Next In Line

Chapter 27

‘I thought the Gold Commander usually remained back at base while Silver ran the operation on the ground with Bronze to assist him?’ said William.

‘Then you thought wrong,’ said Holbrooke, looking around to take in everything that was happening. He could see over a hundred highly trained officers surrounding the concert hall, all of them wearing high-vis jackets over their uniforms, to warn anyone who hadn’t come to join in the chorus of ‘Land of Hope and Glory’ to stay away. Holbrooke clearly believed prevention was better than cure. ‘Did your search officers come up with anything half interesting when they combed the building earlier this morning?’

‘They went over every inch of the hall from the roof to the basement, sir,’ said William, ‘but all they found was an empty box of Swan Vesta matches that the overnight cleaners must have missed. I went up on the roof myself and walked around the glass dome, and didn’t spot anything suspicious. But the dogs have just moved in and are checking the auditorium row by row, from the stalls to the gods.’

‘Then he can’t have entered the building yet. Several possible suspects were seen heading towards London this morning, coming from Manchester, Birmingham and Bradford, not all of them by direct routes. They could of course be decoys, but if any of them come within a mile of the hall, they’ll be apprehended, taken in for questioning, and not released until later — much later. What time do the doors open to the public?’

‘Six o’clock,’ said William, glancing up at the roof of the Royal College of Art, where he could see half a dozen snipers sweeping the crowd with binoculars. ‘The conductor, Sir John Pritchard, will walk onto the stage at seven thirty, by which time four of my team will be mingling with the promenaders.’

‘Along with ten of my operatives,’ said Holbrooke as he checked the traffic lights on the corner of Exhibition Road, which he had control over. William’s gaze settled on the Albert Memorial, a hundred yards away in Kensington Gardens. On its steps a young couple were embracing, but he knew they weren’t lovers, as one was keeping a watchful eye on the park, while the other focused on the road in front of the main entrance to the Albert Hall. William had to admire how calm Holbrooke appeared to be, while he himself remained uncomfortably on edge, all too aware that a couple of hundred operatives were out there on his recommendation and, even worse, on information supplied by a man he didn’t trust.

By the time the sun began to dip behind the French Ambassador’s residence, a steady stream of excited concert-goers were making their way towards the hall in anticipation of the evening’s entertainment ahead.

‘I’ll leave you now, sir, and join my team inside,’ said William.

‘Make sure you’re the last person to leave the building,’ said the Gold Commander.

William liked the way Holbrooke ran things, leaving nothing to chance. He crossed the road and entered the hall as if he were an ordinary concert-goer, watching carefully as the punter’s tickets were checked and then double-checked, creating a long line of disgruntled promenaders. Even after they’d escaped and made their way into the auditorium, they were then checked for a third time. One ticket holder protested when his backpack was emptied onto a table manned by a vigilant plainclothes police officer, and became even more heated when told he could pick it up from the cloakroom after the performance was over.

‘Bloody police state,’ he proclaimed at the top of his voice, before heading off to join his mates in the arena.

William made his way slowly around the wide corridor that circled the auditorium, before going inside to join the boisterous revellers. Some of them had already been there for over an hour, and would be the last to depart, long after the musicians had finally left the stage. He prayed they would depart singing.

He quickly spotted Paul and Jackie, then finally Rebecca, but they didn’t acknowledge him. He nearly missed Ross, who was dressed in a scruffy T-shirt and torn jeans, blending in with the promenaders as if he were one of them. In theory it was his night off, but William knew nothing would have stopped him being there, even if he hadn’t been invited.

His team were already settled in their positions at the four points of the compass, from which they were able to scan the crowd as they searched for a lone figure who looked out of his comfort zone.

William checked the tiers above him, where dozens of plainclothes officers — he could spot a copper at a hundred paces — were checking tickets, directing people to their seats and selling programmes, while at the same time looking for that one elusive individual who might have a cocktail of explosives secreted beneath a bulky shirt, jumper or jacket. The Gold Commander had warned his team that their quarry might have already attended several other prom concerts during the past month to get the lie of the land and reduce the risk of obvious ‘signpost’ warnings.

‘Never forget,’ Holbrooke had reminded them, ‘we’re dealing with a person who’s been indoctrinated, and is willing to sacrifice his life for a cause he believes in.’

As each minute passed, the frenzy of expectation grew louder and louder. Eventually the orchestra made its way on stage, greeted by loud cheers, followed by a special ovation for the first violinist, who took a bow. Finally, when it seemed they could bear it no longer, the audience erupted as Sir John Pritchard made his entrance, stopping to bow several times before mounting the podium and turning his back on them. William scanned the crowd, but couldn’t spot anyone who wasn’t joining in the applause. At one level he was relieved, but at the same time, if he’d been set up, he was going to make sure Faulkner’s sentence was doubled.

