First Response

BRIXTON (10 a.m.)

Father Morrison was getting towards the end of the mass and had to consciously focus to stop his mind wandering. How many masses had he taken during his thirty-seven years as a priest? Thirteen thousand? Fourteen thousand? Was it any wonder that he had a tendency to switch onto autopilot and say the words without connecting with their meaning? He forced himself to concentrate, knowing that his congregation deserved his full attention.

There were two dozen worshippers, and Father Morrison knew them all by name. It was mid-week, when only the most devout of his parishioners came to mass. Sunday was a different matter. There were four Sunday masses at the Corpus Christi Church in Brixton Hill. Sunday was an easy day to go to church, but mid-week required more of an effort. Most of the men and women in the pews were old, and Father Morrison couldn’t help but think that in some cases it was loneliness rather than devotion that had brought them to the church. But there were some eager young faces, mainly recent immigrants from West Africa, who seemed to be hanging on every word of his homily.

The door to the church opened with a groan, and Father Morrison frowned as a latecomer stepped inside. He was an Asian, bearded with a hooked nose, and even from where he stood at the altar Father Morrison could see that he was in some distress. He was sweating and his eyes were darting from side to side. He was wearing a long coat buttoned up to the neck and he shuffled from side to side as if he wasn’t sure what to do next. Father Morrison continued to talk, but his attention was focused on the newcomer. The man turned and pushed the door closed, then reached up and slid the bolt across.

Father Morrison wasn’t sure what to do. He didn’t want to interrupt the mass but there was no doubt that the man was behaving strangely. People with mental-health issues weren’t an unusual sight in Brixton, and the area had more than its fair share of dirty and unkempt citizens wandering around, muttering to themselves. Beggars weren’t unusual either, and many would drop by the church. Father Morrison never gave them money but he kept a cupboard full of biscuits and snacks that he would offer, along with a blessing. But the Asian man didn’t look as if he wanted a handout. He turned and started walking purposefully towards the altar. He was in his late forties, with skin the colour and texture of old leather.

One by one the heads of the parishioners turned to check out the new arrival but he ignored them as he strode down the nave, his boots squeaking on the stone flags. Father Morrison moved towards him, holding his hands out at his sides. ‘Can I help you?’ he asked. ‘We’re in the middle of mass. Please, take a seat.’

The man’s lips tightened as he continued to walk towards the priest. He held out his hand and Father Morrison extended his own as a reflex. The man took the priest’s hand, gripping it tightly, his nails digging into the flesh. The priest gasped and tried to pull free but the Asian was too strong. Then the man’s left hand lashed out and something fastened around the priest’s wrist. He released his grip and stepped back. Father Morrison stared in amazement at the steel handcuff locked around his wrist. As the man stepped away, the priest realised there was a matching handcuff on the man’s left wrist and they were joined by just over two feet of steel chain.

‘What are you doing?’ asked Father Morrison. ‘What’s this about?’

The man didn’t reply, just walked back to the door, yanking the chain so that the priest was forced to follow him. The man unbuttoned his coat with his right hand, then reached into his pocket. As he and the priest reached the door he turned and held up his hands. His coat fell open, revealing a jacket containing more than a dozen pockets, each filled with a block of grey material. Red and black wires ran from block to block, and as the priest stared in horror, he saw that the man had some sort of trigger in his right hand, held in place by a strip of black Velcro.

‘Allahu Akbar!’ shouted the man at the top of his voice. ‘Everybody must do exactly as I say if they don’t want to die!’