Next in Line (William Warwick, #5)(95)

‘How do you propose getting thirty men off a C-130 and onto the Cornwall?’ asked the Cabinet Secretary, looking at the map. ‘There doesn’t seem to be a runway within five hundred miles.’

‘They’ll parachute into the sea along with their RIBs,’ explained the brigadier. ‘For these men, that’s as easy as jumping into a swimming pool is for you or me. Meanwhile, one of our latest submarines, the Ursula, is closing in on the yacht. In fact, they should already have made radar contact with them by now,’ he added, a pinpoint of light indicating a position well to the south of the third corner of the triangle.

‘What role does a submarine play in this operation?’ asked the Foreign Secretary.

A long silence followed, before the Defence Secretary admitted, ‘It’s there as a last resort, Prime Minister.’

‘A last resort for what?’ demanded the PM.

‘Should we fail to take the yacht.’

‘And if that were to happen?’ pressed the Cabinet Secretary.

An even longer silence followed before the Defence Secretary admitted, ‘HMS Ursula would blow the yacht out of the water. But not before we’re certain they’ve killed the Princess and, even then, not without your authority, Prime Minister,’ he added as a phone began to ring from the far end of the table. William looked suitably embarrassed and was about to turn it off, when he saw whose name was flashing up on the screen.

William stood up, leant across and pushed his Motorola into the middle of the table, while placing a finger to his lips. A room full of men who were used to giving orders fell silent as William pressed the speaker button, so everyone could follow the conversation.

‘Good morning, sir,’ said a voice with a slight Irish lilt, that William recognized immediately. ‘It’s DI Hogan.’

He couldn’t remember when Ross had last called him ‘sir’.

‘As you know, Inspector,’ said William playing along, ‘regulations require that in a situation like this you have to answer four security questions in order to prove your identity.’

‘Understood,’ said Ross, well aware William would be analysing every word he said.

‘How many officers are under my command at Buckingham Gate?’

‘Ten,’ said Ross.

‘How long does it take on average for an ambulance to reach a traffic accident in London?’

‘About eighteen to twenty minutes,’ responded Ross.

William wrote down the numbers ‘ten’, ‘eighteen’ and ‘twenty’, before asking his next question. ‘What was the first car you owned after leaving school?’

‘I wanted a Porsche, but had to settle for a second-hand MG, that only had a thousand miles on the clock.’

William added ‘one thousand’ to his list.

‘What was your mother’s maiden name?’

‘O’Reilly. I had six brothers and four sisters. Our mother ruled us with a rod of iron.’ William wrote down the numbers ‘six’ and ‘four’.

‘Thank you, Inspector Hogan. You can now tell me your reason for calling.’

‘As you may know, Bill, the yacht on which my principal is sailing has been taken over’ – he avoided saying, by a gang of terrorists – ‘and their leader who is now in charge of the vessel wishes to speak to you.’

Everyone in the room expected the next voice they heard to be Nasreen Hassan. That was to be the first of several surprises.

‘Good morning, Superintendent. My name is Jamil Chalabi, and let me assure you I have complete control of this vessel. Let me also make it clear from the outset, if you fail to carry out my orders to the letter, I will not hesitate to make your adulterous Princess walk the plank. That may sound overly dramatic, but I have a feeling the event would be peak viewing on every television channel around the world.’

A young secretary seated behind the Prime Minister fainted, and two of her colleagues helped her out of the room. Everyone around the table remained transfixed by the conversation.

‘Your silence suggests that I’ve caught your attention,’ said Chalabi. ‘So I’ll now tell you what will happen next if you hope to see your precious Princess again. First, you will release my leader, Mansour Khalifah, from solitary confinement in Belmarsh and have him transferred to the prison hospital, where I will be calling him in an hour’s time. Is that simple enough for you to follow, Superintendent?’

‘Yes, it is,’ said William, refusing to rise. ‘But you have to realize that releasing Mr Khalifah will be a decision for the Assistant Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police, not for me. And I have no idea where the AC is at the moment.’ William glanced across the table at Holbrooke, who gave him a curt nod.

‘You have one hour, no more. And I suspect he’s sitting in the room with you, so when I phone again, just be sure he’s ready to take my call. Should you attempt to double-cross me, the first person to die – well, let me be more accurate, the sixth – will be your colleague, Inspector Hogan, who is listening to this conversation. His will be a special death, which I’ve given some considerable thought. I’ve always wanted to know how long someone can survive in the sea without a life jacket. Less than a few hours, would be my bet.’ The line went dead.

‘I thought you told us that Chalabi was meant to be a society playboy,’ snapped the Prime Minister, ‘not a ruthless terrorist.’