Cell (59 page)

Ali now came into the room and went over to Proctor.
He had decided he
would
command barge No. 5, the barge
which would bring down Chelsea Bridge. By then, destroy
ing Albert Bridge would be a walkover. He bent down close
to his prisoner, waved away the large ugly-looking guard.

'Mr Proctor, when we have completed what we must do
we will leave you here. Then, when we are well away from
this area, we will phone your wife and ask her to arrange
for the police to come here at once. To release you . . .'

Proctor simply looked at him. By now he hated all these
Arabs, would gladly have killed every single one, given the chance.

Ali beckoned to the huge guard, spoke to him in Arabic, well away from Proctor.

'When you see the last barge about to leave, men casting
off the ropes, you will shoot your captive. A bullet in the
head to make sure. A rope ladder will hang over the hull
of the barge, waiting to haul you aboard before it sails. But
for the moment we must keep him calm . . .'

Had Paula been able to witness the appalling cruelty of
Ali's tactic and had a knife in her hand, she would not have
hesitated to plunge it up to the hilt into Ali's chest.

5.05 p.m. The tide was turning. Paula had taken a pair
of very small powerful binoculars from her shoulder-bag.
They were adapted for night use, so everything came up green. She had them focused on Westminster Bridge.

Sarge had earlier confirmed that the 'transports' were mov
ing downriver. That so far no bridge had been attacked, that
they were spread apart at a greater distance than expected.
So it was looking as though they had the sequence right.

'Here it comes,' said Tweed quietly.

'Red alert,' Sarge ordered.

In the lenses of her glasses Paula saw the huge bows of the
barge slowly passing under Westminster Bridge. It seemed
larger than the barges she had once seen proceeding upriver.
A massive beast.

She frowned, adjusted the focus, pressed her eyes closer
to the lenses. She was focused on the bows as the vessel was caught by a large wave, whipped up by the strong wind. She
frowned.

'Main hatch open,' she reported. 'But there's some kind
of machine or weapon in the bows. It appears to be angled
at the main struts holding up the bridges. On deck. At the bows. Looks like a small cannon or missile launcher.'

'Thank you,' said Sarge. 'Thank you very much.'

Perched on the wall of his firing-point, camouflaged with
branches, was a large weapon which looked like a mortar.

Below the barrel was
a
projection which emitted a laser
beam on the pressing of a lever. It was brand new, an advanced version the rest of the army did not possess,
didn't even know existed.

Close to it was a smaller version with an even longer
barrel, narrower than the large mortar. It too was equipped
with another muzzle beneath the main one, the barrel of which also emitted a laser beam.

Closing down his radio set, Sarge walked over to the
second operator, in charge of the smaller weapon. He bent down, talking quietly.

'There's a second weapon aboard the barge. On deck, at
the bows. When Charlie fires his bomb you shoot a missile
at the second target, equally dangerous.' He handed the
operator his night-glasses. 'See if you can spot it. On deck.
At the bows.'

'I see it,' the operator replied.

'You have to synchronize the firings.' He looked up at the
operator's partner. 'Up to you, Ned - drop in the missile at
the same moment.'

'We can manage that,' said the senior operator, who would adjust the aim of his weapon. 'Reckon so, Ed?'

Ed, the man who would drop the main bomb into the
mortar, had been leaning over, listening. He just nodded. They would cope.

Paula couldn't take her eyes off the huge barge, now fully
in view, riding the waves on its way to Waterloo Bridge. 'It would have been so much easier if the river were smooth,' she said, then remembered she was speaking into the mike.

'It would,' Sarge's voice agreed. 'But we'll still make it.
Thanks to you . . .'

Tweed put a reassuring hand on Paula's shoulder.
Beaurain crouched lower, as the barge would soon be opposite the SAS firing-point. Not knowing about the
special equipment at the SAS's disposal, he had his doubts.

Marler came alongside her, holding his Armalite. He was
expecting trouble. She could tell from his expression. He glanced at her.

'Don't forget the grenades . . .'

He was still speaking when the full length of the barge
arrived opposite the SAS firing-point. She raised her night-
glasses., pressed them to her eyes just in time. A large
shell-like object streaked in an arc over the water, dropped
down the hatch. At the same moment a missile hit the weapon stationed in the bows. She wasn't ready. Wasn't
ready for the titanic explosions. The barge shuddered under
the impact. The Shockwave thumped against the plinth. She
jumped, steadied herself.

The bows dipped into the river, stayed dipped. The
roll-over deck was hurled into the air in three large pieces, fell back into the river with a large splash. The barge was now moving sluggishly, the half-sunk bows slowing it so
that it was almost stationary. It was going nowhere.

