Cyberstrike by James Barrington (best memoirs of all time TXT) 📕

Hassan had managed to hang on to the wheel with one hand. And although the cabin cruiser had been comprehensively wrecked and the cockpit was already knee-deep in ice-cold water that was getting deeper by the second, it was still afloat. And, more importantly, so was their improvised explosive charge in what remained of the cabin, at least as far as he could see.

When Khalid pulled the trigger of the Kalashnikov Hassan immediately knew that something had gone very wrong with the weapon. He glanced sideways just in time to see the terminally damaged assault rifle fall from his companion’s hands at the same moment as Khalid collapsed. He didn’t know what had happened, but the sight of the limp body beside him confirmed that he was on his own. However Khalid had died was irrelevant.

He looked up the river towards the police launch. At that moment it was virtually stationary in the water, the skipper just starting to manoeuvre it towards him.

Hassan knew – as long as the detonation circuit still worked after the collision – that he could still do it. And the police launch, the vessel that had interfered with their carefully laid plan at quite literally the eleventh hour, was so close to him that he knew he would take the police officers with him when he detonated the charge. He also knew that he had to initiate the detonation right then, otherwise all would be lost and his and Khalid’s lives would have been forfeited for nothing.

He released the wheel as the cabin cruiser lurched sideways again and scrambled forwards into the entrance to the saloon to reach the simple trigger they had constructed. It was a cheap electric toggle switch that would do nothing complicated when it was activated, just complete the circuit between the battery they’d fitted and the electric blasting cap embedded in the block of Semtex. They’d waterproofed the switch to avoid the circuit being completed before they were ready in case of spray splashing into the cockpit. That would trigger the plastic explosive and that detonation would provide the booster to ignite the combination of ANFO and powdered aluminium, the mass of improvised explosive that had virtually filled the saloon of the vessel.

But as he reached for it, his world spun crazily around him as the cabin cruiser disintegrated further. The forward and aft sections of the vessel started to separate and the boat’s engine, wrenched free of its mountings in the collision, began a one-way journey down to the bottom of the river.

The thing about wooden boats is that they’re made of wood, and wood floats, so although the cabin cruiser had been comprehensively wrecked by the impact, both sections of it were still floating, albeit separated, as was the solid mass of the bags of explosive within their waterproof covering. And Hassan could still see the switch, screwed to what was left of the aft bulkhead of the saloon.

Stumbling clumsily forwards, half-swimming through the water that had engulfed the cockpit, he hauled himself towards his objective. He grabbed hold of what was left of the saloon door, pulled himself the final couple of feet and rested his finger on the switch.

For perhaps a second or two he didn’t move, just stared across the few yards of water that separated the wrecked boat from one of the most hated symbols of Western oppression. He glanced back towards the Targa launch, which was again accelerating towards him, closed his eyes and muttered a very short final prayer.

He tensed every muscle in his body in the knowledge of what was to come. And then he flicked the switch into the ‘on’ position.

Chapter 14

Secret Intelligence Service Headquarters, Vauxhall Cross, London

The phone in front of Dame Janet rang again. She answered it immediately and switched it to loudspeaker.

‘C-TAC. What’s happened?’

As everyone in the room had guessed, the caller was again the MPU duty officer out at Wapping.

‘Right at this moment we don’t know. We had a radio message from the sergeant who’s skippering the Targa launch. He said he was convinced the cabin cruiser was a floating bomb and that he was going to try to ram it. Since then nothing.’

‘If it was stuffed full of explosives,’ Dave North interjected, ‘a massive impact like ramming the boat might be enough to spark the detonation. But if he hit it out in the middle of the Thames that would mean the effects of the blast would be less than if the cabin cruiser was right next to Parliament. So that might have been a good decision.’

‘Are your skippers expected to ram vessels that don’t stop?’ Dame Janet asked.

They could almost see the duty officer shaking his head.

‘No. That’s much too dangerous and usually unnecessary. But in the circumstances the sergeant might have felt he had no other choice. He was suspicious about the appearance of the vessel, and when one of the two men in it opened fire at him with an assault rifle it was obvious that they were terrorists of some kind. And then when they started steering the boat straight towards Parliament, he probably thought his suspicions were justified. And in the absence of any other way of bringing the vessel to a halt, ramming was about the only option he had left.’

‘But you’ve had no reports about an explosion near Parliament?’ Morgan asked.

‘Not yet, but the radio network has almost gone into meltdown and the mobile network’s crashed. As soon I have anything definite I’ll give you a call. Look, I have to go now. I’ve got three different phones ringing.’

Chapter 15

North of Lambeth Bridge, London

As Hassan’s fingers flicked the bulkhead-mounted switch, he heard a sudden sharp crack audible even over the roaring of the engines of the patrol boat and a flash of light right in front of him. But what he didn’t feel was any sense of being instantly transported to paradise, only the numbing cold as the dark waters of the Thames soaked more of his