost shouted with joy.
He picked up a remote and flicked on a TV.
“… orange smoke billowing from ten downing street. There was some sort of small explosion, but apparently the Prime Minister is fine. Whether this was some sort of demonstration or not we…”
It was Jennie’s turn to look shocked. Jack Fulton switched off the TV.
Play that again Jennie please.”
“What?” Jennie looked from the blank screen to Jack. ”What’s going on?”
“I have no idea, but I am sure we’ll work it out. Play me that file again.”
Jennie played the file occasionally glancing at the blank TV screen as if she were unsure as to what she had seen.
“You’re a lovely lady Mrs Robinson and people like you do scare me a little, but you tell Tarquin that it will happen in the next hour, as arranged, and if he doesn’t show some backbone he’ll regret it.“
Jack grabbed Jennie and spun her around.
“Well done. New programme from CIA did you say? Brilliant!”
“Yes, you just isolate the…” Jack held his hand up.
“Save it for later just give a copy of that file please.”