A Killing Sin, page 23
The screens are flicking between the M25 and Ella. Whoever has a hold of the media is as talented as they are ruthless. The screen splits in two. Half showing the terrified crowd on the motorway and half showing Ella. In a part of my brain it registers that it is in our interest to keep it public. More chance of someone calling in anything they might know. Thompson has other priorities, though. His own skin.
Mitford and Dalgleish are both talking into earpieces and jabbing devices at the same time. The split screens now have a countdown clock superimposed on the top.
One hour eleven minutes and eighteen seconds.
Nusayabah appears next to Ella, she is on every screen. Every device.
‘People of Britain. We will kill one hostage every fifteen minutes. We have a very simple demand. This can be stopped. It can be stopped right now. Simon Thompson can stop this right away. All he has to do is close the PPCs. When the clock is at 17.00 hours one more hostage will die.’
At that moment, the camera shows a balaclava-clad terrorist grab a woman by the hair. She pushes her to her knees, the Kalashnikov at her head. The woman is screaming. The camera pans to a man being held back by another terrorist. He screams, ‘Take me, take me. Please don’t hurt her. Please. Please.’ Two children are wrapped around his legs, screaming for their mother.
The clock is at 16.50.
I hold my breath.
Nusayabah says, ‘Thompson, if she dies, her blood is on your hands and yours alone.’
Mitford’s voice shatters the tension in the room. ‘Sir, on your command we are ready to move.’
Thompson is gaping, hands to his mouth, blinking hard at the screen.
Norton says, ‘Simon, we have to act. We cannot let this woman die.’
Thompson says nothing, just keeps staring.
Neil walks over to Thompson and Norton. His face is wretched. He grabs Thompson by the arm and pleads. ‘Please, please, Simon, do something. Call this journalist. Tell him anything. You just have to say it. I beg you. I will do anything. Anything. Just do this one thing. Don’t let Ella die. Please, please don’t let her die.’
Nusayabah says, ‘Less than ten minutes, prime minister.’
Thompson is shell shocked. He’s staring straight ahead. The scenes on the screen from the M25 are showing that more supercopters have landed.
I am still connected to our team at Rockeem. My watch buzzes. It’s Sean Menzies.
‘Hey, Sean, what have you got? Please, please tell me you’ve got something?’
‘Amala, we’ve traced a call to Faiza Siddiqui. Millie put us on to her. Aafa told her that Faiza Siddiqui was the person that introduced him to Hassan Yacoub. The call lasted three and a half minutes and we got the last ninety seconds. We were able to hear a woman talk to a very young child. We think it’s Nusayabah’s son. We have an address for Siddiqui.’
I stop him. ‘Sean, hang on.’ I grab Alex Dalgleish. I quickly tell her what Sean has found then say, ‘Sean give us the address.’
‘42 Rowan Gardens. Flat 6.’
Dalgleish is already relaying it to her team on the ground. They will be there in under four minutes. Dalgleish is brusque, ‘Do not open fire, and do not harm the child. We need the boy. I’m going to give a line to Millie Stephenson. She will tell you what you need to do once you have the boy.’
Turning to me she says, ‘Get Millie connected and get her to be really clear about how to handle the boy. He’s all we have to trade.’
She turns back to Junction 15.
She says, ‘Prime minister, it’s almost five?’
Thompson looks between her and Norton.
Jean Norton says, ‘Prime minister?’
Too late.
The sound of the rapid fire is deafening as the woman slumps to the ground.
Sean is speaking again. ‘Mals, they will get to her son in less than four minutes.’
I turn to Millie. She is staring at the screen, the dead woman lying in a pool of blood. Mark is holding her. His face twisted in pain.
‘Millie, we know where her son is. Get with this. There’s no time.’
Millie is holding onto Mark like her life depends on it.
I shout at her, ‘Come on, you need to brief Dalgleish’s team. What do they say to the boy? Sean will have a trace on the source of the call any minute and we need to know how to deal with Nusayabah when we get to her?’
Mark nods at her. ‘You can do it.’
Tuesday 25th May 17.01
MILLIE
‘This is Millie Stephenson, who am I talking to?’
