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Dancing crowds celebrate revised Terror Bill

Crowds gathered in Parliament Square last week and broke into wild cheers and dancing as the results of the division on the revised Home Office Terror Bill came through. Ayes to the right 576. Nos to the left 17 — a pitiful rump of bleeding heart liberals and human rights activists with well-documented links to al-Qaeda — and 33 abstentions. As the news spread throughout the capital the sense of relief on the tubes and buses was palpable. Passengers went "phew!" and smiled as they contemplated a future of safe travel to and from work the way it used to be before the bombings of July 7 had "changed the rules of the game."

At the previous vote on 9 November an unsavoury alliance of opposition and rebel MPs had succeeded in watering down the key anti-terrorist measure of 90 days detention without trial to a measly 28. The public had braced itself for a spate of atrocities over Christmas and on into the new year which the security services would now be powerless to prevent. But one month later on 9 December Parliament showed its mettle at last. After a number of speeches expressing remorse for that previous display of shocking irresponsibility MPs voted the police the full range of instruments they needed to deal with the terrorist threat.

The thumping majority in favour of the new measures is all the more creditable considering that the House had no idea at the start of the week that a new draft of the Bill was being prepared. The first inkling of the government's renewed interest was on Monday morning when the Chief Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police Sir Ian Blair arrived at Downing Street for a meeting with the Prime Minister clutching a nine-point "wish list", and emerging with a broad smile a few seconds later promising a "bumper Christmas for the force".

"Hang out your stockings wherever you are," he broadcast to excited coppers up and down the land. "And leave a big space under the tree at the station! I've got you just what you need to do your job properly after all."

It was a stunning fight-back by the charismatic law enforcement chief whose personal brainchild the abortive 90 days' detention had been. He'd nursed it through tortuous committee meetings as a favour to the struggling Home Secretary Charles Clarke, and defended it stoutly at press conferences, only to watch helplessly as a ragbag of "elected thugs" killed it off on the Commons floor. Some blamed the government whips for the débâcle. After long years of Labour hegemony they'd lost some of their street-fighting edge and had spent a typically relaxed few days leading up to the crucial vote roasting marshmallows by the fire in their oak-panelled office instead of getting out amongst the recalcitrant MPs and persuading them to have a lobotomy in time for the big debate.

Last week it was a very different story, with Sir Ian himself orchestrating the sequence of events. On Tuesday afternoon he let it be known that he wasn't "that bothered about the 90 days any more." With the new provisions in the amended Bill a well-trained force like the Met could get all the evidence it needed to prosecute the average terror suspect in 28 days after all. But he couldn't let on just yet what those key provisions were.

The following day as he stood on the podium to deliver his latest lecture to the Association of Chief Police Officers on the subject of community policing in the age of terror the word came through from Number 10 that the redrafting was complete. The amended Bill was ready to go before the House, and Sir Ian was at last able to reveal the contents of his wish list. The excited whispers increased, followed by outbreaks of "shsssh! shsssh!", until there was a silent, expectant hush.

Sir Ian unfolded his Christmas list on the lectern and cleared his throat. "Thumbscrews," he announced, "ducking stools, red hot pokers, cages full of starving rats ..."

The assembled chief constables and superintendents looked at each other quizzically.

"You know, the ones with those circular cut-out doors in various sizes for the head, penis and so on," the Chief Commissioner explained.

Many of the highest-ranking officers were beginning to catch on, nodding their approval of this simple yet effective design for the loosening of hesitant tongues.

"Oh yes, garottes, of course," Sir Ian went on, "breast-rippers for the lady clientèle who've been so foolish as to get involved of late, heretics' forks and other Iberian exotica, a really heavy duty rack — one in every station for the high-value suspect when you're really up against it with the 28 days running out and you've still got hardly anything to go on. And last but not least," he finished up, "when you've given it all you've got for a solid 28 days but the smug, screaming, half-shredded bastard still hasn't spewed up the evidence and you think to yourself 'sod that for a game of soldiers', a magnificent headcrusher to deliver the coup de grâce."

With the aid of a powerpoint presentation the country's most senior police chief went on to outline the advantages of the new generation of digital models that have recently become available from the United States after months of strenuous bargaining by the Foreign Office. It was only the previous week that Washington finally caved in and granted a special exemption on exports to Britain of the restricted technology as a payback for its unconditional support over Iraq.

The robust fact-finding instruments have a spikily aggressive retro look to them, but that's where any similarity with the old analog contraptions favoured by the Inquisition and other leading investigative bureaux of the past comes to an end. The new electronic devices are equipped with minute sensors that register the physiological state of the subject, advising the operator on exactly how much more stretch, squeeze, crush, burn or nibble it's safe to apply without rendering the informer permanently incommunicado, or losing all the advantage gained when, by over-enthusiastic cranking of the rack for example, the distended arms fly out of their sockets to release the tension prematurely.

