Century of Jihad (13 page)

Paul replied, ‘All nuclear power stations are protected by armed police officers from the Civil Nuclear Constabulary who, not only secure the site, but also patrol externally. All power stations are surrounded with chain link fencing and more vital areas are given further security protection.’

This question and answer session continued for another hour. It eventually came to an end when the local dignitary stood up and, holding his hands in the air to indicate he wanted quiet, announced:

‘Well, ladies and gentlemen, I would like to thank Doctor Prentice for coming here this evening. His explanation of the workings of a nuclear power plant, and his answers to your questions will, I hope, have alleviated some of the concerns held by members of the audience.’

There were shouts of derision from certain elements, and the air was full of the sound of private discussion taking place amongst the gathering as the audience left the hall. They continued to talk in small groups outside.

Paul remained in the hall talking with the organisers. He was keen to get to his car for the long journey home, but experience had taught him to ensure the audience had gone before leaving himself.

Half an hour later, Paul climbed into his blue, Subaru Impreza, started the engine and turned the heater to full blast. The windows needed de-icing before he could go anywhere. Whilst waiting, he sorted through his CD collection, selecting a few country and western discs for the journey home.

He then called his wife, ‘Mist and sheep on the road not withstanding, I should be home around 12.30.’

The arms shipments, like the reconnaissance operations, had now been underway for more than a year in preparation for the assault on Britain’s nuclear power generation facilities. The shipment destined for the attack cell mounting the assault on Oldbury, was due to come ashore in North Wales in the early hours of the morning following Paul Prentice’s Public Meeting at Thornbury.

The planning cell involved in this particular operation set off in their blue van from their base in Slough at 9pm. The atmosphere in the van was very tense. No-one spoke. None of them had done this journey before, but each was very familiar with the route they were taking. Their instructions had been delivered to them some days previously. Each had first memorised their orders, and then together they’d pored over a route map to put the instructions into perspective. Using the motorway network for the first half of the long journey, at junction 7 on the M54 they finally joined the A5 towards Shrewsbury, and then followed the A458 into North Wales.

Once clear of the motorways and Shrewsbury, the traffic became very light – a combination of the late hour and lower population density. The driver was ever conscious of the need to adhere to speed limits so as not to draw any undue attention. Just after Welshpool, they’d had a bit of a scare when they suddenly became aware of a car in their wing mirrors approaching at great speed. Its front head lights appeared to be flashing. As it got closer, the driver signalled and overtook. Seconds later, all they could see were the rear lights of the blue Subaru Impreza, which quickly disappeared into the distance.

Despite the entire journey taking place in the winter darkness, the planning cell members became very aware of the changed environment once on the twisting roads that cut through the North Wales countryside. As they became more accustomed to the darkness, the team could make out sinister shapes caught in the van’s headlights and in the moonlight, coming out from the mountainsides. These were rocky outcrops and large boulders, strewn over the slopes. It was as if the scenery was enveloping them, it was all around them – very ‘in your face’. They were also aware of considerable expanses of dark patches on the mountainsides. These were thick pine forests, which stretched like a blanket over the top of the mountains. Grazing land ran along side the narrow roads and stretched up the mountainsides; the habitat of thousands of sheep.

After an hour’s driving through the mountains and pastures of North Wales, they reached the coast where they encountered the sea mist which gave an eerie sensation. Continuing along the coast, they drove through small villages, all dark and silent. Occasionally they were startled by sudden movement along the roadside, but soon realised this was stray sheep, which had escaped from the fields.

As they neared their destination, the van passed a sign on their right, indicating the turning for a retirement village for Polish residents in their senior years at Penrhos. This was the final main road marker they’d memorised, so they now knew they were only a couple of miles away from their final destination, Llanbedrog; a small community with only a handful of properties, including what looked like a medieval church. Bearing left off the main road, just past a garage, they headed down the narrow road into Llanbedrog, peering out to ensure they didn’t miss the sign for the beach. Then, suddenly, they were upon the sign. Headlights now switched off, the van and its six occupants disappeared down a tunnel of trees on a narrow single-track, tarmac road heading towards the beach and the pick-up point for their lethal delivery.

