Newton’s Fire

III

It was a dismal drive in from City Airport through East London, dual carriageways punched through shabby housing estates and brutalist tower blocks. But at least it was quick. Then, however, they entered some long tunnel and the traffic started to congeal. By the time they finally emerged, it was pretty much locked solid. Their driver put a siren on their roof, used it to bully his way through. They passed St Paul’s Cathedral, reached the bottom of Ludgate Hill. The police had shut off Fleet Street with metal barriers, forcing traffic to turn right or left, but another squirt of siren saw them through.

They nudged through thin crowds of Sunday afternoon sightseers. Digital cameras and phones pressed against their windows; flashes popped. Croke fought the urge to shield his face; it was too late anyway, and would only draw attention. They passed through more barriers into a cordoned-off area, drove beneath a canvas awning that allowed them to exit the Range Rover without being photographed. They walked through a short, arched brick passageway and emerged into Crane Court itself, a flagstoned alley with old, low and wide redbrick buildings to their right, taller, modern ones to their left, the ugly backsides of offices and other businesses.

A senior policeman, to judge from his age and uniform, was in heated discussion with a youngish man in a dark suit. ‘Wait here,’ said Morgenstern. He went to join the conversation, came back after a minute, brow furrowed. ‘Problem,’ he said.

‘What?’

‘That prick in the uniform. He’s media liaison. I’ve dealt with him before. All he cares about is how good he looks on the TV news.’

‘So?’

‘So he’s due to give a briefing. Says he won’t do it until he knows why we’re searching all the buildings. He says if our information is any good, surely we know which one to search. And if our information isn’t any good, why go in so fast? Why not hang back and watch?’

Croke nodded. It was a sensible question. ‘What did you tell him?’

‘That the threat may not be very specific, but it is imminent.’

‘That didn’t work?’

He shook his head. ‘I know this guy. He’s going to background brief that this is all kabuki, designed to make Londoners scared. And if people start asking those kind of questions …’

Croke nodded. ‘Can we escalate?’

‘How do you mean?’

‘Have your search teams put on HazMat uniforms, wave some Geiger counters around.’

Morgenstern squinted at him like he was crazy. ‘You want people thinking we’ve got a dirty bomb on our hands?’

‘It would explain why we couldn’t risk waiting, wouldn’t it?’

Morgenstern laughed. ‘I’m going to enjoy working with you,’ he said.