A Real Job (52 page)

A man Steve estimated to be in his early twenties answered first. Pointing to the dead man he said, ‘I was parking my car just over there when this poor bloke got out of a Transit van and started running off. Then I saw another man who was with him in the van get out and shoot him in the back. It was scary.’

‘When was this?’ Steve asked as Ray checked the body.

‘A few minutes ago. He won’t be far away.’

‘Which way did he go?’

‘He turned round here and then turned left going out of Chester. It had Henderson’s on the side of the van. That’s all I can remember.’

Ray stood up and said to Steve, ‘I’ll stay with the body and let George know what’s happened. You go and see if you can find the van.’

*     *     *

David picked himself up and stood in the foyer. Guests and staff began emerging from the banqueting suite in a state of confusion. Gathering his senses, David went into the banqueting suite. SO15 and MI5 officers were guiding the guests out of the suite through the rear patio doors towards the row of Henderson’s Transit vans parked up at the rear of the hotel. Although dazed, David remembered PIRA’s tactics. Thinking the Real IRA were unlikely to act any differently it dawned on him the kitchen bomb was the primary device and it was highly likely the van Mahoney was using would have a much larger secondary device timed to explode just after the first explosion. Having got used to Islamic based terror groups’ tactics of suicide bombers and single blasts, it had been some time since they dealt with Irish terror tactics. He knew he had to stop his colleagues from guiding the guests out to the rear of the hotel. Pushing his way past the guests as they were trying to get out of the patio doors, he began shouting at them to leave the hotel through the front entrance, ‘. . . there’s a second bomb in one of the vans.’ Few paid any attention to him. As the ringing in his ears muffled any sound, to him his voice sounded like his head was in a bucket of water. He wondered if they could hear him.

*     *     *

Driving the van with its misfiring engine through Chester’s suburban outskirts, Mahoney knew he had to ditch it. Apart from not making much progress, he knew the police would have a description and the registration number of the van by now and would be looking for it. He stopped the van in a bus stop lay-by and carrying his holdall he walked round to the back of the van and got in. Closing the doors behind him just enough so they did not shut fully preventing him from being locked in, Mahoney felt vulnerable. Bright yellow with a large logo for Henderson’s Catering on both sides, it could not be missed. Having no windows in the back through which he could see, he had to move quickly as he changed out of the Henderson’s drivers uniform into his own clothes. As he did, he weighed up his options. Debating whether to try and get a train to Holyhead or to steal a car and drive up there, he began to put on his blue denim jeans. With one foot on the left leg and his right leg laid bare, the rear doors opened unexpectedly.

Mahoney froze. Pointing his Glock pistol at him, Steve Adams said, ‘Going somewhere Mahoney?’

*     *     *

Stuart Stroud walked over to David and began saying something to him. Pointing to his ears indicating he could not hear David shouted out there was a larger bomb in one of the Transit vans parked at the rear of the hotel. Seeing the officer covered in dust and the back of his jacket ripped, Stuart realised the blast had made David deaf. Stuart Stroud immediately relayed over his radio what David told him as he ran over to the guests that had gone to the rear of the hotel, away from the parked vehicles. Other SO15 and MI5 officers took up the shout for everyone to leave the banqueting hall to the front of the hotel. David walked to the rear to help guide guests out of the room when he felt someone grab his arm. Turning round, he saw it was Alan Trevelyan. ‘What’s going on?’ he asked.

David pointed to his ears, and said, ‘I can’t hear anything. My hearings been damaged from the first bomb blast in the kitchen. We’ve to get everyone out of here to the front of the hotel. There’s an even larger bomb likely to go off and it’s in one of the vans parked at the back.’

‘Come on, I’ll help you’ Trevelyan said. Going out into the rear of the hotel they saw a large group of people standing there. David shouted at them to go back into the banqueting suite and leave the hotel through the front entrance. One of the male guests looked condescendingly at David. Eyeing him up and down, noticing the officer’s ripped suit covered in dust, his hair now unkempt and blood trickling down his face from the cuts to his head, the man said, ‘And who are you to tell us what to do?’

‘This man is a Special Branch officer and I’m Lord Trevelyan of Bude. If you want to stay alive do as you’re fucking told.’

Sheepishly, the man said, ‘If you say so,’ and started running into the banqueting suite.

