Nine Lives (24 page)
High up in One Canada Square, Archer glanced out of a window from the 31
st
floor. The winter sun was shining down across the city and the view was spectacular. From here, he could see all the landmarks; the London Eye. Big Ben. Westminster. Even Wembley in the distance. Tourists would have paid handsome money for a view like this but he snapped his attention back to the present.
He wasn’t here to sight-see.
He was standing in a long conference room, ten chairs positioned each side of a lacquered, polished table. Across the room Porter was kneeling down, searching under the table and checking the drawers.
‘Nothing,’ he said, shaking his head and climbing back to his feet.
Archer nodded and looked around his end. No luck.
The package wasn’t here.
Together, they left the room and moved swiftly out into the corridor. The 31
st
floor was a maze of hallways and different rooms. There were endless tables, drawers, cabinets, countless potential hiding places.
Archer looked around and cursed. The damn thing could be anywhere.
Up ahead, Mac appeared from a kitchen, Chalky alongside him. They both looked equally frustrated.
‘Anything?’ Mac asked.
Archer shook his head. Mac then pushed the pressel to his radio, as the three officers beside him continued to sweep the floor.
‘Second Team, report, over.’
Deakins’ voice came up in each man’s earpiece. ‘
Nothing up here, Mac’
.
Fox’s voice followed. ‘
Nothing here either
.’
Mac swore and pushed the switch. ‘Keep looking.’
‘Roger that
.’
Mac turned to Archer, his face strained and wrought with concern. He knew the suspect had got off on 30, which was nearly the exact middle of the building. Demolition logic meant if the package contained explosives, which it probably had, and if he’d placed them well, they could detonate and the whole building would go down in seconds. The charge would rupture the building’s support systems and the top half would collapse, crushing the lower portion like a crumpled accordion.
‘Go with Chalk up to 33,’ he ordered. ‘Port and I'll finish here. This is all taking too long.’
Archer nodded; together, he and Chalky ran to the stairwell, pulling the door open. The two of them sprinted up towards 33, both increasingly uneasy.
Whatever and wherever the package was, they were running out of time.
Almost directly above them on 32, Deakins and Fox were clearing the floor together. They’d just entered an executive office belonging to someone who was clearly high up the trading food chain. The office contained nice furniture, ornaments and a television that probably cost more than either of them made in a year. A polished desk and chair were pushed against the far wall, taking pride of place.
Deakins whistled. ‘Whatever this guy does, I-‘
Fox suddenly cut him off.
‘Shhhh!’
He jabbed a finger to his lips. Deakins immediately paused.
‘Listen,’ Fox added quietly, his brow furrowed.
Both of them stood motionless, looking at each other as they concentrated their hearing.
Fox was right.
There was a soft sound gently breaking the quiet.
It was so faint, you could barely hear it.
But there was no mistaking what it was.
Ticking.
It was coming from the desk.
Fox crept towards it. The table had three drawers on the left hand side, hidden from view from the door. Softly, Fox knelt beside it and put his ear against the wood.
His eyes widened.
He looked back at Deakins and nodded.
They stayed silent, as if any noise might trigger whatever was hidden within the drawer. Fox took the handle in his hand; Deakins had moved to stand beside him. Fox took a deep breath and then eased the drawer open, as Deakins winced.
The ticking suddenly got louder as it filled the room. They both looked down.
It was just an alarm clock. It was resting on some papers inside the drawer, ticking away like a practical joke.
Sagging with spent tension, Fox reached in and grabbed it. He tossed it to Deakins, who cursed as he caught it.
Fox stood, and turned to his team-mate.
‘Forget this, let’s go to 34.’
Dominick was on his way out of the clearing. He’d walked through the trees and into a park. It was quiet, almost empty. He saw a group of kids away to his left kicking a football around. Behind him, he heard the helicopter take off which meant he needed to get moving.
