Stephen Leather - The Bombmaker

Lisa grinned across at Harris but he ignored her.

'Could you tell her a Mr Harris would like to see her…'

'Oh, she'll be far too busy to see you,' interrupted the receptionist.

Harris held up a hand to silence her. 'Tell her it's regarding business security and if she's not in reception in thirty seconds we'll be coming in to get her.' Harris flashed her a cold smile and nodded at the telephone in front of her.

The receptionist dialled a four-digit extension number with another scarlet-painted nail.

Harris looked at his watch as the receptionist spoke to Miss Daley's secretary. It was taking up to eight minutes to clear each floor.

The receptionist put the phone down. 'She's coming out.'

'I'm so thrilled to hear that,' said Harris.

Harris and Lisa waited over by two overstuffed black leather sofas. 'You do have a way of winning friends and influencing people, don't you?' chided Lisa.

'We don't have time for niceties,' said Harris. He nodded in the receptionist's direction. 'If it was up to me, I'd let her go up with the building.'

The doors to the main office area hissed open electronically and a tall woman in a dark business suit strode out. Unlike the receptionist she had natural blond hair, tied up at the back, and she was model-pretty with high cheekbones and deep blue eyes. Her cheeks were slightly flushed and she was clearly angry at the interruption, but Harris spoke quickly and earnestly, in a low whisper so that the receptionist couldn't overhear him.

When he'd finished explaining the situation, she asked if she could call her head office, but Harris shook his head. 'No outgoing calls,' he said firmly. 'Not to your head office, friends or relatives. Everyone must leave without saying a word to anyone outside the building.'

'For how long?' she asked.

'We don't know.'

'But this is a dealing room,' she said. 'We trade in millions every minute. You can't shut us down.'

'I'm afraid we can, Miss Daley,' said Lisa.

'But at least you can allow us to move to our emergency dealing room, can't you?'

'Where is that?' asked Harris.

'On the Isle of Dogs.'

'I don't see that that's a problem,' said Harris.

'But I'll have to get permission from head office,' said Miss Daley.

Harris shook his head.

'This is outrageous,' said Miss Daley.

Harris moved his face so that it was only inches from her face. She stared back at him unflinchingly. 'What's outrageous, Miss Daley, is that we are having this conversation, when we could all end up dying here. We have only minutes to evacuate the entire building. It's not a drill, it's not a game, we're not doing this because we've nothing better to do. Now, you either do as you're told or I'll have you arrested and thrown into a vomit-stained cell somewhere while we get someone else to clear your floor. Are we clear?'

'Crystal,' said Miss Daley quietly. 'But, Mr Harris, I'd like you to be aware that I'll be making an official complaint as soon as possible detailing your behaviour and attitude. Now, what do you need?'

'I need groups of ten to be brought into reception. How many staff do you have on this floor?'

'One hundred and twenty. Do we bring the women first?'

'No. A mix of men and women. But it mustn't look as if they're carrying all their belongings. Briefcases are okay, but this mustn't look like an evacuation. I don't want you to make a general announcement – you're to quietly approach individuals. Send them into reception in batches often. And make it clear, no phone calls to the outside.'

Miss Daley nodded. She turned and walked back into the dealing room. Harris turned to Lisa. 'Why don't people just do as they're told?' he asked.

'You could try saying please,' said Lisa.

'Please? You heard her – she was more concerned about money than about what might happen to the building. It's like those sad bitches who insist on going back into a burning building to rescue their handbags.'

Lisa smiled thinly at him. 'If I didn't know better, Gordon, I'd suggest it was your wrong time of the month.'

Before Harris could reply the electronic doors hissed open and the first group of ten office workers began filing through into the reception area. A male MI5 agent already had one of the lift doors open and Harris shepherded them towards it, explaining that they were to go down to the carpark in the basement of the tower block and exit from there.

– «»-«»-«»Patsy took her phone away from her mouth. 'Six floors clear so far,' she said to Hetherington.

Hetherington nodded his approval. He was watching the bank of monitors. There were now eight screens showing the thermal images. There were still only four figures, glowing green in the shadowy background. One of the figures was bent at the waist, obviously sitting, while the three other figures stood around it. Captain Payne stood behind Hetherington, his eyes flicking from screen to screen. Hetherington tapped the image of the seated figure on one of the screens. 'If I was a gambling man, I'd say that was Tango Four.'

Payne nodded. 'She's working on the timer.'

'Tango Four?' said Martin.

Hetherington turned, surprised at the interruption. He hadn't realised that Martin was there.

'Your wife,' said Hetherington.

'My wife has a name, Mr Hetherington,' said Martin. 'I'd be happier if you used it.'

'The tango designation makes identification easier,' said Captain Payne. 'We don't have time to memorise names.'

'My understanding is that tango means target,' said Martin. 'My wife is not a target. She's a victim. I don't want anyone referring to her as a target. She has a name. Andrea. Andrea Hayes.'

'You're quite right, Mr Hayes,' said Hetherington. 'I apologise.'

Before he could say anything else, one of the technicians shouted over at them. 'We have sound.'

The technician tapped the keys on his laptop and then started flicking switches on a console. There were small loudspeakers on either side of the bank of monitors. There was a hissing sound, then voices. The technician's Fingers played across the keyboard again. The voices became clearer.

'How are you getting this?' asked Martin.

Patsy leaned across and put her mouth close to Martin's ear. 'Lasers,' she whispered. 'We bounce lasers off the windows to pick up the vibrations caused by sounds inside the building.'

The volume was increased, and suddenly Martin realised that it was Andy's voice he was listening to.

'… going to do? You can't go through with this.'

She sounded close to tears.

'Set it, Andrea.' A man's voice. An American accent. 'Sixty minutes.'

Patsy looked across at Hetherington. 'Sixty minutes,' she mouthed.

'Do it, Andrea. Do it or I'll put a bullet in your knee.'

Hetherington walked away from the monitors, pulling his mobile phone out of his jacket.

'We're going to have to move fast,' said Payne. 'An hour's no time at all.'

'We have to talk to the PM first,' said Patsy.

'What's happening?' asked Martin, looking over at his shoulder at Hetherington, who was whispering into his phone, a look of urgency etched into his features. 'What's going on?' He was ignored. He stared at the bank of monitors as he realised for the first time what he was looking at. The man with the American accent was pointing a gun at his wife, and if she didn't do as she was told, he was going to shoot her.

– «»-«»-«»Andy sat back and closed her eyes. 'It's done,' she said. The digital display showed 01.00.

'Take it over to the bags,' said the man in the ski mask, gesturing with his handgun.

Andy stood up and lifted the briefcase. The man moved away from her as she carried it over to the pile of black garbage bags. She placed it on top of the pile and turned to face the man. The Wrestler and Green-eyes were standing by the line of ovens, watching.