by Alan Gibbons
Her attention is on Majid. Jack has caught up with her. He makes a grab for her sleeve.
‘Kate, you’re going to get yourself killed.’
She turns and stares.
‘What are you saying?’
She feels the throb of fear.
‘They’re going to kill him, aren’t they?’
Majid still has the Škorpion in his right hand and the magazine in his left.
‘Majid, drop the weapon. Throw it away. Now!’
She sprints to where the Trojans are approaching Majid. She can see terror in his eyes. He drops to his knees.
‘Surrender. I surrender, OK?’
Kate sees that the Glock 17s are still trained on him. She throws herself in front of Majid, arms raised.
‘Do not fire.’
She has her ID in her hand. ‘This man is my asset.’
‘Step away!’
She sees the look in the Trojan’s eyes and she imagines the crack of the Glock. That’s all it takes, one finger on the trigger, one squeeze, one shot.
‘Do not fire.’
The Trojans watch the MI5 officer sheltering her man.
‘Do not … fire.’
Very slowly, with some deliberation, they lower their weapons. Majid looks around.
‘Where’s Bashir?’
49
Majid is yelling from the back seat of the car, fingers clawing at his face.
‘Can’t we go faster? Bashir is after my family.’
Kate turns to look at him.
‘You’ve got to stay calm, Majid.’ She has to keep him under some kind of control. ‘The police have got the lead now.’
Jack watches Majid’s face in the rear-view mirror. His eyes are hostile.
‘You’re lucky not to be in custody. You were stopped with an automatic weapon half a mile from the Faith Camp. Don’t you get that?’
Majid’s eyes blaze.
‘Don’t you get that this man wants to slaughter my family?’ He looks around the inside of the vehicle. ‘What does it take for you people to understand? This isn’t about religion. It isn’t even about politics any more. This is revenge, pure and simple.’
There is a storm of fear, anger and bewilderment raging inside Majid. ‘At least tell me what’s happening. You said a police unit was on its way to the flat.’
‘We’re dependent on communications from them, Majid. I’ll tell you when I know.’
As if in answer to Majid’s question, Kate takes a call.
‘Yes? OK.’
She turns. There is a troubled look in her eyes.
‘What is it? What’s wrong?’
‘When the police got to the flat, the door had already been kicked in.’
‘Is my family OK?’
‘They weren’t there, Majid. A neighbour said it had been empty for over twenty-four hours. Bashir’s gone too.’
‘Gone? What do you mean, gone?’
Jack hangs a left.
‘We’ll be there in five minutes. Maybe we will get a clearer picture then.’
Majid is in panic mode.
‘What’s the point of going to the flat if he’s already moved on?’
Then, realisation:
‘Turn the car round!’
‘What?’
‘Turn the car round. Do it now. I know where he’s going.’
Kate looks confused.
‘Home. The house where I grew up.’
Jack takes the fourth exit from the roundabout. Majid leans forward, pointing.
‘Next right. I’ll direct you from here.’
Jack nods.
‘Does Bashir know the address?’
‘Yes, he has been in my house. He knows everything about me.’
50
Nasima reads her mother’s note.
‘Gram flour, fenugreek leaves, potatoes, cauliflower, chilli powder, garam masala …’ She keeps reading. ‘Is that everything?’
‘I think so. You’ve got your phone on you. I’ll text you if I remember anything else.’
Nasima pulls a face.
‘I’ll need extra arms to carry it all.’
‘You have extra arms. They are called Amir.’
Amir is too happy to be home to offer a protest. Nasima embraces her mother.
‘We won’t be long. Are you ready, Amir?’
He zips his jacket.
‘Shopping isn’t really my thing, but OK.’
Nasima waves the note.
‘I hope you’re feeling strong.’
They step out of the front door and walk the familiar streets towards the convenience store. It is as if life is starting over. Amir has a question for his sister.
‘I like the idea of coming back, for good. Do you think Mum and Dad will go for it?’
Nasima beams.
‘Did you see Mum’s face this morning? She felt the way we did. She was home.’
‘And Dad?’
‘She’ll win him round, Amir. I know it.’
Amir’s gaze roves round the familiar sights. After the events of the last few days it is all so suburban, so ordinary, so safe.
‘Tell me the bad times are over.’
Nasima gives him a playful shove.
‘We’ll be OK. I know it.’
The store is empty so the shopping takes less than five minutes. The twins emerge, deep in conversation. Neither of them notices the silver Ford Focus scream to a halt on the other side of the road. They are about to walk away from the store when Nasima’s eyes widen as she glances to her right. Amir follows her gaze and his flesh crawls.
‘Bashir!’
‘Long time no see, Amir.’ He allows the barrel of the Škorpion to drift towards Nasima. ‘Now, if you don’t want to see your pretty sister’s brains on that shop window, I advise both of you to get in the car.’
51
Mum rushes into the living room the moment her husband cries out. She finds him leaning forward, one hand on the back of an armchair, his face taut with shock.
‘Naveed?’
There are tears in his eyes. His mouth is moving, but the words don’t come out. He hands her the phone, unable to speak.
