The Becket Approval by Falconer Duncan (interesting books to read TXT) 📕

joined him. ‘Those are bore holes,’ Bob said.

‘Bore holes?’ Gunnymede asked.

‘Water wells,’ Bob explained. ‘That’s how Londoners got their water before the days of piping it in.’

‘They stopped using them by the early nineteen hundreds when water mains were put in,’ Tyrone added.

‘This one is between the underground tunnel and the embankment,’ Gunnymede said.

The others took a closer look.

‘That’s right,’ Bob said.

‘What’s the diameter of the bore hole?’ Gunnymede asked.

‘A couple of metres at least,’ Bob said. ‘Maybe four.’

‘And what’s the gap between the bore hole and the embankment?’

‘Don’t know,’ Tyrone said. ‘Couple of metres I suppose.’

‘Would flooding the bore hole impact the train tunnel?’ Gunnymede asked.

‘Sure. If the bore hole was open to the river the tunnel would get flooded too,’ Tyrone said.

‘Would a two hundred ton vessel going 15 knots bash through a metre or two of embankment?’ Gunnymede asked.

‘The boat would have to hit the embankment smack on the bore hole,’ Bob said.

‘But if it did?’ Gunnymede asked. ‘In theory.’

Bob and Tyrone looked at each other. They nodded in agreement. ‘I expect so,’ Tyrone said.

‘Certainly possible,’ Bob said. ‘And then we’d close the gates,’ he added.

‘The flood gates,’ Bethan said.

‘That’s right,’ Tyrone said. ‘We can seal off the tunnels.’

‘How long would that take?’ Neve asked.

‘About ten minutes,’ Tyrone explained.

‘Would that be enough time?’ Gunnymede asked.

‘That would depend on how much water was coming in,’ Bob said.

‘A high tide would be quite serious,’ Tyrone explained.

‘Spring tide even worse,’ Bob added.

‘Add to that an easterly wind,’ Tyrone said. ‘And we’d be in a pickle.’

‘How often does that happen?’ Gunnymede asked.

‘You’ve got one today,’ Bob said. ‘They’re talking about closing the Thames barrier.’

Gunnymede, Neve and Bethan looked at each other.

Bob and Tyrone both smiled, feeling they’d been more than helpful.

 

 

 

Chapter 29

Saleem arrived at the Port Authority building as the sun broke the horizon and made his way along the gangways to the Polo Harrow. He was greeted by each fighter he passed as he climbed on board and made his way to the bow.

The forward deck and aggregate storage was littered with empty concrete bags. A hose hung over the side with water pouring from it. One of the men was poking into the boatswain’s storage hatch with a long pole. Saleem joined him and looked down into the hatch. The wooden framework was complete and the triangular space it created behind the nose of the vessel was filled with the quick-setting concrete. The bows had in effect been turned into a battering ram. Saleem took the pole and poked it into the concrete for himself.

‘It will be solid soon,’ the fighter assured Saleem.

Saleem looked over the side to see the water was a couple of metres below the freeboard. ‘We need to get going,’ he said, making his way towards the stern.

He entered the superstructure and climbed the narrow steps. The engines were gunned as he entered the wheelhouse where one of his men had control of the vessel. Saleem paused on entering to look down at the body of the engineer lying in a pool of blood in a corner.

‘Let’s go,’ Saleem ordered, joining his colleague. He looked through the bridge windows at the wide open river, the Thames Barrier clearly visible up ahead.

The fighter went to the side door that opened out onto a short wing and shouted orders. The lines were cast and the boat drifted from the pontoon. Two fighters remained on board as the rest watched the boat leave.

‘Allahu akbar!’ They shouted several times in unison.

‘When does the barrier close?’ Saleem asked.

‘We have time,’ the pilot said as he throttled the engine to pull power.

Water lapped over the bows with each wave it struck.

‘Isn’t the front a bit low?’ Saleem asked.

‘It will be fine,’ the pilot assured him. ‘We could do with more water in the storage compartments to balance it better. But it will be fine.’

Red crosses on each pier of the Thames barrier began to flash, warning the gates were closing. The two fighters joined Saleem and the pilot as the boat sailed between two of the piers. Saleem stepped out of the side door to look back at the barrier. Several dams had already been raised into position. The two remaining gates that were still open would soon be closed.

Saleem looked ahead. The river was clear with only a handful of boats moving on it. He went back into the bridge.

‘We will cover the fourteen kilometres in plenty of time, boss,’ the pilot assured him.

‘We need to hit the bank a good half hour before high tide.’

‘We will, in sha Allah. We don’t want the tunnels to run out of water,’ the pilot said with a smile that the fighters shared.

Saleem stared ahead. He was so close to immortality he could taste it.

An MoD car pulled to a stop on the Victoria embankment and Gunnymede and Bethan climbed out.

Gunnymede looked about to get his bearings as Bethan crossed the pavement to the parapet. He joined her, pausing to reflect on her as she looked down onto the water.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

‘Nothing to be sorry about,’ she said, trying to ignore him. ‘Where’s this bore hole?’

‘I’m very sorry,’ he insisted. ‘Truly. You’re the last person in the world I’d want to hurt.’

‘Well you did. But that doesn’t matter. I have no claim on you. This is hardly the time.’

He reluctantly turned his attention to a metal bench on a raised section of pavement. ‘Beneath the bench,’ he said, walking over to it. ‘They said it pretty much sits directly on top of the bore hole.’

He faced the river and stepped to the parapet.

She joined him to look down