For Voorhess, this and the absence of planes in the night sky was too much of a coincidence. He knew all about the client’s ultimatum, the fact that he had to fire the missile at eight p.m., but to stay put much longer was simply too risky. He looked at his watch. Just after 7.30. Not enough time to void the contract.
He’d have to get this thing over and done with soon. With a deep breath, he turned round and looked towards his target.
Fifty
19.32
Bolt was sitting in the car waiting for an update on the suspect Shogun’s route from the control room at Scotland Yard when Tina yanked open the driver’s-side door and leaned in, her eyes alight with excitement. ‘I think I know what their target is. Look.’ She grabbed him by the arm and almost pulled him out of the car, pointing up into the distance over the lock-up garages.
Bolt followed her arm to where London’s newest architectural masterpiece, the Shard, stretched up a thousand feet into the sky, barely half a mile distant. It was swathed almost completely in darkness except for a thin strip of light round the observation deck.
‘Isn’t tonight the official opening?’ continued Tina.
‘I don’t know,’ Bolt replied. ‘If it is, surely they’d have cancelled it after everything that’s happened today?’
‘But the lights are on up there and the last I heard the Prime Minister was telling everyone to keep calm and carry on as usual. They’ve got all sorts of dignitaries attending. It’s a great target, Mike. Look at it. The party’s right there on the observation deck. This can’t be a coincidence.’
‘Shit. We need to find out if that Shogun’s still moving. If it is, then it’s unlikely the Shard’s the target.’ But even as he spoke the words, he didn’t believe them.
Clutching the radio to his ear, he immediately re-established contact with the control room at Scotland Yard.
‘Have we got a line on what’s happening with the suspect vehicle, over?’ he asked, staring up at the Shard, wondering how on earth he’d overlooked it as a potential target.
‘Control to Car One,’ said the female controller, ‘we can now confirm that the suspect vehicle went through a camera on the A2198 Long Lane at 19.09, and there have been no further sightings. Over.’
Bolt felt his heart sink. ‘So the Shogun’s stationary? Can you triangulate an approximate location for it, over?’
‘We’re just waiting for Hendon to get back to us with that, over,’ answered the controller, referring to the police Data Centre where all the data from the UK’s vast network of CCTV and ANPR cameras was kept.
‘We need to know urgently if it’s within missile range of the Shard,’ Bolt told her. ‘We believe the Shard may be the terrorists’ target. Can you confirm whether tonight is the opening night party? Over.’
There was a commotion and the sound of raised voices at the other end of the radio as the people in the control room at Scotland Yard processed this new information. In the background, he could hear Commander Ingrams shouting to someone to find out.
Half a minute later, Ingrams’s voice came over the radio. ‘Mike, I can confirm it is the opening-night party tonight. It started at seven. We’re going to warn the owners and get the building evacuated immediately. We’ve also just got confirmation from Hendon that the Shogun’s somewhere in an area of Bermondsey bordered by Long Lane in the north and the New Kent Road in the south. It’s about eight hundred by eight hundred yards.’
‘Jesus. That’s a hell of a wide area to cover.’
‘I know. We’re going to flood it with officers. Hopefully it’ll put the shooter off firing if he sees police everywhere, and we’ve still got twenty minutes until the deadline. We’re going to need you, and the ARV units with you, down there to help right away. We’ll send you the exact coordinates now. Over and out.’
Bolt gestured to let the two ARV drivers know they were on the move, and he and Tina jumped back into Islington nick’s battered Ford Focus.
‘It looks like you were right,’ he told her as he did a rapid three-point turn and drove back out on to Gowland Street in a screech of tyres.
‘That’s only an achievement if we stop him,’ she said as Bolt hurtled down the street, with the ARVs following.
Fifty-one
19.41
Gina Burnham-Jones felt like she was on top of the world as she stared through the huge floor-to-ceiling glass windows, more than thirty feet high, at the carpet of lights spread below her. She could see the arc of the Thames as it did a sweeping right turn past the Gherkin and the NatWest Tower, snaked under Tower Bridge, with the Tower of London just beyond it, and then alongside Canary Wharf, before its dark waters slipped away into the distance, towards the sea.
‘It’s beautiful, isn’t it?’ she whispered, squeezing Matt’s hand.
He smiled. ‘So it was worth the surprise, then?’
She smiled back. ‘It was well worth it. A few hours ago I was washing Maddie’s clothes and cleaning the bathroom. And now here I am, drinking champagne and hobnobbing with the rich and famous.’
The observation deck of the Shard ran right round the building on three floors. Number 69, the central floor, where she and Matt now stood, was crowded with guests attending the opening-night party. Above their heads, and beyond the open-air observation deck on the seventy-second floor, Gina could see the shards of glass that made up the top of the tower as they disappeared into the night sky like icy, stretching fingers.
The whole thing was incredible. For the first time in her life, Gina really didn’t know where to look. She’d already recognized several TV personalities, a well-known businessman, and at least two gold medallists from London 2012, all milling about in groups as immaculately turned-out young waiters and waitresses moved among them dispensing a never-ending flow of expensive-looking canapes, and even more expensive-looking drinks. No one seemed to be talking about the bombs, which made Gina feel a little foolish for worrying so much. Thankfully, security coming into the building had been extremely tight. All the guests had passed through metal scanners and had had their bags searched before getting into the lifts, and she was pleased to see that everyone looked like they belonged.
She noticed a TV cameraman filming proceedings while a female reporter stalked the area with a mike in her hand, clearly prowling for someone to interview. Gina turned away quickly, having no desire to embarrass herself on TV.
‘No offence,’ she said, putting her arm through Matt’s and moving close to him, ‘but how did you get an invite to a swanky do like this?’
‘Because I’m handsome, debonair and popular,’ he answered.
Gina raised a sceptical eyebrow, and he lowered his eyes and gave a sheepish smile.
‘A few of us ordinary Joes got an invite if we’d done something for the community. I won a bravery award once. I guess it qualified me.’
‘You never told me about that.’
He shrugged. ‘You never asked.’
She loved Matt’s modesty, and the fact that he never felt the need to brag, and she leaned forward and kissed him on the lips.
He kissed her back, hard, and when they pulled away a second later he must have seen something in her expression because he held her tightly, looked into her eyes and said, ‘I’ve been meaning to ask you something.’
Gina smiled at him. She felt giddy, light-headed, and it wasn’t the alcohol. She suddenly felt good about her
