First Response

EUSTON (4.45 p.m.)

The police sergeant put his phone away and went over to the man who was going to be driving the coach. ‘Gold Command says it’s time to go,’ said the sergeant.

The SAS man had given his name only as Terry. He was in his thirties and, to the sergeant, he didn’t look much. He was about five-eight with close-cropped greying hair, wiry rather than muscled, and had a chewing-gum habit that saw him popping a fresh piece between his lips every ten minutes or so. He wore a light brown leather jacket over brown cargo pants and a handgun in a nylon holster under his right arm. The sergeant had seen much tougher men in his twenty years in the police but there was a quiet confidence to Terry that he had rarely come across.

Terry nodded. There was a group of technicians in the coach inserting Kevlar plates in the driver’s seat and in the backs of the first few rows of the passenger seats. Two more had just finished putting black film over the side windows.

‘Guys, you’re going to have to stop now,’ shouted the sergeant. ‘We need to get this show on the road.’

The technicians filed off the coach. The senior man, a former army bomb-disposal officer, went up to Terry. ‘I’m not sure how much good it’ll do if nine bombs go off in a confined space,’ he said. ‘There’ll be some protection for your back but your neck and your head are going to be exposed.’

‘Hopefully it won’t come to that,’ said Terry. ‘Anyway, I brought a protective helmet with me.’ He pulled a flat cap from his pocket and placed it on his head. ‘What do you think?’

‘I think you’ve got one hell of a set of balls on you, lad,’ said the technician. ‘Good luck.’

As he walked away, Terry climbed into the driving seat, took a quick look at the controls and turned on the engine.

‘Just follow the bikes,’ said the sergeant.

‘How far is it to Brixton?’ asked Terry.

‘Six miles, give or take. Normally it would take half an hour to drive but the roads have been cleared so you’ll be able to keep your foot down. Should be there in less than ten minutes. The bikes know the route so just follow them.’

Terry nodded. ‘Thanks for your help, Sergeant. Now please get the fuck off my coach.’