Sir John raised his baton and waited for total silence before he allowed the orchestra to strike up. The attentive audience were enraptured from the first note, and seemed to know every demiquaver of every concerto, as well as every overture that cascaded down from the stage. William ignored what was happening on the stage as he continued to scan the auditorium. His gaze settled for a moment on a woman seated in the front row of one of the loggia boxes in the second tier. Beside her sat a young man he’d seen at the Frans Hals opening a few weeks earlier.

Several times during the next two hours, William wished Beth was standing by his side enjoying Rossini, Brahms and Benjamin Britten. He promised himself he would bring Beth next year — if it wasn’t cancelled in memory of... But he didn’t allow his attention to waver for a moment, although he found it difficult not to join in when all those around him began lustily singing ‘See the Conquering Hero Come’, followed by yet more rapturous applause.

Sir John waited for the tumult to die down before he raised his baton once again, to allow mezzo-soprano Sarah Walker to render the opening bars of ‘Rule Britannia’, and the audience to become the largest chorus on earth. Then the moment came, the moment they had all been waiting for, the moment William had been dreading. He prayed Faulkner was wrong.

The conductor turned around, faced the audience and raised his baton, inviting more than five thousand untrained voices to become his raucous choir. As they delivered the opening line of ‘Land of Hope and Glory’, William could spot only four people who weren’t joining in.

The music reached its climactic conclusion and the audience cheered wildly, demanding an encore. Sir John turned to face them and bowed, smiling briefly before he marched off the stage, but to no one’s surprise he returned a few moments later to an even louder reception, if that were possible. A hush descended as he raised his baton for the last time.

William waited for the final gasp of ‘Britons never never never shall be slaves’ and was breathing a sigh of relief when he heard what sounded like an explosion in the distance, muffled by the sound of crashing cymbals and the roars of delight as the orchestra rose to receive a ten-minute standing ovation.

William immediately charged towards the nearest exit and out onto the pavement to find Rebecca was a yard ahead of him, with Jackie following close behind.

He could hear a siren in the distance, and turned to see the flashing lights of an ambulance speeding towards him. The Gold Commander stood in the middle of the road, hands on hips, eyes scanning in every direction.

William ran across the road as a second ambulance skidded to a halt a few yards from him. The back door was thrown open and two green-clad paramedics jumped out and were directed by a group of armed officers, who had seemingly materialized from nowhere, towards the Albert Memorial. William chased after them through a cloud of smoke to the far side of the park.

William could only watch as a motionless body was lifted gently off the ground and laid on a stretcher. He recognized the victim as the man who’d been embracing his fellow officer on the steps of the Albert Memorial earlier that evening.

The young man was carried gently back towards the waiting ambulance, and moments later its doors closed before it sped away, the traffic lights still green. Holbrooke had already arranged for every traffic light between the Albert Hall and the Brompton Hospital to remain green. He even knew the name of the doctor who would be waiting for his patient. The Gold Commander left nothing to chance.

A few minutes later the revellers began streaming out of the Albert Hall to make their way home, entirely oblivious to what had just happened a couple of hundred yards away.

They couldn’t have failed to notice an unusually large police presence, with an ambulance, back doors open, parked on the opposite side of the road. Some stopped and stared, while others hurried on.

‘A lucky escape,’ said a voice, and William turned to see Holbrooke standing beside him.

‘Will the young officer be all right?’ were William’s first words, as the ambulance reached the traffic lights, sirens blaring, lights flashing.

‘They don’t know yet. Just be thankful he’s still alive.’

A few yards away a young woman, the other half of the embracing couple, was sitting on the ground, head in hands, weeping. Rebecca was kneeling by her side trying to comfort her.

‘Thank God he didn’t get inside the Hall,’ said William.

‘He got far too close for my liking,’ said Gold as the boisterous crowd continued to hail taxis, climb on buses or head for the nearest tube station, many of them still singing. ‘I never thought he’d find it possible to get past so many of my officers. He was finally spotted by the young Sergeant who’d been sitting on the steps of the memorial for more than eight hours. He challenged him, but the suicide bomber turned around and started to run away, while my man chased after him without any thought for his own safety. He’d nearly caught up with the terrorist when he blew himself up.’ He paused as the ambulance turned right into Exhibition Road and disappeared out of sight. ‘Fortunately, his colleague was far enough away when the bomb went off to avoid injury. What you won’t know is that they were engaged.’

William wondered if either of them would be serving in the Met in a year’s time. One injured physically, the other mentally. Another siren brought him back to the real world.

‘So it looks as if Faulkner’s status has moved from D4 to A1,’ he said.

‘Which only creates more problems.’ Holbrooke paused. ‘For both of us.’

‘Like what?’

‘Believe me, Warwick, Mansour Khalifah will want revenge. He’ll consider this,’ he said, waving a hand across the scene, ‘a further humiliation, and will now be looking for an even bigger target. As you’re the only contact we have with Faulkner, I’m going to tell you exactly what I want you to do.’