He passed an old brick wall to his immediate left, part of some house that had been demolished long ago; someone had stacked a series of empty bottles and jars on a smaller brick level just ahead of it, forming a make-shift shooting gallery. He figured some kids had probably been taking pops at the glass with a .22.
God, I wish I had a gun,
he thought.
The knife in his pocket had its advantages. It was silent and wouldn’t jam, but also meant distance would be a problem. Luckily however, Farha was dressed in a suit. At the moment, he looked like a guy who’d woken up in an unfamiliar place after partying too hard the night before, or maybe a guy who’d got lucky and was on his way home, an extra kick to his step.
As he walked, Dominick started smoothing down the suit jacket and adjusting his tie. With a bit of smartening and fixing up, he’d pass for a businessman. He suddenly remembered he had the thick sunglasses in his pocket. He took them out and gave them a quick polish, sliding them up over his nose.
For the first time that day, he smiled. It would be hard for anyone to recognise him now.
He could walk straight up to his destination.
He exited the clearing and turned onto a residential street. The place was quiet, no one around, just the odd car moving slowly along the road. As he was wondering how long it was going to take him to walk, he remembered he had some spare English banknotes stuffed in his wallet. He saw a black taxi turn to move up the road ahead and raised his hand, sunglasses over his eyes, the knife hidden inside the inner pocket of the suit jacket.
The taxi moved forwards and slid to a halt on the kerb beside him. The driver had the window wound down and he looked over at him.
‘Long night?’ he asked with a smile, noticing Farha’s suit and shades.
On the pavement, the most wanted man in the country nodded, smiling.
‘You can say that again.’
33 was just as quiet as the other floors but the lay-out up here was slightly different. The centrepiece of the floor was one large square room that served as the nucleus for the rest of the level. There were scores of desks and chairs in cubicles, walled off from each other to separate each worker and provide privacy, a pretty typical office environment.
Looking around, Archer swallowed.
The place was giving him the creeps.
It was eerie as hell. Pens without their lids had been discarded on desks, resting on documents. Computer screens around the room hummed, cursors blinking expectantly. The evacuation had been so sudden that many of the screens hadn’t yet had time to flip to a screen-saver.
Half-drunk cups of coffee and mid-morning snacks were scattered on various desks.
I thought today was a holiday
, thought Archer as he scanned the room. He guessed it was true, the stocks never slept. Chalky suddenly appeared from a conference room across the office floor, looking agitated.
‘Anything?’ Archer asked him.
Chalky shook his head, kicking a swivel chair in frustration. ‘Nothing. Not a damn thing. We could be in here all month and not find it, Arch.’
The blond man pressed the switch on his vest, as he walked back towards the lifts. ‘Mac, this is Archer. I’m with Chalky on 33. I wouldn’t bother coming up here. It looks clear.’
Mac’s voice responded. ‘
Roger that. Get up to 35.
’
Chalky heard this through his own earpiece and was already moving towards the stairwell, pushing open the door.
Turning, he noticed that Archer had paused.
He was staring at something.
Chalky frowned and walked back to join him.
Archer’s gaze was fixed on a small kitchen, fifteen feet to the right of the stairwell. It looked standard. A coffee machine. Mugs and cups stacked by the sink. A refrigerator. All of it perfectly normal.
Chalky turned to Archer. ‘Arch, what-’
Archer cut him off. He pointed at something inside the kitchen.
Chalky looked.
His gaze landed on the cord to the fridge. It was unplugged. Someone had stuck a piece of paper with
Out of Use
written in black pen to the front of the unit.
On any other day, that wouldn’t have been any cause for alarm.
But this wasn’t one of those days.
It was slightly out of the ordinary and that was enough for Archer.
Not saying a word, he moved forward slowly, entering the kitchen.
He reached out, his hands touching the front of the white rectangular fridge.
‘It’s warm,’ he said.
Without a word, Chalky had also entered the room. He stepped past Archer and leant forward over the counter, peering behind the back of the refrigerator. He searched for any mechanisms, trips or anything that shouldn’t have been there.
