by A. A. Dhand
He stopped talking for a moment, allowing the silence to fill in the details in Azeez’s mind.
‘Radical Islamic warrior likes to take it up the arse. I’m guessing you’re not banking on a one-way ticket to the promised land?’
He saw Azeez’s grip on the cook’s hair slacken.
‘I’m going to upload the shit I’ve seen to the net. I reckon we could go viral. What do you think?’ Harry put both his hands inside his pockets, making himself as unthreatening as possible.
Azeez lowered the knife a fraction.
‘I’ve got my hands in my pockets and still you’re afraid to come at me?’ Harry got on his knees, taking the piss. ‘All those muscles. All that rage and you’re afraid? Try it. Let’s see just how tough you are.’ Harry paused, hesitated, then forced himself to add, ‘Faggot.’
What happened next was quick but Harry felt like it occurred in slow motion.
Azeez let go of Ellie, who fell to the floor at his feet. He stepped past her, face contorted, spit spraying from his lips as he cried out.
Harry clenched his fist around the pot of chilli powder in his pocket and flipped open the lid with his thumb.
Azeez was on top of Harry, knife raised, ready to strike. Harry closed his eyes and threw the powder forcefully into Azeez’s face before rolling quickly away.
Azeez screamed.
Harry had learned this technique at his corner shop, seeing his father defend himself against at least three armed robbers this way. Chilli powder in a corner shop couldn’t be classed as an offensive weapon, but it worked.
Harry got to his feet and watched Azeez drop both knives, hands clawing at his face.
He waited until Azeez had done all the damage he could, powder rubbed firmly into his eyes, his nose, his mouth, then picked up the knives from the floor as Isaac emerged from the kitchen.
‘You OK, kid?’ said Harry to Ellie, helping her up and inspecting her neck.
No wounds.
She muttered something incoherent, moving away from Harry towards the crowd of elderly residents.
Harry turned to Isaac and held up a finger. He didn’t want Azeez to know Isaac was here.
There was only one way he could do this.
He picked up a chair and swung it at Azeez’s head. One swift crack and he was out cold.
‘He’ll be fine,’ Harry said in response to Isaac’s concerned expression.
Harry had two of the Almukhtaroon leaders in his custody.
And ten hours to find the others.
FIFTY-ONE
Harry pulled the car round to the rear entrance of the nursing home and opened his boot. The wound on his hand was pulsing and he thought that by now the nurse who had bitten him would have reached a police officer. It wasn’t a pressing concern. She wouldn’t have known the altercation was related to Almukhtaroon. Officers would record it as an opportunistic assault and with everything else happening in Bradford right now, it would be low priority.
His altercation with Azeez had happened so quickly that Isaac had not had the chance to call 999. For now, they were still in the game.
Azeez would know the location of the other two leaders of Almukhtaroon but the bastard was unlikely to crack. Harry didn’t believe the ‘Saviour of God’ would respond well to pain. It would simply harden his resolve to die as a martyr.
‘Everything calm?’ Harry asked Isaac as he went back inside.
Isaac nodded. ‘I can’t believe he was ready to kill all those people.’
The boy appeared shell-shocked, as if the capabilities of the Almukhtaroon were only now dawning on him.
Harry put his hand on Isaac’s shoulder and squeezed it. ‘Now you see why we need to keep going and find the others.’ They locked eyes and Isaac nodded firmly.
Isaac handed Harry a green first-aid box, nodding at his hand. ‘That nurse took a chunk out of you, didn’t she?’
‘Hell hath no fury like a woman scared,’ replied Harry, smiling, taking the box from him.
‘The cook is throwing up in the other room. Support staff are with her – care workers.’
Harry sighed and opened the box. ‘Is there CCTV in this place?’
Isaac shrugged.
Harry nodded for him to go check. ‘Ask the staff.’
Isaac hesitated. The sound of retching coming from down the hall.
‘She’s throwing up, not dying,’ said Harry, waving him away.
