Cell (61 page)

The vessel burst into flames along its whole length. The
Arabs in dinghies, who had fled the barge, again headed for the right bank. Again, Buchanan's men, some using
flame-throwers for the first time, killed all the Arabs before
any came near the river bank.

The barge, which must have carried a large reserve
of ammo, suddenly blew up. The deckhouse was hurled
into the sky, fell back into the river, disappearing with a sinister hiss. Other sections flew skywards, descended, to
be swallowed up by the fast-flowing river. Buchanan later
congratulated his men on doing a great job.

Despite all his other responsibilities, Buchanan had not forgotten the captive guard at Dick's wharf. He disagreed with
the decision that they should not risk rescuing Proctor.

After all it was his city, his side of the river. Therefore he
gave careful instructions to Sergeant Mackie, marksman.
Marler was recognized as being the top marksman in
Europe, but Mackie was number two.

Earlier, Mackie, his rifle strapped over his shoulder, had
cycled to Dick's wharf. Marler would have admired how
silently Mackie moved when he reached his objective. He
had descended to the main building where lights shone in a large office. Peering through a window, he saw Proctor tied
to a chair. He also saw the brute of a guard armed with an automatic.

The last barge, destined to target Albert Bridge, was still moored to the wharf. As Mackie watched he saw the guard
go to a window, peer down at the barge where men were
removing mooring ropes. It was about to sail.

Mackie tested the window, was surprised to find it was
not locked. Al-Qa'eda's security was not perfect. The guard
had his back towards him, watching the crew below, as Mackie slowly pushed the window open, inch by inch.
Hinges well oiled.

One of the crew on the wharf beckoned to the guard,
pointed to a rope ladder slung over the side of the hull, the
escape route. The guard came back into the room, checked
his automatic. He then walked behind Proctor, raised the
gun to lay it alongside Proctor's head.

Mackie coughed. The guard swung round, removing his
weapon from Proctor's head. Mackie shot him twice - once
in the head just in case he was wearing a bullet-proof
jacket - then in the back below the left shoulder-blade.
The guard toppled down forward, hitting the wooden floor
with a thud.

Mackie climbed inside, ran to the prone guard, kicked
away the automatic close to his hand. Bending down, he checked the carotid artery. Nothing. Dead as a dodo. He turned to Proctor, who had a dazed expression.

'Don't worry. I'm British anti-terrorist squad. Let's get
these ropes off you. Expect you'll want to call your wife.'

51

'No sign of the SAS jeeps,' Harry called out.

Paula had helped him up into the rear of the jeep driven
by Tweed. She looked back. Harry was right. There were
three jeeps behind them but they carried the rest of Tweed's
team. Beyond that there was empty Embankment as they
headed for Albert Bridge. Driving with one hand, Tweed
reached for his radio-telephone, hoping it had not been
disconnected.

'Sarge, any hope of saving Albert?'

'Sorry. None. We have used up our special equipment.
Only just come into service. I raided the store. Keep well
clear of Albert. I leave it to you and Buchanan to deal with
any enemy who might survive. My unit has been proud to
cooperate with yours. Until next time . . .'

Then the connection was broken. The SAS had gone,
as invisibly as they had arrived. Paula caught a glimpse of
police cars racing along the opposite bank, keeping pace
with Tweed's unit.

'I at least want to see Albert,' she said.

'But not too close,' Tweed warned.

'At least we've saved five out of six major bridges,' Newman
commented over the phone, which was independent, but had
earlier been linked with Sarge's communication system.

Tweed parked close to the Chelsea Royal Hospital area.
The other three jeeps pulled up behind him. He jumped out, went back to them.

'I am now giving you a direct order. You will stay
here and go no closer to the bridge. You probably heard
Sarge's warning. We can do nothing to save Albert. But,
as Newman said, five out of six major bridges saved is a
good score.'

'We may be able to take a few more of them,' said Harry,
now standing beside Tweed, his sub-machine gun tucked
under his right arm.

'It's coming now,' Paula shouted.

On the opposite shore Buchanan stood outside the lead
police car. Many vehicles were parked behind him. The
dreadful silence had returned, the silence Paula found so
eerie. She was standing on the Embankment, holding her camera. She knew the pictures she would take would be
horrific but she felt she needed a record. She took two
quickly.

The sixth barge, which had, according to plan, left
Dick's wharf so late, was hardly moving as its bows thrust under Albert Bridge, reminding Paula of the snout of some
monstrous shark.

In the deckhouse Ali was controlling the barge's momen
tum with great care. He had fled in his speedboat back to
the last barge when he realized his operation had ended in disaster. And Abdullah had promised it would make
the Trade Center operation in New York look like child's
play.