‘Dr Stephenson, my name is Ahmed Hussain. I am in charge of Alpha Gamma team. We’re less than two minutes out from Faiza Siddiqui. We’re in Rowan Gardens.’
‘Ok, Ahmed. First thing to know is if the boy is with Faiza Siddiqui then she’s likely to be armed. She’s a hardened jihadist, ruthless and brilliant. My guess is she will have agreed with Nusayabah what to do if her cover is blown. Omar is the only chink in Nusayabah’s armour and Siddiqui will not risk the operation by handing him over. She will be prepared to die. She will likely kill the child rather than hand him over as a negotiating pawn. We’re pretty certain Nusayabah has masterminded everything today so she will not have left anything to chance, including her son.’
‘Ok, got it. Get him out and get him out alive.’
‘Yes. Then we can talk about what we do with him.’
Neil’s beside me. I grab his hand then sit back and wait. Mark is perched on the table. I see him mouth ‘You’ll do it. We’re a team.’ Amala is by his side. We sit in silent prayer. Ella’s right, she always said there are no atheists in a foxhole.
Amala says, ‘Sean’s got a drone over her house. We can see Ahmed go in but we may not be able to see inside.’ She never breaks her intense staring at the screen.
We watch. Ahmed Hussain has four others with him. Armed and in position. They move through a small back garden.
Sean’s voice comes over the computer. ‘Amala, flat 3 is on the ground floor, third from the left. Red door. The guys are in the communal garden at the back. We can’t see any movement inside.’
‘Thanks, Sean.’
Amala stands and we hold each other tight. We see the five soldiers slowly move through the garden. Two are by the back door, one has moved to the front. We see Hussain kick the back door in. Then we are blind to what is happening inside. My jaw aches from my grinding teeth. Neil’s lip is bleeding again. Each of us praying to any God that will listen.
There’s a sound of gunfire. Semi-automatic weapons.
The clock is ticking. Fifty-five minutes and three seconds. Merciless. My stomach is in knots.
Behind us the screens show more supercopters arriving at the M25. Heavily-armed ATF50 teams are landing in the fields either side.
Neil can hardly contain his panic. ‘What’s happening? Why’s it taking so long?’
And then Ahmed Hussain walks out. ‘Dr Stephenson, we have the boy.’
He’s holding a small boy in his arms. The boy has huge brown eyes and is wearing a bright blue t-shirt and matching shorts. He has a big pink rabbit and a little blanket.
Dalgleish is beside us. ‘Well done, Ahmed, any casualties?’
‘Faiza Siddiqui was alone. She went for a weapon. We opened fire. She sustained a shoulder injury. Toby’s cuffed her and we are waiting for a medic.’
Interesting, she wasn’t expecting us.
Nusayabah’s first mistake.
Tuesday 25th May 17.06
AMALA
Norton is pleading with Thompson. COBRA is back. They’re all arguing. I can hear them through the glass. They have less than ten minutes before another hostage will be shot. I’m watching the screen. A man is on his knees in front of a soldier, hands behind his back. There are screams from the crowd. Mitford’s demanding a decision. Thompson has his head in his hands.
Neil is talking to Sean. ‘Have we pinpointed where Nusayabah made the call from?’
‘Not yet.’
A noise in the background.
‘Hang on. We’ve got it. Neil, Amala, we’ve got it.’ He sounds triumphant.
I grab Neil.
‘Thanks, Sean. Give us the address?’
‘She’s in the Mulberry Estate. 19 Harman Road. I can see it on the screen. It’s an old, end of terrace house. Looks like it’s boarded up. There are cops and ATF50 guys in the next street.’
Dalgleish calls over to Mitford’s number two, David White.
White grabs his radio and barks. ‘Sara, Tom the address is 19 Harman Road. We are Amber. Repeat Amber. One street to the left of your current location. Perp believed to be there. Proceed with caution. We have back-up ninety seconds out. We know there is at least one heavily-armed guard. Likely to be more. Hostage is in a suicide vest. Likely to be traps. I repeat proceed with caution. We have two units trying to contain the estate. I cannot afford any other resources. All local units diverting to M25.’
I switch Neil’s screens to full picture. It’s fixed to the exact location. We can see the house in Harman Road. Millie is briefing Ahmed Hussain. I glance at the small screen in the corner showing the clock. Forty-six minutes and thirty-two seconds.
