First Response

FULHAM (5.25 p.m.)

Hussain heard the coach pull up in front of the post office. He went over to the window. The armed police were still there but the cars that had been blocking the road to their left had been moved. ‘It’s time for us to go,’ he said to Rebecca. She glared at him sullenly. ‘We’re going,’ he said. ‘We’re going to get on the coach. The prisoners have been released. It will be over soon.’ She stared at him but her face was a blank mask.

Hussain turned to the rest of his hostages, sitting up against the far wall. ‘It’s over, you can go back to your families!’ he shouted. ‘Allahu Akbar, Allah be praised!’

The hostages started whispering to each other. One woman began to cry. Hussain opened the door. There were six police motorcyclists in front of the coach, more behind. The coach door hissed open and the driver, a man in his thirties wearing a bomber jacket and a flat cap, waved at him to get on board. The windows had been blacked out and all Hussain could see was his own reflection. He pulled the chain to get Rebecca to follow him, but she wouldn’t move. ‘Come on, come on,’ he said. ‘The sooner we get to the airport, the sooner this will be over.’

Rebecca ignored him and turned to look at the armed police. ‘Just shoot the Paki bastard!’ she screamed. ‘Come on, I don’t care. Just put a bullet in the bastard’s face!’

‘Madam, please get onto the coach!’ shouted the armed cop nearest the post office. ‘Everything is under control!’

‘Like fuck it is!’ she shouted. ‘He’s got a fucking bomb under his coat and he was threatening to kill us all. Shoot him now and I’m the only one who gets killed and I don’t give a fuck. So shut the fuck up and shoot him. Now, while he’s out in the open! I don’t even think he’ll press the trigger — he’s more scared than I am. Shoot him in the fucking head and he’ll drop like a stone. Do it!’

‘What is your problem, lady?’ hissed Hussain.

She whirled around. ‘My problem? My fucking problem? You handcuff yourself to me and threaten to blow me to bits and you ask me what my problem is? Fuck you, Call-Me-Ismail. Fuck you and fuck all Pakis like you.’

‘Why are you saying this? Why are you being so aggressive?’

‘Madam, please board the coach!’ shouted the armed cop. ‘You’re putting everyone’s lives at risk here.’

Rebecca ignored him and stared at Hussain. ‘You want to know why, Call-Me-Ismail? You want to know why I hate Pakis like you? Because it was one of you that killed my family. A Paki bastard just like you, beard and all, slammed his car into my husband’s and killed him and killed my little girl. Was he insured? Was he fuck. Did he have a driving licence? Did he fuck. Did he stay and face the music? Did he fuck. According to the cops he was out of the country the next day and is now probably living it large in Paki-fucking-stan. He killed my William and he killed my Ruth and the one thing I want right now is to be with them and if I can do that and kill you at the same time then I’ll be one very happy woman.’ She glared at him and he could see the madness in her eyes. ‘I want you dead, Call-Me-Ismail. I can’t get the Paki bastard who took my family from me but I can sure as hell take you with me.’ She grabbed at his right hand, trying to get at the detonator.

He held it away from her and pushed her with his left hand. ‘You’re fucking crazy!’

‘Madam, please, will you stop resisting!’ shouted the armed cop. ‘Just get on the coach!’

Rebecca turned to him. ‘Do your fucking job, why don’t you? Shoot the fucker. He’s a fucking terrorist and he deserves to die so do your fucking job and shoot him.’

‘Lady, please stop this,’ said Hussain. ‘I’m sorry about what happened to your family. But it wasn’t my fault.’

Rebecca spat at him. ‘No, but this is your fucking fault. You handcuffed yourself to me, you chose me, so fuck you.’ She grinned. ‘Maybe your God is fucking with you the way my God fucked with me. Do you get that, Call-Me-Ismail? Maybe your God wanted you to choose me. He does move in fucking mysterious ways, doesn’t he?’

‘Lady, please stop this,’ said Hussain. She lunged at his right hand again and he kept it well away from her. ‘If we don’t get on the coach, everyone will die,’ he pleaded.

‘Don’t care,’ she said.

‘Everyone on the coach will die, too. And there are hostages on it. And a driver. They’ll have families, too. Do you want to hurt their families the way you’ve been hurt?’

‘Don’t care,’ she said again, but less vehemently this time.

‘Lady, really, I’m sorry,’ said Hussain. ‘I’m so, so sorry about what happened to your family. The bastard who did it should burn in Hell. And shame on him for running away. But that has nothing to do with what’s happening here.’

‘Madam, please get on the coach now!’ shouted the armed cop.

‘Shut the fuck up!’ screamed Hussain. ‘Can’t you see she’s in pain?’ He put his face closer to the woman, but kept the trigger behind his back. ‘Lady, please, just help me do this. I don’t want to be here any more than you do. I just want to go home.’

Tears were running down the woman’s face. ‘I miss them.’

‘I know you do,’ said Hussain. ‘And I’m sorry.’

Rebecca began to howl and before he knew what he was doing, Hussain had stepped forward and embraced her. He felt her press against the explosives strapped to his chest, and gently patted her on the back. ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered.

‘I want my husband and my daughter back,’ she sobbed.

The armed police officers looked at each other, not sure what to do.

‘You have to get on the coach with me,’ he said. ‘Nothing bad is going to happen. I promise you.’

‘It’s already happened,’ she said. ‘I want to die. Just press the fucking button and end it for me. Please.’

‘I can’t,’ he said. ‘It’s not up to me. And if we do what we’re supposed to do, then everyone goes home.’

‘I don’t want to go home,’ she said. ‘Please, please, please, end it for me now.’

‘You have to be strong for your husband and daughter,’ he said. ‘You have to keep their memories alive. Do you think they would want you to die? Of course they wouldn’t. They’d want you to enjoy every minute of your life here. And then, when it’s your time, you can join them in Heaven. But now’s not the time. You don’t have to die and I don’t have to die, and the people on that coach don’t have to die.’ He patted her on the back again. ‘Now come on, walk with me. One step at a time.’ He put his left hand around her waist and guided her towards the coach, keeping his right hand held high so that the police could see it.

He got her to the coach door, then went up the stairs backwards so that he could lead her up. She kept her head down as she sobbed.

‘Come on, we haven’t got all day,’ snapped the driver.

Hussain stared at him with dead eyes. ‘You need to stay quiet,’ he said. ‘She’s not well.’

The driver gazed back at him, then nodded slowly. ‘Okay. But we’re on a tight deadline. Please try to hurry her along.’

Hussain put his left hand out and she took it. He led her down the coach. There were two Asian men wearing suicide vests, one sitting next to a young woman, the other beside a robed priest.

Hussain sat down behind the man next to the priest and smiled up at Rebecca. ‘Please sit down,’ he said.

She sniffed and did as he asked. The priest twisted around in his seat and offered her a red handkerchief. She took it, thanked him, and dabbed at her eyes.

Hussain saw the driver watching him in the rear-view mirror. Hussain nodded and the driver nodded back. The door closed and the coach lurched forward.