THE THESEUS PARADOX: The stunning breakthrough thriller based on real events, from the Scotland Yard detective turned author. (12 page)

His only hope was that Claire would punch something through in the next twenty-four hours. He couldn’t tell a soul. He’d already been in trouble for the extra-curricular work he’d done up in Leeds. Here he was two weeks later, exactly the same. The only difference being that Jake hoped he had messed with their explosive mixture just enough. Perhaps they’d realise it was now inert and abort their plans? It might just give the Security Service enough time to sort themselves out.

Jake would call Claire tomorrow afternoon. Give her the twenty-four hours she said she needed. Tension was still high at the Yard. Suspicious-package calls had gone through the roof. Everyone was tired, including Jake. He needed sleep.

He’d not been home in two weeks. He’d run out of clean clothes. Now was a good time to collect supplies.

It was a gorgeous evening, yet London was deserted. Normally there would be hundreds of people wandering around the city in weather like this, he thought. The windows of his car were wound down, yet there was an eerie silence across the capital, broken only by the sirens of police cars as they hurtled from place to place.

On arrival back at the sari shop in Whitechapel, Jake unlocked his door and walked into his stiflingly hot and rancid-smelling flat.

The mouldy washing-up looked like it was about to grow legs and run off. Nice. He opened the windows, got undressed, pushed the pile of clothes from his bed onto the floor and lay down.

He looked at the ceiling. This was no life. Fighting everyone. Fighting simply to do the right thing. How could it be that the NSA, CIA and Security Service knew this stuff? Knew that people had died. Knew that there were others, yet didn’t inform the police when they were the only agency that could actually make arrests?

Sleep found him suddenly, unexpectedly.

29

Thursday

21 July 2005

1000 hours

Exhibits office, Kennington, London

The sun woke Jake, its strong rays breaking through the dusty Venetian blinds in his bedroom. He’d overslept; he was supposed to be back in Leeds.

He got up, showered and began making the trek across London. On the way he received a call from one of the team, asking him to pick up a copy of an exhibit. The exhibits office was close to the Oval cricket ground. It wasn’t too far out of his way so Jake agreed.

The place was busy when he arrived. Jake decided to eat breakfast in the canteen whilst he waited for them to retrieve and photocopy a book that had been found at Victoria Park.

By 1230 hours he was still waiting, so he made his way down the stairs from the canteen to hurry them up. As he entered the office, he hit a wall of commotion. People were frantically grabbing masks and forensic kits and running out of the door.

‘What’s going on?’ Jake asked one of the exhibits team.

‘Another attack! Chemical substance at Oval Tube station,’ replied the exhibits officer, grabbing his stuff.

Jake followed him as they ran to the car park. They jumped into a waiting unmarked car, which pulled away sharply, Jake in the back seat. Only seconds later, they were getting out again at Oval Tube station. The place was in chaos. People fanned out from the station’s entrance in all directions – some screaming, some crying.

Jake and a couple of the officers from exhibits leapt the barriers. The escalators had stopped. They ran down as people continued to stream up. At the bottom – on the northern-bound platform – sat a Tube train only partially in the station, its doors open.

Jake charged onto the Northern Line train and along several carriages. He began to check for dead or injured before it even occurred to him that he might need some personal protective equipment.

A smell of acrid smoke hung in the air. One of the exhibits team shouted for everyone to be careful.

Up ahead, located toward the middle of the third carriage, Jake could see a black nylon rucksack with its contents strewn across the carriage. Spilling from a large, clear plastic container was a yellow cake batter which foamed as it hit the floor of the Kennington-bound Tube train.

Jake recognised it immediately. It was the hydrogen peroxide mixture spewing from one of the food tubs he’d sabotaged at Sullivan House just a day before.

‘Stop! We need protective clothing and masks!’ shouted one of the exhibits team.

Jake’s reply came instinctively, ‘We don’t. It’s inert. I know…’ He stopped himself mid-sentence as he realised what he was saying.

‘Move back! You can’t tell from here! It might go off!’ shouted back the senior exhibits officer.

