Live Fire

by Stephen Leather

  Hakeem nodded. ‘So where do you pray?’

  ‘At home. With my brothers. Don’t worry, I pray five times a day. I am a good Muslim.’

  ‘I didn’t doubt that, brother,’ said Hakeem.

  ‘I have proved myself,’ said Bradshaw.

  ‘How, exactly?’

  Bradshaw lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘The car bombs in Soho.’

  Hakeem turned to look at him for the first time since they had started walking. He raised his eyebrows. ‘That was you?’

  ‘That was me and my brothers,’ said Bradshaw.

  Hakeem stopped suddenly and faced him. ‘Others have claimed responsibility.’

  ‘They wanted the glory. They are welcome to it. I am not doing this for the glory. I am doing this for jihad, for Allah. I am carrying out His will.’ There were those among the Muslim community, men that Bradshaw hated almost as much as he hated the unbelievers, who argued that jihad meant ‘struggle’ and not ‘holy war’. But Bradshaw had no doubt what the Prophet Muhammad had meant. Jihad was the duty of every good Muslim. Jihad was the reason that every Muslim drew breath. Jihad was what every Muslim lived and died for.

  ‘And where were you trained, brother?’

  ‘I was a soldier.’

  ‘You served in Iraq?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And the army taught you to make bombs?’

  Bradshaw shook his head. ‘I was an engineer more than a soldier,’ he said.

  ‘But the bombs were professional, according to the newspapers.’

  ‘Everything you need is on the Internet, these days. And two brothers with me have been trained. We knew to use that model of Mercedes for the second bomb because the petrol tank is exposed. We learned how to turn light-bulbs into detonators and how to use a mobile phone to set it off.’

  Without any warning, Hakeem started to walk again. ‘And funding – where did you get the money from?’ he asked.

  ‘It was not expensive, brother,’ said Bradshaw. ‘I have some money and there are brothers prepared to support me.’

  ‘Where did you get the cars from?’

  ‘One of the brothers worked for a body shop in Kilburn. We waited until he had a customer with the type of Mercedes we needed and he got a spare set of keys. The other car we stole from the street.’

  ‘Is there not a danger that the Mercedes will be traced to the body shop?’

  ‘We waited a long time,’ said Bradshaw. ‘We let six months pass after we got the keys. Two months ago he left and got another job. I’m certain that the car will not be traced to him. The other we stole in south London.’

  Hakeem stopped again. He steepled his fingers under his chin as he studied Bradshaw. ‘And who guides you?’ he asked.

  ‘Allah,’ said Bradshaw, quickly. ‘I am doing his work.’

  ‘But who on the mortal plane gives you instructions?’

  ‘No one,’ said Bradshaw.

  ‘No one?’ repeated Hakeem. ‘You are a totally self-contained cell?’

  ‘That is what gives us our strength,’ said Bradshaw. ‘We can betray no one, and no one can betray us.’

  ‘Then what is it you need from me?’ asked Hakeem.

  ‘Funding,’ said Bradshaw. ‘I am told you have access to finance.’

  ‘And who told you that?’

  Bradshaw shrugged. ‘A brother who knows of my need for money.’

  Hakeem was walking again, and Bradshaw hurried after him. ‘How much do you need?’ asked Hakeem.

  ‘Half a million pounds,’ said Bradshaw.

  Hakeem exhaled through clenched teeth. ‘That is a lot of money.’

  ‘It’s one per cent of one per cent of one per cent of one per cent of a day’s oil revenue in Saudi Arabia. And I’m told that money flows from the Kingdom into your bank accounts.’

  ‘You have been told a lot, my friend.’

  ‘Information is power,’ said Bradshaw. ‘Information and money.’

  ‘And what do you know about me?’

  ‘Enough to know that you are a man to be trusted. A good Muslim who is doing the work of Allah.’

  ‘Specifics?’ said Hakeem.

  ‘You are from Palestine, though you now hold British citizenship. Your family were murdered by the Israelis. They fired rockets at your house and killed your parents, your brother and your three sisters. You became a bomb-maker and you sent more than a dozen suicide-bombers into Tel Aviv before you moved to France and then to London. The authorities know nothing of your background, of course.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Hakeem. ‘It seems you have me at something of a disadvantage, as I know nothing about you.’

