by Alan Gibbons
Majid pounces on the pile of newspapers, seeing at once the coverage of Amir’s arrest and his own departure for Syria.
‘What the …’
He leafs through them, eyes racing down the columns, stopping at each incriminating photograph.
‘How did they get this stuff?’ He stares at Bashir. ‘We’ve got to call off the attack.’
Bashir folds his arms.
‘The attack goes ahead.’
‘They’ve got my picture.’
‘They ain’t got Jack. The papers say you’re dead. You don’t get a better alibi. Say your prayers. Make your preparations. Tomorrow, we take the war to the enemy.’
41
‘This isn’t living.’
The four of them are sitting in Mum and Dad’s room, staring at the TV screen without watching. Amir perches on the bed while his parents take the chairs. Nasima is squatting on the carpet.
‘I mean, what are we doing here? This is even worse than the flat.’
‘Don’t do this, Amir,’ Nasima says. ‘You know we can’t go back. The reporters …’
‘So we sit and rot in this hotel.’
Mum rests a hand on Amir’s arm.
‘It is only short term.’
‘That’s what you said about the flat.’
Glances are exchanged, but nobody speaks, not for some time. The only sound is the roar of traffic outside.
‘Well,’ Amir says at last, ‘is nobody going to say anything?’
Mum stands and places her suitcase on the bed beside Amir. She starts taking clothes out of the wardrobe.
‘What are you doing, Ammi-ji?’
Mum turns to her husband.
‘There is somewhere we can go, the only place we have ever really felt happy and secure.’
Nasima’s heart skips a beat.
‘Do you mean it, Mum?’
‘Yes, Nasima. I am talking about the house where you and your brothers were born and raised.’
‘We’re going back to the old house?’
‘It is still ours until the estate agent finds a buyer, isn’t it? I say we go home.’
Everybody turns and looks at Dad. He nods.
‘You’re right. We’re going home.’
42
SATURDAY, 9TH JULY
As Jack guides the hire car past Staples Corner he nudges Kate. She stirs in the passenger seat.
‘What time is it? Any news from Riverside?’
‘Five o’clock. SCO19 are deployed around the grounds.’
Kate nods. SCO19, the Trojans, the same guys who took out the first cell.
‘And the Met has beefed up the police presence?’
‘The grounds are crawling with plods. That’s the good news.’
Kate inspects herself in the mirror on the back of the car’s sunshade. The left side of her face is creased where she has been sleeping with her face against the leather seat. She frowns.
‘So give me the bad news.’
‘The grounds are extensive. There is parkland to the south and west. Securing the perimeter is an almost impossible task.’
‘Why didn’t they just cancel the event?’
Jack gives her an apologetic glance.
‘Too late. There are coaches coming from other parts of the country. Some of the organisers are there already, staying overnight. They’re in a two hundred and thirty-two bed hotel and it’s fully booked.’
‘I called Nabil,’ Jack tells her. ‘I don’t think he’s too happy about being left behind in Manchester. Jen’s orders.’
Kate’s phone rings. She registers the caller.
‘Talk of the devil. Doesn’t she ever sleep?’
Jack shakes his head.
‘Not when she’s got something like this going down.’
‘Good morning, Jen. Are you at Riverside?’
‘I’m in Manchester. I’m a delegate at the conference.’
Kate grimaces at Jack.
‘Of course you are.’
‘Keep me in the loop, Kate.’
‘That’s it?’
‘That’s it. You called the target correctly. Now finish the job.’
Did Jen just praise me? she wonders.
They stop for a red light. Kate gazes at the rain-damp pavements and the bleary dawn. A few lights are winking in kitchens and living rooms. Jack turns to Kate.
‘I think I owe you an apology. I should have listened to you the first time round.’
Kate shrugs.
‘We’re on the same page now.’
She reaches for the flask of coffee in front of her. It is empty.
‘How long now?’
