facing east. They rose up slowly as Ali stood on a crate to address them in Arabic.
'Allah is great,' he began. 'Allah is looking down on us to see our work on his behalf. You will all carry explosives strapped to your bodies. The enemy will also be driving along both sides of the river bank, on their way home. Their last drive. You know what to do? To those who survive?'
'We know,' one huge Saudi called out. 'We get into the craft and speed to the shores…'
Ali had been meticulous in checking motor-powered dinghies were arranged along the roll-over decks. His cell had forty men and he felt sure a large number would survive long enough to arrive on the embankments. Once there they would use their sub-machine guns to spray the slow-moving traffic.
'Then,' the Saudi continued, 'we slaughter as many infidels as we can before we rush at crowds of pedestrians, clasp them and detonate our bombs. The Embankment will flow with their blood.'
There were shouts of praise from the packed cell, standing in rows behind each other. Ali raised a hand and the shouts ceased. It was not that he didn't approve of their reaction. Ever cautious, he didn't think there was any risk of their shouts being heard in the nearby hospital, not with the main hatch being still closed, but he couldn't risk it. Below the closed hatch was a roped-off area. Inside it perched the first of six torpedo shells, crammed with explosive, aimed to pass easily through the main hatch and then strike the central span. Beside it stood two men – one to press the button to activate the bomb, the second man to press the button which would send it winging its way upwards.
Ali, very athletic, shinned up the ladder (soon to be removed) and ran along the deck to the bows. Here they had placed a smaller bomb, the barrel of the launcher angled. This would be fired as soon as Nebuchadnezzar, the name of the main bomb, had been sent on its terrible way.
The smaller bomb at the bows would be aimed at the support struts of the bridge, to ensure the entire bridge collapsed. It was a refinement aboard all six barges – and something the defenders on the river banks were unaware of.
44
Dawn was a placid series of pink streaks in the east. The weather forecast was for a brilliant sunny day, the first for weeks, with temperatures still very low. Newman was behind the wheel of the four-wheel-drive taking his passengers – Paula by his side with Tweed and Beaurain in the rear seats – down to the Embankment.
'Which route are you taking?' Paula asked, by now completely lost.
'Any which way,' he replied. 'To avoid early morning traffic already building up. Buchanan has already closed the bridges and both sides of the embankment.'
They wended their way down side streets Paula had never known existed. Behind them followed three more four-wheel-drives. One contained Harry, driving, with all the murderous equipment piled into the vehicle, covered with canvas.
Behind him Nield drove with Sarge, well-muffled, beside him. The rear of the vehicle was packed with more weaponry, also concealed under canvas. This consignment was for the SAS and Sarge had put it aboard himself. All that Nield could see of Sarge was his eyes and his mouth, above and below a scarf.
Characteristically, the fourth vehicle was driven by Marler, who was by himself. His four-wheel-drive was also transporting more SAS equipment. Again the equipment was concealed by a canvas sheet. On the seat by his side rested an Armalite rifle, Marler's favourite weapon. He still held the legend of being the finest marksman in Western Europe.
Suddenly they were on the Embankment. Paula sucked in her breath. She had never seen the Embankment look like this before. She reflected she'd never see this sight again.
No traffic. No pedestrians. Westminster Bridge had been deserted. Dawn shed its spectacular light on the fast-moving Thames heading upriver. It was like something out of of a dream. The peace, the silence, only broken by the swish of the incoming tide splashing against the walls.
'It's high tide,' she said.
'Not yet,' Newman corrected. 'That's at 5.30 p.m.'
'So al-Qa'eda has chosen its attack time well.'
'It has,' he agreed. 'Tweed is convinced the same man planned September 11 in New York, the Trade Center tragedy. He's also convinced the mastermind is not an Arab. He's American or an Englishman.'
'Or a woman,' she said again.
She studied the map of the river Tweed had handed to her just before the vehicles left Park Crescent. At the head it was marked TOP SECRET. He told her Sarge had handed him this map on his first visit to Park Crescent.
'The blue circles show where we will be stationed at our firing points,' she remarked. 'The red ones are SAS firing points. Sarge must have recced this area in the middle of the night.'
'He did.'
Newman was driving at a moderate speed. He glanced in his rear-view mirror. The other three vehicles were strung out at intervals behind him. Paula stared across the river at the opposite bank. No sign of Buchanan's anti- terrorist squad, but she knew they would be there.
'We're about to pass an SAS firing-point,' she warned.
Newman glanced to his left. Beyond the pavement reared up a wall, a viewing platform almost invisible, surrounded by massed trees without foliage. Sarge had chosen well, but he would. Thirty yards past it he parked, leaving his engine running.
'Look back,' he said.
Vehicle No. 3, driven by Nield with Sarge by his side, had stopped. Four masked men with black caps and clothes had appeared from nowhere. They unloaded Nield's vehicle while Sarge supervised. Some of the equipment looked very heavy. Tweed spoke for the first time as he gazed back.
'Superbly well organized.'
Beaurain had also turned in his seat to look. His gaze was critical. Suddenly the vehicle was emptied. The masked men, some disguised for night with blackened faces, had vanished. So had all the equipment, some of it clearly very heavy.
'Incredibly professional,' Beaurain remarked. 'And they have camouflaged the jeeps brilliantly.'
'The jeeps?' Paula queried.
'Well,' Beaurain explained, 'they will start being positioned at that point to protect Waterloo Bridge. Once their work is done there they have to drive back like mad along the deserted embankment to reinforce the unit stationed further upriver. You'll find in a minute we also have jeeps.'
Harry, in vehicle No. 2, had paused while this part of the preparations took place. As Newman drove on so did Harry. Paula stared once more at the growing dawn, a spectrum of pink and blue and green. She wished she'd brought a camera to record the glorious sight.
Newman seemed to read her mind. Using one hand to drive, he delved under his windcheater with the other. When it emerged it was holding a small camera. He handed it to Paula.
'In case you need it.'
'Bless you.'
She took six shots of the dawn just before day came and the spectacle was replaced by a clear blue sky. She purred.
'I could kiss you.'
'Not now. Keep your eye on the map.'
'Sorry. Slow down. I think we're almost there.'
Newman pulled up alongside a location where a statue of a man on a horse was perched on a huge plinth well back from the pavement, shrouded by a mass of leafless trees. Tweed jumped out first, clambered up to the plinth, took out a pair of field-glasses and scanned the river. Paula had hauled herself up behind him, followed by Beaurain and Newman. To their surprise vehicle No. 3 had arrived and Sarge leapt up to join them on the plinth.
'From here,' said Tweed, 'we can disable the first barge and protect not only Waterloo Bridge but Hungerford
