First Response

TAVISTOCK SQUARE (4.33 p.m.)

Kashif Talpur jumped as something buzzed at his waist. For a frantic few seconds he feared that the vest was about to explode but then he realised it was the mobile phone in his waistpack. He went to open it with his right hand but that would mean letting go of the trigger so he used his left instead. He pulled out the phone, his heart racing, and held it to his ear. ‘It is Shahid, brother. You are doing well. I am proud of you.’

‘I just want off this bloody bus,’ said Talpur.

‘Soon, brother, soon. We are talking to the authorities and I expect our brothers to be released soon. But right now I need you to do something for me. I want you to let the children go.’

‘The children?’

‘Anyone under sixteen can leave the bus. But do it carefully, brother. Explain that you are releasing the children and only the children. Do you understand?’

‘Yes.’

‘Only the children. If I see any of the adults getting off, I will detonate the vest.’

‘Okay, I hear you. But I don’t see any children.’

‘They are upstairs,’ said Shahid. ‘Two schoolkids and a baby.’

‘A baby? What about the mother?’

‘What mother?’

‘Holding the baby. She has to stay with the baby, right? The baby can’t get off on its own. It’s a baby.’

‘Yes, the mother can take the baby. But no other adults. If I see any other adults getting off — well, you know what will happen.’

‘Yes,’ said Talpur.

‘Then do it now, brother. I will call you back later.’

The line went dead and Talpur put the phone away. Talpur pointed at a middle-aged black man in overalls. ‘Hey, bruv, go upstairs and tell the woman with the kid to come on down. And the schoolkids.’

The man went upstairs. He reappeared a minute later with the mother, a woman in her twenties, her eyes wide and fearful, holding her baby. He motioned for her to join him at the front of the bus. The two schoolboys clattered down the stairs. Talpur waved them over. ‘You can go.’

‘What about me?’ said the man who had fetched them. ‘This is nothing to do with me. I’m a Muslim.’

‘Me too!’ shouted a middle-aged woman in a headscarf. ‘I’m a Muslim too. You should let the Muslims go. This isn’t anything to do with us.’

Within seconds everyone on the bus was imploring Talpur to release them, and virtually all of them were shouting that they were Muslims.

‘Shut up!’ he roared. ‘Seriously, all of you, just shut the fuck up! This isn’t about who’s Muslim and who’s Christian or who believes in Santa Claus. It’s about the kids. It’s about letting the children go.’

‘She’s not a child!’ shouted the woman in the headscarf. ‘She’s as old as I am.’

‘She’s holding the baby,’ said Talpur.

‘I’ve got children at home,’ said the woman. ‘I’ve got five children waiting for me.’

‘And be grateful for that,’ said Talpur. ‘Now listen to me. The driver’s going to open the front door. She gets off with the baby. Then the two kids get off. Then the driver closes the door. If anyone else tries to get off, this vest explodes and we all die.’

‘This isn’t fair!’ hissed the woman in the headscarf. ‘I hate the kafirs as much as you do.’

Talpur pointed the trigger at her. ‘You need to be quiet,’ he said.

The woman glared at him, muttering under her breath. Talpur nodded at the driver. ‘Open the front door,’ he said.

The driver did as he was told and the door hissed open. ‘Thank you, thank you, thank you,’ whispered the mother, as she clutched her baby to her chest and stepped off the bus. ‘God bless you.’

‘Just go,’ said Talpur. He waved at the two schoolkids. ‘You two, off the bus. Now.’ They scrambled past him. As the second went by, Talpur grabbed him and whispered something to him. The boy frowned at him, shook his head, then jumped off the bus.

‘Close the door!’ Talpur shouted at the driver. He watched through the window as police officers in fluorescent jackets rushed towards the woman and the children and hurried them away.