Chapter 18 – Attack
In the hospital reception area Stannard was fighting for breath as she relayed the events of the botched rescue to Sergeant Blunt.
“We’ve got to send in more men,” he urged. “We’ll strike first, taser everyone. There’s not many of them. But we’ve got to sort this mess out. Two officers down already and Shelley’s death was all over the TV.”
Stannard nodded.
“Get the teams ready. One goes up via the stairs. One from a helicopter dropping onto the roof. I’m going in the helicopter though. I’ve had it with the stairs.”
“Ma’am! Ma’am,” shouted PC Nelson, running into the reception area. “You need to see this.” He was carrying a laptop. It was showing 24/7 Interactive News. A live report. He held the laptop so Stannard and Blunt could watch.
Chief Superintendent Harden was in front of the camera, standing next to Jasmin Sharma’s bed.
“Is this being broadcast to the world?” asked Stannard, horrified.
“No. The 24/7 people alerted us as soon as the cameraman contacted them. They think it’s going out live up there, but it’s only us that’s seeing it.”
Stannard felt relieved. A live TV event was the last thing the Commissioner would stand for.
They watched. Harden was beckoning the camera closer to Jasmin Sharma’s bed.
“I’m sure you’ll recognise your publicity hungry, duplicitous reporter,” he said, gruffly. “We’ve covered her in alcohol. I’m sure it’s not a first for her.” He smiled coldly at the camera. “She’s all right. She’s safe. Nothing will happen to her as long as we are left alone. We don’t want anyone else to come up here.” Harden stepped out of the way and Mrs Randerson entered the frame.
“Good evening. My name is Glennis Randerson. No doubt you saw my interview earlier in the day.”
Stannard and Blunt exchanged puzzled looks.
“Who does she think she is? The Queen?” asked Blunt.
“This woman,” Mrs Randerson indicated Jasmin, bound and gagged in the bed, “promised to get my darling Philip treated in America. She was lying to further her career. Now, I’m a forgiving person. And I’m prepared to live and let live. As long as my Philip is kept safe. Otherwise Miss Sharma is going to experience what my poor Philip experienced when he was trapped in the burning coach. She’s going to know how it felt.”
Mrs Randerson took out a box of matches from her handbag and struck one. She let it burn in front of the camera.
“And then Miss Sharma can decide whether a good story is more important than receiving effective treatment.”
“You’re mad!” came a muffled voice off-camera. Stannard thought it sounded like Samantha Blake. The camera swung around to reveal her, sitting in a chair, legs in plaster, holding a sandwich. “Philip!” she was pleading. “Stop this.”
The camera panned around the room.
“It’s a Mad Hatter’s tea party up there,” observed Sergeant Blunt, taking in the impromptu picnic.
The camera settled on Ivan Reddington, still on his knees. There was the sound of a muffled squeal. The camera switched round again to Jasmin. She was trying to sit up on the bed, but was unable to because of her restraints. She hadn’t noticed her former lover in the room before. Harden walked across the room and stood over Reddington.
“Get up,” Harden ordered. Reddington quietly picked himself up and stood passively in front of the Chief Superintendent. Harden faced the camera.
“This is just so you know what we’re capable of up here,” he said, matter-of-factly. He turned back to Reddington. “Mr Reddington. Walk towards the broken window.”
“He’s going to make him jump!” muttered Stannard.
“He wouldn’t. He can’t!” said Blunt.
They watched Reddington do as he was instructed. They could hear Samantha Blake’s desperate protests in the background.
Harden turned back towards the camera again. Reddington could be seen just over his right shoulder.
“Jump,” said Harden. Reddington jumped. They could hear Samantha Blake screaming and muffled cries from Jasmin Sharma.
“Keep watching,” said Harden, and he walked away from the camera.
“Oh my God,” said Stannard. “Nelson, get someone out there to take care of Mr Reddington’s body.”
“They’re going to kill everyone up there Ma’am.” Blunt started checking his taser. “Let’s get going. Helicopter is on its way down. I’ll take the stairs.”
Outside, standing by the police van, James Blake had acted fast and he felt exhilarated. There had been a collective gasp from the ever-growing crowd around the hospital site when they spotted Ivan Reddington appear at the broken window. This was followed by a cacophony of screams as the man jumped, apparently to his death.
