Sydney siege: As I walked out, terror was walking in

WALKING into the Lindt cafe in Martin Place yesterday, I was in a hurry to grab my takeaway coffee and get outside for an interview.

WALKING  into the Lindt cafe in Martin Place yesterday, I was in a hurry to grab my takeaway coffee and get outside for a prearranged phone interview. The cafe wasn’t particularly busy: a group of about four smartly dressed women chatting at a table over their drinks, a couple of men at another table, some people sitting at individual tables, and a few standing, like me, waiting for takeaways.

The staff were cheery, the service prompt.

As I walked out through the automatic sliding glass doors, my call came through and I sat outside the cafe doing my radio interview.

Either the gunman was already inside or he walked in within a minute or so. My radio interview went for 7½ minutes from 9.40am.

In that time the gunman pulled out his weapon, people rang 000 and the police arrived. Three ­motorcycle police came with ­sirens blaring, met by a woman who was distressed but precise. She told police she had tried to enter through the cafe’s sliding doors, but they didn’t open.

She looked up to see a man ­inside, with a blue bag and brandishing what she thought was a shotgun. More officers arrived on foot, some drew their handguns. Soon cars, vans and trucks added to the response.

This corner of the city switched from happy hubbub to fear.

Another woman told me how she, too, had been thwarted by the cafe doors.

Some of us had walked out through those doors. The gunman walked in through them; and he somehow disabled them.

As they closed, the doors shut out a handful of lucky customers.

But they snared others inside, in a horrifying and uncertain situation.

Police worked quickly to clear the area, forcing people down Martin Place and around the corner into Elizabeth Street.

Initial talk of a hold-up seemed unlikely: a cafe, early on a Monday in the middle of the city couldn’t hold much cash and wouldn’t present an easy escape.

This had to be someone with a grievance.

As we were ushered back, I saw a man in the cafe window facing out, with his hands above his head. Initially, there was a sense of relief that police had been able to get into the cafe and force the gunman to surrender.

Then he lingered, and there were other people in the windows. Those of us looking on realised that it was the customers who were being pushed into this vulnerable pose by the gunman.

The hostages were being displayed to us and, as we would soon see, to the world.

Standing among dozens of fretting and curious onlookers just minutes later, reports surfaced on social media about a black Islamic flag. On top of the fear and worry was added a gut-wrenching dread.

In years gone by, working for then foreign minister Alexander Downer, I saw the result of large-scale terror attacks: two Bali bombings and the attack on our Jakarta embassy.

I have written often about the menace of Islamic terrorism and the dangers of complacency in this country.

Yet on this sunny morning, there was no need for cerebral analysis of a militant threat.

This was a visceral lesson.

Whatever we come to know about this gunman — his motives, connections or state of mind — we know he tried to strike terror into the heart of the city, and succeeded.

Just half an hour after kissing loved ones goodbye, seconds after thanking a barista for my coffee, in the middle of a bustling pre-Christmas city, I had walked out in blissful ignorance, while fellow customers were instantly plunged into a life-threatening situation — in which they are blameless.

For the victims it was brutally random. But for the gunman it had the desired effect. City blocks closed; transport routes blocked; international media attention gained.

The message is clear enough: some of us are not safe; we just don’t know which of us, when or how the threat will materialise.

There is no warning or telltale sign; tables are turned from carefree to crisis in a moment.

The threat is designed to create sliding-door moments that sort the fortunate from the dreaded.

This is the very definition of terror.