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Chapter1

Monday afternoon 16th July 1979

Ramplins Bank was the target. The shortcomings were all too evident to a professional eye.

"Be discreet but find out where the weak links are", Ian Stepnall had been told. "Get what information you can and then we will act."

He had been given free rein to explore the situation as he saw fit but not however to do anything precipitately. He walked thoughtfully from the grand facade of the bank to where his car waited.

"Good afternoon, sir. Finished for the day?" enquired the chauffeur as he saw Stepnall into the rear of the car before taking his own place behind the steering wheel. Stepnall was far from finished, half formed thoughts of what would be done because of what he had seen were milling in his mind.

"Back to the hotel, sir?" he was asked, as the car effortlessly moved through the traffic.

"Yes, I've got what I was looking for", replied Stepnall as he brought himself back to earth, registering that he would have all the time he needed on the flight to marshal a plan of action. Nothing between now and then could change the facts or his conclusions.

For a moment he allowed more pleasurable thoughts to distract him, thoughts of the attractive companion he had met on his flight into London. She was vivacious, a fascinating woman in her own right. Talking to her had been so easy and they had soon been on first name terms, Ian and Anna. He passed her one of his business cards, on the back of which he had written the phone number and address of his hotel, just as she had asked. Ian Stepnall eased himself back into the comfortable seats, enjoying the view of the City as they pulled away. He wondered when she would call.

The chauffeur had seen the Stepnalls of the world before. A drive along the Embankment, past the House, Birdcage Walk and Buck House; these busy executives from abroad all loved it. More than that, it was part of his heritage, something for him to be proud of. He would make it a fitting exit from the capital; a gentle run and they would also see the greenery. St James Park, Green Park, Hyde Park and this time the delights of Richmond Park. Then it wouldn't be long before he was home, no late night tonight. A rare chance for some time with his young family.

Ian Stepnall knew nothing of the bomb that ripped him apart. The drivers of the cars that followed him did. The intensity of the noise of an explosion overwhelmed their senses. Random pieces of metal and glass were ferociously propelled through the air towards them. The force of the blast that followed was so strong it shook an approaching bus and all its passengers. An orange ball of flame edged by a blossoming black boundary filled the sky. An image that engulfed all other visions of the world.

The chauffeur's last thoughts were those of a man at ease with himself and his work. No ease from the intrusion of the explosion for those left behind. Nor for the cars that had been immediately behind him. Unsighted, they ploughed remorselessly one into another. The thud of impacts was followed by the scrawnch of metal as cars ripped and tore at each other. The eventual quiet that ensued gave way to overwhelming cries of pain from damaged bodies. It must have been the fourth car that swerved away from the eye of the storm and came to rest at a distance.

The driver of that car moved quickly enough. He stood by his open door for a mere instant as looking back he took in the carnage.

"Jesus Christ!"

Any disbelief at the images in his mind was dispelled by revisiting the actual sights and sounds. It was the sounds, the cries of anguish from fellow human beings, which brought him back to his senses. No time to stand and stare, the rush of adrenalin made sure of that.

He reached inside the car for his mobile phone. Without realising it he had turned his back on the dreadful images, as though by so doing he could protect himself from their effect. He cradled the bulky device in his hand while he stabbed at the 9 button three short times. The sounds behind him receded as he concentrated on getting help.

"Come on, come on."

Why did they take so long to answer?

"Which service? All the fucking services. A car has just blown up."

What was that? Where was he?

"Richmond Park, Richmond" he responded.

For a moment he paused with the phone in his hand. Was that it? Was that all he could do? He needn't have worried. He had done enough.

Anna Trudaine's base in London was a cramped one bedroom flat, smaller than she was accustomed to but convenient for what she needed. No one ever stayed there very long, which suited her down to the ground. Anna had no plans to settle. She could only risk staying four weeks, after that there would be trouble. Just four weeks were going to have to be enough.

Her small suitcase still lay where she had dumped it on the bedroom floor unlike the carefully laid out wigs she brought with her; one of blonde long tresses that could be dressed and worn in any number of ways, the other shoulder length and of a rich chestnut hue. Both wigs contrasted with her own easily looked after 'urchin' cut and even that she had changed with the help of jet black hair dye. The end result was effective but not quite to Anna's liking. She held her hair back and away from her forehead while she looked hard into the little mirror on the wall; the dark colour did nothing for her complexion and she would have to change her lipstick. Still it would only be for a short time; she could live with that. Having reconciled herself to that fact, she applied herself.

Anna opened the sash window that led onto the fire escape and peered out; the situation was fine, high enough so she could look down on the world and its passers-by. Anna eased herself through the opening onto the platform of the fire escape then, skilfully and as quietly as she could, climbed down past the lighted windows of her neighbours.

Even if Anna had not been inquisitive she would have had to look in. There is some indefinable and compelling quality to the light that illuminates the lives of others. She watched the humdrum and tawdry lives that played out in the flat below hers but soon lost interest, with it lost her concentration and her footing. The clatter Anna made on the metal steps sounded to her enough to raise the dead.

The man she had been watching moved right up to the window, peering hopelessly out, then opened the window. She clung to the wall willing him to look straight ahead, not to the side. When his retreating shadow told her that she was safe Anna moved on with due speed and proper care.

Down to the bottom of the fire escape, over walls that were easily scaled and through the back gardens of three adjacent properties. Then she ran along the side of No. 27 and made her way directly out onto the main road just a few yards away from the entrance to the Tube station and safe cover. Anna checked her watch. A minute and a half from the bottom of the fire escape, say another 30 seconds to get out of the window and as long again to get down the fire escape at speed. To get to her anyone would have to take down the front door of the house, climb the two flights of stairs and break through the meagre timber frame vestibule before they would reach her front door. Adding another five seconds to the time, to allow for shutting the window behind herself, still left her plenty of time to get away. Anna always took such precautions even though she had never before needed to make use of an escape route.

The pronouncements of her horoscope that day told her that 'any frustration and chaos would be continually smoothed out of the way'. That was reassuring,