What is it with the bridge? Marchant asked, remembering Pradeeps words.
Its where the biggest crowds are, apart from the finish. Were trying to clear the area now. Bomb disposal are on the way. Weve got blues assembling in all the back streets, from you to Tower Bridge.
The line suddenly dropped. There was not much more to say. Marchant moved up to join Pradeep again.
He had some jelly beans on board for the final few miles, but he decided to pull the bag out from his pocket now and offer them to Pradeep, who visibly rallied at the sight of them.
Beats the gels, Marchant said, taking a couple himself after Pradeep had grabbed a desperate handful. Im going to talk to the Ambassador, then Im coming back, Marchant said. Its going to be OK. I promise. Sab theek ho jayega, Pradeep. Everythings going to be fine.
Marchant hoped his rusty Hindi had reassured Pradeep as he moved up towards the Ambassador. He knew a bit about Turner Munroe, who had arrived in London six months ago. He was a hawk, best known for his outspoken views on Iran, where he favoured regime change by military intervention. And he had fought in the first Gulf War, serving with distinction. Marchant now knew that he was also a fitness fanatic, who liked to run with an iPod.
Experience had taught Marchant to stick to protocol when dealing with the Americans (it reduced the chances of being shot), so he approached the Ambassadors outriders first. When he explained that they were in the midst of a critical, Defcon Five incident, they asked him for some ID, as Marchant knew they would. They finally agreed to let him approach the Ambassador when he name-checked one of his old CIA contacts who was still based in London, but only after they had briefed their boss.
How you doing? Munroe asked, taking an earpiece out of his right ear. Marchant swore he was listening to Bruce Springsteen. Tell me youre kidding about the Defcon Five.
No, sir, Im afraid its true, Marchant said, knowing Munroe would appreciate the sir.
You realise Ive never run a 3.30 before? Boston: 3.35.10, Chicago: 3.32.20. Right now Im heading for 3.29.30, and youre telling me to quit?
You might never be able to run again if you hang around here, Marchant said.
Is that so? Munroe said sarcastically. Marchant glanced at one of the sweating Security Service officers, who was nodding towards the side of the road.
Sir, we need to break off, the officer said, moving alongside the Ambassador. At the same time, his colleague closed in on the far side.
But first I need your Sat-Runner, Marchant said.
Am I being mugged here? Munroe said. Thats what it feels like. Mugged on the London Marathon. Can you believe it?
I really need the GPS, Marchant said, as the Ambassadors babysitters began to ease him across the road. And please dont slow down.
Munroe looked at him as he undid the strap and handed the receiver over. 3.29.30. A PB was on the cards here, never mind the heat. Somebodys going to pay for this.
He watched as Munroe was almost lifted to the kerb, where he stopped, reluctantly. Then Marchant strapped the GPS to his own wrist. Pradeep was now ahead of them, glancing anxiously over his shoulder.
Were in this together now, Marchant said, coming up on Pradeeps shoulder and showing him his wrist.
3
Paul Myers was unpicking encrypted emails and eating his fourth Snickers of the day when he took Leilas call. Hed always liked her, ever since she had attended his course on jihadi chatrooms and had asked the first question, filling the awkward silence that always followed his introductory talks. All MI6s new recruits were invited up to GCHQ in Cheltenham for a week, to give them a break from training at the Fort, and, Myers thought, to show them where the real work was done.
Paul had liked Leilas boyfriend, too, though only begrudgingly at first. On the surface, Daniel Marchant had seemed to be the archetypal obnoxious MI6 man: Oxbridge, well travelled, smooth-talking, handsome and good at games everything Myers wasnt. But then he read his file and learnt about the dark stuff the benders, the brawls, the twin brother who was killed when he was eight in a car crash in Delhi, the mother who never recovered, dying a depressive and began to warm to him. Everyone in life was struggling to keep it together, he thought. According to Leila, Marchant had never got over losing his brother, and had been drinking himself slowly to death until he stumbled out of journalism and into the Service. It must have been like coming home, what with his old man running the show.
They might have been friends sooner if Paul hadnt somehow convinced himself that Leila carried a torch for him, despite the obvious chemistry between her and Marchant. He knew it was insane, an attractive case officer like her falling for a short-sighted, overweight desk analyst, and common sense soon prevailed, but those early feelings for her had stayed with him. Now she was on the phone, breathless and posing one of the most interesting questions he had been asked in months: could he screw up the Americans GPS network for a few minutes?
