Bomb God by Chris Page

Author:Chris Page
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Powerful, explosives, bombs, terrorism, counter-terrorism, genius, chemical, Falklands, Nazi, Luger, Belgrano, oilrig, London, Embankment, HMS Belfast
ISBN: 9781785385971
Publisher: Andrews UK Limited 2016
Published: 2016-10-17T00:00:00+00:00

Eighteen

Albie Cork found the last ball of Morganite squeezed behind a fire extinguisher in a metal cupboard after a frustrating twenty-minute search. The next morning, just to check that they were dealing with the real thing, Albie, Kemp and Harvey took a pinch of the Morganite placed by Maria-Bette on the Belfast down to the bomb squad proving grounds at Catford. The rest of it was placed, along with Morgan’s original cache, in a lead-lined box deep under New Scotland Yard. The lead lining couldn’t be pierced by an infra-red signal no matter how close and clear the line of sight was. Later, when Albie had asked a comms expert at GCHQ what the effect would have been on the signal if the remote had been pointed at the rear of the Belfast from Tower Bridge, he said, ‘Catastrophic,’ because the metal structure would have helped home the signal in on the Morganite.

Albie wished he hadn’t asked.

At Catford they’d asked ahead if the bomb squad boys could get a big fridge from the local ‘Manhattan’ pile at the local dump and set it up in open ground a quarter of a mile from the protective earthen blast barrier. Albie wanted to replicate Morgan’s original experiment on Salisbury Plain in 2011, although this time without spiking the watchers’ coffee and biscuits with minute quantities of the explosive.

Having received the all-clear, and with both remotes in his hands, Albie looked at his companions behind the blast barrier.

‘This is where someone usually says “fire in the hole” or something,’ he quipped, enjoying the tension on their faces.

‘Just press the fucking thing and let’s get on with it,’ Anderson Harvey muttered.

So Albie held one of the remotes over the top of the barrier and pressed the green button as his three companions pressed their hands to their ears.

Nothing happened.

‘That must be the unprogrammed spare remote,’ Albie said, changing them round and repeating the exercise with the green button on the other one.

This time the explosion that came from the other side of the barrier sounded as if a jet had just broken the sound barrier above their heads.

Three minutes later the four of them and a couple of bomb squad boys who had been watching from a distance were standing on the side of a still-smoking four-foot-deep crater where the fridge had once sat. There was nothing left, no shattered and twisted metal, plastic or scorched electrical wire. The old appliance had simply been vaporised, blown back to its original atoms.

‘Fuck me,’ breathed Paul Kemp. ‘If I hadn’t been here to see it I wouldn’t have believed it.’

Albie sniffed deeply. ‘No bloody burn-off,’ he said. ‘I ask you, what’s the fucking point of having the most powerful explosive in the world if you can’t have a good sniff fix after it’s done its business?’

Arthur Keith and one of the bomb squad boys took a series of photographs of the crater and left. A time-lapse cine camera had been set up to record the power

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