Jake turned and retreated as cautioned.

Thank God he’d been to Sullivan House the previous day; there appeared to be no fatalities or seriously wounded.

They evacuated the station and stopped new people from trying to enter, but it was hard going in all the uproar and confusion – he was in plain clothes. It was always more difficult to convince the public to listen to you when you weren’t in uniform and wore no helmet. He hoped the lids got there soon to organise the crowd control.

Outside the station there was utter panic. Lunchtime on a Thursday and Clapham Road was heaving.

Their next most pressing task was to cordon the place off. Jake’s priority was to preserve the crime scene and sort out who among the throngs of people there needed to be interviewed.

It was going to be a long day.

30

Thursday

21 July 2005

1245 hours

Oval Tube station, Kennington, London

Jake stood on the corner of Clapham Road. This busy crossroads in the shadow of the Oval cricket ground was completely blocked by emergency response vehicles. The noise was incredible. Sirens wailed from every direction; police cars, fire engines, ambulances – all anxious and wanting to do their bit to help. The suspect or suspects were long gone. Jake had no idea what they looked like or which way they’d taken off. There was no point tearing down a street without knowing who you were looking for in this mayhem. Whoever it was would be caught on CCTV – or so he sincerely hoped.

Jake gathered himself, ‘Crime scene,’ he said aloud, kicking into action. ‘Sort the scene out!’

Catching bad guys meant having evidence to put them in prison. The evidence came from what you could prove they’d done at the scene of the crime. Placing them there meant fingerprints, DNA, physical exhibits they’d left behind, fibres from their clothing, explosive residue. He needed to preserve them. There was nothing worse than having the fire and ambulance services trample all over the scene unnecessarily.

He grabbed two uniformed police officers getting out of a small car and identified himself. They looked young. Both kids. One ginger and tubby, the other skinny and dark.

Fatty and Skinny had new uniforms, new hats. Their eyes were wide and scared – like rabbits caught in headlights. They were probationers. They’d never forget this day as long as they lived. Jake had no other option – he needed help right now.

‘There’s been an attempted attack. There’s a substance on the Tube down there. I need you two to stay up here at the entrance. Make sure you stop any firefighters or paramedics going down onto the platform. There’s no fire and no wounded down there. They can do what they like up here. This is a major crime scene and I don’t want a million boots walking all over it. Tell your control room that information, OK?’

‘Control Room are saying it’s a possible chemical attack, sir – are we OK here?’ asked Fatty, looking even more nervous.

‘You’ll be fine – trust me. Go on. Get on with it!’ said Jake, gently nudging Fatty in the direction of the Tube entrance.

A small crowd of people had gathered by the railings that separated the road from the pavement. There were six of them – four men and two women. An older woman wearing a lacy cardigan was crying on the shoulder of a younger bloke in a beige suit. The rest were talking on their mobile phones. Jake went over to the group and raised his warrant card in identification.

‘I’m a police officer – any injuries or walking wounded?’ Jake asked the shell-shocked group.

A stocky guy in a green T-shirt, whom Jake immediately thought looked like a builder, spoke for the group.

‘We were in the same carriage. We saw what happened. He tried to blow his rucksack up. He was chanting something and fiddling with something. I dunno what – it looked like a wire. Then there was a loud pop, a bang, and then this stuff flew out of his rucksack. It went all over him and onto the floor. It was burning his back. He was screaming. I grabbed him but he got away. Ran off.’

Jake said nothing at first. He just looked at them. Each one of them. For a moment everything around him stopped. Time stood still. There was a silence. Peace. All these people. Six people. All with a story and a life. All six might be dead had Jake not been to that flat yesterday. What was Claire playing at? What was the Security Service playing at?

Jake was jolted back into the real world again as the other woman from the group spoke up.

‘What do we need to do?’ she asked.

A blonde in her early thirties with long straight hair, she was wearing a floaty floral dress and cream patent-leather shoes. She was what Jake would term an absolute stunner.