‘Who is this?’ she asks, barely daring to put it to her ear.
‘Mum, it’s me.’
At the sound of his voice, a sob bursts from her, tearing through her chest and filling the room.
‘Majid?’ Her voice hangs. Then the questions begin. ‘How? They told us you were dead.’
She can’t believe she is talking to her son.
‘There’s no time for this. Ammi-ji, the police will be with you in a couple of minutes. Do exactly as they say. Your lives could depend on it.’
Mum’s head is spinning.
‘The police? Why are the police coming?’
‘There’s no time to explain. You are in terrible danger. Just get out of there, all of you.’
‘Nasima and Amir, they’re not here.’
Silence explodes. Then a question.
‘Where are they?’
‘The Twenty Four Seven next to the library. They went out about five minutes ago.’
Majid thinks.
‘Get them on the phone. They’ve got to sit tight.’
He pauses. ‘OK, I’m going to hang up. Call them. Tell them to stay indoors. It is vital they don’t move. We’re nearly there.’
There is no time to ask who he means by we. The street outside is filling with flashing blue lights. Somebody is pounding on the door and shouting their names.
‘How many of you are in the house?’
Dad stares in confusion at the scene before him. There is a pair of armed officers with guns resting on their forearms.
‘Just the two of us,’ he says.
His wife’s eyes have just registered panic.
‘Naveed. They’re not answering.’
52
Majid sees the silver Focus the moment they pass the library.
‘That’s him!’
He has th
e door open before Jack has even stopped the car. He stumbles, but he manages to hit the ground running, trainers pounding along the pavement. He registers everything in slow motion: Nasima and Amir facing Bashir, the open car door, the gun. A shopper is beginning to scream. Her voice makes Amir turn. ‘Majid?’
Alerted to Majid’s approach, Bashir struggles out of the vehicle, using his thumb to set the Škorpion to automatic. In that split-second, Amir knows that his brother’s life is in danger. He hurls himself at the gunman, sending him crashing against the car door. A burst of fire chatters into the sky. Pedestrians scream and run for cover.
Bashir pushes Amir back, trying to aim the Škorpion at his chest. Nasima does the only thing she can, swinging the shopping bag in her right hand with all her might. It connects with the barrel just as Bashir squeezes the trigger. A second burst of fire takes out two windows above the shops and sends hot metal ricocheting off walls. A SCO19 Range Rover has mounted the pavement and officers are spilling out. Majid races towards Bashir. The Trojans have fanned out, ready to fire.
‘Stop! Police!’
In the confusion, they don’t have a clear shot. Before Bashir can aim or fire, Majid crashes his foot into the car door. Bashir is trapped, his arm limp. Majid wrenches the door open and smashes his fist into Bashir’s face. Blood sprays across his skin. The Trojans are close enough to take a shot.
There is a command directed at Majid.
‘Step back.’
‘Stand still. Do not move.’
Majid is not moving away. He can hear the Trojans shouting. He shakes his head. This is his chance. He slams Bashir’s hand on the top of the door, making him cry out as a bone snaps. He repeats the action and the Škorpion falls to the pavement.
‘You’re a traitor, Majid. Apostate! Enemy of Islam.’
Majid laughs in his face.
‘You’re a fraud. You ruined my life … for nothing. For you.’
Bashir spits in Majid’s face.
‘I will see you in Hell.’
The police lead the struggling Bashir away. Kate approaches the agent she has nurtured so carefully. Majid embraces his brother and sister.
Nasima is sobbing. It is Amir who finds the words.
‘What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be dead.’
‘So everybody keeps saying.’
Majid wraps an arm round Amir’s head the way he always did.
‘We’ll talk later. Let’s get you home.’
53
SUNDAY, 10TH JULY
Kate has been expecting Jen’s call. It should be routine, informing her that the Manchester conference has gone off without any problems. She knows by the tone of her voice that she isn’t going to get any recognition for her efforts. She called the target correctly, but nobody is handing out brownie points.
‘What’s wrong?’
Jen clears her throat. Kate recognises it as a gesture of irritation.
‘I have just had the Commissioner on the phone, Kate.’
The Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police.
‘He is very unhappy about Five’s role in what happened at Riverside.’
Kate leaps to the service’s defence.
‘It is because of our information that the Met was able to avert a massacre. But for our intel, they would have been unprepared for the attack.’
Jen doesn’t even respond.
‘You interfered with SCO19’s operational decisions, Kate. You drove your car into the line of fire and put yourself and those police officers at risk.’
Kate realises that this is serious.
‘I was stopping them shooting my agent.’
‘Our agent.’ Jen’s tone is even and considered. ‘You put yourself in the line of fire, Kate. You insisted on taking Majid with you, even though he was emotionally involved.’
‘Majid reacted with great courage. He saved lives.’
‘SCO19 officers were on the scene. They had the lead.’
‘It was Majid who saved his family, not the police.’
‘You will be transferred to other duties, Kate, with immediate effect. You got too close to your agent. It compromised your judgement. Firearms were discharged twice on the streets of London.’
