First Response

LAMBETH CENTRAL COMMUNICATIONS COMMAND CENTRE (12.40 p.m.)

‘Bad news on the white-van front,’ said Sergeant Lumley. ‘The Birmingham police have spoken to the owner. In fact, they’ve seen the van. It’s still up in Birmingham, complete with the name of the plumbing firm on the sides.’

Kamran grimaced. ‘So they cloned the number?’

Lumley nodded. ‘Looks like it. And the even worse news is that number-plate recognition hasn’t turned it up. But the van is still out there.’ He pointed to his left-hand screen. Where there had been three CCTV shots of the white van, now there were four. The registration number of the fourth was different. ‘This van dropped off the bomber who is now holed up in the coffee shop near Marble Arch. According to the DVLA, this belongs to another firm up in Birmingham.’

‘They changed plates? Terrific.’

‘I’ve got both numbers flagged on number-plate recognition, but if they switched twice they can switch again.’

‘Which means we’re looking for a white van in London,’ said Kamran. ‘Needle in a haystack doesn’t even come close.’

Lumley’s phone rang and he answered it. He stiffened noticeably, then put his hand over the receiver. ‘It’s Downing Street,’ he said. ‘The prime minister.’

Kamran frowned. ‘What?’

‘The PM wants to talk to you.’

Kamran held up his hands. ‘He needs to talk to the commissioner. Or the deputy commissioner.’

‘No, he wants you. Asked for you by name.’

Kamran pointed at the receiver in Lumley’s hands. ‘Is that him? Actually on the line?’

Lumley smiled tightly.

Kamran sighed. ‘Better put him through, then.’ He took a deep breath to steady himself. His phone buzzed.

‘Line one,’ said Lumley.

Kamran took another deep breath and picked up the phone. ‘Superintendent Kamran,’ he said.

‘What’s the state of play, Superintendent?’ asked the prime minister. ‘Where do we stand?’

‘We have seven incidents now, sir,’ said Kamran. ‘The latest is a bus in Tavistock Square.’

‘I heard,’ said the prime minister. ‘That has echoes of Seven/Seven, doesn’t it?’

‘That may well be why that particular bus was targeted,’ said Kamran.

‘This is a nightmare,’ said the prime minister. ‘And getting worse by the minute.’

Kamran said nothing.

‘Their demands haven’t changed?’ asked the prime minister, eventually.

‘No, sir. They want the six prisoners released from Belmarsh and an aircraft fuelled and ready at Biggin Hill.’

‘That’s out of the question, obviously,’ said the prime minister.

‘The problem is there doesn’t appear to be any negotiating,’ said Kamran. ‘It’s take it or leave it. We accept their demands by six p.m. or they will all detonate their vests.’

‘Presumably you have snipers in position?’

‘All the bombers are inside, sir. I can’t guarantee that shooting will end the sieges without casualties.’

‘So what do you suggest, Superintendent?’

Kamran gritted his teeth. He had no suggestions to make. He was all out of ideas. ‘We have to start talking to them,’ he said. ‘Face to face.’

Waterman began to wave excitedly at Kamran. ‘We’ve identified the guy on the bus,’ she said. ‘You’re not going to believe this!’

‘I have to go, sir,’ said Kamran. ‘It’s a bit hectic here, as you can imagine.’

‘I’m heading into an emergency meeting of the Joint Intelligence Committee, Superintendent. I shall be in touch once we’re done.’ The JIC was composed of the country’s top intelligence experts, including the directors of MI5, MI6, GCHQ, plus the chief of the Defence Intelligence Staff, with representatives from the Ministry of Defence and the Foreign Office. Kamran figured the PM could probably do with all the advice he could get.

The prime minister ended the call and Kamran went over to Waterman’s workstation. Murray was already peering over the MI5 officer’s shoulder. ‘What’s the story?’ asked Kamran. ‘He’s known?’

‘He’s known all right,’ said Waterman, sitting back. ‘He’s one of yours.’

‘One of mine?’

‘Kashif Talpur. He works for the National Crime Agency’s undercover unit.’

Kamran’s jaw dropped. ‘What are you telling me?’ he asked.

‘I don’t think I can be any clearer,’ said Waterman. ‘He’s a cop.’ She pressed a button and a picture flashed up on her screen. A caption gave his name as Kashif Talpur and he was wearing the uniform of a Metropolitan Police officer.

For only the second time that day Kamran cursed. He looked at Lumley. ‘Joe, find out who Talpur’s governor is and get him in here right away,’ he said. ‘He needs to see what’s going on.’