‘There is next to no traffic. Forty-five minutes max.’
43
Majid is a few miles away. He wakes and sees the muddy dawn. He looks around the room. Bashir is awake, staring at the ceiling. He doesn’t trust anybody. Abu Rashid is snoring noisily. Somehow, Bashir becomes aware of Majid watching him.
‘So you’re awake, my brother.’
‘I’m awake.’ He flicks a glance at Abu Rashid. ‘I don’t know how he sleeps.’
‘We’re not like him. You see, we think for ourselves. He just takes orders.’ Bashir props himself up on his right elbow. ‘You think, don’t you, Majid?’
Majid can feel the nape of his neck prickling.
‘What are you getting at?’
‘You’ve been having doubts. Don’t try to deny it.’
Doubts? It is time to brazen it out. No weakness.
‘I’m ready.’
Bashir isn’t about to be fobbed off.
‘That’s not what I asked. I’m right, yeah? You’ve been having doubts?’
Majid wonders how to answer. Any attempt at denial will strike a false note.
‘Only a fool thinks he is right all the time. I’m not a fool and neither are you, Bashir. I have doubts. Doesn’t mean I’m going to give in to them. You don’t need to worry about me.’
Bashir considers this then he holds up a newspaper cutting. It shows Majid’s father going into the flat. His blood runs cold.
‘What’ve you got that for?’
‘It’s insurance.’
‘Meaning?’
Bashir spells it out.
‘I do worry. Yusuf, Jamil, this lump here: they believed everything I said without question. I tell them that ours is a holy jihad and they don’t think twice. Our way is the gun. Kill or be killed. We will walk through the gates of Paradise with our heads held high. We’re ready because we want to hit back, whatever the price. They accept it all without question. With you, I am never quite sure.’
Majid tells Bashir what he wants to hear.
‘Today is for Bosnia, Chechnya, Palestine, Iraq, Afghanistan, Libya, Syria. The enemy’s armies entered the Muslim lands so we will strike at the heart of theirs. You can rely on me.’
‘That’s just it, Majid. I don’t hear the same certainty in your voice. Maybe your heart is too soft for war.’
He folds the newspaper article and puts it in his pocket. ‘You love your family. That’s why I’ve got this.’ His finger lingers over the killer detail. ‘I know where they are.’ He smiles, lies down and closes his eyes. ‘See what I mean? Insurance.’
Bashir could be Omar, ordering death on a rugged hillside. Ten minutes pass, twenty, half an hour, then finally Bashir gets to his feet and kicks Abu Rashid awake.
‘Shave your heads. It is time.’
Abu Rashid blows out his cheeks.
‘So this is the dawning of the last day of my life.’
Bashir pounds him on the back with the flat of his hand.
‘You are a mujahid, my brother. Think of it as the dawning of the first day of your eternal life.’
44
The Sarwar family is home. Last night they slipped into the house under cover of darkness, parking the car two streets away. They used the back way in case the press pack was camped nearby. They weren’t ready to explain their return to their neighbours. Now they are
having breakfast in their own kitchen.
‘It was good to sleep in my own bed,’ Nasima says, sipping her apple juice. ‘The mattress is so much more comfortable than the one in the flat.’
‘Everything in that place was cheap and shoddy,’ her father says. ‘We would never have ended up in such a place but for Majid.’
Amir speaks without raising his eyes from the table.
‘Do you hate him, Abbu-ji?’
There is disbelief in his father’s eyes.
‘Hate him? I loved him the day he was born. I will love him until the day of my death.’ He reaches out and hooks Amir’s neck. ‘I love you too, Amir.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ Amir says, his voice thick with emotion. ‘I brought all this madness down on our heads.’
It is his mother’s turn to reach out to him.
‘You did something you believed in. In that, you are your father’s son.’
Nasima gets up and walks to the garden window.
‘I had almost forgotten how much I love this house.’
Mum joins Nasima and wraps her arms round her.
