doing it to his weapon and placing it on the seat beside him. “I see trouble ahead.”
Naim had bought three Llama .38 semiautomatic pistols, which were the best he could find, though he would have preferred a
heavier caliber. The Spanish nine-shot was a quality weapon, known to be reliable. Naim cocked his pistol, put it on the seat,
and reached for the shotgun lying on the floor, loaded with its missile.
The rear side window was rolled down all the way. As they came nearly opposite the courthouse, Naim stuck out the barrel and
loaded suction cup through the window to take a shot through traffic passing in the opposite direction. No sooner had the
shotgun barrel protruded from the car window than they were hit with a hail of fire. Bullets scraped off the car roof and
punctured its side. They flew in the open windows. Naim felt the wind of one bullet on his cheek before he ducked down out
of sight.
Hasan accelerated and Ali kept close behind them. The security men stopped firing for fear of hitting Ali, whom they yet had
no reason to suspect of involvement. It was true that he was traveling fast close behindthe getaway car, but every other driver who could was also getting away as fast as he could from the gunfire.
As Hasan made the left onto Holborn Viaduct, two cars pulled in on the courthouse side, crossed traffic, and tried to cut
him off. A second too late, the lead car scraped its left front wing along their side and had to be content to try to get
in behind them. The driver cut in sharply in front of Ali. Instead of braking, Ali gave his car the gas and hit the intruding
car on its front door. The force of Ali’s impact and continuing acceleration knocked the security car out of their lane and
into oncoming traffic on Holborn Viaduct.
The security car was hit head-on by a van. Its rear end swung around and hit the second security car, which was on Ali’s tail.
These two wrecked cars blocked all traffic westbound, and the van with its cracked windshield and steaming radiator completed
the barrier. The two attack cars made good time to High Holborn with no one in pursuit, left down Kingsway, right at Aldwych
into the Strand, and then into the Mall, which had comparatively light traffic.
Naim and Hasan did not speak. There was nothing to say now. Naim had not listened to the more experienced Hasan. Hasan had
been right. But then Naim had been right at Oxford, which Hasan hadn’t liked either. They hàd escaped unhurt. That was enough.
Ali was still close behind them.
At the western end of the Mall, as they swung around the Queen Victoria Memorial, they saw a largecrowd of people streaming out the gates of Buckingham Palace.
“This is it!” Naim yelled to Hasan, excitedly winding down the left side window. “Slow down a bit! Give me time to get the
gun.”
He poked the barrel and plunger cup out the car window and aimed for a stone pier of the gate. If he hit someone with the
missile, its impact against soft flesh would probably not be strong enough to set off the detonators in the explosive. He
aimed for solid stone.
A bright flash, a loud bang, people falling, others running… Hasan drove along Constitution Hill. They dumped the cars a minute
later at St. George’s Hospital and went into the Hyde Park Corner Underground station. There they took the Piccadilly Line
four stops to Earl’s Court and walked to the Redcliffe Square apartment.
“They have our fingerprints,” Ali said.
“But they don’t have our balls,” Hasan answered. He was very pleased by their day’s work, regarding Buckingham Palace as a
more prestigious hit than the Old Bailey and having been proved right in his warning against alert security. He asked in a
voice almost purring with satisfaction, “What do we do now, Naím?
Naim crossed the room. “We turn on the television.”
General Gerritt van Gilder and Group-Captain Godfrey Bradshaw were still inside the palace railings
Naim had bought three Llama .38 semiautomatic pistols, which were the best he could find, though he would have preferred a
heavier caliber. The Spanish nine-shot was a quality weapon, known to be reliable. Naim cocked his pistol, put it on the seat,
and reached for the shotgun lying on the floor, loaded with its missile.
The rear side window was rolled down all the way. As they came nearly opposite the courthouse, Naim stuck out the barrel and
loaded suction cup through the window to take a shot through traffic passing in the opposite direction. No sooner had the
shotgun barrel protruded from the car window than they were hit with a hail of fire. Bullets scraped off the car roof and
punctured its side. They flew in the open windows. Naim felt the wind of one bullet on his cheek before he ducked down out
of sight.
Hasan accelerated and Ali kept close behind them. The security men stopped firing for fear of hitting Ali, whom they yet had
no reason to suspect of involvement. It was true that he was traveling fast close behindthe getaway car, but every other driver who could was also getting away as fast as he could from the gunfire.
As Hasan made the left onto Holborn Viaduct, two cars pulled in on the courthouse side, crossed traffic, and tried to cut
him off. A second too late, the lead car scraped its left front wing along their side and had to be content to try to get
in behind them. The driver cut in sharply in front of Ali. Instead of braking, Ali gave his car the gas and hit the intruding
car on its front door. The force of Ali’s impact and continuing acceleration knocked the security car out of their lane and
into oncoming traffic on Holborn Viaduct.
The security car was hit head-on by a van. Its rear end swung around and hit the second security car, which was on Ali’s tail.
These two wrecked cars blocked all traffic westbound, and the van with its cracked windshield and steaming radiator completed
the barrier. The two attack cars made good time to High Holborn with no one in pursuit, left down Kingsway, right at Aldwych
into the Strand, and then into the Mall, which had comparatively light traffic.
Naim and Hasan did not speak. There was nothing to say now. Naim had not listened to the more experienced Hasan. Hasan had
been right. But then Naim had been right at Oxford, which Hasan hadn’t liked either. They hàd escaped unhurt. That was enough.
Ali was still close behind them.
At the western end of the Mall, as they swung around the Queen Victoria Memorial, they saw a largecrowd of people streaming out the gates of Buckingham Palace.
“This is it!” Naim yelled to Hasan, excitedly winding down the left side window. “Slow down a bit! Give me time to get the
gun.”
He poked the barrel and plunger cup out the car window and aimed for a stone pier of the gate. If he hit someone with the
missile, its impact against soft flesh would probably not be strong enough to set off the detonators in the explosive. He
aimed for solid stone.
A bright flash, a loud bang, people falling, others running… Hasan drove along Constitution Hill. They dumped the cars a minute
later at St. George’s Hospital and went into the Hyde Park Corner Underground station. There they took the Piccadilly Line
four stops to Earl’s Court and walked to the Redcliffe Square apartment.
“They have our fingerprints,” Ali said.
“But they don’t have our balls,” Hasan answered. He was very pleased by their day’s work, regarding Buckingham Palace as a
more prestigious hit than the Old Bailey and having been proved right in his warning against alert security. He asked in a
voice almost purring with satisfaction, “What do we do now, Naím?
Naim crossed the room. “We turn on the television.”
General Gerritt van Gilder and Group-Captain Godfrey Bradshaw were still inside the palace railings
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