He reversed the engines briefly, to halt the barge with
the main hatch under the centre of the bridge. Then he
ran out, along the deck, dropped down the ladder into the main hatch. He threw away the ladder.

He was going to press the two buttons for detonation
himself. Ali would die with his remaining men. He stared
round at the men with him on the base of the hull. They
were kneeling on their prayer-mats, facing east.

Ali took a deep breath. Then pressed the first button, then
the second. The huge shell-like bomb streaked upwards,
aimed at the the centre of the bridge. He clasped his hands
in prayer, his last movement.

Gazing through the viewfinder of her camera, Paula saw
a huge object hurtling upwards. A brief vision. Then the
world exploded. Deafening thunder rolled down the river.
A swift blinding flash.

The entire centre of the bridge shattered, great sections of it hurtling into the sky, taking for ever to descend and
disappear under the water. Waves rolled towards both
shores. Fragments of white-painted railing hurtled up even
higher to greater altitudes. Chunks of masonry the size
of huge boulders flew across the Embankment, crashed into the houses in the Cheyne Walk area. The initial
ear-splitting crash when the bomb hit had died down. Now
they could hear the masonry fragments hitting buildings
like a bombardment. On both sides of the river. A lot of black smoke obscured the wreckage which had once been
a bridge. The breeze blowing downriver cleared the smoke,
revealing the ghastly spectacle of the remnants of the bridge
which had spanned the Thames for so many years.

Paula could take no more photos. She stood staring,
camera held in hand by her side. The barge had gone as
if it had never existed. Confined under the bridge, it had taken the full force of the devastating explosion. Later its entire savaged hull was found on the river bed.

Only one section of the bridge still seemed intact. On
the left bank side a third of the span perched over nothing.
Tweed pressed his binoculars to his eyes. Just in time to
see the span wobble, give way, plunge down into the river.
Albert Bridge was no more than a memory.

'Well,' Newman said, 'now we can see what we saved the other major five bridges. London would have been bisected
for years.'

Paula turned away. She no longer wished to look. As she
did so she heard on her headset Buchanan's firm voice.

'I think everyone might like to know Proctor, the hostage guard at Dick's wharf, was rescued. Alive and well, he's on his way home to meet his wife.' 'Thank God,' Paula whispered.

52

During the long, slow, circuitous drive back to Park Cres
cent Newman sat next to Harry, behind Paula. He explained
he'd handed over the wheel of his jeep to Beaurain. After this remark no one spoke for a long time. Tweed broke the
silence when they were close to Park Crescent.

'Tomorrow we all have to keep our appointment with
Warner at Carpford. It is only polite to do so.'

'So we can all come with you?' checked Paula.

'Yes, everyone. I don't think he's expecting anyone
except me, but he'll have to put up with that. We were
all part of what happened.'

'Forecast is for a clear sunny day tomorrow,' Newman said cheerfully, then shut up.

He didn't think Paula would appreciate the remark.
From the way she was sitting, motionless, he guessed her mind was on what they had seen during the last moments of Albert Bridge. He thought of something else.

'Interesting that this time no dinghies were lowered. None of al-Qa'eda survived.'

'No they didn't.' Paula's tone of voice was a mix of
cynicism and contempt. 'They thought they were on their
way to heaven — where seventy-two beautiful young girls
would be waiting, available. They've got a hope.'

'Just before everything blew up,' Newman began, 'through
my binoculars I saw a slim, intelligent-looking man run
from the deckhouse to the main hatch. Struck me he
could well have been the mastermind behind the whole operation.'

'Maybe,' said Tweed. 'While I remember, travelling with
us to Warner's meeting tomorrow we shall be taking Billy Hogarth and Margesson with us. So you know, Bob, how
many four-wheel-drives we'll need.'

'Billy Hogarth and Margesson?' queried Paula. 'Why?'

'Because they live in Carpford.'

'Oh, I see,' she said. But in fact she didn't.

'Well, at least,' Newman said, 'there won't be any more
of those disappearances. I wonder what did happen to those
people. Such a strange mixture.'

'One other thing,' Tweed said as they reached Baker Street, a stone's throw from Park Crescent. 'I've invited
Buchanan to join our party tomorrow. He played a great
part in what was achieved. So add him to your list, Bob.'

'Quite a party then.'

Approaching Park Crescent, Tweed eased the jeep on to
the pavement. It was the only way to get there. The road
was solid with traffic bumper to bumper, and nothing mov
ing. A uniformed policeman rushed up to him, furiously indignant.

'You can't do that. The pavement is for pedestrians. I'm
going to have to . . .'