by A. A. Dhand
‘It’s working,’ hissed Tariq, smiling.
Allen spoke hurriedly into a mic – Harry assumed it would be his team on the ground, ready to intercept the worshippers and take them into custody. They had to be certain nobody from the Patriots was among them.
It felt like an achingly long time for the seven hundred and fifty worshippers to exit.
Harry hadn’t seen Saima. He’d seen many women emerge, and had assumed Imam Hashim would have prioritized getting the women out. Why hadn’t Saima been among them?
Tariq’s phone rang. He answered, listened to a short message then turned to Harry and Allen. ‘They said that’s seven fifty released. The rest when I take these three inside.’
Harry dropped his voice and leaned in to Isaac, who was shaking. ‘Replace the pin in the grenade now.’ Harry put a hand on his shoulder. ‘I don’t want you dropping that thing in there. Tariq reckons he can swing this.’
‘He said he won’t let them kill me.’ Isaac was trying not to cry.
Harry nodded and lowered his voice to no more than a whisper so Tariq could not hear him. ‘If you know it’s going bad, pull the pin, throw it and run as fast as you can. You got that?’
Harry moved his body to block Isaac from the view of the crowds as he replaced the pin in the grenade. Last thing he needed was Isaac’s head being taken off.
He raised his own hands above his head as he watched the four men disappear through the open door, Tariq hesitating, turning around to face the crowd and the hundreds of camera lenses no doubt displaying this on the world’s media.
It would be all over the internet in moments.
Alone now with Allen, Harry dropped his gaze to the floor as the doors reopened and another stream of people started to walk out, heads down, hands raised, pace urgent.
Whether it was the adrenaline or the morphine, it didn’t matter, but Harry couldn’t feel any pain as he stepped closer, watching for Saima.
‘Come on, come on,’ he whispered.
He glanced down the path towards the bottom where worshippers were being searched by military personnel and ushered quickly away.
Something hit him.
The crowd.
The cameras.
The global media attention.
He glanced back to the front door, looking again for Saima.
Harry stepped a little closer to the entrance. The fact this thing might be drawing to a close gave him a sudden moment of clarity. He started to see things in a way he hadn’t before. Holy shit.
The flow of people started to slow and, just as it ended, after a delay of no more than a few seconds, Saima Virdee stepped outside.
She saw Harry and started to run towards him.
‘No!’ he shouted, hands raised, alarming the few followers in front of her. ‘Keep your hands up, Saima – walk slowly!’
She stopped, raised her hands and walked apprehensively towards him.
Harry patted her down quickly then threw his arms around her, kissing her.
‘It’s over,’ he said.
She started to cry. ‘God, I was so scared.’
‘Harry, that’s it, let’s get out of here.’ Allen’s voice was calm and commanding.
In that moment, with his wife in his arms, and Commander Allen at his side, the noise of the past seventeen hours disappeared from his mind.
Harry Virdee understood. He had been played.
The bastard.
It was the way Tariq Islam had paused in front of the doors and turned back to the crowds, raising his hands like some sort of Messiah figure.
This had all started with Tariq Islam handing Isaac Wolfe to Harry. And now his sacrifice would be the enduring image of this siege.
Islam would be coming out of that mosque alive.
He pushed Saima towards Allen. ‘Get her out of here.’
‘Harry!’ she said.
‘Saima, I know what I’m doing. You have to trust me.’
‘The hell you do,’ said Allen, putting his hand on Harry.
He shrugged him away. ‘Get my wife out of here.’
Harry walked to the entrance, hearing Allen dragging an outraged Saima away. Harry had been played and now, realizing his own life was not in any danger, Harry was going to put things right.
He opened the door and disappeared inside the Mehraj mosque.
NINETY-TWO
Harry entered the mosque calm and determined.
It was the twenty-minute warning the Patriots had given. Zero casualties in City Park. Tariq had placed himself centre stage for the whole operation, both on and off the books. Managing every angle. And just as the deadline had been reached, he had negotiated his way into the mosque after all the hostages had been released.