‘Well. I’m going to need statements from you all. And I need you to take your clothes off…’ Jake raised one eyebrow in her direction and smiled at her. ‘Your clothing is evidence. There will be fibres and residue on them that we’ll need. I’ll organise for you to be taken to a local police station. We’ll get you all some new clothes so we can take those ones.’

There was a general look of bewilderment on the group’s faces.

The blonde piped up again slightly annoyed, ‘But I’m going to a wedding. I’ve got to be there. What clothes are you going to give me? You can’t take my new dress!’

‘Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you get to the wedding looking just as fine as you do now.’

Jake turned and walked back over to Fatty and Skinny. Fatty was arguing with a red-faced firefighter who was claiming he needed to go down to the Tube.

Jake spoke to Skinny, ‘I need a van. Those six people over there—’ Jake pointed to the group ‘—they all saw what happened and were on the carriage with the suspect. At least one of them has touched the suspect. All are significant witnesses. Get a van and get them to Brixton. Don’t let any of them go anywhere. I’m going to organise a team to take their statements and clothing.’

After trading mobile numbers with Skinny who approached the group and explained what was going to happen, Jake called the Reserve Room at the Yard.

‘Roley? I’m down at the Oval…’

Roley interrupted, ‘Oooh be careful down there, son. Chemical attack they’ve said. Nasty, nasty!’

‘It’s fine. Don’t think it’s anything to worry about. Look, I’ve got a group of significant witnesses here. I need five people to do statements and clothing at Brixton. Can you organise that for me?’

‘Of course I can, son. Call ya back or someone will shortly.’ Roley hung up.

By the time Jake arrived at Brixton police station, a total of fifteen witnesses had been rounded up. There was no chance he was going back to Leeds for a while. He knew that much.

31

Thursday

21 July 2005

1400 hours

Oval Tube station, Kennington, London

The blonde stunner was called Alice. She was single. Jake ensured that he took her statement first. She flirted outrageously with him and he tried desperately to stay in professional work mode, but ended up giving as good as he got. He had to ask for her dress and shoe size before popping out to a local branch of Principles and purchasing a strappy aquamarine dress and gold kitten heels for her. He even shocked himself by making sure to choose a dress that was shorter and more revealing than the one she’d originally had on.

Back at the station, Jake got on with the other interviews. Alice had disappeared with her assigned WPC, who swabbed her for explosives, took all her clothing and bagged it all up.

Later, when she returned, she was beaming. She was very happy with Jake’s choices. As he watched her twirling around in the interview room, showing off her new outfit, Jake thought that she looked incredible. Even better than before.

On the Tube, Alice had been in the seat closest to the suspect when he’d tried to detonate his device. It should have been her in the black body bag – not just her pretty wedding clothes. She would have died had it not been for Jake going to Sullivan House yesterday. Instead, she was standing there in a stylish new outfit in front of an admiring detective.

Jake smiled at her. ‘You look fantastic.’

‘Well thank you, my gorgeous personal shopper. But it still doesn’t help solve my dilemma. I’ve got to be in Hertfordshire at my cousin’s wedding reception this evening!’

That was a tough one, thought Jake. The Tube was shut and London was gridlocked. There wasn’t much chance of her making it out to the sticks in time.

‘We can’t have you dressed like that and not getting to this wedding now, can we? If I get you to Euston station, can you catch a train from there in time?’

‘Yes, but how are you going to do that? It’s going to take me hours!’ wailed Alice.

‘Don’t panic,’ said Jake, ‘I have a plan.’

He got up from his chair and grabbed Alice by the hand. She didn’t resist. She squeezed his palm back as he led her through the police station’s corridors. There were bomb survivors pointing and laughing at the clothes they’d been bought by the other officers. Two were fighting over who claimed a short-sleeved shirt, and another was asking if they could swap the red Marks and Spencer’s jumper for a blue one.

Jake led Alice through the station and out toward the back yard. Every warm-blooded male that they passed turned and glanced admiringly at her.

Jake helped settle her in the front passenger seat of the BMW, closing her door gently. Checking that she was strapped in correctly, he proceeded to put his foot to the floor and drive with blue lights and two tones all the way across London.