Instinctively, James reached out his hand. He was standing over 50 metres from the side of the building that Reddington had jumped from, but not for a second did James believe he was too far away. Despite his earlier failures, he already felt an unshakeable confidence in his new abilities. He could feel adrenalin pumping through his veins; a force like electricity surging through every fibre of his being; and he was awash with a rush of pleasure in exerting the strength of his telekinetic power.
He could feel the weight of Reddington’s body as it was falling the nearly 150 metres to the ground below. He could feel himself pushing against the travelling mass, trying to slow it down. And he was succeeding. His stomach muscles felt tight and at one point he almost laughed. But it was working.
The crowd watched in disbelief as the falling man seemed to slow down in mid air.
The whole event was over in a less than ten seconds, but James had done it. Reddington still hit the ground with a thump, but nothing that would seriously injure him.
James realised he was breathing heavily. He felt like he had just performed 100 sit-ups.
Roger and Yvonne Blake looked at their son in wonder.
“I did that,” gasped James. “I saved him.”
“I know you did, Son,” said Roger Blake, rubbing James’s back. He was delighted, but anxious. Something was troubling him, but with events moving so fast there was no time to sit down and think through what that issue might be. “I know you did.”
James straightened up. His strength had returned already. This was brilliant. Was there nothing he couldn’t do?
Ambulance crews were rushing over to where Reddington lay on the tarmac. Further away from the hospital, a police helicopter was touching down in a large, deserted section of the car park. DI Stannard ran towards it. James watched her as she was helped into the helicopter. He saw her check her taser. He watched the helicopter lift into the air, his mind made up.
“I’ve got to get up there, Dad. I’ll be careful, but it’s all gone wrong hasn’t it? They’re not going to be able to rescue Sam. We’ve already seen one man die. I managed to save that last one, but what if something happens to Sam up there? I’ve got to make sure she’s all right.”
Roger looked at his wife. She was torn between fearing for her daughter and the thought of letting go of her son.
Roger made a decision.
“Ok. You can go. But you’re taking me with you.”
“I can’t, Dad,” James reacted. He felt the same protective nature for his father as his father had for him. He couldn’t put his parents in danger. “I know I can bring Sam out. But I don’t know if I can bring both of you out.”
“Don’t worry about that. Just get Sam out. I’ll find my own way.”
“I can’t do that, Dad.”
“James – either we both go, or no one goes,” Roger ordered.
James waited, frustrated.
Chief Superintendent Harden watched the police helicopter hovering in front of the windows of the 36th floor. He had dispatched Patel, Loach and Smith back to the stairwell to guard the entrance.
“They’ll probably try and land people on the roof and then come down the fire stairs,” he observe
d. “Another team will use the regular staircase.”
As he watched, the helicopter rose higher into the air, beyond his viewing range. He turned back to Dave Sturn who was still nervously filming.
“It looks like we’re going to have to give your partner,” he gestured towards Jasmin, “her big moment. A blaze of publicity, you might say.”
Dave said nothing.
Emma Venton and Jerome Lake quietly got out of their beds and stood next to Anika Ali, forming a sort of parade-ground line in front of Harden.
“You three. Up to the roof,” he commanded. “We’re fighting for survival. Go.”
The three sleepwalkers lumbered out of the ward.
Mrs Randerson watched them go, and then she looked down her nose at Sam.
“Why are you crying, girl?” she asked sternly.
Sam had her head in her hands. She almost didn’t know the answer to that question. She had seen so many terrible things over the last week that, really, one more death shouldn’t have affected her so much, should it? She couldn’t stop shaking and it wasn’t because she was cold. She had to do something. Broken legs or not, she had to end the nightmare.
Dave Sturn kept filming. He had no idea what was going to happen. He looked at Jasmin. She was frightened, but gave him a wink. He admired her bravery. He wondered whether this was being broadcast to the world. It was explosive footage. There had never been a story like it, he was sure. If Jasmin survived, she had got one hell of a scoop. He spoke into the microphone that he had used to contact the outside broadcast van in the car park. “You still getting all this, Sharon?”
The 24/7 Interactive News outside broadcast van was parked in the grounds of the hospital, close to numerous police vehicles. Sharon Sweet sat in front of the monitors and PCs. For outside broadcasts, the cameraman and presenter could be wirelessly connected to the OB van, which then boosted the signal back to the studio and transmitted the programme, via playout servers, to the satellite, cable and internet TV networks.
