First Response

WANDSWORTH (3.15 p.m.)

The toddlers were taking it in turns to cry. One would bawl for a minute or so, then stop and the other would take over without skipping a beat. Malik had given up asking the mother to quieten the kids because all he got in return was a torrent of abuse. He looked at his watch for the hundredth time, wondering what was taking the negotiator so long. They were in a shopping centre, for fuck’s sake. How hard could it be to get a pizza, a bucket and some food?

‘Sami, are you there?’ Clarke was calling from outside.

Malik smiled to himself. Where the fuck did the cop think he’d gone? ‘Yeah, I’m not going anywhere!’ he shouted back.

‘I’ve got the stuff you wanted. I’ll walk along and leave it outside the store and you can get it.’

‘You think I’m stupid? If I come out there, they’ll shoot me.’

‘No one’s going to shoot you, Sami. Not while you’re wearing that vest.’

‘You lot shot that Brazilian electrician on the Tube, remember? You thought he was a suicide bomber and you shot him.’

‘That was a mistake,’ said Clarke. ‘Lessons were learnt. No one is going to shoot you, Sami. You have my word.’

‘Yeah, well, your word’s not worth much, truth be told,’ said Malik. ‘Bring it to the entrance and push it inside. Then walk away.’

‘Sure, I can do that,’ said the negotiator. Malik and Zoe backed away from the door. A couple of minutes later they heard a soft footfall and Clarke appeared holding a bucket on top of which were two pizza boxes, some crisps, fruit and bottles of water and fruit juice. ‘Is everything okay?’ asked Clarke.

‘Just bring the stuff in and put it down,’ said Malik. ‘Don’t even think about trying something.’

‘I’m not going to be trying anything, Sami,’ said Clarke. ‘We just want everyone to walk away from this safe and well. No one is going to put you under any pressure. We just want to help you.’

‘You do like to talk, don’t you?’ sneered Malik. ‘Just put the stuff down and go.’

Clarke bent down slowly and placed everything on the floor, then straightened, holding up his hands, fingers splayed. ‘If you want anything else, just shout,’ he said. ‘We’re not far away.’

‘We won’t want anything else,’ said Malik.

‘What about the children?’

‘What about them?’

‘Just let the kids go. This is no place for kids, you know that.’

‘They’re hostages, and all the hostages have to stay put,’ said Malik.

‘They’re kids.’

‘Look, mate, the best thing you can do is to tell your bosses that the sooner they release the prisoners in Belmarsh the sooner everyone gets to go home. Now fuck off.’ He waved the trigger in his right hand to emphasise the point.

‘No problem, Sami. Just shout if you want anything else.’ Clarke backed away a few steps, then turned and headed down the centre.

Malik and Zoe went over to the pile. Malik picked up the pizza box with the rest of the food and drink, while Zoe grabbed the bucket. They walked together to the changing rooms. There were three girls in one, and the mother with the two crying kids was in the other with the second shop assistant. Malik gave the snacks and the drinks to the woman with the children, and one of the pizzas. He gave the other pizza to the three girls but they put it on the floor, unopened.

‘Where’s the smokes?’ asked the mother.

‘They wouldn’t let us have cigarettes,’ lied Malik.

‘Bastards,’ said the woman. She unscrewed the cap from a bottle of orange juice and gave it to one of the children, a bottle of water to the other. They stopped crying as she opened the pizza box and shoved a piece into her mouth.

Malik took Zoe back into the shop. She was still holding the bucket. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t undo the cuffs,’ he said. ‘I can look the other way, if that helps.’

‘Over there,’ she said, nodding at a circular rack full of items on sale. ‘I can duck inside and do it.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Can you think of anything else? Because I can’t and I’m fucking bursting.’