First Response

MARBLE ARCH (3.45 p.m.)

El-Sayed’s heart was pounding. His head was moving constantly, his attention switching between the television on the wall and the pack around the man’s waist. According to Al Jazeera there were now nine suicide bombers spread around London. Most of the attention seemed to be devoted to a bus in Tavistock Square and an MP who was being held hostage in Camberwell. There was the occasional shot of the coffee shop but there wasn’t much to be seen now that the windows had been covered with newspaper. From the little El-Sayed did see, the street had been closed off and the only people moving around were armed police officers. They had shown the ISIS propaganda video twice, so at least now El-Sayed had some idea of who Shahid was. Asian, for sure, probably London born, like many of the fighters he had sent to Syria and Somalia.

He looked at his watch. It was worth more than fifty thousand pounds but he would happily have given away a hundred of them to get his son released. He could always make money, he could always replace things, but he had only one son.

The phone buzzed in the man’s waistpack and El-Sayed flinched. The man fumbled for the phone, answered it, then handed the phone to El-Sayed. ‘You are a man of your word,’ said Shahid.

‘That is how hawala works,’ said El-Sayed. ‘Your word means everything. All transfers are done on trust.’

‘We have the money. We thank you for that.’

‘And you will release my son?’

‘Like you, we keep our word. But my man will need a hostage. You must find someone there to take his place.’

‘And when that is done, my son can leave?’

‘No one can leave until it is over,’ said Shahid. ‘But I will tell my man to allow you and him to go upstairs, out of the way. You can both stay there.’

‘I appreciate this, my brother. You have done a good thing today.’

‘I will have done a good thing when the brothers are released from Belmarsh,’ said Shahid. ‘Inshallah. Now pass the phone back to my man.’

El-Sayed did as he was told and reached over to pat his son’s arm. ‘It’s going to be okay,’ he said. ‘You are to be freed.’ He looked at a group of four men sitting at a nearby table, staring up at the television screen. A senior uniformed police officer was being interviewed by a reporter, saying that negotiations were continuing. El-Sayed suspected that was a lie. No one had even tried to negotiate with the man who was chained to his son.

‘My friends,’ El-Sayed said to the men, ‘I have a favour to ask of you. Is there one of you who would be willing to help me in my time of need? For a price, of course?’