  ‘Who I am is of little importance,’ said Bradshaw. ‘What matters is what I have done and what I have yet to do.’

  ‘The people who entrust me with their money will need proof that you are indeed working for jihad.’

  Bradshaw reached into his jacket pocket and took out a small white thumb-drive. He gave it to Hakeem. ‘Photographs of the car bombs being constructed. The drive is password-protected. You must enter your family name as the password. Failure to do that will erase everything on the drive.’

  Hakeem pocketed it. ‘And they will need to know what you plan to do with the money.’

  Bradshaw leaned forward and in a whisper he told Hakeem what he planned to do.

  As he listened, Hakeem smiled.

  Shepherd climbed out of his car and sighed. It had been two months since he had last mown the lawn in the front garden and even longer since he had done any weeding. It showed. The door opened and his son hurtled down the path towards him. ‘Dad!’ shouted Liam. Shepherd picked him up and hugged him. ‘Dad, I’m twelve, I’m not a kid!’ he protested.

  ‘You’re almost twelve and, anyway, I figure that until you’re actually a teenager I can pick you up and hug you whenever I want to.’

  ‘Did you get me anything?’

  Shepherd lowered his son to the ground. ‘Is it me you’re happy to see or your present?’

  ‘Tough call,’ said Liam. ‘But that means you did get me a present, right?’

  Shepherd grinned and pulled a Virgin bag from his pocket. ‘Two games for your Xbox,’ he said. ‘Shoot-’em-ups, lots of blood and gore, just the way you like them.’ Shepherd had given up trying to stop his son playing violent video games. When Liam had been younger Shepherd had banned them from the house but his son simply went to his friends’ homes and played there. Eventually Shepherd had capitulated. At least if Liam played at home he’d be able to keep an eye on him, though he’d never understood why anyone, least of all a child, would take pleasure from murder and mayhem.

  ‘Thanks, Dad!’

  ‘Don’t blame me if you end up as a psychopathic killer,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘If I do, it won’t be the video games.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘Joke,’ said Liam.

  Shepherd took his suitcase from the back of the car. ‘Have you been a good boy while I was away?’ he asked.

  Liam looked up from the computer games. ‘What have you heard?’ he asked.

  ‘Nothing,’ said Shepherd.

  Liam grinned. ‘Then I’ve been good,’ he said.

  ‘When’s the next parent-teacher meeting?’

  ‘Next year maybe. Katra’s cooking dinner.’

  Shepherd noted the change in subject but didn’t comment on it. ‘What’s she making?’ he asked, heading for the front door.

  ‘Pigs’ testicles,’ said Liam. ‘It’s a Slovenian speciality.’

  Shepherd stopped walking, horror on his face.

  Liam laughed. ‘Got you,’ he said. ‘Joke. It’s shepherd’s pie.’

  ‘Yeah, right.’

  ‘I’m serious, Dad.’

  ‘With real shepherds, no doubt.’ He carried the suitcase into the house and left it by the hall table. There was a stack of unopened mail on the table. Katra was sitting in the kitchen reading Hello!, a mug of tea in front of her. She
looked up in surprise when he walked into the kitchen. ‘Dan!’ she said. ‘You’re back!’

  ‘It is my house,’ he said.

  ‘I just meant I wasn’t expecting you, I thought you were coming tomorrow.’ She got up from the kitchen table and moved towards him as if she was about to hug him, then appeared to change her mind and headed for the kettle instead. ‘Coffee?’ she asked. She was wearing a short denim skirt that was frayed at the bottom and a pink Diesel T-shirt. She had her hair tied back in a ponytail, her usual style when she was in the kitchen or cleaning. Shepherd had hired Katra as an au pair almost three years earlier, shortly after she had arrived in the country from Slovenia, and now he didn’t know how he’d manage without her. She took care of the house and she was great with Liam. He’d given her a cheque book and access to one of his bank accounts, and she paid all the household bills and even her own salary. Shepherd trusted her totally, with Liam and with his finances. ‘Are you hungry?’ There was hardly a trace of her old accent. She practised her English accent by listening to BBC newsreaders and endeavouring to copy them.

  ‘Famished,’ said Shepherd, sitting down at the kitchen table. He picked up the magazine. It was full of photographs of people he had never heard of.

