Cell

50

'Everybody into the jeeps. Move if you value your lives.'

There was an urgency in Sarge's communication Paula had never heard before. Out on the river the barge was still wallowing above the surface. She tried to help Harry as they rushed to the jeeps. He smiled, pushed her away.

'I can get there. Shoulder just aches a bit. I can use both hands to operate a sub-machine gun…'

Everyone was inside a jeep in record time, even carrying their satchels and weapons. The SAS unit had already swept past under Lambeth Bridge. She looked back as Tweed rammed down his foot on the accelerator. She then realized the foresight Sarge had shown, the reason for his urgency.

The full length of the barge suddenly sank swiftly deep down into the river. Its descent, so swift, added to its weight, divided the river briefly. She felt sure she had a glimpse of the river bed. Then two monster waves swept towards each bank, struck them like a cyclone, hurling unknown tons of water across the Embankment and up the sides beyond the pavement. They would have been inundated. She sighed with relief as they sped under the bridge and the river became normal.

There would have been no time for the crowds of men aboard to leave. They were now entombed in the sunken barge lying on the river bed.

The Arab commander of the three remaining barges, proceeding upriver, Sarge correctly guessed, would not try the same trick again. Sarge simply moved his three firing points closer to the target bridges, but far enough away so they would not be touched by his own bombs exploding.

Two barges were sunk by his bombs. They sank slowly, giving al-Qa'eda time to lower men in dinghies. But this time, on Ali's orders, they headed towards the right bank. None of them reached the shore alive. Buchanan's anti-terrorist squad killed them all while they were still on the river.

Barge No. 5, with Ali now aboard, assigned to destroy Chelsea Bridge, received its bomb and missile as soon as it was well clear of the bridge, earlier than Ali had expected.

The vessel burst into flames along its whole length. The Arabs in dinghies, who had fled the barge, again headed for the right bank. Again, Buchanan's men, some using flame-throwers for the first time, killed all the Arabs before any came near the river bank.

The barge, which must have carried a large reserve of ammo, suddenly blew up. The deckhouse was hurled into the sky, fell back into the river, disappearing with a sinister hiss. Other sections flew skywards, descended, to be swallowed up by the fast-flowing river. Buchanan later congratulated his men on doing a great job.

Despite all his other responsibilities, Buchanan had not forgotten the captive guard at Dick's wharf. He disagreed with the decision that they should not risk rescuing Proctor.

After all it was his city, his side of the river. Therefore he gave careful instructions to Sergeant Mackie, marksman. Marler was recognized as being the top marksman in Europe, but Mackie was number two.

Earlier, Mackie, his rifle strapped over his shoulder, had cycled to Dick's wharf. Marler would have admired how silently Mackie moved when he reached his objective. He had descended to the main building where lights shone in a large office. Peering through a window, he saw Proctor tied to a chair. He also saw the brute of a guard armed with an automatic.

The last barge, destined to target Albert Bridge, was still moored to the wharf. As Mackie watched he saw the guard go to a window, peer down at the barge where men were removing mooring ropes. It was about to sail.

Mackie tested the window, was surprised to find it was not locked. Al-Qa'eda's security was not perfect. The guard had his back towards him, watching the crew below, as Mackie slowly pushed the window open, inch by inch. Hinges well oiled.

One of the crew on the wharf beckoned to the guard, pointed to a rope ladder slung over the side of the hull, the escape route. The guard came back into the room, checked his automatic. He then walked behind Proctor, raised the gun to lay it alongside Proctor's head.

Mackie coughed. The guard swung round, removing his weapon from Proctor's head. Mackie shot him twice – once in the head just in case he was wearing a bullet-proof jacket – then in the back below the left shoulder-blade. The guard toppled down forward, hitting the wooden floor with a thud.

Mackie climbed inside, ran to the prone guard, kicked away the automatic close to his hand. Bending down, he checked the carotid artery. Nothing. Dead as a dodo. He turned to Proctor, who had a dazed expression.

'Don't worry. I'm British anti-terrorist squad. Let's get these ropes off you. Expect you'll want to call your wife.'