The question was – why?
Harry arrived in the main foyer, a spiral staircase to his left, two elevators to his right. The shutters were drawn across the floor-to-ceiling windows, blocking any snipers from seeing what was happening.
Which way?
Saima had told him the bomb was in the basement. Would Tariq have headed there? Harry needed to make a decision and fast.
He ran down the stairs. Inside the basement he found Isaac, Azeez and Abu-Nazir all out cold on the floor, hands and feet crudely secured with some sort of wire. He hurried towards them and checked for signs of life. They were all still breathing.
He found the white-phosphorus grenade in Isaac’s pocket and shoved it in his own.
Suddenly he heard voices up ahead. Tariq Islam and one other.
He walked quickly towards them, rounding the corner to find an enormous wooden box, the bomb nestled inside.
‘You should have stayed outside, Harry,’ Tariq said.
Tariq stood with a young white woman.
She had to be one of the Patriots.
‘You better start talking, and fast, Tariq,’ said Harry.
Tariq shook his head, dismayed. ‘Search him for a weapon and a phone.’
Harry removed the grenade from his pocket and pulled the pin, holding it high. ‘Try it.’
Tariq frowned. ‘Really?’
‘You put me through hell, for what?’
‘Put the pin back in and I’ll tell you.’
Harry did no such thing. ‘Tell me now.’
‘It’s a white-phosphorus grenade, Harry. It’s not going to kill us.’
‘Maybe. But it’ll put you down while I cuff you both.’
Harry pointed at the bomb, the large screen displaying a timer that had stopped with only six seconds remaining.
‘Start talking,’ said Harry.
‘This is Maria. She’s a member of Group-13. One of my most trusted officers.’
‘Your officers?’
‘You never leave Group-13.’
Harry lowered his arm but kept his fist squeezed around the grenade, the pin still pulled.
‘Power, Harry. That’s what this is about. When I walk out of here, I’ll be the hero of this saga, the most recognized face on the planet. It all but guarantees me the Prime Minister’s job.’
Harry crept closer, eyes scanning the floor space for options and finding none.
‘Power? Being Prime Minister doesn’t buy you power. It isn’t like being the President.’
‘Not yet,’ said Tariq, intercepting Maria, who had stepped towards Harry, Taser raised. ‘You want to put the pin back in the grenade?’
‘No.’
Tariq shrugged and spoke quickly and succinctly. He told Harry the world was changing. Powerful Far Right groups were emerging in the USA and all across Europe. And all the while, elitist career politicians with not an ounce of experience in the real world continued to dictate the country’s policy in a twenty-first century unrecognizable from the one they’d imagined as children.
‘We’re headed for some major problems, Harry.’
The woman inched closer to Harry, Taser by her side. Once she was in striking distance, she was going to go for him, grenade or not.
‘Be
tter tell your pooch to stand down,’ said Harry, nodding towards her.
‘She has nothing to lose, Harry.’
‘Radiation exposure in Korea,’ she said. ‘I’ve got maybe a year.’ Her eyes shone.
The sacrificial lamb.
The perfect sleeper cell.
They were so close now that if Harry dropped the grenade, the phosphorus-burn would also injure him. They were calling his bluff and if it came down to it, he didn’t know what the right call would be.
‘What makes you so different from those politicians?’ Harry pointed the grenade at Tariq. ‘You seem more dangerous to me than anyone else.’
Tariq smiled. ‘You just don’t know when to quit, do you?’
There was a moment of silence as they all waited for one of them to make a move.
Tariq turned to Maria. ‘Show him.’
‘What?’ she said.
‘Show him why we did all this.’
She stared at him, incredulous.
‘Either he’s dead or one of us,’ said Tariq.
‘Are you sure?’ she said.
Tariq nodded. ‘I wouldn’t have got him involved otherwise.’
Maria open a video on her phone.