What's more the bluetooth-enabled devices can be operated from the inspector's PC in the outer office, enabling him or her to conduct the investigation with appropriate professional detachment, yet still enjoy a rich multi-media experience while waiting for the key admission to come though. The occasional hazard of getting all splattered in blood at the climax of the evidence-gathering process is a thing of the past, an important consideration these days with AIDS still on the increase.

As the police chiefs left the assembly hall they each received a copy of the presentation on a complimentary CD, together with full technical specifications and a number of sumptuous audio-visual demonstrations of intelligence-gathering in the 21st century by US investigators at state of the art detention centres around the world. Each Chief Constable was also given a "hit-list" of wavering Labour MPs to target in the critical twenty-four hours before the vote. The phones were buzzing in Westminster during the hours leading up to the debate as conscientious coppers sought to impress upon the country's elected representatives their responsibility to protect the most precious human right of all, the right to life itself, to travel to and from work without fear of swarthy backpackers intent on murder, and to point out the really sexy features of the smart, superbly engineered and quite staggeringly butch information-gathering devices.

They did their work well. By the time Charles Clarke struggled into the Santa costume and stepped forward to introduce the supplementary clauses to the Bill any scrooge-like resistance to the procurement order for the gift-wrapped intelligence equipment had all but melted away.

"The police need the right tools to do their job, it's as simple as that," urged the new Tory leader David Cameron in a typically consensus-driven contribution.

"Somehow this has more pizzazz about it than the 90 days," commented his former rival David Davis, explaining his own change of heart.

The one controversy that remained was over the timetable — how quickly could the legislation come into force? Traditionalists baulked at the idea of respected law enforcement officials setting a bad example to the community by opening their presents before Christmas, and yet it was precisely in those last frenetic days leading up to the festive feast that the bombers would be topping up their oyster cards and packing their rucksacks in preparation for a spectacular day out.

Anxious MPs blanched at the almost inevitable prospect of a hardened fanatic with his mind set on wanton destruction strolling nonchalantly into the tube station, exuding that deeply suspicious air of being wired up to a truckload of high explosives, calmly taking his seat amongst unsuspecting passengers and blinking cynically at the team of crack commandos piling in after him with guns at the ready but no way of proving his evil intent.

"Never again must an officer be faced with that awful split second decision," the campaigning back-bench MP David Blunkett insisted, fresh from a compassionate visit to the group of men whose lives have become a living hell since the tragic shooting of rogue electrician Jean Charles de Menezes on July 22. The Sheffield MP took the opportunity to read out a moving statement from those diligent public servants now living under the shadow of death after vows of revenge by Mother Maria-Luiza, the fearsome matriarch of the ruthless de Menezes clan of Rio, which has spun a web of fear in the streets of this city ever since the shooting.

"Every day we're expecting that knock on the door. Our nerves are shot to pieces. If only we'd had the tools to do our job properly in the first place it need never have come to this ..." Mr Blunkett's voice cracked with emotion. He dabbed at his roving eyes with a handkerchief. Then the trace of a smile broke through as he told the House: "You should have heard their delight when I told them about the new measures."

Composing himself, he returned to the poignant statement he had brought with him from the hideout of the terrified marksmen. "Fuc*k me, that's fuc*king ace that is — next time it happens I'll clamp the garotte round his neck in a flash, Dave here and Darren'll whack on the thumbscrews, Cressida will come charging in from the rear with the red-hot pokers and we'll have our man screaming his guilt at the top of his lungs before you can say Jack Robinson. Then we'll get out our rifles and mow him down just like the last time but to a great burst of applause by passengers weeping with joy at their narrow escape. We'll be mobbed and carried shoulder-high out of the station, hailed as heroes, celebrities, I'll do the chat show rounds like Sir Ian — Parky, Norton, the works ..."

The stark contrast between this glowing vision of stardom and the true desperate predicament of the tragically unsung heroes was too heart-rending to bear. Lest the dreadful injustice happen again there must be no delay. In an unopposed amendment the provisions were upgraded to FedEx delivery at double the cost but well worth it, and with a jovial "Ho ho ho!" the festive Home Secretary granted special dispensation to officers in the Metropolitan area to dip into their stockings and fish out the hand-held equipment on the morning after its arrival.

Previously

• That new UK terror law: What every parent should know
• Met supremo admits to Speedy Menezes trauma
• Hopes fade in hunt for missing blind bloke

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