Many were still ignoring David. One was Julia Hudson. Realising it was David she gathered up her gown and ran over to him. ‘What is it?’ she asked him.

‘Julia,’ Alan Trevelyan said, ‘David’s deaf from the blast. He reckons there’s a bomb in one of these vans. Help us get everyone out from the back of the hotel towards the front.’

‘Of course.’ Waving her arms as if guiding cattle through a field towards a gate she started shouting, ‘I’m the chief Constable of Cheshire. Leave this area immediately. A second bomb is likely to go off.’

Alan and David joined Julia in encouraging the people to leave the area. Once everyone left the rear of the hotel into the banqueting suite, the three followed them as they made their way towards the front of the hotel. After walking a few paces into the room, there was a large explosion. Much louder than the first with a stronger blast that shattered the glass panes in the picture window and patio doors. With lethal shards of glass flying through the banqueting suite and plaster from the ceiling falling, as the whole room was shaking Alan pushed David to the floor and lay on top of him.

*     *     *

His pistol pointed at the Irishman, Steve said, ‘It’s over Mahoney,’

As he spoke, both heard an explosion in the distance. A wide grin came across Mahoney’s face. Dreading that he had a good idea where the explosion came from Steve did not turn round to see what it was, he kept his eyes and the barrel of his pistol trained on Mahoney who started laughing as he said, ‘It’s over and I’ve won. That hotel’s just gone up in fucking smoke.’

Continuing to look at Mahoney Steve said nothing. The only sign of an emotion from him was his nostrils flaring even wider. ‘The Prince, all those important guests and the police officers they’re all dead’, the Irishman said, goading Steve, ‘That includes your mate, David fucking Hurst. He was more of a man than you fucking are. He won’t have cried like a baby like you did when Sean McCrossan and the other lads had a pistol to your head all those years ago. Even though his body will be in bits at least he died like a man, not like you. And just think, you couldn’t save him like he saved you that night.’

Fighting not to show any emotion in his face, the thought of David being killed by the man he was pointing his Glock pistol at made him place a little more pressure on the trigger. ‘You murdering bastard. That’s all you can fucking do isn’t it?’

‘It’s not murder, they’re casualties of war.’

Along with images in his head of David being killed in the explosion, Steve then thought of the farmer’s wife, the security guard and the two uniform officers. ‘You fucking thick Irish bastard, the war’s over. It finished after the Good Friday Agreement.’

‘You’re the fucking thick bastard. The war never ended and it won’t be until the British are out of Ireland. That’s what the Omagh bomb should have told your lot just after the Agreement was signed.’ Although Steve was stony faced, Mahoney could see he was getting to him, ‘You’ll never save everyone all the time. You’ll never beat us. I’ve only got to be lucky once, you’ve got to be lucky all of the time and that explosion tells me your luck’s just fucking run out.’

‘And so has yours, you Irish bastard.’ Steve said squeezing the trigger of his pistol twice.

As Mahoney fell backwards, Steve jumped into the back of the van and looked inside the holdall. Finding Mahoney’s pistol, he took it out of the bag and calmly placed it in the Irishman’s right hand. Looking down at the dead terrorist, he said, ‘You shouldn’t have pulled your gun on me and that’s for those you killed without mercy. Davey might only have been half Irish, but he was more of a fucking Irishman that you ever were.’

*     *     *

Panic ran through the crowd that had not been evacuated from the front of the hotel before the explosion. As the high numbers made it a slow process, not everyone had been cleared from the area before the explosion. That panic became more pervasive when some of those at the front began to scream, some fainting. Uniform officers began to create cordons at the front of the hotel to allow ambulances dispatched from all around the Cheshire and Mersey area to gain access to the main entrance.

Wading through the wreckage of the hotel’s banqueting suite, George saw a dazed Julia Hudson. She looked the complete opposite to when he saw her in the control room twenty minutes earlier. Hair bedraggled, her expensive gown ripped, George noticed a large shard of glass embedded in her right arm. He went over to her and said, ‘Your arm? Julia are you alright?’

She looked at the shard of glass stuck in her forearm and said, ‘I’m fine but there are others in here that aren’t. We need to help them. Have you seen your father-in-law?’

