First Response

LAMBETH CENTRAL COMMUNICATIONS COMMAND CENTRE (3.54 p.m.)

Kamran stared at the digital clock on the wall. It clicked over to 3:55. In a few minutes there would be just two hours left before the deadline expired. ‘He’ll call back,’ said Gillard.

‘But when he does, we’ve nothing to tell him,’ said Kamran. They were sitting at Gillard’s workstation. Lumley had gone off to the canteen with Thatcher. On the right-hand screen were photographs of the six men the bombers wanted released from Belmarsh. On the left-hand screen were the photographs of the bombers. Peas in a pod, thought Kamran. All were young, bearded Asians with the exception of Osman, the Somalian, and Bhashir, the forty-six-year-old father.

‘We play for time,’ said Gillard.

‘We don’t have time, that’s the problem,’ said Kamran. ‘Two hours and that’s it. And what Alex said earlier was bang on — no pun intended. There’s no way we can put nine bombers on a plane. And sooner or later Shahid is going to realise that.’ He ran his hands through his hair. ‘Maybe he knows that already. Maybe he’s just waiting for the deadline, knowing that the whole world is watching. That way he gets the maximum exposure.’

‘If that’s true, there’s nothing we can do,’ said Gillard.

‘There is one thing,’ said Kamran. ‘We can give him what he wants.’