The first-aid box proved useful, some antiseptic and a bandage. ‘Bingo,’ whispered Harry, opening the bottle of TCP and moving to the sink. He poured it over his injured hand, wincing.
Isaac re-entered the room. ‘No CCTV,’ he said.
‘Good,’ said Harry, grimacing.
‘That hurt?’
‘No shit, Sherlock.’
‘There’s some paracetamol in there, too.’
‘Take it with you.’
Harry pointed to a small cardboard container. ‘What are those? Plastic gloves?’
Isaac nodded.
Harry lifted out a pair and shoved them in his pocket.
For later.
He held out his hand and instructed Isaac how to dress it, thinking of the numerous times he’d seen Saima do this.
Saima.
He had to get her out of there.
‘Pull it tighter,’ said Harry as Isaac reached the end of the bandage.
Azeez was where Harry had left him, cuffed to a radiator and unconscious. He’d been out for a while now. There was a chance Harry had misjudged the blow and seriously injured him. He should have used his elbow. Harry had searched him and found no more weapons but had found a small version of the Koran in English stuffed inside Azeez’s back pocket. Harry had put it in his car. He had an idea for later on.
‘Here,’ said Harry, struggling. ‘Help me.’
Together, they lifted Azeez into the boot of his car.
Back inside, Harry went to the room where the staff were holed up. They were all young girls and all of them foreign nationals. They hadn’t registered who Azeez was. They had tried to call 999 when Azeez had first become violent, shouting and screaming incoherently, but he had stopped them. Harry assured them he would call this in but explained that, with what was happening in the city, officers might not respond until tomorrow.
Harry drove fast past police vans with flashing lights, officers in full riot gear. He tried to call Saima but his phone was showing no reception. The networks must be down again.
He saw a phone box and pulled over, killing the lights but leaving the engine running.
‘What is it?’ asked Isaac, looking concerned.
Ordinarily, Harry would have headed to Queensbury Tunnel, but there would be road blocks in his way. He couldn’t risk it, not with Azeez in the boot. He might wake up any moment. And Harry hadn’t taped his mouth shut. He needed to confirm he wasn’t injured from the blow before restricting his oxygen supply.
Harry needed a secure location.
He needed Tariq Islam to pull some strings.
Tariq … He’d been at Bradford City football stadium earlier. The place had been evacuated. Locked down.
Harry smiled.
‘Wait here,’ said Harry, turning the engine off and exiting his car, heading towards the phone box.
Isaac sat quietly, watching Harry. He closed his eyes, steadied his breathing.
Watching Harry take down Azeez had been quite something.
There was a determination inside of Harry Virdee. It meant Isaac could not, even for a second, risk underestimating him. He’d been worried that Virdee wouldn’t be able to pull this off, but they would soon be on their way to Abu-Nazir and Amelia. Using Harry as a vehicle to get to Abu-Nazir was his only shot and with Azeez now secure, Isaac knew that all that stood between him and his leader was his ability to pretend he wanted to help Harry.
He could do that.
Harry checked the time: 20.30.
Nine and a half hours to go.
He searched his contact
list, pulling up a familiar name. Ben Mitchell, Bradford City FC.
He stuck 50p in the phone booth and dialled.
Dead tone.
‘Shit,’ whispered Harry and tried again.
He was about to try a third time when he stopped. ‘Idiot,’ he hissed. The mobile networks were down. If Harry’s phone wasn’t working, then neither was Ben’s.
Harry went back to his mobile, this time looking for the landline number.
Six rings.
Eleven.
‘Hello?’ said a voice.
‘Ben?’
‘Who’s asking?’
‘Harry Virdee.’
‘Jesus, Harry, what’s going on?’ Ben sounded more angry than scared.
‘Arma-fucking-geddon.’
‘Tell me about it. World’s gone crazy.’
‘How’s it where you are? Armed police? Squad cars? Is the stadium on lockdown?’
‘No, Harry, it’s a wasteland out here. No one about. I mean, we had the evacuation alert a few hours back, like, got everyone out, but since then I’ve been told to pretty much lock everything up and piss off home.’
‘So, why haven’t you?’
