“All right, this is how we will respond in London. If we have any warning that a disaster is coming, it will be required that all broadcasters turn over their airtime to us. Text-messaging alerts to mobile phones and pagers will also be available. Other less-effective methods include loud-hailers, mobile public address, et cetera.
“Suffice it to say that the people will know if we know ahead of time that an attack is coming. The Met’s police commissioner or the home secretary will go on TV with the message.
“If there is a bomb or a chemical attack, the police and fire services will set up immediately in the area. Once it is clear exactly what has happened, the affected area will be isolated as best we can. The fire brigade and police will then define three zones at the scene—hot, warm, and cold.
“Those in the hot zone—if they are alive—will be kept there until they are decontaminated, if that is possible.
“Fire and ambulance services will be set up in the warm zone. So will decontamination shower units.
“The cold zone will be used for investigation, command-and-control vehicles, and also for loading ambulances.”
Dr. Bergen stopped talking and looked out at us. His face was set in a worried look but also revealed the compassion he was feeling for his city and its p
eople. “Some of you may have noticed that I have not actually made mention of the word ‘evacuation.’ This is because the evacuation of London is not a possibility, not unless we begin now, and the repugnant and villainous Wolf has promised to strike immediately, should we do so.”
Maps and other emergency materials were then distributed around the room. It seemed to me that the mood was as low as it could possibly go.
As I sat there looking at the paperwork, Martin Lodge came up to me. “We got a call from the Wolf,” he said in a whisper. “You’ll appreciate this. He says he likes our plan very much. And he agrees, it’s hopeless to try and evacuate London —”
Suddenly there was a terrible explosion in the building.
Chapter 64
WHEN I FINALLY made it downstairs to the site of the bombing, I was stunned by the unbelievable scene of chaos and confusion. The world-famous Scotland Yard sign in front had been completely blown away. There was rubble and a smoking hole where the Broadway road entrance had been. The remains of a black van were embedded in the sidewalk outside.
A decision had already been made not to abandon the building, to hold our ground. I thought that was smart, or at least courageous. A couple of dozen men and women were already viewing a videotape in semidarkness when I arrived at the crisis center. One of them was Martin Lodge.
I took a seat in back and began to watch. I looked down, and my hands were trembling.
The film segment showed Broadway that morning, the usual armed policemen on duty outside the huge, imposing building. A black van appeared, driven at reckless speed the wrong way down Caxton Street opposite the main entrance to Scotland Yard. It roared straight across Broadway and crashed into the barrier erected at the entrance. Almost instantly there was a fiery explosion. It was silent on the film. The whole building was illuminated.
I heard someone speak from near the front of the room. Martin Lodge had taken the floor. “Our enemy is truly a terrorist, and obviously single-minded. He wants us to know that we are vulnerable. I think we’ve got the message by now, don’t you? It’s interesting that no one was killed this morning, other than the driver of the vehicle. Maybe the Wolf has a heart after all.”
A voice came from the back of the room. “He doesn’t have a heart. He just has a plan.” The voice, which I almost didn’t recognize, was my own.
Chapter 65
I WORKED AT Scotland Yard for the rest of the day and slept on a cot there that night.
I awoke at three in the morning and went right back to work. The second deadline would run out at midnight. No one could begin to imagine what would happen then.
At seven that morning I was in cramped quarters, inside an unmarked police van headed to an estate in Feltham, out near Heathrow Airport. I rode with Martin Lodge and three of his detectives from the Met. We had recently been granted special permission to carry guns on this assignment. That was better.
Lodge explained the situation during the ride. “Our men, along with Special Branch, are all over Heathrow and the surrounding areas. We’re working with the airport police, too. One of our people spotted a suspect with a missile launcher on the rooftop of a private home. We have surveillance there now. We don’t want to go in, for obvious reasons, made only too clear yesterday. He’s bound to be watching the neighborhood. I wouldn’t doubt it for a minute.”
One of the other detectives asked, “Do we have an idea who it is inside the house, sir? Have we sussed out anything at all?”
“The house is rented. It belongs to a property developer. Pakistani, if that means anything. We don’t know who the tenants are yet. The house is a few hundred yards from the runways at Heathrow. Need I say more?”
I looked over at Lodge, who had his arms wrapped tightly around his chest. “Very nasty stuff,” he said. “Understatement of the year, right, Alex?”
“I’ve had that feeling for a while. Ever since I first encountered the Wolf. He enjoys hurting people.”
“You have no idea who he is, Alex? What makes him this way?”
“He seems to change his identity on a regular basis. He . . . or she? We got close a couple of times. Maybe we’ll get lucky now.”
“It better happen soon.”