Siege

Seventy-four

LIAM ROY SHETLAND, CODENAMED Bull, had been buzzing all day. He’d finally killed a man. Put a gun against his head and pulled the trigger.

It was one of the most amazing things he’d ever experienced. Better even than sex, and similar too, in a weird way. There’d been this incredible rush as the bloke died – like having a really big orgasm. He’d been reliving every detail in his head ever since – the way the blood had splattered on the floor; the funny little grunt the bloke had made. Which was just as well really, because otherwise the day would have been shit boring, hanging round on his own in a house that reeked of mould, babysitting a couple of brats, and without even a Playstation or the net to keep him occupied. Just a tiny little telly with nothing but Freeview.

But the time was fast approaching when he would achieve the kind of notoriety he’d been dreaming of all his life, and he could feel the anticipation building. This was his chance to prove wrong all the bastards who’d ever doubted him. His mum. His teachers. The Paki at the Job Centre who always used to look down his nose at him. All of them.

The handler should be calling him any time now, telling him he could leave. There wasn’t a lot of time left if he was going to get to the rendezvous in time. His instructions were simple. He was to drive the van as close as he could to the Stanhope Hotel, and park it in as public a place as possible. There was a bomb in the back, set to go off at eleven p.m., and he needed to be well away from it when it blew. Fox had given him a rucksack containing a smaller bomb, and his job was to take this and continue towards the Stanhope on foot. When he got to the outer cordon where the crowds and TV cameras were gathered, he’d been told to get rid of the bag somewhere among them, without making it look too obvious, and then get the hell out, because the rucksack bomb was timed to go off at 11.15.

Liam was pleased he’d been given such responsibility by Fox, who was a bloke he seriously admired. Fox was the kind of soldier Liam wanted to be, and he was jealous of him in that hotel with the others, holding the whole world at bay. He’d been watching what was happening on the telly for most of the day, proud that he was a part of it all, although he still couldn’t quite understand why they had to work with Arabs and Muslims, the very people he most hated, even though Fox had explained it to him several times.

His mobile bleeped and he checked the screen. It was a text from the handler. All it said was WE’RE READY.

Liam smiled, leaning over and picking up the gun from the table next to him.

It was time to do the kids.