‘Jen, I know I took risks, but Majid came through for us. He helped us identify the target. He saved lives.’
Jen’s tone remains neutral.
‘Kate, Nabil is in charge of our asset from hereon in. You will return to Millbank immediately. That is an order.’
Kate closes her eyes as she answers.
‘I’m on my way.’
54
Majid listens to the sound of cooking in the kitchen. Nasima is sitting next to him on the settee, while Amir lolls in the armchair opposite, playing with his phone. Nasima leans against him, as if reassuring herself that he is back. He watches the alien normality of the house through a thin, translucent membrane of memory. A glance to his right takes him to the table where he taught Amir to arm wrestle. A glance to the left reminds him of wiping Nasima’s tears after she took a tumble.
Then the walls spill recollections of his own fall, his descent into hell. There are the endless quarrels with his father, his slow detachment from his family, the influence of Bashir. Majid is home, but he is in a bubble. His thoughts are still on that Syrian hillside. Omar’s voice breaks through the hum of domesticity.
‘You know what to do?’
Majid has his weapon trained on the three kneeling men. What was disillusion has become despair. He is one squeeze of a trigger from self-hatred. He has told himself over and over again that he came to heal.
Yusuf boasted of the destruction he was going to visit on his enemies. Am I really much better? Majid wonders, as the gun weighs heavy in his hands, pregnant with death.
‘Is there a problem?’
Yes, Majid tells himself, there is a problem, Omar, and it is you. You and every murderer like you.
He knows what to do.
SUMMER, 2014
‘Is there a problem?’
Majid could hardly breathe. The muzzle of his rifle was pressing against the back of his captive’s head. He could feel the rhythm of the man’s breathing through the stock. This slight pressure, this little bit of resistance, it was life; and this finger on the trigger, his finger, was death.
‘No problem.’
He met Omar’s gaze. He had come to hate those cold, implacable eyes. Not once in all these months had Majid felt it as clearly as this, his utter revulsion for everything this man and all the butchers like him stood for. He had come to help the victims of war. At least, that’s what he had told himself. He stared at the weapon he was holding as if seeing it for the first time. He wasn’t protecting anyone. He was just one more killer with a gun. A word escaped his lips.
‘Home.’
Omar frowned.
‘What did you say?’
Majid stared dumbly into Omar’s face.
Home.
I want to go home.
Majid stared into Omar’s thoughts. What are you waiting for? You’ve had your orders. Do it. Kill them. Suddenly, Majid’s mind was clear. He would not slay his unarmed brothers. He would kill the monster who craved martyrdom.
Majid gripped his weapon firmly and turned the muzzle on Omar. He was aware of the muscles in Omar’s face slackening. Yes, even cold-blooded killers feel that moment of despair as they look death in the eye. Majid was aware of Yusuf reacting somewhere to his left, but he had the drop on them all. Omar was a dead man.
Then something flickered into view, a silvery object, bright and somehow beautiful against the cloudless sky. A MiG-29 was about to attack. Before he could squeeze the trigger, Majid felt himself being lifted off his feet. He was a ghost, weightless, flimsy as a child’s toy. Something hit him like a baseball bat and pain ripped through his chest and neck. When the first shockwave ebbed, leaving him lying in a pool of agony, Majid looked up.
They were all dead. Every one of them. Yet he lived. God h
ad spared him.
Feeling returned to Majid’s legs and he staggered painfully to his feet. He could have lain down in the hot sun and succumbed to his wounds. He could have surrendered to the dark. Instead, he started to stumble forward, hugging his ribs.
The Turkish border was just a few miles over the next hill and beyond that lay home.
55
MONDAY, 11TH JULY
‘Penny for them?’
Majid glances at Nasima. She is smiling.
‘A penny for your thoughts. You were miles away.’
Majid squeezes her hand.
‘It’s been one hell of a journey.’ He smiles. ‘But I’m home now. You can’t imagine how many times I thought about phoning and telling you I was alive.’ He crushes his palms together, trying to squeeze the last year into dust. ‘I am never going away again.’
His father comes in from the kitchen. He rests a hand on Majid’s shoulder.
‘We will help you rebuild your life,’ he says. ‘As a first step, we will make this our family’s home once more.’
Nasima leaps up and wraps her arms round her father’s neck.
‘You mean it?’
‘We mean it.’
Amir is sitting up.
‘That’s brilliant, Dad.’
Majid is about to add something when he notices a car pull up outside. Mum answers the knock at the door. Majid recognises the newcomers. One of them is Jack, the other …
‘You!’
It is Nabil.
‘That’s right, Majid, your friend from the train. My job was to carry out surveillance.’
‘What are you doing here?’
Nabil looks around.
‘Is there somewhere we can talk privately?’
Majid doesn’t budge.
‘I won’t have any more secrets from my family.’
Nabil makes a decision. He nods to Jack and his colleague leaves the room. ‘You’re my agent now, Majid.’
‘Agent?’ Majid watches Jack leave the room. ‘I did everything you people asked. That was the deal. I give you Bashir. You give me my freedom. No prison sentence. I get to go home.’
Amir knows something is wrong.