  ‘I’m doing shepherd’s pie,’ said Katra.

  ‘See? I told you,’ said Liam, sitting down at the table. He grinned at Katra. ‘He didn’t believe me,’ he told her.

  The kettle boiled and Katra poured the water into a cafetière and put it in front of Shepherd with a carton of milk and a mug.

  ‘Can we change our cars, Dad?’ asked Liam.

  ‘What?’

  ‘The Honda CRV and the BMW X3. Have you any idea what their carbon footprints are?’

  ‘I’m more concerned with fingerprints than footprints,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘It’d be better for the environment if we had a hybrid.’

  ‘Says who?’

  ‘Mr Walker at school. We drew up a list of all the cars our families have and looked at the mileage and the pollution and everything.’

  ‘So Mr Walker was asking you what sort of car I drove?’

  Liam sighed. ‘It was for environmental studies, Dad,’ he said.

  ‘I’d rather you didn’t give him personal information like that.’ He pushed down the cafetière’s plunger and poured coffee into his mug.

  ‘What was I supposed to say? “No comment”? Come on, Dad, you’re being paranoid. He was just proving a point. Most of the kids in my class have gas-guzzling SUVs. And we’ve got two.’

  Shepherd splashed some milk into his coffee. ‘Gas-guzzling? The CRV does twenty-four to the gallon. You should ask Mr Walker about the batteries.’

  ‘What batteries?’

  ‘The batteries in hybrids. Ask him what happens to them. Car engines can be recyled pretty much, and the metal can be melted down and used again. But the batteries in hybrids are full of toxic compounds. And ask him how much energy is used in making those batteries. I’m not saying electric cars aren’t the way to go, but right now the old-fashioned combustion engine is a hell of a lot more efficient than people give it credit for. And I like my BMW. It’s safer than the average hybrid, and so is the CRV. If, God-forbid, you’re ever in an accident I want you strapped into an SUV, not sitting in some battery-operated death trap.’

  ‘Dad—’

  ‘Don’t “Dad” me on this,’ said Shepherd. ‘I’m serious. You look at the cars that members of our government drive. Gas-guzzlers one and all. When the prime minister and his wife start driving around in hybrids maybe I’ll trade in the BMW and the CRV, but until then we’re keeping them.’

  ‘What about biofuels?’ asked Liam. ‘Can’t we use biofuels? At least they’re organic.’

  ‘Half the world is short of food, Liam. People are starving in Africa and Asia. Do you think it’s fair to grow crops just to put fuel in cars here in the West?’

  ‘But Mr Walker said biofuels are the fuels of the future.’

  ‘They are,’ said Shepherd. ‘And when we’ve got enough food to feed all the people, we can grow crops for fuel. But that’s not going to be for a long time. It’s the same with battery cars. They’re for the future too. But the way things stand at the moment, we’re stuck with oil, we’re stuck with cars, and you’re stuck with me as your father.’ He ruffled his son’s hair. ‘But just so we can start saving the world you can walk to school from now on.’

  ‘Dad—’

  ‘Didn’t do me any harm,’ said Shepherd. ‘And my house was three miles from school. You can walk to yours in twenty minutes.’

  ‘What about when it rains?’

  ‘You’ll get wet.’

  ‘It’s not safe for kids to walk to school.’

  ‘We live in Hereford, the home of the SAS. Kids can walk the streets safely, trust me.’

  Liam folded his arms sulkily. ‘There’s no point in talking to you sometimes.’

  ‘Liam, I like my car. I like driving it. I even like cleaning it when I get the chance. It cost me a lot of money and I don’t see why I shouldn’t get some pleasure from it now and to again. I certainly don’t see why some idiot in a corduroy jacket with patches on the elbows should tell me how to live my life.’

  Liam frowned. ‘How do you know Mr Walker wears a corduroy jacket?’

  ‘I guessed.’ Shepherd laughed. ‘Okay, we’re due to change the CRV soon anyway so why don’t we agree on this? You can decide on what we replace it with. But bear in mind that you’re the one who’s going to be driven to school in it every day. I’m sure your friends think the CRV is a pretty cool car, but if you’d rather turn up at school in a three-wheeler with a solar panel on the roof, that’s fine with me. Just make sure it’s got a boot big enough to hold the shopping for Katra.’

  ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘About the solar panel?’

  ‘About letting me choose the car.’

  ‘So long as you stop moaning about my X3, and providing it doesn’t cost more than the CRV, the world’s your lobster.’

  ‘Oyster,’ corrected Liam.

  ‘Joke,’ said Shepherd. He took his coffee through to the sitting room and dropped into one of the sofas. He picked up the remote and switched on the television. Liam sat on one of the armchairs. He was still holding his Xbox games. ‘I’ve got a football match on Saturday,’ he said.

  ‘That’s great,’ said Shepherd. ‘How’s it going?’

  ‘Mr Graham says I’ve got a great right foot but I need to work on my heading,’ said Liam, enthusiastically. ‘He says I mustn’t be afraid – you have to head it like you mean it.’

  ‘He’s right,’ said Shepherd. ‘Tell you what, after dinner we’ll go out and have a practice in the garden.’

  ‘Cool. And can you come to the match on Saturday?’

  ‘What time is it?’

  ‘One o’clock. It’s at the school so it’s not far.’

  Shepherd groaned. ‘I’m sorry, Liam, I’ve got a job. I’ve got to be at Heathrow by six.’

  ‘No worries.’ Liam took one of the video games out of the bag and began reading the cover.

  ‘Liam, really, I’m sorry. It’s a big job and I have to go.’

  Liam didn’t look up. ‘It’s okay,’ he said. ‘Really. Katra’s been coming to my games and all my friends think she’s hot.’

  ‘But we can practise tonight. And tomorrow.’

  ‘Sure, if you want,’ said Liam, his voice a dull monotone.

  ‘So your friends think Katra’s hot, do they?’

  Liam looked up, smiling. ‘They think she’s my step-mum, which is crazy because she’s only twenty-five.’ The smile vanished. ‘Did she tell you she wants to go back to Slovenia?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Her dad’s not well so she wants to take care of him.’

  Shepherd’s heart sank. When he’d hired her, Katra had told him her mother had died and that she was one of six children, the only girl. She went back twice a year to visit her family
but every time Shepherd had been left in no doubt as to how much he had come to rely on her. He dreaded having to replace her. ‘I’ll talk to her,’ he said.

  ‘What’s the job?’ asked Liam.

  ‘Thailand,’ said Shepherd. ‘Bank robbers.’

  ‘They’re robbing banks in Thailand?’

  ‘It’s complicated,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘How long will you be away?’

  ‘They never tell me. Until the job’s done, I guess. I promise you, after this job we’ll spend some time together. I’ll take some leave and we can have a holiday.’

  ‘You said that last time, Dad.’

  ‘This time I mean it.’

  ‘You said that last time, too.’ He went back to his computer game.

  ‘Plug it in, I’ll give you a game,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘You’re terrible at video games,’ said Liam.

  ‘I’ve been letting you win,’ said Shepherd. ‘But that changes as of today.’

  Liam went to bed just before nine o’clock. Shepherd tucked him in, then went down to the kitchen where Katra was loading the dishwasher.

  ‘The shepherd’s pie was great,’ he said.

  ‘It was on television,’ she said. ‘Jamie Oliver.’

  Shepherd sat at the kitchen table. ‘Liam said your father wasn’t well.’

  Katra closed the dishwasher and switched it on, then joined Shepherd at the table. ‘He’s very sick,’ she said. She tapped her chest. ‘His lungs. Cancer. He has smoked his whole life. My mother nagged him all the time and when she died I nagged him, but he wouldn’t listen to anybody.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Katra. That’s terrible.’

  ‘He’ll be starting chemo next week so I want to be with him. I’m sorry it’s such short notice.’

  Shepherd groaned inwardly but didn’t say anything. Katra was the man’s only daughter – of course she had to be with him. But it couldn’t have happened at a worse time.

  ‘I’m sorry, Dan,’ she said.

  ‘Hey, he’s your dad, you have to go,’ he said.

  ‘Are you here for a while?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m leaving on Saturday.’ Her brow furrowed and she bit her lower lip, as if she was about to cry. ‘Katra, it’s not a problem, I’ll talk to Liam’s grandparents. They’ll be able to look after him, I’m sure. And it’s not as if he’s a handful, is it?’