by Alan Gibbons
He has rattled Bashir’s cage. Steely eyes fix him.
‘I couldn’t take any risks with Jamil. He had a big mouth. I couldn’t trust him.’
Majid has confirmed something he half knew already.
‘This wasn’t about the phone, was it? You just wanted to get rid of him.’ He is meant to be a warrior, a mujahid. He has got to play the part: ‘If you know a man is a traitor, it’s right to kill him. You couldn’t be sure about Jamil.’
‘Is that right?’ Bashir says. ‘So if Jamil wasn’t the mole, who was?’
Majid knows he has stepped on to dangerous ground. Bashir’s suspicion is like a tripwire under his foot. He fights his way back.
‘I don’t think there is a mole, Bashir. Five had eyes on us. We thought we lost them. Maybe we didn’t. You’re just playing that card to keep everybody on their toes.’
Abu Rashid laughs.
‘He’s got you there.’
Bashir continues to examine Majid’s face as if seeing him properly for the first time.
‘So what’s the target?’
Bashir turns away.
‘Nice try, but operational decisions stay with me. Five have won one battle. They won’t win the next.’
35
There is a new set of CCTV stills on Kate’s desk. She also has the entire footage on her laptop. Jen leans forward and peers over Kate’s shoulder.
‘This is Newport Pagnell Services,’ Jack explains. ‘First, the East London house, now a positive ID. Our luck is changing.’
The images of the three men are as clear as a bell.
‘That seals the deal,’ Jen comments. ‘It’s the Manchester conference.’
Jack seems satisfied with his morning’s work. He can’t help giving Kate a knowing glance.
‘They must be in the city by now. I wish we’d picked up their trail earlier.’
Kate continues to survey the pictures. Jen watches her before speaking.
‘You’re very quiet, Kate. Have you got something on your mind?’
‘I’m not sure.’
‘If there’s something you think we’ve missed, you need to say.’
‘It’s not that we’ve missed anything. It’s just … The timings are all wrong. We know they left the East London house by ten. We have a sighting on the Underground an hour later. Then this big gap until they turn up at Newport Pagnell. What were they doing in the meantime?’ A slight pause, then: ‘You said it yourself. Bashir’s clever. He plans. He slips out of sight like that.’ She snaps her fingers. ‘He lets us watch him when he wants. What if this is another of his tricks? All these images. I mean, it’s as if he wanted us to follow his movements.’
‘Kate,’ Jack answers, ‘sometimes you have to accept the obvious. The reason Manchester is staring us in the face is simple. It’s the target. Everybody will be at the convention centre: police officers, security personnel, the Home Secretary. How often do our jihadi friends get an opportunity like this?’
Kate feels patronised.
‘What are the chances of them getting through, Jack? Bashir may be a rogue, some would say an amateur, but he is a serious operator, possibly the most dangerous activist we have faced since seven/seven. I don’t see him launching an attack with next to no chance of success.’
Jen looks thoughtful.
‘So if Manchester isn’t the target, what is, Kate?’
Kate slumps back in her seat.
‘I don’t know. I’m still going through the list Jack drew up.’
Jen steps in.
‘Analyse it all you like, Kate, but if you want to convince me that the cell has a different target, you need to show me hard evidence.’
Kate shuts her eyes. This is wrong, so wrong. She knows Bashir is playing them. Majid is still out of contact so Bashir must be keeping a close eye on him.
Lives are at stake. A face fills her thoughts. Majid, the man who came back from the dead. Talk to me, Majid. Tell me what they’re planning.
Suddenly, Majid’s eyes are burning through her.
‘You don’t know what makes me tick, Kate. You can’t even begin to imagine.’
I can’t even begin to imagine, Kate thinks. Maybe I can’t. I can’t walk around in your skin, Majid, but I can understand your motives.
She returns to the question that is haunting her. If not Manchester, where? Just get in touch, Majid. Give me a clue.