‘No,’ George said putting his arm around her, ‘Come on Julia. You need to get that arm seen to.’ He called over a uniform officer to take Julia to an ambulance outside. As she walked out of the wreckage of the banqueting suite, George looked around the room searching for his father-in-law and David.

‘George, have you found David?’ Debbie asked running into the room trying to keep the panic out of her voice as she surveyed the carnage.

‘Not yet,’ he said looking up at Debbie, ‘I don’t know where he was when the bomb went off.’

‘How about Alan? Was he in here when it went off?’

‘I don’t know,’ George said taking hold of Debbie by the arm, ‘let’s make our way to what’s left of the patio doors and we’ll search from there.’

Glass crunched under their feet as they carefully walked through the banqueting suite. Those that were knocked down by the blast were coming to and slowly picking themselves up from the floor. Amid the moaning of the injured, Debbie said, ‘It’s the glass that’s done the damage. Just look at these shards. They’re everywhere.’

As dust was settling in the room, it made it difficult to recognise anyone instantly. All the people’s clothes and hair were now the same monochrome colour. By the patio doors they saw an elderly man lying on top of another male. George leant down and gently turned the body of the elderly male over to one side. Instantly he recognised his father-in-law. Underneath Alan, they saw David’s motionless body. Placing Alan Trevelyan onto his side, his back punctured with shards of glass, George could feel a faint pulse. He shouted to one of the officers to get a paramedic. Leaning over and in a quiet, reassuring manner, he said in Alan’s ear, ‘It’s George. You’re going to be fine. We’ll get you to hospital.’

Debbie turned David over onto his back and cradled his head in her arm. Still alive, the pains in his head were causing him to moan as he started to come to. ‘You’re one lucky bugger David Hurst,’ she said wiping dust from his forehead, ‘talk about the luck of the Irish, your Irish half’s been working overtime.’ Opening his eyes he tired to speak. ‘Don’t speak, save your strength. Everything’s alright. You got most of the people out. Just lie here and we’ll wait for the paramedics. You’re going to be OK,’ Debbie said. Closing his eyes, he slumped back. In the ruins of what was an ornate room, watching the expressionless walking wounded covered in a blanket of grey dust wandering aimlessly in a shock instilled silence caused Debbie’s spine to shiver at the thought of what might have been if David had not been got most of the guests out.

Chapter Forty-Two
Belmarsh Prison, High Security Wing, 10.30
hours, Tuesday, 10
th
November
 

After arriving at the high security wing of Belmarsh Prison, Hurst and Adams were sitting in an interview room waiting for McElvaney to be produced by the prison officers. As they were waiting, their thoughts returned to the summer investigation into the Real IRA. Apart from cuts and bruises, all David Hurst sustained in the bomb attack was concussion. The deafness he suffered after the first blast was only temporary. Within weeks his hearing fully returned, unimpaired. By lying on top of David, Alan Trevelyan saved him from suffering any serious injury. During the months after the bombing, Alan convalesced in George’s home, with his grandchildren. They enjoyed doing all his fetching and carrying as they got to know their grandfather even more. Something they had not done too much of when he was a busy House of Lords and Supreme Court judge living in London. In the months Alan was recovering, David made sure he visited him regularly.

Being his closest friend and having worked so long together, reading between the lines of Steve’s statement regarding the shooting of Mahoney, David knew in his heart the Irishman never offered any resistance to Steve. Whenever his DS asked what really happened, Steve would simply mile and reply, ‘It’s all in my statement.’

What they would discuss openly was Murphy and his wife being found dead at a villa in a Turkish resort. Although never confirmed, the intelligence reports strongly suggested he ran off with the money given to him by Sayfel to fund the Real IRA. Al Qaeda, and Sayfel in particular hunted him down and killed Murphy and his wife. With the success of the investigation into the Manchester and Bradford Al Qaeda cells, along with the arrests of the Real IRA, Sayfel’s plans of starting a terrorist war on two fronts in the UK had been stopped, for now. It was frustrating for both the officers that Sayfel and the Real IRA had a degree of success. Fourteen people died with many more injured in the Grosvenor Hotel bombing. Even though Hurst’s actions prevented the death toll from being even higher, demonstrating their capability to operate on the British mainland put the Real IRA firmly on the terrorist map.