‘I know you do. Your whole life is in these walls. This has always been home.’
‘Mum, Dad: can’t we stay?’
‘What are you saying?’
‘We ran away. We left our home and all our friends behind so that we didn’t have to face them. We were ashamed of Majid and what he did.’ Nasima gathers her thoughts. ‘The flat was no safer than this house. Don’t you think it’s better to look the world in the face instead of running?’
This is the opportunity Amir has been waiting for.
‘She’s right. What Majid did won’t go away just because we pretend it didn’t happen. This is where we belong.’
45
Kate is pacing up and down the main entrance to the Riverside Hotel, waiting for Jen’s call. Behind her, the hotel guests are drinking coffee in the open. The staff filled Kate’s flask for her. Lifesaver. Some of the residents are watching the police presence with bemusement. The manicured lawns are dotted with tents where various seminars are due to take place. There are placards hammered into the ground. She reads the various signs:
Islam: a religion of peace.
Tolerance or engagement?
Understanding our common ground.
What do we mean by diversity?
Groups of young people are sitting on the grass enjoying the sunshine after the rain. There is a Jewish boy in a kippa engaging a young woman in hijab in earnest conversation. A group of Sikh boys are laughing at something a priest has just said. At the fringes of the event there are armed police officers leaning against their vehicles. They have been told to stay close to their transport so they don’t have to display their weapons.
Kate sees Ibrahim Al Quraishi chatting to an Anglican bishop and waving to a passing group of stewards in yellow tabards. She watches all this and imagines a new Utøya. In her mind’s eyes, she is a witness to the crackle of gunfire, the screams, the dead and dying. This is the realm she has sworn to defend: families like hers. Innocents. Her phone rings.
‘Jen, hi.’
There is the inevitable question.
‘It’s all quiet here. What about you?’
Jen’s voice is calm and measured. ‘Nothing to report from the conference. There is something though.’
‘Yes?’
‘Bedfordshire police have found a body in the woods. It is Jamil Daud.’
‘Shot?’
‘Stabbed to death. Have you heard from Bungee?’
‘No. I think he must have taken a great risk texting me. There is no way Bashir would have let him anywhere near a phone.’
Jen’s pinched features are easy to imagine. A dead body. An asset who is out of contact.
‘Are you liaising closely with SCO19?’
Kate looks instinctively across the park to where the Trojans’ blacked-out Range Rovers are parked.
‘We are in permanent contact.’
She doesn’t say that the Trojans are keeping her at arm’s length.
‘Good to hear. Roadblocks?’
‘There are roadblocks on all road access to the site.’ There is no point burdening Jen with the issues about the perimeter.
‘OK, be vigilant.’ Then, as an afterthought, Jen adds, ‘Stay safe.’
Kate slips her phone into her coat pocket and wanders through the tented village. She looks at the Trojans standing around their Range Rovers. They don’t give much away. At best, there is a look of detached boredom.
‘Penny for your thoughts.’
It’s Jack.
‘I’m worried.’
‘So what’s new? Is this about Bungee?’
‘Yes. Jamil Daud just turned up dead. Bungee delivered the intel, but we still don’t know where he is.’
Jack is fidgeting. ‘I won’t be reassured until he delivers Bashir and Abu Rashid. It could still be a trick.’
Kate shakes her head.
‘Manchester was the distraction, Jack. This is the target. I know it.’
46
Kate takes a call.
‘We’ve got eyes on a vehicle heading for the service entrance. An A4 team has picked them up on the southern approach road. Black Nissan. Three men inside.’
‘Do we have a positive ID?’
‘Not yet.’
There is a crackle of radio chatter. Kate approaches the SCO19 officers.
‘I’m the MI5 handler. I have an agent in that car.’
‘If they get any closer to the gate, we will interdict.’
Kate feels a tug in her stomach.
‘The plates belong to a black Escort. It’s a stolen vehicle,’ an officer tells her.