Please.
36
Mum deposits a carrier bag on the bed and lays out the Reporter for everyone to look at. Amir’s verdict is instant.
‘They’re out to destroy us!’
The paper has gone big on the story: Jihad Family Sarwar.
Underneath reads: Brothers engaged in extremist Islam. There is the photograph of Amir being arrested. There is a thumbprint photo of Majid as a schoolboy, but the image that dominates the spread is an Islamic State fighter atop a tank, a huge, black flag rippling behind him.
‘If you think this is bad, read the editorial.’
Nasima begins with the headline.
‘Islamic extremism must not be allowed to flourish.’ There is the same look on all four faces, one of utter dismay. ‘According to the Government’s own measure, the likelihood of a terrorist attack in the capital is ‘Critical’. We must not be complacent. It is estimated that between 500 and 1,500 UK citizens have chosen to travel to the Middle East to take part in a savage conflict. If they return home, they represent a severe threat to national security.
‘More worrying still is the possibility that Majid Sarwar’s family shares at least some of his poisonous ideology.’
Nasima puts the paper down.
‘Dad, I don’t want to read any more. How am I supposed to go back to school after this?’
Her father turns to comfort her.
‘There is nothing here that is an outright lie. It is the way everything is presented. We can’t have any argument with what they say about Majid. As for the rest, all Amir did was shout at a crowd of racists. Anybody reading it would think that we have been organising a training camp for armed insurrection.’
Mum’s face is pinched with anxiety.
Mum remembers Amir.
‘Can you imagine what Mr Lucas is going to think?’
A second thought hits her.
‘Naveed, what about your job? You have to deal with the public.’
‘I tried to prepare my line manager. I didn’t expect anything like this. I will have to call her back.’
Nasima’s eyes widen as the implications of the article sink in.
‘What will my friends say? I’ve got to talk to Lucy.’
Amir wraps his arms round his head.
‘There’s no way I can go back.’
37
Jack delivers the message with his usual sense of high drama.
‘We’re out of here, Kate. Jen’s orders.’
Kate has been watching YouTube clips of Bashir Mirza’s speeches. The last was made two years ago. There are the usual condemnations of the Zionist-Crusader enemy, but he reserves most of his fury for what the press like to call moderate Muslims. He uses a different vocabulary to the media. They are apostates, false Muslims. That gives her pause for thought. She will return to it later. Right now, she has more pressing business.
‘She’s come to a decision. It’s Manchester.’
Kate is deflated. Jen has dismissed the idea that it could be London. It isn’t hard to know why her theory has been sidelined. It is three days since Majid last made contact. She is aware of the muttering. OK, so he gave us the East London cell. What if it is all just a bit too easy? Offer up a sacrificial lamb to hit the main target. Kate fiddles with her wedding ring, the way she always does when she is under stress. If anyone had asked her two days ago, even yesterday, whether she trusted Bungee, she would have answered without hesitation. Yes. Absolutely. Now, she just does not know.
‘Are you sure about Manchester, Jack? Can you really be a hundred per cent certain? Why dismiss t
he alternatives? I just don’t buy the idea of Bashir moving outside his comfort zone. Everything we know about him suggests otherwise.’
‘You just can’t accept the obvious, can you?’
She grabs his sleeve.
‘Just listen to me! I am not trying to put you down, Jack, if that’s what you think. I’m terrified we’re putting all our eggs in the wrong basket. What do we know about Bashir Mirza? He is intelligent. He has consistently been one step ahead of us. He is calculating. He plans every detail. All of a sudden, his mug-shot is all over CCTV. Do you really think he suddenly got careless?’
Jack isn’t interested in complications.
‘You talk as if Bashir is some kind of genius. He was a petty criminal, a violent drug dealer. He’s a law unto himself. OK, he’s cunning and charismatic, but he’s hardly infallible. He’s made a mistake. Kate, don’t lose a sense of proportion.’