Given the history of the navigation system, and in particular the US militarys policy of selective availability in the 1990s, when they degraded the signals accuracy for everyone else, Myers relished the opportunity. Bring on Galileo, he thought, Europes own network of navigation satellites. The sooner Britain could wean itself off its dependency on GPS, the better.
Do you think you can do it? Leila asked, knowing that the challenge would appeal. Myers had been at the heart of a recent exercise in the West Country, when the entire network was jammed to thwart a simulated attack by an Iranian missile flying into British airspace on GPS. Car Tom-Toms went haywire, and the papers were full of stories the next day of lorries stuck in narrow country lanes.
Technically its possible, Myers said, warming to his theme. Each of the thirty GPS satellites has its own atomic clock well, four clocks actually. 2nd Space Operations Squadron in Colorado Springs sends out a navigational update once a day to make sure theyre all telling the same time
Paul, we dont have long.
Sure. Well get on to 2 SOPS now, find out which four satellites this guy is linked in to, and see if they can accelerate those particular clocks.
Will that help?
Itll trick the receiver into thinking its travelling faster across the surface of the earth than it really is. The Americans arent going to like it, but I guess if we tell them their Ambassador is the targetHow long do you need?
The Bomb Squad want ten minutes.
Two, maximum.
Two?
Wed have some serious shipping incidents in the Channel if those clocks are out for too long. I dont even want to think about the main approach to Heathrow. Hows Daniel these days, by the way?
Myers was aware that Marchant was persona non grata in the Service, but he had always liked his father, and had been upset by the manner of the Chiefs departure and the subsequent news of his death. It had left Marchant an orphan, which struck a chord with Myers. He was adopted, and had always assumed his own parents were dead.
Actually, hes running alongside the guy with the belt. Leila had not intended to tell him, but she needed to focus his mind.
Daniel? The line went silent for a moment. Christ, whats he doing there? I thought he was suspended.
Not now, Paul.
Sure. Paul had changed up a gear. 2 SOPS are on the other line. Ill patch them through.
Marchant listened carefully as Leila talked him through what he had to do next. Her voice sounded different, faltering, lacking her usual confidence. Tower Bridge had been cleared of all crowds, she said. Half a mile ahead of him, at the twelve-mile point, there was about to be a roadblock, organised by plain-clothed police officers wearing race marshal tops. As he approached they would fan out across the road, using megaphones to order the runners to stop for safety reasons because of the intense heat. It would be the first time the London Marathon had been stopped, but the measure was not unheard of. (The Rotterdam Marathon had been abandoned in 2007 because of soaring temperatures.) In other words, there was an outside chance that the roadblock wouldnt arouse the suspicion of Pradeeps handler, should he be watching.
Are you all right? Marchant asked, after another hesitation from Leila.
Of course Im bloody not, she said.
Marchant passed on the basic details of the plan, along with some more jelly beans, to Pradeep, who seemed to grow stronger at the news. The police would delay their intervention as long as possible, to avoid a crowd building up in front of them and slowing their pace. However, they should stick to the right of the road, as close as possible to the pavement, where a channel would be formed to let them pass through. To avoid being mistakenly challenged, Marchant was to call out that he was a doctor and must be allowed to pass.
Have you got all that? Leila asked.
What happens when were through the block? Marchant replied. His mother had always wanted a doctor in the family.
As you near Tower Bridge, the Americans are going to tweak the clocks on four GPS satellites orbiting 12,000 miles above you. When I give the word, you and Pradeep should gradually slow down to a walking pace. The Bomb Squad will join you and disable the belt as quickly as they can.
How long have they got?
Two minutes from the moment you start to slow.
Marchant didnt say anything for a few seconds. For the first time, he realised that his chances of survival were slim. Somehow he had assumed that everything would work out, but now he sensed that he might never see Leila again. She had already realised that. His life normally felt fairer in these moments of acute danger. Ever since that dark day in Delhi, he had been burdened with guilt: why had his brother been killed, while he walked away from the crash unscathed? When the odds were stacked against him, the weight briefly lifted: intense relief replaced the fear. The greater the danger, the closer he felt to Sebastian, the more able to look him in the eye.