‘You’ve got to stay back,’ Kate insists. ‘Give me two minutes.’
She hears a voice spit.
‘Spooks.’
Kate meets Jack’s gaze.
‘I’ve put a year’s work into Majid.’
‘Do you really think that’s our concern? They are minutes from the gate.’
There is another burst of radio chatter. Kate’s blood runs cold.
‘Trojan units. We have a positive ID on the occupants.’
The first vehicle pulls away. The second Range Rover starts to roar towards the gate where the third team is waiting. There is a final burst of radio chatter through the open window.
‘Trojan units. Attack!’
Kate runs to her car. Jack follows.
‘What the hell are you doing?’
‘Majid’s my agent, Jack. I won’t let them kill him.’
‘Don’t be stupid. Our role is intelligence and surveillance. Leave the action stuff to SCO19.’
‘You do what you want, Jack. I’m going.’
47
Abu Rashid is looking over his shoulder.
‘What is it?’
‘A car in the trees. Back there on a side road.’
Bashir frowns.
‘Are you sure?’
Abu Rashid hesitates then nods.
‘Yes, I know what I saw.’
Bashir reaches for the magazines.
‘Two mags each. This is it.’
They clear the next bend and see the three SCO19 Range Rovers, coming towards them in a line across the road.
‘What the hell?’
Bashir’s stare is full of hatred.
‘Majid.’
All three men move simultaneously. Majid crashes his trainer on to the brake and fights for control of the steering wheel. Abu Rashid is levelling the barrel of his weapon at Majid’s head. Majid hits the door handle and throws himself backwards on to the road, firing as he falls. The Range Rovers are approaching, headlights flashing.
‘You betrayed us,’ Bashir screams, poking his gun through the open door.
Majid kicks the door against the barrel and a burst of automatic fire rips through the yew trees.
Abu Rashid is yelling with pain. Bashir roars a command.
‘Give me covering fire.�
��
Abu Rashid stumbles out of the car. One arm is incapacitated. It doesn’t stop him putting the Škorpion on automatic with his other hand. He sprays the cops with wild fire. The Range Rovers stop in a line. Doors swing open.
‘Police! Stand still!’
Abu Rashid is stumbling forward.
‘Allahu Akbar!’
‘I order you to stop.’
Abu Rashid keeps coming. Three shots cut him off in mid-yell and he falls. Majid scrambles on to the verge. Bashir is executing a three-point turn at high speed, while holding a gun. He is about to fire at Majid when there is another shout.
‘Lay down your weapon.’
Then Bashir smiles.
‘I know something worse than death, Majid.’
48
Kate brakes and skids to a halt behind the Trojans. She feels a hum of apprehension as they close around her. If that’s what she feels like, what is going through Majid’s mind right now?
‘Stay back,’ one of them says. ‘We have this under control.’
Kate is fumbling in her coat pocket.
‘Stay where you are,’ he calls.
In an act of defiance, Kate flashes her ID. Her voice sounds louder than she intends as she struggles to impose some kind of authority.
‘I have every right to be here. My agent is over there. He must not be touched. Do you understand?’
The card has little effect, her words even less.
‘I want you to step back. Get into the car.’
Kate ducks out of the cop’s reach and starts to run. Somebody shouts, but it is her own voice she hears.
‘Majid?’
She sees Abu Rashid’s body on the carriageway. A stream of blood is running from his head and torso. That’s when she spots Majid. He is struggling to his feet. He disarms his weapon and holds up the Škorpion and the magazine.
‘I surrender!’
‘Police. Put the weapon down.’
It is as if the conversation is taking place in two different dimensions. There is no communication.
‘I’m doing it, yeah?’
Kate sees the Trojans approaching. They have their weapons trained on Majid. The whole thing is happening in slow motion.
‘Don’t shoot,’ she yells. ‘That man is my asset. I repeat. Do not shoot.’