First Response

MARBLE ARCH (2.20 p.m.)

The waitress who had been sticking more sheets of newspaper over the window looked at the man in the suicide vest. ‘Is that enough?’ she asked. ‘I can’t see any gaps.’

The man peered at the sheets and nodded. ‘Get back behind the counter,’ he said. ‘And, everyone, you need to keep texting. Hashtag ISIS6.’

‘Do you want me to text, too?’ asked Hassan.

‘Sure,’ said the man. ‘The more the merrier.’

‘And what do you expect this texting to do?’ asked El-Sayed. ‘You think the government cares about texts?’

The man glared at him. ‘If there are enough of them, yes.’

‘So why do you cover the windows? Isn’t it better publicity for the outside world to see what’s going on here?’

‘Shut the fuck up,’ snarled the man.

El-Sayed held up his hands. ‘Brother, I am merely curious,’ he said. ‘You want publicity, you want the world to know what is happening, but you hide behind newspapers.’

‘Because there are snipers out there,’ said the man. ‘And they might be stupid enough to think that if they shoot me in the head the bomb won’t go off.’

Something buzzed at the man’s stomach and he flinched. El-Sayed’s eyes widened in horror, but then he realised it wasn’t the vest: it was something in the pack he had around his waist. The man unzipped it and took out a cheap mobile phone. He held it to his ear with his left hand, which meant Hassan had to stand closer to him. Hassan glanced fearfully at his father and El-Sayed smiled, willing the boy to stay calm.

‘I don’t know. I saw movement at the window, pulled back some of the paper and there was a bomb-disposal woman there. She backed off and now I’m covering the window again.’

There was a pause as the man listened. ‘I think she was taking photographs,’ he said eventually. ‘She had a camera in her hand.’

Another pause, longer this time. ‘Okay, okay, I understand.’

A short pause. ‘Yes. I understand.’

He put away the phone and looked up at the television screen. It was showing a view of Edgware Road from a helicopter overhead.

‘What is the problem?’ asked El-Sayed.

‘Shahid saw the bomb-disposal woman on TV,’ said the man, quietly. ‘He wanted to know what was going on.’

‘Shahid? Who is Shahid?’

‘What’s it to you?’ said the man, glaring at him again. ‘You need to shut the fuck up.’

‘Brother, if someone is organising this, if there is a man in charge, then maybe I should talk to him.’

‘Maybe you should shut the fuck up. Maybe that’s what you should do.’

‘Brother, please, stay calm. We have never met before, we are strangers, we don’t know each other, but there is a very good chance that I might be able to help you. But for that to happen, I need to talk with the man in charge. This Shahid. Can you call him back?’

The man shook his head. ‘I can’t call out on this phone. He can only call me.’

El-Sayed nodded thoughtfully. ‘Then we must wait for him to call you again. But when he does, I beg you, let me speak with him.’