‘Drop the Taser and kick it away,’ said Tariq. ‘Give him the phone and let him watch it properly. Once he’s seen it, he’ll re-pin the grenade and we can get on with things. We can’t be that far off a military raid.’
She did as he asked.
Harry retreated a little, hit Play and watched the clip. At first, he darted his attention between Tariq, Maria and the phone.
Two minutes in, he forgot they were there.
It showed the Prime Minister, Thomas Match, in conversation with two well-known billionaire businessmen and Tyler Sudworth. Their expressions said they were very pleased with themselves. The men congratulated each other on finding a scapegoat for the country’s hardships, said how useful the immigrant population of the UK had been for them. They talked of targeting the Muslims, how satisfied they were with Abu-Nazir and his progress, and of growing hostility in the UK towards the immigrants. They spoke of social and ethnic cleansing, and returning the country to its indigenous roots.
The world had seen this before, in the 1930s and 40s.
All this hatred. It had come from these men.
These men in power, these men running the country.
The video didn’t look or feel doctored. And Maria and Tariq had had no way of knowing in advance they might need this. They hadn’t known Harry would be here.
He put the pin back in the grenade, placed it on the floor and said, ‘How do we stop this?’
NINETY-THREE
‘Extreme situations call for extreme measures. This is the only way we walk out of here.’
Harry didn’t like Tariq’s plan. Tariq wanted Maria to execute the three leaders of Almukhtaroon still unconscious on the floor.
‘I get it but I can’t sign off on the boy’s murder,’ Harry said.
Tariq suddenly pushed Harry, both hands landing flush on his chest, pain ricocheting through his ribs.
‘You don’t get sign-off. And I don’t have time to run you through every minor detail. For now, Harry, you’re either with us or against us. No civilians have died today – don’t be the first.’
Harry wasn’t sure he wanted to know the rest.
‘The boy leaves with us. You’ll say he was an embedded operative who helped bring Almukhtaroon down. You’ll give him an award, a fucking medal if need be.’ Harry glanced towards Abu-Nazir and Azeez. ‘How’d you explain those two being killed, though?’
Maria pulled a gun from under her burka and put it to her own head. ‘Do you know what radiation poisoning is like to die of?’
A true sacrificial lamb.
She handed the gun to Tariq. ‘Better to die at the hands of my compatriots, civilized and honourable, than let my body burn from the inside. And it will cement Tariq’s position as a true hero today.’ She pointed towards the ceiling. ‘He saved a thousand people.’ She gestured to Isaac. ‘Saved our insider.’ Finally she put her finger to her temple. ‘And took out the terrorist who killed Nazir and Azeez.’
Tariq stepped in front of her, looking at Harry. ‘I need you to walk away.’
Harry rubbed his hand over his stubble, scratching it wildly. He opened his mouth to object but Tariq stopped him.
‘Walk the fuck away and take the boy with you.’
There was nothing more to say or do.
Harry took one final glance at Maria, at the bomb behind her, the timer frozen on 00:06 seconds, and walked away.
He lifted Isaac from the ground, pain shrieking through his body. He had to put him back on the floor and drag him around the corner instead.
He waited. It felt like an age before Harry heard two gunshots: Abu-Nazir and Azeez.
Now for Maria.
Harry closed his eyes.
He wondered if Tariq would feel anything. He was far more complex than Harry had ever given him credit for.
Group-13, a brotherhood like no other.
A third gunshot.
There was a short delay before Tariq emerged, walking purposefully.
‘You rescued the kid, didn’t see what happened. The rest is on me. Got it?’
Tariq hit the button for the elevator.
Isaac was coming around now and Harry managed to unbind his hands and feet.
Tariq crouched beside Isaac, tone soft and compassionate. The change in his demeanour was astonishing to witness.
This guy was something else.
‘You’re safe. It’s over. Harry got you to safety. Abu-Nazir and Azeez were killed by the Patriots before I could neutralize that threat. We’ll debrief you fully when we are out of here. You OK to walk?’