‘Looks clear,’ he said.
They both looked at the handle.
Archer took it carefully in his hand. He turned to Chalky, who realised he was holding his breath.
‘Ready?’
Chalky nodded.
‘Do it.’
Archer pushed down the handle and gently eased the door open.
They both looked inside.
‘Oh my God,’ Chalky whispered.
In the same instant, Archer’s hand flashed to the switch to his radio.
‘Mac! Mac! You need to get up to 33 right now. We’ve found it!
’
As Archer called it in, Chalky stared at the inside of the fridge.
The shelves were packed with Semtex plastic explosive.
Each brick was bright orange, almost ludicrously bright. There must have been close to twenty of them, probably more. Conjoining all of the explosives were an assortment of wires, which all led into a small rectangular box. The battery.
The detonator.
But that wasn’t the worst part. There was a panel on the front of the bomb, an electronic clock-face.
There were a series of constantly-changing red numbers on the digital screen.
2:59
2:58
2:57
The bomb was on a timer.
And they had less than three minutes to go.
EOD made it up there in just over ninety seconds. Mac had arrived with Porter moments after Archer called it in from the floor below. The frequency was shared with the CO19 team, so he’d already shouted that they had located the device, it was on a timer and that they had less than three minutes, ordering every person to get the hell out of the building.
Only Mac, Archer, Porter and Chalky were left. They stood watching the device, helpless, waiting for the two bomb disposal experts to arrive.
After what seemed an age, the lift finally dinged and two men rushed out, each struggling to run in their green blast suits. They hurried into the kitchen and examined the device before them.
The clock was ticking down.
1:20
1:19
1:18
They reacted instantaneously. One of them started frantically opening a tool box he had brought with him, while the other spun to the four police officers standing behind.
‘Get the hell out of here right now!’
They didn’t need to be told twice. Porter was already moving down the corridor. He jammed his hand in the lift doors, catching them just before they shut, and ducked inside as Archer and Chalky followed.
By the kitchen, Mac took a last look at the two men kneeling by the refrigerator. All his experience had taught him never to leave a man behind.
However, one of them sensed he was still there and whirled around.
‘Go!’
Mac ran to the open lift. Porter was frantically pushing the button for the ground floor.
Eventually the doors closed and the lift started moving down.
In the kitchen, the two bomb experts were scanning for any trip-wires, collapsible circuits, anything that would prevent them from touching it.
The red numbers on the clock face ticked down mercilessly.
1:10
1:09
1:08.
The lift doors opened in the lobby. The moment the metal doors parted, the four officers rushed out and sprinted towards the front entrance. Ahead of them outside, police and CO19 officers were frantically trying to push the gathered crowd back from the plaza.
There were hundreds of people out there.
Archer glanced back as he ran, checking to make sure there was no one left behind. He didn’t see four stairs that led to a lower level in front of him and he stumbled, landing on his ankle awkwardly and heavily.
There was a loud
crack
. He fell to the floor, shouting in pain, as his three team-mates ran through the exit and out into the sunny plaza.
Chalky, hearing the shout, turned and realised Archer was still inside, staggering to his feet from the floor and trying to get out of the building.
Without hesitation, he ran back for him.
He sprinted across the lobby and hooked his friend’s arm around his shoulder.
‘
C’mon Arch, we’ve gotta go!’
Helping his friend, Chalky took Archer’s weight as the two of them moved to the doors as fast as possible.
They made it outside and moved as quickly as they could across the plaza, Archer grimacing in pain.
Thirty-three floors up, the clock ticked to
0:30.
Thirty seconds to go.
The two men worked fast. All their training and experience came down to this; if the bomb exploded, the two of them would become vapour in an instant.
The lead guy was called Harry Jameson. He was a Staff Sergeant and one of the best. The device in front of him was his hundred and ninety-fourth. He’d done two tours of Afghanistan with 11 EOD Regiment, the Explosive Ordnance Disposal, men and women responsible for defusing IEDs and bombs left by the Taliban and the rebels. Before that, he’d done five months in Iraq in 2003. There, he’d knelt before everything aside from a nuclear weapon.