'Watch out!' Sarge's warning voice. 'They're coming.'

Motorized dinghies were being slung over the side of the
hull, attached to ropes. Black turbaned men were sliding
down the ropes into the dinghies. Motors roared, then they were heading directly towards the plinth. At least a dozen dinghies and one small speedboat, churning up water as it
tore towards them.

All hell was heading for the Embankment.

Paula hadn't seen Harry carrying a rocket launcher down
to the wall. He rammed it into his shoulder. The speedboat
had four men aboard, some waving savage-looking knives.
Harry took careful aim, fired the rocket. It curved, dropped,
bull's-eye on the speedboat.

The craft exploded. Everything became fragments. Frag
ments of speedboat, fragments of the men who had been aboard. Paula jumped off the plinth, ran down to support Harry and Pete. Beaurain was beside her. Dinghies were
racing to where Harry and Pete crouched.

Something bloody and fleshy landed on the Embankment
near Paula. She glanced at it. Beaurain stared, frowned.

'Most of a man's stomach,' she told him.

'You know that?' he shouted.

'I've attended autopsies.'

'So have I.'

Beaurain was impressed with the steeliness and calmness
Paula was displaying under fire.

Three dinghies, spread well apart, were racing to the
Embankment. Nield, moving his sub-machine gun in an
arc, sprayed two of them. As his bullets hit, the explosives strapped round the Arabs exploded. There was a deafening
roar. Arabs and dinghies vanished. Something small and white landed on the wall in front of Paula. A fragment of one of the devastated dinghies.

More dinghies raced towards the Embankment. Again well spaced out. Harry let loose a burst. Nield was firing
at the same time. More deafening explosions. Paula aimed
her sub-machine gun at a dinghy which had pulled ahead
of the others. For a moment she could see their savage faces
illuminated by moonlight. She pressed the trigger. The
faces, the heads, were no longer there. Another explosion.
No dinghy. The stretch of river sweeping past had a reddish
colour.

To their left a dinghy had reached the Embankment wall.
Two men scrambled over the wall. They had seen the
group below the plinth. They elevated their Kalashnikovs.
Beaurain had seen them. He aimed his sub-machine gun,
was startled to see one man throw up his Kalashnikov,
collapsing backwards. He pressed the trigger. A storm of
bullets hit the second man like a hurricane.

'First chap was mine,' Marler's voice said behind Beaurain.
He had shot him with his Armalite.

Further along to their right there had been continuous gunfire from the SAS, eliminating more dinghies with
armed men aboard. Suddenly the inferno of sound -
exploding Arabs in their dinghies, the rattle of weapons
keeping up a non-stop bombardment from the Embank
ment - had stopped.

The silence Paula had experienced while they'd driven to the plinth returned. It was almost a shock. She wiped
her sweating hands on her uniform, poked a finger gently in her right ear. The silence was more apparent. Her eyes were fixed on the barge in the middle of the river.

It was an awesome spectacle. The combination of the
huge bomb waiting to be launched through the main hatch
together with - perfect timing - Sarge's counter-bomb
plunging down before the Arabs had detonated their bomb,
had caused an explosion of terrible power. Plus the fact
that the explosion took place in the confined space of the interior hull.

Amidships, the barge was splitting open. The river poured
in, adding to the pressure. Paula stared in wonderment as
the barge separated into two parts. The forward area where
the bows were already diving below the surface. The stern
area wallowing.

'You stupid sightseers, get back here into the jeeps,'
Tweed's commanding voice echoed in the silence. 'Our
friends are already on their way.'

'Coming,' Paula shouted back.

'We have to save Westminster Bridge,' Tweed thundered back.

She dived into the first jeep, where Tweed was already behind the wheel. Newman had cleared the. camouflage branches from three jeeps. Tweed had started the vehicle moving when she looked back in time to see Beaurain
jumping into a rear seat.

Behind them Newman was driving another jeep. She saw
Harry scrambling over the back into a rear seat while the
jeep was in motion.

The third jeep was being driven by Marler, shouting
something she couldn't hear. Just as well, his language was
salty. Nield just managed to climb over into a rear seat as Marler began moving. The fact that everyone was encum
bered with heavy satchels, were clutching sub-machine guns, hadn't helped them.

Paula looked ahead, just in time to see the last of the
SAS jeeps disappearing. They had to be in position before
barge No. 2 arrived. At this stage Paula said to herself, 'No
casualties so far.' Not aloud. Tempting fate.

Nor had she any reason to guess that the assault on
Westminster Bridge would be a near-disaster.

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