Sharon was in charge of the OB van, and it was her job to co-ordinate between the studio and the presenter and cameraman. When Dave Sturn’s request had come through to broadcast events live from the hospital, she had immediately alerted the police. They had then ensured that only the police could view the live footage, to help plan their attack on the 36th floor.
Sharon sat in the van with her colleague Tom Barnard and one of the police IT specialists, Darren Bell.
All three of them were highly surprised when the door to the van opened and a pretty schoolgirl stood looking in at them.
“Do you mind, luv?” stormed Sharon. The general public were a constant irritation in her job.
“You shouldn’t be here, darling,” said Darren Bell, a little more gently.
Tom Barnard never even got to speak. The girl reached out a hand. Tom saw the hand glow red, and then he felt like his whole body was on fire. His blood was boiling, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t see. Then nothing.
Sharon watched in horror as her colleague pitched forward onto the floor of the van, smoke pouring from his ears, nose, mouth and from under his suit. Seconds later, she and Darren Bell suffered the same fate. Neither of them had time to call out for help.
Lolly jumped gracefully into the van and closed the doors. Nobody had seen. She settled down to watch the events unfold in Windsor Ward. Maybe now they would get some answers as to what was happening.
The helicopter hovered over Brent Valley General Hospital. The skyline of West London was fairly flat. Stannard could see right across the city to Canary Wharf, shimmering in a heat haze. It was a breathtaking view. It was a glorious, sunny day and London had never looked more beautiful. Under different circumstances it would be nice to just sit here and appreciate it.
Stannard waited as the helicopter touched down on the roof. She felt a sense of déjà vu. Once again she was leading a team of five CO19 officers. Who would be returning this time? she thought gloomily.
She wondered if this group resented her presence on the operation. She didn’t care. She had to be here. This mission was very different from any other that these people would have encountered. The officers had been briefed, but they would need her here to lead them. Nobody else knew what they were up against.
Stannard was first off the helicopter. She was followed by officers Lucas, Dillon, Djarbi, Nowak and Okeke. She didn’t know anything about them. She didn’t want to.
They hurried across the rooftop in single file, towards the door set into the rectangular brick structure in the middle of the roof. Stannard was about to open the door.
Officer Okeke, the only other female officer in the team, stopped her.
“Sorry Ma’am. We’ll go first.”
Okeke opened the door and lead the way. The door was situated at the top of a stairwell. It was totally dark inside. Stannard was hit by a damp, musty smell. Okeke found a light switch. She flicked it, but nothing happened. The light from the door that they had just entered was all that was available.
Okeke proceeded cautiously to the bottom of the first flight of stairs. All clear. She turned and peered down into the gloom. Logically, the door giving access to the corridors on floor 36 must be at the bottom of the remaining steps.
She nodded to Nowak, who was waiting at the top of the stairs. He took a step down. There was a cracking sound. Stannard heard it from outside, despite the sound of the wind swirling round the building. Okeke screamed and blue sparks jumped off her legs. She began convulsing and collapsed down the stairs.
“Officer down!” shouted Nowak. Okeke had been KO’d by a taser shot. Nowak wanted to throw a smoke or stun grenade down the steps, but with Okeke lying at the bottom of the staircase he did not dare.
He took a chance. With the taser bolt stuck in Okeke’s leg, the assailant should be unarmed. Assuming there was only one which, given the confined space, seemed a logical conclusion. He might just be able to make it downstairs and take the assailant by surprise. He jumped down the stairs, three at a time, using the handrail to steady himself. His reached the halfway point where Okeke had been shot. He didn’t hesitate. He launched himself down the second flight. He could see Okeke’s twitching body, and caught a glimpse of metal beside her. He fired his taser and hoped for the best.
The electric bolt hit the sleepwalking SFO Smith in the bicep. He felt no pain, as his mind was controlled by Philip Randerson, but his body went into spasms. He slumped to the floor next to Okeke.
Nowak checked Okeke’s body. She was breathing, but unconscious.
“We’ve got to get Okeke and Smith back to the helicopter,” he called back.
Stannard pushed her way to the front.
“Ok. But handcuff them first.”
“You what?” said Nowak, outraged. “These are our colleagues, our friends.”
“You just tasered one of them. When they wake up they could both be throwing you off the roof. Take them back to the helicopter. They’ll get proper medical attention off-site.”
Reluctantly, Nowak heaved the inert form of Okeke over his shoulder, while Lucas and Dillon came down to pick up Smith.
Another delay, mused Stannard, and both sides were one player down.