‘You think I’m leaving my stadium to hooligans who think they can take the piss while the police are busy elsewhere?’
That was Ben all right. Bradford City Football Club first, everything else second.
‘Are you alone?’ said Harry.
‘Yeah. Why?’
‘I need a favour.’
‘Heard that before.’ Ben sounded tired but also as though he was smiling.
‘Can you open up the delivery entrance for me? I need to drive my car inside. I’ll explain when I get there.’
Harry looked back to the car, mood darkening.
It was time to find out what was really happening inside Isaac Wolfe’s head.
FIFTY-TWO
Harry pulled into the delivery bay of Bradford City football stadium. He watched the massive metal gates closing in his rear-view mirror, plunging the car into an eerie darkness.
‘You a football fan?’
Isaac shook his head.
‘Welcome to the best football club in England,’ said Harry.
‘Isn’t this dangerous?’ Isaac asked. ‘We’re less than a mile from City Park.’ He unfastened his seatbelt.
‘This place has already been evacuated, swept and signed off. Nobody is coming back here any time soon,’ said Harry, switching off the ignition and waiting.
Lights flickered overhead as a stocky old-timer appeared in the doorway through to the main building.
‘Come on,’ said Harry. ‘This is us.’
Harry walked towards Ben. He was now in his sixties and he’d once owned the bakery next to Harry’s dad’s corner shop. It had been Harry’s first paid summer job, cracking eggs, mixing cake batter and – the worst part – making the filling for the meat pies. Ben pulled him into a firm embrace.
‘Weird to be here when it’s dead,’ Harry said.
‘Not for me. Open up, lock up. This is how I like it.’
Ben stepped to the side of Harry and stared at the passenger seat of the car. ‘Who’s the kid?’
‘Helping me with enquiries about what’s going down in the city.’
Harry was banking on the fact Ben wouldn’t recognize Isaac. He might have seen fleeting images on the news but at least his age group didn’t obsess over social media like the younger generations. Besides, the images on the news were of Isaac wearing traditional Islamic robes. He looked vastly different in Western clothing.
‘Usual cop shop not good enough?’
Harry dropped his voice. ‘I could do with this staying between us.’
Ben nodded and held up his hand, all five fingers spread wide, and folded his little finger and his thumb across his palm. ‘I owed you five favours. We’re down to three.’
‘Who’s counting?’ said Harry, slapping him on the shoulder.
‘Me. How’s my boy getting on?’
Harry had got Ben’s son a job on the force. He wasn’t exactly cut out for police work but he was trying.
‘Gareth’s doing fine, I hear,’ said Harry. He’d heard the opposite but there was no point hurting the old man’s feelings.
Harry watched Ben’s expression as Isaac got out of the car. Ben nodded at the boy, no sign he registered who he was.
Harry told Isaac to stay put and moved to the boot with Ben.
‘Got a parcel in here, Ben. Don’t want to freak you out so, ahead of time, I’m going to let you know this’ – he pointed at the boot – ‘is one of the assholes these guys who call themselves the Patriots want.’
Ben raised his eyebrows, mouth dropping open a little. He said nothing.
‘We good?’ said Harry.
Ben nodded. ‘I trust you,’ he said. ‘You do whatever you need to bring this home.’
He was about to open the boot when Ben said, ‘Truth be told, can’t say I much disagree with what the Patriots are doing.’
Harry paused. He didn’t look at Ben, afraid his face would show that he hadn’t liked what he’d just heard.
‘I think there’s a lot of innocent people at risk,’ said Harry.
He waited for a response and got none.
Harry popped the trunk.
Azeez’s feet came screaming towards him and hit Harry firmly in the chest, knocking him to the ground.
Harry fell backwards and hit the floor hard, seeing Azeez trying to flip his body out of the trunk. Isaac didn’t move but Ben did. He grabbed the lid of the boot and slammed it shut, the sharp edging hammering into Azeez’s thighs.
There was a piercing cry but Azeez didn’t stop.
Rookie mistake, Harry – should have seen that coming.
