Patriot games - Tom Clancy [18]
"It was one of our London taxis-did you notice that?" Taylor asked.
Ryan blinked. "Oh, you're right. I didn't really think about that-that's dumb! Hell, you have a million of the damned things around. No wonder they used one of those."
"Eight thousand six hundred seventy-nine, to be exact," Owens said. "Five thousand nine hundred nineteen of which are painted black."
A light went off in Ryan's head. "Tell me, was this an assassination attempt or were they trying to kidnap them?"
"We're not sure about that. You might be interested to know that Sinn Fein, the political wing of the PIRA, released a statement completely disowning the incident."
"You believe that?" Ryan asked. With pain medications still coursing through his system, he didn't quite notice how skillfully Taylor had parried his question.
"Yes, we are leaning in that direction. Even the Provos aren't this crazy, you know. Something like this has far too high a political price. They learned that much from killing Lord Mountbatten-wasn't even the PIRA who did that, but the INLA, the Irish National Liberation Army. Regardless, it cost them a lot of money from their American sympathizers," Taylor said.
"I see from the papers that your fellow citizens-"
"Subjects," Ashley corrected.
"Whatever, your people are pretty worked up about this."
"Indeed they are, Doctor Ryan. It is rather remarkable how terrorists can always seem to find a way to shock us, no matter what horrors have gone before," Owens noted. His voice was wholly professional, but Ryan sensed that the chief of Anti-Terrorist Branch was willing to rip the head right off the surviving terrorist with his bare hands. They looked strong enough to do just that. "So what happened next?"
"I made sure the guy I shot-the second one-was dead. Then I checked the car. The driver-well, you know about that, and the security officer. One of your people, Mr. Owens?"
"Charlie was a friend of mine. He's been with the Royal Family's security detail for three years now " Owens spoke almost as though the man were still alive, and Ryan wondered if they had ever worked together. Police make especially close friendships, he knew.
"Well, you guys know the rest. I hope somebody gives that redcoat a pat on the head. Thank God he took the time to think it all out-at least long enough for your guy to show up and calm him down. Would have been embarrassing for everybody if he'd stuck that bayonet out my back."
Owens grunted agreement. "Indeed it would."
"Was that rifle loaded?" Ryan asked.
"If it was," Ashley replied, "why didn't he shoot?"
"A crowded street isn't the best place to use a high-powered rifle, even if you're sure of your target," Ryan answered. "It was loaded, wasn't it?"
"We cannot discuss security matters," Owens said.
I knew it was loaded, Ryan told himself. "Where the hell did he come from, anyway? The Palace is a good ways off."
"Clarence House-the white building adjoining St. James's Palace. The terrorists picked a bad time-or perhaps a bad place-for their attack. There is a guard post at the southwest corner of the building. The guard changes every two hours. When the attack took place, the change was just under way. That meant that four soldiers were there at the time, not just one. The police on duty at the Palace heard the explosion and automatic fire. The Sergeant in charge ran to the gate to see what was going on and yelled for a guardsman to follow."
"He's the one who sounded the alarm, right? That's how the rest of them arrived so fast?"
"Charlie Winston," Owens said. "The Rolls has an electronic attack alarm-you don't need to tell anyone that. That alerted headquarters. Sergeant Price acted entirely on his own initiative. Unfortunately for him, the guardsman was a hurdler-the lad runs track and field-and vaulted the barriers there. Price tried to do it also, but he fell down and broke his nose. He had a devil of a time catching up, plus sending out his own alarm on his portable radio."
"Well,