Isaac simply nodded and Harry wondered if he’d registered that his father had just been killed. Perhaps the kid was in shock.
The three of them entered the lift heading for the ground floor.
They walked to the main doors of the mosque.
Tariq put his hand on Harry, halting him before they stepped through the doors to freedom.
‘They’ll take you to hospital and you’ll be reunited with your wife. At some point tomorrow they’ll want a debrief from you but I’ll see you before then and we’ll get this thing straight.’
Harry turned to leave but Tariq kept his hand firmly on his shoulder.
‘OK?’ he said.
Harry stared at Tariq’s hand until he removed it. ‘I got it.’
NINETY-FOUR
Joyti Virdee had not really slept at all. She’d been watching the television on mute in her bedroom. Behind her, Ranjit was sleeping next to Aaron, arms cradling the boy.
Joyti had almost woken him up when the news had shown some kind of military operation under way at the Mehraj mosque. The footage had been cut short and, less than an hour later, it was all over.
Saima had called Joyti, crying. She’d cried even harder when Joyti had told her that her little boy was sleeping soundly.
Joyti looked over to her husband and her grandson, asleep on the bed. If she had known how to take a photograph on her phone, she would have. This was an image she never thought she would see.
What happened now was anybody’s guess but right here, in this moment, Joyti felt a sense of peace she wanted to cling on to.
The clock by the bed started to beep loudly for its 07.45 alarm and disturbed both Ranjit and Aaron’s sleep. She hurriedly turned it off and watched, heart in mouth, as Aaron sat up, rubbed his eyes and … smiled.
‘Grandma, you still here!’ he said, alert and happy.
Yesterday and all its worries were already gone from his mind.
Aaron turned to Ranjit and stared at him perplexed. ‘You sleep in my bed?’
Ranjit smiled. ‘I did. I was scared of the dark. I needed you to look after me.’
Aaron thought about this and nodded. ‘It’s OK. I get scared sometimes. I look after you.’
/> Ranjit glanced at Joyti and she knew in that instant that something had changed.
‘You need a shave,’ said Aaron.
Ranjit nodded. ‘I like my beard. Do you want to touch it?’
‘No. I don’t like beards. Too scratchy. My daddy has a small beard. He rubs it on my face.’
Joyti lifted Aaron into her arms, allowing Ranjit to get out of bed. ‘Does my little hero want breakfast?’
‘I want my mummy.’
‘She is coming. She will have breakfast with us too.’
Joyti glanced at Ranjit, who didn’t respond.
What now? How did they move on from this?
Ranjit nodded to the window. A police car pulled up in the drive, the back door flying open.
Saima Virdee ran towards the house.
Harry laboured behind her, moving slowly.
They were safe.
Ranjit sat down on the edge of the bed, rubbing his hands along his knees. He looked anxious. ‘I think this morning I will have my tea upstairs.’
Upstairs.
He didn’t want to come down to see Harry and Saima.
Ranjit came across to Joyti and took Aaron from her. He kissed him and simply said, ‘Goodbye, my little prince. You have lifted an old man’s heart.’
NINETY-FIVE
This is Amanda Mawson reporting live from Bradford where, in spite of the terrorist incident being brought to an end, a large police presence remains throughout the city. Transport links have reopened with Leeds Bradford airport announcing the resumption of flights.
Behind me you can see the Mehraj mosque, scene of one of the most audacious hostage situations we have experienced in modern times, and certainly the most high profile this country has ever seen. I can report that the bombing of City Park resulted in no casualties and while we understand that sixteen people remain in hospital, their injuries are not thought to be serious.
There are questions over what exactly happened inside the basement of the Mehraj mosque. No official statement has been given, but our sources have told us that both Abu-Nazir and Fahad-Bin-Azeez were killed in whatever took place when Home Secretary Tariq Islam and Detective Chief Inspector Harry Virdee entered the mosque. Indeed social media is full of unverified images of three bodies being stretchered from the building. As yet, the identities of those victims, especially the third one, remain unconfirmed.