Over the speaker, Thompson is talking to Mitford. Mitford wants to move in before the next hostage is shot.
I hear him say, ‘Sir, we are in position. We can attack on your command.’
Thompson asks, ‘Can you guarantee the safety of the hostages.’
Mitford tries hard to hide his anger. ‘Sir, this is a live situation. We count eighteen terrorists, all armed. We cannot guarantee no civilians will be killed.’
Thompson looks to Norton. ‘Jean, this could be carnage.’
She nods, all colour has drained from her face. ‘Simon, either way, it could be carnage.’
I hear Mitford, ‘Too fucking late.’
Another hostage is dead.
Tuesday 25th May 17.16
MILLIE
‘Ahmed, try and keep Omar calm. Tell him that he can talk to his mummy. Ask if he would like that?’
‘He says he would.’
‘Ok. Put him on and let me talk to him.’
The screen shifts. I see this beautiful boy, thumb in his mouth. The same pink rabbit that Grace has tucked under his chin.
I say in a voice as calm and gentle as I can manage. ‘Hi, Omar. Is that the Big Pink Friendly Rabbit?’
He nods solemnly, never moving his thumb from his mouth. I garner as much control as I can so as not to scare him.
‘I have a little girl. He’s her favourite too. Do you like the song he sings? Rabbit Hop?’
I start to hum the theme tune. I watch him slowly remove his thumb and start to sing along.
I smile and say, ‘Wow, you’re a good singer. Does Mummy watch it with you?’
Another nod.
‘Would you like to talk to Mummy? Ahmed can bring you. You can have a ride in the supercopter and then we can get Mummy on the screen for you. I’ll be there and you can show me your rabbit. Would that be good? Maybe you could sing Rabbit Hop for her?’
A fierce nod.
‘Good, ok.’
Ahmed appears again. I say, ‘Quick as you can, get him here. Should only take ten minutes or so. Everything’s cleared for you to get here. Land at Horse Guards and there’s a car waiting.’
‘Got it.’
Tuesday 25th May 17.17
ELLA
I stare at Nusayabah, she shows no flicker of emotion as the second hostage is killed in cold blood. Third including the little boy. She’s acting as if it’s nothing.
I feel sick to the stomach.
She turns to me. ‘Simon Thompson’s weighing it up. How to save his own skin. No one will ever remember anything else about him now, apart from today. He’ll forever be the prime minister that caused death and destruction while he stood by and let it happen.’
She kneels beside me, I start to shake. She fingers the vest around me, gently tugging. The sweat runs down my back, cold and wet.
‘So, let’s see if he’ll listen to you. How would you like the chance to save the day? Or say your last goodbyes?’
I stare as she hands me a piece of paper. I read: ‘I am Ella Russell. I am married to a killer. His name is Neil Rochester and he is in the pocket of the infidel, Simon Thompson. My husband makes Ezylocate. It’s used by the government to harass innocent people. Muslims who are held in PPCs and treated like filthy animals. Simon Thompson has the blood of the dead at the M25 on his hands. He could stop it now, but he won’t; he’s letting them die. If he agrees to close the PPCs no one else will die. If he doesn’t then the soldiers will open fire and I will be taken to a location in London and more Kaffirs will be blown to hell. Inshallah.’
I look up, she says, ‘You didn’t think we were going to waste that vest just to blow you up, did you?’
Tuesday 25th May 17.19
MILLIE
Nusayabah’s gone. At last, Simon Thompson seems to be moving. He’s ordering Mitford to get ready to move in.
Mark, Amala, Neil and I move as one. The screens on Neil’s desk are showing the same picture from three different angles. Harman Road. Nusayabah’s HQ. Eight ATF50 officers. Terrifying in the masks and jack boots, heavily armed with Tasers and pistols as well as batons and the hugely controversial Heckler and Koch G36 Carbines. With speed and stealth, firearms poised and ready, they move with the sweet choreography of a Tchaikovsky ballet. My heart is thumping, my mouth is dry and my eyes are burning. It’s like a movie but it isn’t. It’s real and it’s Ella.
The ATF50 guys are lined up to move on White’s signal. We are hooked in to the special firearms officer, Sara Martin’s smart block. She’s ready to get Omar on the screen.
