First Response

MARBLE ARCH (1.05 p.m.)

The helmet weighed just three and a half kilos but it absorbed outside sounds so all Charlie Kawczynski could hear was her own soft breathing. Her heart was pounding but she was able to control her breathing, slow and even. She hadn’t bothered to use the optional cooling system that came with the suit. It had a network of capillaries sewn into it and connected to a four-pint reservoir but it wasn’t usually needed for short periods and Kawczynski figured she’d be done in less than half an hour. There was a microphone and ventilation system built into the helmet, along with a battery pack using standard nine-volt batteries that would run for five hours. All the wiring was built into the fabric of the suit so that it couldn’t be snagged. Walking wasn’t easy but she’d been in the Bomb Squad going on three years so she’d had plenty of practice. It was looking down that was the problem. The ballistic panel that covered the neck and the lower part of the helmet meant that she couldn’t see her feet so the trick was always to know what was on the ground ahead of her.

She looked up to her left and saw a sniper at the window of an office overlooking the coffee shop. And in the far distance two police cars were blocking off the road. Beyond them was a fire engine and beyond that a van belonging to Sky News with a large white satellite dish on the roof.

She walked down the middle of the road. The suit wasn’t designed for concealment and it certainly didn’t allow for running. ‘Slowly but surely’: that was the Bomb Squad’s mantra. Bomb disposal was all about technique, about working out the safest method of making a device safe. And that was what made suicide bombers so difficult to deal with — the human element made them unpredictable. She was always much happier looking down at an IED or approaching a car bomb than a human being.

She reached the coffee shop, paused, then turned to face it. Newspapers had been plastered across the glass but there were gaps between the individual sheets. In her right hand she was holding a small digital camera.

She looked back at the van, raised her hand and waved to Peter. He waved back. The suit’s wireless system used a very low level of RF radiation to minimise the risk of activating IEDs, but they had decided against using it to be on the safe side.

She walked towards the shop, calculating how many steps she had to take before she reached the pavement. She stepped up, steadied her breathing, and walked towards the window. The largest gaps were at the edge closest to the door and she moved towards it, holding up the camera. She squinted at the small screen on the back. She could just about make out figures so she pressed the button several times. Then she moved to the right to another gap and fired off a few more shots.

She saw movement and put her helmet closer to the window. Somebody was moving around but she couldn’t make out what was happening. She put the camera up to the gap between the sheets of newspapers and took more photographs.

Something slammed against the window and she flinched. An eye pressed itself to the glass and she took a step back. A hand ripped away part of the newspaper and then reappeared. It was holding a trigger. Kawczynski raised her hands and stepped away. ‘I’m going, I’m going!’ she shouted, even though she knew that the suicide bomber couldn’t hear her. She stepped off the pavement and walked back to the van, slowly but surely.