Kate follows Jack outside.
She can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong.
38
FRIDAY, 8TH JULY
Bashir has finished shaving his beard and body hair. He wipes the foam from his face and glances at Majid, who is standing at the door.
‘Have you got something to say, Majid?’
‘You haven’t shaved your head. Why not?’
Majid knows the significance of the ritual. They will be cleansed when they enter Heaven. Bashir doesn’t expect to survive.
‘In good time. We do not want to draw attention to ourselves. The security services are on the lookout for three bearded fighters. Instead, we are clean-shaven, with smart haircuts. We are almost unrecognisable.’
Abu Rashid is lolling in a chair in front of the TV. He has a vanity mirror and he is looking at his reflection.
‘You should be a hairdresser, Bashir.’
Bashir doesn’t answer. He pulls out his phone and examines the screen then he starts to jingle his car keys in his pocket. Majid knows what this means.
Abu Rashid continues to lounge in front of the TV. His eyelids are growing heavy, his body language relaxed. Majid is willing him to sleep. He has been out of contact with Kate for far too long and the attack is imminent. Majid’s hands are clammy at the thought of what is round the corner. He approaches the window and looks out into the street. The car is gone.
‘Why don’t you sit down, Majid?’ yawns Abu Rashid. ‘You never stop pacing. I’m trying to sleep here.’
Majid nods and sinks into the other armchair.
Majid remembers the terror in Jamil’s eyes. He feels sick. He sucks in a few breaths, runs his hands over his scalp, feeling his new, short hairstyle. Abu Rashid’s head is tilted to one side. He can hear Abu Rashid’s regular breathing. This is the best chance he is going to get. He edges his way across the room and eases the door open. He puts the door on the snip, waits a second, listening to Abu Rashid’s rhythmic breathing and steps on to the pavement.
He shifts his attention to a group of young guys on the pavement opposite. His pulse is throbbing violently.
‘Hi, my phone’s out of charge …’
‘So charge it.’
The reply gets a laugh.
‘No, you don’t understand. I have an urgent call to make.’
He sees the wheels.
‘How urgent?’
Majid glances at the house. He produces a five-pound note.
‘This urgent.’
The teenagers give him a pitying look.
‘Make it a twenty and you’re on.’
Majid produces another two fivers and a few coins.
‘This is all I have.’
He sees an outstretched hand.
‘Phone first.’
The exchange is made. He takes a couple of steps.
‘Don’t go any further. How do I know you’re not going to make off with my phone?’
Majid decides to text rather than make a call with this crew listening in.
We didn’t go north.
Target London.
He looks around.
‘Where are we?’
‘Are you kidding? You don’t know where you are?’
‘No, I’m staying at a mate’s house.’
‘So?’
‘He’s just moved in. I didn’t pay much attention when we were driving.’
He can see the way they’re looking at him.
‘Come on.’
That’s when he sees Bashir’s car turning into the street. Bashir stops for a woman to cross.
‘Quick!’
‘Give me my phone back. You’ve got your fifteen pounds’ worth.’
Majid has dropped behind them to stay out of Bashir’s sight. He presses send, hands over the phone and hurries back indoors. His heart is slamming. Did Bashir see him? That’s when he remembers the snip. He flicks it with his thumb. It makes a loud click. Abu Rashid sits bolt upright in his chair.
‘What are you doing over there?’ he demands irritably. ‘I wish you would sit still.’
Majid drops into his chair. He can barely breathe.
‘Sorry.’
The door opens.
39
Kate flashes her ID and passes through the security cordon. She finds Jack talking to a Special Branch officer.
‘We need to talk.’
They find a space overlooking the Convention Centre. Police teams are checking bins, gratings, gutters, anywhere that could conceal an explosive device. Armed officers are setting up positions. A helicopter does a pass overhead.
‘I’m surprised you’re still here, Kate.’