But this batch of Semtex was the most powerful device he’d ever seen. He couldn’t move it; he didn’t have time to anyway and it would most definitely go off if disturbed by motion. He couldn’t cut into the Semtex and extract the explosive materials into an acid bath. He didn’t have time. The bomber had fitted an anti-defusing device behind the panel, tucked away from view. It was an electronic fuse, an even charge running through it. If Jameson tried to cut one of the wires, it would sense the difference in current and react, triggering the explosives. That meant every wire was tripped. And the bomb in front of him wasn’t like those from the movies, where the wires were all different colours.
Every wire on this device was red.
Distinguishing them was a nightmare.
‘Shit!’
his partner said, seeing the time running out.
Jameson was thinking, thinking.
Suddenly, he jerked round to the other man.
‘Liquid nitrogen!’
The guy reacted instantly, and pulled a spray gun from a pocket on his thigh.
Jameson grabbed it and started spraying the battery and anti-defusing device. It wouldn’t stop the device from detonating, all it would do was delay it. When the countdown ended, a charge would kick through the battery into the blasting cap. Jameson could freeze the battery, buying them seconds.
Once it warmed to room temperature, the charge would go through.
The device would blow. He would have to cut the wire leading into the battery within the following few seconds.
If the battery wasn’t frozen, the bomb would explode.
The red numbers on the digital clock ticked down.
0:05
0:04
0:03
‘C’mon!’ screamed Jameson, squeezing the gun as hard as he could, willing the battery to freeze.
‘C’MON!’
Outside in the plaza, people were fleeing. The ARU officers took cover behind parked police cars, looking up.
Time was up.
It didn’t blow.
The battery had frozen. But the charge was in there.
They had seconds.
Jameson grabbed a set of pliers and found the wire.
‘Hurry, Joe, hurry!’
his partner said.
And with one swift movement, Jameson clicked it in half.
And just like that, they were safe. The cut wire had severed the current.
The bomb was defused.
Both men sagged with relief. They rocked back to sit against the wall, their chests heaving. They were both covered with sweat.
Jameson turned to his partner and shook his head.
‘Jesus Christ. I need to get a new job.’
Outside, the crowd was confused.
‘What happened?
’ shouted Mac to a third bomb disposal member, standing by the EOD truck.
The guy was listening to the radio, covering one ear with his free palm. He suddenly smiled and called out.
‘We’re good. We’re good!’ he repeated. ‘It’s defused! They did it!’
Everyone in the plaza sagged with relief, like hundreds of balloons deflating all at once. There was a small round of applause and some cheers.
Behind one of the ARU vehicles, Archer had taken cover next to Porter and Chalky. The three of them had their backs to the car, but Archer was grimacing in agony, his ankle feeling like it was broken.
‘Good job,’ Porter said happily. ‘We did it, Arch.’
‘
Great
,’ the younger man muttered, his teeth clenched against the pain.
Right then in the north of the city, the taxi driver had just arrived at his passenger’s requested destination. He was about to pull into the place, but Farha asked him to keep going down the road. The guy obliged, they came to a stop beside some office buildings in the heart of the city.
Farha paid the fare then got out, shutting the door. The cab drove off and he was left alone.
He turned and started walking slowly back down the way they’d just come. The street was relatively busy, but wasn’t hectic. As he strolled, he came across a newsstand.
Terror strikes city
said one of the tabloid headlines.
London rocked by terrorism
said another.
He glanced at the headlines but didn’t slow and continued to the end of the street. He stopped by the corner; leaning against the wall, he casually peered round at the address he’d been given.
It was an impressive building.
He looked hard, but couldn’t see what he was after.
He briefly considered making a move, but decided against it.
He’d scope it out.
Wait for his target, who’d appear soon enough.
Then he’d move in and be out of here before anyone knew what had happened.