I hear a commotion and a child crying. I turn to see Ahmed Hussain holding Omar, Nusayabah’s son. Jennifer Robson, who had not moved from her chair since I spoke to her, suddenly sprints across the room.
She grabs her grandson and holds him tight, rocking back and forth and whispering over and over, ‘Oh, my sweet boy, my sweet, sweet boy.’
Omar wriggles and pushes against her. I walk over to him and gently prise him from Jennifer Robson, who can’t quite let him go. She kneels beside him and says, ‘Hello, Omar, I’m your grandmother.’
He looks scared and confused. I say, ‘Hey, Omar, I’m Millie. You sang your Rabbit Hop song to me.’ I start to hum it again and he joins in smiling.
I take him by the hand and sit him on a chair, he immediately starts to swivel, smiling at me as he twists it faster and faster.
I laugh and say, ‘Hey, how about we get Mummy to talk to you?’
Tuesday 25th May 17.22
NUSAYABAH
I make sure the screen is split between here and the M25. It’s going exactly to plan. I radio Thumi. ‘Get the next one lined up for 5.30.’
‘Will do.’
Every media outlet all over the world is showing images of the M25 and Ella. Now they are about to hear her plead for her life and the lives of the trapped rats on the M25.
I turn to Ella Russell. ‘Ok, let’s get Thompson and your husband in this show. Let’s see what you’re worth.’
I reconfigure the screen. I can see into Number 10. They aren’t expecting that. Maybe from here on in they’ll check their IT contractors a bit more carefully. I smile. ‘Stupid Bastards.’
The screen splits again. I can see Rochester and Millie Stephenson talking. I can see Thumi lining up the next hostage. A woman, dressed like a whore in tiny shorts. She’s pleading, screaming. No courage. Pathetic.
I say, ‘Mr Rochester. Get Simon Thompson. It’s time we all had a chat.’
I see them look up in shock, register the screens. Register I can see everything. I see him look for his wife. Thompson walks into the room with that bitch that wormed her way into Umm Umarah beside him.
‘Thompson, can you hear me?’
Neil grabs Thompson and physically yanks him to the screen. ‘Talk to her. Do it. Please. I’m begging.’
I turn the camera so it’s on Ella Russell, she’s covered in blood around her ear, her hair is sticking up where it’s been sliced and the suicide vest is in full view.
I spit at her, ‘Read it.’
She picks up the paper. ‘I am Ella Russell.’
She stops, takes the paper and chucks it at my feet.
‘I am Ella Russell. I am married to Neil Rochester. I love him with all my heart.’ She starts to speak faster and faster. ‘Neil, my darling, my love. She’ll never let me out of here. Never. She is a fucking mad woman. Millie, Mals, if you’re there, I love you. I love you. She’s mad. She’s going to kill all the people on the M25.’
I grab her by the arm and push her to the floor, ‘Shut the fuck up.’
I kick her hard in the head and leave her lying there.
I say, ‘Take her out, get her ready to move.’
Tuesday 25th May 17.24
Ella
My mind keeps drifting. My memories are more real than this room. I think about a long time ago.
Freshers’ week in Edinburgh. Even in the middle of September it’s freezing. I have been here for three days now and I am already wondering what December will feel like. I pull my hat down, stick my chin into my scarf and turn the corner along the side of the David Hume Tower. I stumble in the wind tunnel that keeps catching me out and walk the last few steps to the Freshers’ fair. I can smell the yeast in the air from the local brewery.
I think I’ll ring Mum and tell her she was right, it does nearly blow you off your feet. Then I remember she’s gone.
George Square is teeming with students, braving the cold and sitting in the gardens drinking coffee. Lots of excited people racing around with bunches of leaflets stuffed into their hands, looking to convince Freshers to join whatever club or society. I walk along the side of the gardens up to Teviot Row Student Union.
I see a girl from my hall that I haven’t spoken to yet. She is dressed in purple Doc Martens, a vintage frock covered in pink tea roses and a chunky jumper, her nose and eyebrow are pierced and I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone who looks more comfortable in their own skin. I smile and she walks over. ‘Hi, I’m Millie. I think I’ve seen you in Masson Hall?’
