First Response

BRIXTON (10.25 a.m.)

Father Morrison smiled at the man in the suicide vest, the same sort of smile he used at funerals when consoling the recently bereaved and assuring them that their loved one was in a better place, basking in God’s glory. ‘What is your name, sir?’ he asked.

‘Why do you care?’ snapped the man.

‘We are both human beings in a stressful situation,’ said the priest. He raised his right hand and jiggled the chain that connected them to emphasise his point. ‘Surely I should know the name of the man I’ve been chained to.’

‘You talk too much.’

‘That’s my job,’ said the priest. ‘Anyway, I’m Father Morrison, but you can call me Sean. Or Father Sean.’

‘I don’t have to call you anything.’ The man turned to face the parishioners, who had followed his instructions and sat together in the front two rows of pews, close to the altar. ‘How many of you have phones? If you have a phone, hold it up in the air.’

Several held up their phones immediately. The rest fumbled in their pockets and bags and after a minute or so most of them had their hands in the air.

‘Now, listen to me and listen carefully,’ said the man. ‘You are to use your phones to text your friends, and to post on Facebook and Twitter and anywhere else you want. You are to tell the world that you are now prisoners of ISIS, the Islamic State of Iraq and Syria. You are to explain that ISIS demands the release of its six warriors who are being held in Belmarsh Prison. You are to say that if the six warriors are not released, you will be executed.’

A middle-aged woman in the front pew began to weep and her husband put a protective arm around her.

‘When the prisoners are released we’ll all be going home. Just spread the word and tell as many people as you can. Nobody has to die here today.’

Some of the parishioners began to tap away on their phones.

‘Is that true, what you just said?’ whispered Father Morrison.

‘Inshallah,’ said the man, quietly. ‘If Allah wills.’