The van came to a halt close to the sand. A large green metal bollard sticking out of the ground and some large rocks on the sand beyond, prevented the driver from proceeding any further in the van. It was now 3am.

The team leader dialled a number on his mobile phone and a muffled voice on the other end of the line muttered, ‘Hello. Supplies.’

The team leader replied, ‘Collections here.’

They waited a few minutes. Then they all got out of the vehicle, its internal lights switched off. Across the narrow, tree covered road from where their van was now parked, and perched on top of a wall of rock with stone steps leading to it, was a restaurant, now closed for the winter months. In silence and in darkness, save for a watery glow from intermittent moonlight occasionally obscured by dark lumbering clouds slowly moving across the sky, they made their way down to the beach. The sand stretched a hundred yards or so down to the sea, which was calm on this night. They were relieved to see that the bay wasn’t shrouded in the mist they’d encountered in the last part of their journey. This enabled them to pick out the few small, privately owned yachts lying off the coast, and a larger one moored closer to the shore. Also visible a short distance around the coastline was what looked like a white cottage, faintly lit by the moonlight. All that appeared to be separating it from the sea were huge boulders. The scene was silent, save for the gently lapping waters of the sea.

Looking more closely around the immediate area, they became aware of other properties behind a line of trees, rising from the beach behind them. But all seemed peaceful. No house lights were on, and there appeared to be no activity save their own.

The team and their compatriots on the yacht were aware that silence and speed were of the essence. The terrorists knew that the authorities often relied on local people to act as their eyes and ears in vulnerable and remote coastal areas which are difficult to monitor. Small boats, in particular, are almost impossible to track on radar and the authorities are concerned about their use in arms and drug smuggling, and in the trafficking of illegal immigrants. A vigilant local tonight would be a disaster!

Standing on the shore, the men from Slough could just about make out activity on the large yacht. Dark shapes were hauling what looked like a large object over the side of the yacht and onto, presumably, a smaller boat anchored below. The smaller vessel was hidden in the shadow of the larger boat and out of sight of the men on the shore.

As they waited patiently on the shore no-one spoke. They did, however, constantly scan their surroundings, checking for lights or movement from the houses and tree line behind them.

Then they made out the silhouette of a smaller craft emerging from the shadow of the large yacht. In the darkness there appeared to be two dark figures silently rowing towards the shore. The rowers eventually beached their flat-bottomed rigid boat and the six man shore team came towards them. They quietly exchanged greetings and, having off-loaded the first crate, the two rowers set off back to the yacht. Two of the terrorists on the shore gently and silently carried this box back to the van, which had been left in the shadow of the trees. This process was repeated two more times.

In all, three crates were collected by the planning team. They contained one RPG7 rocket-propelled grenade launcher, six AK47 assault rifles, and one containing ammunition. Having completed the transfer successfully, the rowers returned to their yacht for the last time and the six terrorists in the shore party headed back to the van. Four of the men got into the vehicle immediately. The remaining two stood on either side of the narrow road and guided the driver, as he turned the vehicle round in the tight space available. Having completed this delicate manoeuvre in silence, the two men boarded the van and, again without headlights, the vehicle made its way under the canopy of trees covering the single track road, back up towards the small village and on to the main road for the return journey to Slough. It was now 5.30am. The terrorists felt they stood out less at this time of the morning as there was already some work traffic on the road, and this would increase as the morning wore on. Having completed this part of their journey successfully, the atmosphere in the van was more relaxed than on the outward journey. They were aware, however, that the long journey home could have its moments of tension and they had clear instructions on how to handle any unplanned impediments to their mission. Their briefing had been clear. They were to act ruthlessly at the first hint of a threat to their mission; no matter where the threat came from.

