First Response

LAMBETH CENTRAL COMMUNICATIONS COMMAND CENTRE (5.45 p.m.)

Kamran contemplated his mobile phone. ‘You’re wondering why he hasn’t called,’ said Chris Thatcher. The negotiator was standing at the door to the Gold Command suite, looking at the main screen in the special operations room, which was showing the view from the Met’s helicopter, looking down on the coach containing the bombers.

‘The ISIS prisoners are already at the airport, I would have thought he’d be asking about a plane by now.’

Thatcher nodded. ‘Everything else has been planned to perfection, hasn’t it?’

‘He’s either assuming the plane is in place or he doesn’t care either way. And, frankly, it’s a big assumption to make. You’d expect him at least to want to know what sort of plane it is.’

Chief Superintendent Gillard stood up at his desk and rubbed the back of his neck. ‘Anyone got any ibuprofen or paracetamol?’ he asked. ‘My head’s throbbing.’

‘I’ve got ibuprofen, sir,’ said Sergeant Lumley, handing him a strip of tablets.

Gillard swallowed two and washed them down with water. ‘You have to wonder why he hasn’t asked about the plane, don’t you?’ he said.

‘It could also be that the plane was never an issue,’ said Kamran. ‘My worry is that he intends that coach to blow up in London with the world watching.’ The clock on the wall was showing just after a quarter to six. ‘I suppose we’ll know soon enough.’