Colin Forbes - Cell

'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 Bridge, which carries all the trains from Charing Cross.'

'If we succeed,' said Nield, who had joined them.

'When we succeed,' growled Sarge.

Vehicle No. 2, driven by Harry, had parked below them. His voice expressed frustration.

'You lazy lot up there. Get down here and help me bring up the weaponry. Now!'

Sarge took control. He lay down on the edge of the plinth and issued the order.

'All of you go down, fetch equipment, hand it to me. It will save time clambering up the plinth. We must keep moving.'

Paula was the first to reach the vehicle. Harry handed her a sub-machine gun, a satchel of ammo. She insisted she could take two guns. Scrambling with her burden up to the base of the plinth, she handed one weapon, then another, then the ammo satchel to Sarge, who grasped them in his hands, laid them behind him on the plinth. She was surprised at his great strength.

When all the weapons were delivered they were covered with heavy canvas to conceal them. All except Sarge were perspiring when they had completed the job. Paula stood on the plinth as she asked the question.

'Where are our jeeps?'

Sarge made a sound which could have been a chuckle. He pointed down to the side of the pavement.

'You've walked past them several times. They're under all those branches piled against the embankment wall. Now, we must start work.'

'What was that we have been doing?' Paula asked.

'Initial preparation.'

A semaphore light began flashing from the other side of the river. Sarge stared intently. Then he produced from a satchel over his shoulder a signalling lamp., flashed back a reply.

'What was that?' Tweed asked.

'Buchanan. Asking if all goes well. I replied all is going well, all will go well…'

The convoy of four-wheel drives reversed, except that Newman raced past them to take the lead, knowing the route. Now they had four more bridges, some way upriver, to locate and furnish firing-points already mapped out by Sarge.

He must have spent most of the night deciding on the best location, thought Paula. Yet he's moving round like a man who has had eight hours' sleep.

Again and again the SAS units appeared from nowhere when they reached a fresh firing-point. More and more weapons were stockpiled for both groups. At one point Newman approached Sarge to ask him a question he had forgotten.

'At the plinth between Waterloo and Westminster bridges I noticed we were overlooked by office buildings. Surely we would be seen by people inside?'

'No.' It was Beaurain who answered. 'Buchanan had every building evacuated. Reason given, danger of major gas explosion. They were gone – if any tried to enter -long before we arrived. Including security and cleaning people.'

Paula found herself acting like an automaton. Carrying a load of weaponry, running back to Marler's vehicle which seemed stuffed with endless weapons. She was surprised at the rate Tweed kept up, showing no signs of fatigue. Then she remembered that these days he took to walking the two miles to and from his flat to Park Crescent. He looked remarkably fit.

They did not proceed with the vehicle convoy to Albert Bridge. As on the journey out, early in the morning only one vehicle made its way there. Newman again drove with Paula by his side. In the rear seats Tweed sat next to Beaurain.

As they approached the area Paula was once more struck by the eerie atmosphere. No traffic. No people. Nothing moving on the river. As though London had been frozen into a strange ice age. She pointed to the apartment buildings and houses close to the river.

'Anyone at home?'

'No one,' Tweed told her. 'Buchanan has evacuated everyone who might be within range of what is going to happen. A few argued but he didn't take any notice. Same explanation. A huge gas explosion feared.'

Newman stopped the car when they were close to the bridge. Paula stared in puzzlement. She was tired and couldn't grasp what might have happened.

'There are cars all along the far side of the bridge. Why?'

'It's wrecks obtained from a car crusher firm. Brought out on huge transporters. So the first bridge al-Qa'eda see will look normal.',

'I'd like to take a few photos. It's a beautiful bridge…'

They waited while she got out, aimed her camera. Lighting was perfect. She took twelve pictures. Then stood gazing at what wouldn't be there in a few hours. She felt sad. Returning to the car she smiled, thanked them. They headed back for Park Crescent, Newman trying to find a way through alley-like streets.

During the complex drive back to Park Crescent Paula sat with a serious expression. She was unusually silent. Before getting back into the car she had glanced at the serene view downriver. Supposing al-Qa'eda succeeded? Destroyed all the target bridges? London would be severed in two. As in the time long ago of Roman occupation. Worse – the Romans had spanned the river efficiently. Behind her Beaurain leaned forward, as though sensing her fears. He squeezed her shoulder.