First Response

LAMBETH CENTRAL COMMUNICATIONS COMMAND CENTRE (3 p.m.)

‘Chief Superintendent Philip Gillard is on his way up,’ said Sergeant Lumley. ‘SO15.’

‘Finally,’ said Kamran. Acting as Gold Commander had been challenging but it had been the most stressful few hours of his life and he was looking forward to handing over the reins. He went out to the special operations room and met the chief superintendent at the entrance. Gillard was wearing a dark blue suit with a red and black striped tie, his black hair glistening as if it had been gelled. He was wearing black-framed spectacles and carrying a scuffed leather briefcase, and looked for all the world as if he had arrived to sell them life insurance. He shook hands with Kamran. His fingers were stained with nicotine and there was a wedding band on his left hand.

‘We’ve not met before, but I was at a presentation you gave on major incident procedure last year at Hendon,’ said Gillard. ‘It was good stuff.’

‘Thank you,’ said Kamran.

‘This is our first time, so a few ground rules. When it’s just the two of us I’m Philip, or boss or governor, if you prefer. You’re Mohammed, right?’

‘Mo is fine,’ said Kamran.

‘So when it’s just the two of us I’ll call you Mo, if that’s okay with you. In front of the troops we use our ranks.’

‘Sounds good,’ said Kamran.

‘So what do I do desk-wise?’

‘We’re in the Gold Command suite,’ said Kamran. He took Gillard through to the room. ‘This is the Gold Commander’s station.’ He pointed at the desk he had been using.

‘What about you?’

‘I’ll take this one,’ said Kamran, gesturing at the workstation to the right of the Gold Commander’s. ‘Sergeant Lumley has been assisting me and is using that desk.’

Lumley nodded. ‘Sir,’ he said.

Chris Thatcher was sitting opposite Sergeant Lumley, studying a CCTV feed of the Wandsworth shop.

‘Bloody hell — Chris Thatcher!’ Gillard exclaimed.

Thatcher’s jaw dropped. ‘Phil?’ He stood up and the two men embraced and patted each other on the back. ‘Must be, what, fifteen years?’

‘More like twenty,’ said the chief superintendent. He released his grip on Thatcher. ‘Chris and I were in the Flying Squad in the nineties,’ he said. ‘Snatcher Thatcher he was known as then.’

‘Chief Inspector Thatcher, actually,’ said Thatcher. He grinned. ‘And I seem to remember you being just a sergeant at the time, so a little respect is in order.’

‘Chris is a security consultant, these days,’ said Kamran. ‘He was over at Thames House so we’ve just pulled him in.’

Lynne Waterman stood up and introduced herself. Gillard shook hands with her, then swung his briefcase onto the desk, hung his jacket over the back of his chair and sat down. He steepled his fingers under his chin. ‘Right, Mo, bring me up to speed.’

Kamran spoke for the best part of fifteen minutes and the chief superintendent didn’t interrupt once. He nodded, he smiled occasionally, but most of the time he remained impassive as Kamran went through what had happened and detailed who was doing what in the special operations room.

‘Looks as if you’ve got everything on an even keel,’ said Gillard, when Kamran had finished.

‘There’s one wrinkle,’ said Kamran. ‘The only point of contact we have is this guy Shahid and he’ll only talk to me. That’s why Chris is here. I’m not trained in negotiation and his skill set will be helpful.’

‘How does Shahid get in touch?’

‘He calls my mobile.’

Gillard frowned. ‘How did that come about?’ he said. ‘Protocol is to make contact through a landline and record.’

‘He came through to the SOR, and after our first conversation he said he’d only talk to me. He insisted on a mobile number.’

The chief superintendent grimaced. ‘That’s unfortunate.’

‘I agree, but he was adamant.’

‘And he said he’ll only talk to you?’

Kamran nodded.

‘Why do you think that is? Because you’re a Muslim?’

‘I don’t think so. If anything, he seemed perturbed by the fact I was Muslim. He was asking all sorts of questions about how often I prayed, stuff like that. In fact he was so busy interrogating me that we managed to get a location of the mobile he was using.’

‘That was when the van got shot up?’

‘Unfortunate. They heard a car backfire.’

Gillard rubbed his chin. ‘Right. A few basic necessities I need before I get stuck in. I’m a smoker. I’m guessing the front of the building is out of bounds.’

‘There’s a terrace outside the canteen on the third floor,’ said Kamran. ‘Most of the smokers gather there.’

‘And how do we go about getting coffee here?’

‘Sergeant Lumley can fix you up,’ said Kamran. ‘But the canteen is open twenty-four/seven.’

Gillard smiled at the sergeant. ‘White, two sugars. And if there are any biscuits going, I’d be a very happy bunny.’

Lumley headed out.

‘He’s good?’ asked Gillard.

‘First class,’ said Kamran.

‘So here’s how we’ll play it,’ said Gillard. ‘I’m Gold Commander, but you stick close to me and we’ll share the load. I get the feeling this is going to get worse before it gets better. When Shahid calls, you answer and you talk to him. But talk to our tech boys and see if we can get the conversations recorded. I’d also like to listen in when you’re on to him. And so should Chris, obviously.’

‘I’ll get that sorted.’

‘When you spoke to him, what were your impressions?’

‘He’s organised. Confident. He knows what he’s doing. He asked for Gold Commander and it was his suggestion to release the kids in the childcare centre, as if he knew that was what I was going to ask for.’

‘But the fact you were a Muslim threw him?’

‘I think so. He wasn’t expecting it.’

‘And what about his voice? What could you tell?’

‘Do you mean could I tell if he was a Muslim? Not from his accent. South London, maybe. Essex. Twenties or thirties. Well educated.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘His vocabulary. His manner. There was no real emotion during the conversation. Like I said, there was a confidence about him. He seemed totally unfazed by what was happening.’

‘Okay, so what were you planning to do next?’

‘To be honest, I was waiting for him to call. I don’t see that we gain anything by negotiating with the bombers themselves. I don’t think the individuals on the ground have any negotiating power. They’re just the tools. Even if we do talk to them, I don’t think there’s anything they can do.’

‘And the guys on the ground? How are we getting on ID-wise?’

‘Fairly good progress on that front,’ said Kamran. ‘I’ll pull up the guys we’ve identified.’

Kamran sat down and tapped on the keyboard. Gillard stood behind him. Kamran called up six photographs on his left-hand screen and he pointed at them one by one. ‘Rabeel Bhashir is in the church in Brixton. Mohammed Malik is in the shop in the Southside shopping centre in Wandsworth. Ismail Hussain is in the Fulham post office. Mohamed Osman is in the Kensington nursery. Faisal Chaudhry is in the pub in Marylebone. All are cleanskins, pretty much. Never red-flagged as terrorist threats in this country, no evidence of ISIS membership.’

‘And this one?’ asked Gillard, pointing to the final photograph.

‘I’m saving the best till last,’ said Kamran. ‘He’s a cop. An undercover cop with the National Crime Agency.’