The route home was the reverse of the outward journey. They headed toward Porthmadog on the A497, going through the town and travelling past Port Meirion which, one of the party pointed out, was made famous by the sixties TV series ‘
The Prisoner
’, before eventually turning right and crossing a narrow toll bridge. They carried on through Harlech, dominated by its castle, and on down to Barmouth passing again through small villages such as Dyffryn Ardudwy. At Dolgellau, they joined the A458 passing Welshpool and on to Shrewsbury, which they skirted, before resuming their motorway journey on the M54. Joining the M6 they found themselves crawling in rush-hour traffic all the way to the M5 turn off and beyond. They could feel tensions rising as cars, vans and trucks suddenly changed lanes without warning, causing brakes to be slammed on. The last thing they wanted was to be involved in an accident – no matter how minor! Eventually the M5 traffic eased and they made a short, scheduled stop at Frankley service station to refuel, grab a warm drink, and answer the call of nature. Back in the van again, they joined the M40 for the final leg of their journey home to Slough.

Their mission was completed without incident.

At 6pm on Sunday, 19
^th
December, Ahmed and his compatriots assembled for the final time in Ahmed’s Swindon apartment. The atmosphere was tense. Emotions in the room were a mixture of anticipation, anxiety, fear of failure and exhilaration. The waiting was at last over. The time for action had arrived!

Scattered across the country that night, eight other attack cells were also preparing themselves. Each cell was oblivious to the existence of the others.

Salim’s promised telephone call had come two days before, just after Ahmed had returned from work.

‘Greetings, my friend! It is Salim.’

Ahmed couldn’t speak. He’d been wondering anxiously when the call would come, ensuring that the phone was always fully charged. Now that it had, he was momentarily tongue-tied.

‘Greetings!’ he had eventually replied.

‘Is all well with you for Monday, 8.45am?’ Salim had enquired.

‘Yes, yes,’ was all Ahmed could say.

‘Good! Until Monday then!’ And with that, Salim had terminated the call.

Ahmed now thought back to that Friday night. He and the others had arranged to meet at Imran’s that evening and he had been nearly an hour late. The others had been very agitated by his lateness, but when he told them the news their reaction had been the same as his. Silence. Then they had all started talking, excitedly, at once and Ahmed had to shut them up. Saturday had come and gone in a blur. If questioned, none of the cell could have recounted what they had done that day.

Now with their mission just hours away, the Swindon cell spent some time in prayer and contemplation before going over the attack plan in depth. They reviewed the details and rehearsed their individual roles. Ahmed was conscious the team needed to sleep – it was going to be an early start and they would need to be alert. They were scheduled to arrive at the nuclear power station’s main gate at 8.45am and, once the operation was underway, there would be no respite. But the atmosphere in the small apartment was electric and it was unlikely anyone would rest. There were moments of deep emotion amongst the group members who had, over the months, become close friends with a common purpose, as well as brothers in arms.

Time in the apartment that Sunday evening seemed to take on a life of its own. At first it passed slowly – individual group members felt this when they checked their watches. Then, before they realised, it was time to set out on their mission. Final words of encouragement passed amongst the group as they moved towards the door of the apartment for the last time. Filing silently out of the front door, it took a few moments for their eyes to adjust to the darkness. Ahmed gently closed the front door. He glanced around furtively, but there was nothing to arouse concern.

It was 5.45am on the morning of Monday, 20
^th
December. The air was crisp and still. Frost had settled on the ground and the sound of their footsteps crunching on the pavement sounded like an army on the march. Ahmed found this a little amusing in the circumstances. The group made its way to the van in silence. The atmosphere in the street felt eerie and this was extenuated by the dull, unnatural glow from the street lamps. Opening the van doors, Ahmed stepped aside to let everyone clamber in, all the while keeping an eye on the silent street. The windscreen was frosted over, so he took a can of de-icer from behind the front passenger seat and gave the screen a few squirts. Finally he climbed in beside the driver, closed his door and prayed that the engine would start first time. To his relief it did, and the van drove off down the familiar street and out onto the main road heading for the A3102 and Junction 16 of the M4 motorway.