Ultimatum

Fifty-eight

20.06

The squad cars were arriving in force now, blocking the road at both ends. The problem was, thought Tina ruefully, they were far too late. It had been at least ten minutes since the black Shogun had disappeared into the night, and so far it hadn’t been located, even though dozens of police vehicles and a helicopter had now joined the search, and every minute that passed meant their terrorist was getting further and further away.

Initial reports from Control suggested that there were as many as fifty casualties from the strike on the Shard, including at least two MPs and a well-known TV reporter, but so far there was no word on how many of them were fatalities.

Tina and Bolt were now coordinating the evacuation of all the properties within a fifty-yard radius of the house from where the missile had been fired, in case there were further suspects inside.

‘The house belongs to a Mr Azim Butt,’ Tina told Bolt as she finished leading a couple and their two young children beyond the thin strip of scene-of-crime tape that acted as the edge of their cordon. ‘Thirty-one years old, and keeps himself to himself. According to the neighbours, he’s lived here for about eighteen months. They reckon he’s got a girlfriend who’s often here too.’

Bolt nodded. ‘That tallies with what Control have found out about him. He owns a couple of businesses supplying imported goods to the restaurant and retail trades. Makes OK money, but he’s got a three-hundred-grand mortgage on the house. He’s got no criminal record, and his name doesn’t come up on any watchlists, but he is a Muslim.’

‘He definitely wasn’t the man I saw drive out in the Shogun. The man I saw was white, early or possibly mid-forties, weather-beaten features. Big build too, whereas Mr Butt is supposedly only a little guy.’

‘So, who the hell is he?’ Bolt frowned, the lines on his face looking more pronounced than Tina could remember. He still looked shaken up by everything that had happened, and she could tell that he was trying hard not to show it.

‘Whoever he is, he’s got to be someone with a military background. You need to be trained to fire a Stinger. Not any idiot can do it. And he didn’t panic when we tried to intercept him either.’

‘We’ll get him,’ said Bolt emphatically. ‘He won’t get far with half the Met on his back.’

Tina resisted saying that he’d managed pretty well so far. Instead, she turned and walked back through the cordon to carry on helping with the evacuation. Fox had claimed the people behind Islamic Command were homegrown extremists, which would explain why the man leaving the property was white. And they’d already established a link between Fox and Islamic Command via Jetmir Brozi. But she still felt they were missing something. And she wanted to know where the hell the owner, Mr Butt, was.

A uniformed cop was approaching the suspect property, completely against all the rules. As Tina watched, he leaned down and peered in through the letterbox.

‘Hey, get back from there,’ she called to him, knowing it was hypocritical of her to criticize a fellow cop for breaking the rules, when she’d made a career out of it, but knowing too that the terrorists had left a booby-trapped bomb for the police earlier, and might easily have done so again. ‘No one’s going in there until bomb disposal arrive.’

The cop turned back to her, his expression anxious. ‘But there’s someone in there, and he’s crying out for help.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Tina, walking down the drive and grabbing him by the arm. ‘We’ve got to be really careful here. It could be a trap.’

‘He sounds like he’s in trouble, ma’am.’

‘OK, but get back.’

She looked over to where Mike Bolt was now talking to a group of CO19 officers who’d just arrived on the scene, then bent down and opened the letterbox.

She heard it immediately: the faint sound of a man calling out from somewhere within the house, the fear in his voice obvious.

‘This is the police,’ she called out. ‘Is that Mr Butt?’

He didn’t answer so she repeated herself, louder this time.

There was a pause, and then he shouted back, ‘Yes. You’ve got to help me. I’m trapped.’

‘I hear you. We’ll be with you very soon.’

She stood up and waved at Bolt to get his attention.

Voorhess pulled up to the entrance of the park, and parked the police car against the fence in the shelter of some trees where it would be difficult to see it from the road. Sirens were still blaring in all directions but he no longer took any notice of them. Instead, he grabbed his holdall from the trunk, and climbed over the fence and into the park. He moved swiftly in the darkness towards the other side, forcing himself to stay calm, even though he felt more than ever like a hunted animal.

He needed to cause a diversion by detonating the bomb at Mr Butt’s house. The police would be gathered round it now, making their final preparations for entry, and he was sure to catch a few of them with the explosion. With any luck, he’d also hit the woman who’d seen him.

He pulled the mobile from his pocket and speed-dialled the number of the phone attached to the battery pack inside the bomb, wondering if he’d be able to hear the dull thud of the explosion from where he was now.

‘What the hell are you doing? Get back from there!’

Bolt marched towards Tina, waving her away from Butt’s front door, thinking that she was like a naughty schoolkid sometimes, always delving into places where she shouldn’t be going. He could feel his legs shaking beneath him as he walked. He felt dizzy, and was still having difficulty coming to terms with the fact that he’d almost been crushed to death only a few minutes earlier. Above the buildings in the distance, he could see the thick black plume of smoke pumping out of the upper floors of the Shard into the night sky — a brutal reminder of the attack he hadn’t prevented. If only he’d reacted quicker, if only he’d kept a better eye on Jones, and had him followed to the meeting where they’d got the missile. If only he’d worked harder these past few months to catch the people behind the Stanhope siege, then he might not be here. But he’d failed. It was as simple as that, and he only had himself to blame.

‘Mr Butt’s inside,’ said Tina, coming forward to meet him. ‘He’s calling out saying he’s trapped, and he sounds scared.’

‘Just get back from there, and keep going with the evacuation. Bomb disposal are on the way. It’s best just to leave it to them now.’

She nodded and turned away, while Bolt looked up at the house. If Butt was involved in the attack, the only reason he’d still be inside would be to ambush them, presumably in some kind of suicide attack when they broke into his house. Yet, how was he connected to Cain and Cecil Boorman? The whole thing didn’t make sense.

The explosion that ripped through the first floor of the house in a single blinding roar sent Bolt flying backwards and tumbling over the low wall separating the front of the property from the pavement. He remembered feeling a wave of hot air rush over him, followed by the sound of pieces of masonry falling around him with strangely dull thuds — all in the space of half a second. And then he felt a sharp, sudden pain, and the world seemed to fade out.