Next in Line (William Warwick, #5)(76)
‘Not really. Because if I don’t make a million for the Warhol that Beth’s so confident about, twenty per cent of nothing is nothing. If she’s willing to take the risk, then so am I.’
CHAPTER 27
‘I THOUGHT THE GOLD COMMANDER usually remained back at base while Silver ran the operation on the ground with Bronze to assist him?’ said William.
‘Then you thought wrong,’ said Holbrooke, looking around to take in everything that was happening. He could see over a hundred highly trained officers surrounding the concert hall, all of them wearing high-vis jackets over their uniforms, to warn anyone who hadn’t come to join in the chorus of ‘Land of Hope and Glory’ to stay away. Holbrooke clearly believed prevention was better than cure. ‘Did your search officers come up with anything half interesting when they combed the building earlier this morning?’
‘They went over every inch of the hall from the roof to the basement, sir,’ said William, ‘but all they found was an empty box of Swan Vesta matches that the overnight cleaners must have missed. I went up on the roof myself and walked around the glass dome, and didn’t spot anything suspicious. But the dogs have just moved in and are checking the auditorium row by row, from the stalls to the gods.’
‘Then he can’t have entered the building yet. Several possible suspects were seen heading towards London this morning, coming from Manchester, Birmingham and Bradford, not all of them by direct routes. They could of course be decoys, but if any of them come within a mile of the hall, they’ll be apprehended, taken in for questioning, and not released until later – much later. What time do the doors open to the public?’
‘Six o’clock,’ said William, glancing up at the roof of the Royal College of Art, where he could see half a dozen snipers sweeping the crowd with binoculars. ‘The conductor, Sir John Pritchard, will walk onto the stage at seven thirty, by which time four of my team will be mingling with the promenaders.’
‘Along with ten of my operatives,’ said Holbrooke as he checked the traffic lights on the corner of Exhibition Road, which he had control over. William’s gaze settled on the Albert Memorial, a hundred yards away in Kensington Gardens. On its steps a young couple were embracing, but he knew they weren’t lovers, as one was keeping a watchful eye on the park, while the other focused on the road in front of the main entrance to the Albert Hall. William had to admire how calm Holbrooke appeared to be, while he himself remained uncomfortably on edge, all too aware that a couple of hundred operatives were out there on his recommendation and, even worse, on information supplied by a man he didn’t trust.
By the time the sun began to dip behind the French Ambassador’s residence, a steady stream of excited concert-goers were making their way towards the hall in anticipation of the evening’s entertainment ahead.
‘I’ll leave you now, sir, and join my team inside,’ said William.
‘Make sure you’re the last person to leave the building,’ said the Gold Commander.
William liked the way Holbrooke ran things, leaving nothing to chance. He crossed the road and entered the hall as if he were an ordinary concert-goer, watching carefully as the punter’s tickets were checked and then double-checked, creating a long line of disgruntled promenaders. Even after they’d escaped and made their way into the auditorium, they were then checked for a third time. One ticket holder protested when his backpack was emptied onto a table manned by a vigilant plainclothes police officer, and became even more heated when told he could pick it up from the cloakroom after the performance was over.
‘Bloody police state,’ he proclaimed at the top of his voice, before heading off to join his mates in the arena.
William made his way slowly around the wide corridor that circled the auditorium, before going inside to join the boisterous revellers. Some of them had already been there for over an hour, and would be the last to depart, long after the musicians had finally left the stage. He prayed they would depart singing.
He quickly spotted Paul and Jackie, then finally Rebecca, but they didn’t acknowledge him. He nearly missed Ross, who was dressed in a scruffy T-shirt and torn jeans, blending in with the promenaders as if he were one of them. In theory it was his night off, but William knew nothing would have stopped him being there, even if he hadn’t been invited.
His team were already settled in their positions at the four points of the compass, from which they were able to scan the crowd as they searched for a lone figure who looked out of his comfort zone.
William checked the tiers above him, where dozens of plainclothes officers – he could spot a copper at a hundred paces – were checking tickets, directing people to their seats and selling programmes, while at the same time looking for that one elusive individual who might have a cocktail of explosives secreted beneath a bulky shirt, jumper or jacket. The Gold Commander had warned his team that their quarry might have already attended several other prom concerts during the past month to get the lie of the land and reduce the risk of obvious ‘signpost’ warnings.
‘Never forget,’ Holbrooke had reminded them, ‘we’re dealing with a person who’s been indoctrinated, and is willing to sacrifice his life for a cause he believes in.’
As each minute passed, the frenzy of expectation grew louder and louder. Eventually the orchestra made its way on stage, greeted by loud cheers, followed by a special ovation for the first violinist, who took a bow. Finally, when it seemed they could bear it no longer, the audience erupted as Sir John Pritchard made his entrance, stopping to bow several times before mounting the podium and turning his back on them. William scanned the crowd, but couldn’t spot anyone who wasn’t joining in the applause. At one level he was relieved, but at the same time, if he’d been set up, he was going to make sure Faulkner’s sentence was doubled.