Kate waves her phone screen at him. ‘You’ve got an event here called Riverside. Just go through the details for me.’
Jack pulls out his iPad and they squat on a wall together.
‘It’s a Faith Camp. They’re holding it at the Riverside Golf Club and Conference Centre.’
He pauses and gives Kate a questioning look.
‘Go on,’ she says.
Jack scrolls through the information.
‘The driving force is an imam called Al Quraishi. We had him under surveillance for a while. He was a trenchant critic of the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan and he has been on the board of a couple of trusts we were interested in. You’ve read all this Kate, so why do we have to play this game? What have you got?’
‘Keep going. Tell me about Al Quraishi.’
Jack looks past her at the skyline of the city.
‘He is an opponent of the war on terror and the Prevent strategy. He turned down an invitation to the anti-terrorism conference on the grounds that government policy was alienating young Muslims.’
Kate takes the iPad.
‘He is equally critical of the militants, Jack. Have you read these statements? Here we have a credible figure willing to take on the jihadis on their own turf. To somebody like Bashir Mirza, he is an apostate.’ Her gaze does not leave him. ‘Christian fellowships, Jewish groups, two MPs, a bishop … Jack, this is a Who’s Who of everything Bashir hates.’
Jack looks put out.
Kate goes on, ‘You put this at the bottom of your list? Why?’
‘This list didn’t amount to much. Tomorrow, Manchester hosts the Home Secretary and most of the security community.’
‘And Bashir expects us to be here, drawn to the wrong target. Don’t you get it? He has played it perfectly. There were no sightings of his cell north of Newport Pagnell. Nabil has been through the tapes from every service area on the M1 and M6. We’re in the wrong place. It’s Riverside.’
Jack runs his palm over his nose and mouth.
‘You can’t be sure it’s Riverside. I listed four targets that look more likely.’
Kate runs another search.
‘If you had been more thorough, you would have found this photograph. I sent it to your inbox five minutes ago.’
Jack stares at the image and his stomach turns over. It shows Al Quraishi in the company of a younger man.
‘Do you recognise him, Jack?’
&nbs
p; He nods, dumbstruck.
‘It’s Bashir Mirza.’
‘That’s right. Bashir was a member of Al Quraishi’s congregation, but Al Quraishi banned him from the mosque for distributing material that promoted hatred. You were so convinced Manchester was the target, you failed to give the other possibilities due attention.’
Jack continues to stare at the photo.
‘It’s compelling evidence, but where’s the proof?’
Kate is about to speak when her phone buzzes. She stares at the screen.
‘This is proof.’
She shows him Majid’s text.
Target London.
40
Bashir stands in the doorway. He is carrying a large sports bag in his right hand, from which he pulls out a pile of newspapers. He senses the tension between Majid and Abu Rashid.
‘What’s with you two?’
Abu Rashid turns to the TV.
‘There’s nothing the matter with me. It’s Majid. He’s freaking me out.’
Bashir stares at Majid then he crosses the room and pokes Abu Rashid in the chest. Abu Rashid bats his hand away.
‘What’s your beef, Bashir? I told you, he’s the one with the problem.’
Bashir’s jaw is set, his eyes hard with anger.
‘What are you saying? How’s Majid freaking you out?’
Majid’s heart is kicking in his chest. He knows what happened to Jamil.
‘If you’ve got any suspicions about Majid, you say it right now, right here. I want to hear it. Has he done anything to jeopardise our operation? Anything?’
Majid watches Abu Rashid’s face. Did he hear the door go? Does he know I was outside? Both Majid and Abu Rashid’s eyes are glittering with fright.
‘I got nothing, Bashir. He’s just too jumpy, that’s all.’
‘Well, put up or shut up.’
Bashir flicks Abu Rashid away as if he is an insect.
‘You’re feeling edgy, Majid, is that right? Have you been watching the news?’
Majid frowns and shakes his head slowly.
‘No, why?’
‘You’re famous.’