Ben hammered the boot into Azeez again but he kept coming. Ben started to retreat.
Azeez couldn’t see – eyes shut tight, presumably still burning from the chilli powder. Blind and cuffed he was hardly a threat, apart from his flailing limbs.
Harry got up and brushed himself down. ‘There’s an easy way and a hard way,’ he said calmly. Isaac remained by the passenger-side door. Harry raised his finger to his lips, glaring for Isaac to get back in the car. He didn’t want Azeez to know he was there. Harry had plans for them both.
‘Fuck you,’ spat Azeez, his head moving side to side, eyes still closed.
‘You can walk or be carried,’ said Harry, stepping closer. He touched Azeez on the arm and moved swiftly to the side as Azeez tried to headbutt him. Harry dodged it and moved behind Azeez, grabbing him around the neck with one arm, his other snaking around his body to grab his balls. Harry squeezed.
‘Like I said, walk or be carried.’ The potency of chilli powder made Harry’s eyes water. He could only imagine the pain Azeez was in.
He felt Azeez’s body relax. He had given in.
Harry went back to his boot and got the Koran he had found on Azeez from his laptop bag. He saw his Rolex, thoughts momentarily going to his mother and Aaron.
Focus, Harry.
Harry secured Isaac in the car using handcuffs, ignoring the kid’s protests. He didn’t want to burden Ben with babysitting him and, moreover, Harry needed a clear head for what he was about to do.
Bradford City Football Club had a small prison cell inside the stadium, used in times gone by when fans became out of control and stewards had needed somewhere to hold them, waiting either for the match to end or the police to arrive. It was now used to store pallets of plastic water bottles.
Ben opened it up for Harry and wandered off, clearly not wanting to know more than he already did.
Harry shoved Azeez to the floor, leaving the handcuffs in place, and pulled a bottle of water from one of the cases. He poured the contents across Azeez’s face using his other hand to clean the chilli powder from his eyes. He told Azeez to open one eye at a time. Harry gently poured water over it.
‘Blink as fast as you can,’ he said.
It took aroun
d five minutes and at least five bottles of water before Azeez could keep his eyes open. The whites of his eyes were red raw – almost like they were bleeding. He looked like some kind of demon.
‘Can you see?’
Azeez nodded. He was breathing heavily, Harry thought more from tiredness than anything else. The anger was still there but Azeez knew he wasn’t about to escape.
‘Painful, no?’
‘Fuck you.’
Harry put his hand in his pocket and pulled out the pot of red powder. ‘Heard a story once,’ said Harry, crouching by Azeez and keeping the chilli powder in sight. ‘My old man told it to me. When he lived in India, this thief broke into his home and tried to steal some money. My grandad – head of the village – was pretty well stocked. He had a rifle and a handgun. He collared this prick but he didn’t shoot him.’
Azeez stared at the chilli powder.
‘They didn’t put in his eyes. They stripped him bare and rubbed it into the crack of his arse and all around his cock.’ Harry laughed. ‘Sadistic, right? They sat him down and hauled a massive paving slab on his lap so he couldn’t move. No squirming or jumping up and down on the spot.’
Harry moved to a broken slab of rock in the corner of the room and placed the pot of chilli on it so Azeez could see it. ‘Something like that anyway.’ He tugged the disposable gloves he had taken from the nursing home from his other pocket and put them on the ground.
He really hoped he wouldn’t need them.
Harry whistled. ‘Apparently, he screamed for over three hours before he passed out.’
‘Who are you?’ Azeez grunted.
‘I told you. A cop.’
‘Cops don’t act like you.’
Harry leaned back and relaxed. ‘Guess I’m a little different.’
‘So, you approve of what is happening in Bradford then?’
‘Do you want to leave this place?’ Harry ignored his question. ‘I’ll make you a deal.’
Azeez spat on the floor. ‘I’d rather die.’
‘I know. Die a martyr, all for the cause. I’m not asking you to help me find your mates.’ Harry held his gaze. ‘Cards on the table? I’ve always wanted to have a one to one with someone like you.’