Suddenly, two unidentified men dressed in dark suits, one white and one Asian, appeared at the side doors that had now been propped open. Wazir sidled over – he had cast himself as security and was fully switched on to gatecrashers.
“Can I help you guys; do Saira or Khalil know you?”
“Can I speak to Khalil Ahmed please?” one of the men asked politely but bluntly.
Khalil saw Wazir beckon him over and he moved around the throng of people. After a quick exchange with the two men Khalil pointed over at the rear tables to the one nearest the rear exit doors. Wazir thought it odd that the two men hadn’t known who Khalil was; that meant they didn’t know whose wedding it was.
People were still taking their seats when the men made their move, interrupting Joe mid-sentence as he fielded more anecdotes from Az, and pushing past him.
“Excuse me, sir, are you Azhad Ahmed?” one of the men said quietly.
“Yes, I am. Why; who are you?” replied Az assertively.
“This is Mr Stein and I’m Mr Khan; would you mind coming with us!” The man held his ID to his waist and looked intently at Az, ignoring the others on the table who had stopped talking.
“I’m sure you don’t want to cause a scene!”
Az smiled at Joe and then at Shakil and Alison and rose slowly from his seat grabbing his stick. “Of course not,” Az replied. He struggled along out of the side doors with the two men either side. There were plenty of people still standing and talking so few had noticed what had happened, except for Joe who stared in disbelief. Shakil followed at a distance and once outside saw Az getting into a large black four-by-four accompanied by a third man. Mr Stein came back to talk to him.
“We will need a phone number for you which we can contact you on. I take it you are a close relative?”
“I’m his brother, Shakil.”
The man took Shakil’s phone number but didn’t leave his own. He then got into the back of the four-by-four and sat alongside Az and the vehicle sped off with the other following closely. Shakil walked back into the hall in a state of shock. Most people were now seated.
“At least it didn’t happen half way through the proceedings,” he muttered to himself.
Alison turned to Joe. “Who was that guy Joe?”
“Oh: just an old schoolmate.”
“And who were those men?”
“Do you know: I haven’t got a clue love.”
The rest of the day went well; few people noticed Az’s absence and one cousin who had was told that Az hadn’t been feeling well and had gone home. “Something he must have picked up in Pakistan,” explained Wazir.
Saira and Khalil were too busy chatting and dancing once it had all got started and Wazir was secretly getting drunk. Shakil called his father later that night and explained what had happened. The old man said that he had been questioned by Pakistani security, but had just stated to them that Az had been visiting relatives as far as he knew and that his absences could be easily explained. He had added that Az had no history of militancy.
CONCLUSION
The helicopter blades were kicking up the dust such that visibility was all but nil. Boxes, Bergens, bags, hardtop cases and weapon systems were all being unloaded at speed off the tail-end along the human chain. Joe looked right and left and saw men in loose kameez shirts, turbaned and with beards - and then the faces of Az and Cam. He woke up sweating, as if the desert temperature had been a reality. Alison lay quietly beside him, unmoving and calm.
He sat up and remained motionless. Alison stirred, her legs moving slightly beneath the sheets. She wasn’t awake. Khalil and Saira would probably have only just got back from the honeymoon. It had been a surreal experience seeing an old school friend - one that he was happy to meet compared to all those city slickers from his school days - but then seeing him carted away like that.
Az and Joe, along with Dave Ford and Pete Razinski, had all been good mates at school. They had gone to football matches and hung out together before college. They had even occasionally met up the first two years at college before they had all eventually drifted apart. Looking back they were good days: chasing girls, going to parties and living the dream. He drifted back to sleep.
***
Khalil and Saira got back from their honeymoon the next morning. While Saira was sifting through mail Khalil went out to check on the car. It failed to turn over and he realised that it had been two weeks and the battery had lost charge. He stated loudly as he returned through the front door: “Never mind; I think Waz has a trickle charger. I’ll give him a call.”
Saira lifted her eyes and nodded. She had been fine in Cornwall, but it must have been some kind of corrosive logic that had made her more reticent in recent days. Khalil knew that there would be some fall-out over “Azgate” as he had flippantly called it. However, she hadn’t seen the funny side and thought that whatever had been going on would never be good for the future of either family. Khalil had then decided that he wouldn’t talk about it. To Saira he seemed miles away - it was as if he had now blocked it all out completely.
“It’s your family; you deal with it!” Saira had said out of desperation the day before they were due to drive home. Khalil hadn’t retaliated, but was increasingly upset with the quietude that sometimes reigned over them. In reality he had no choice but to say nothing.
His main thoughts concerned Jeff, not Az, and he didn’t understand why Az had been picked up anyway. The men who’d contacted him hadn’t said they were on his tail as well, but they had told him not to say a word to Saira or anyone else about the affair. His mobile phone reverberated and he left the front lounge exclaiming on the way, “Saira, listen to me; you need to stop worrying.”
***
Az had been kept in solitary confinement during his detention, but not without comfort. He was, after all, not charged with any specific acts of terrorism. His name had matched that of a suspect’s name given in Afghanistan and routine checks had shown that someone with that name had travelled between Afghanistan and Pakistan a few months before.
His British passport showed nothing, as it hadn’t been stamped with an Afghan in-transit pass. It only showed travel to and from the UK, Bosnia, Yemen and Pakistan. For all anyone knew it could have been another Pakistani with the same name who had crossed into Afghanistan and having convinced himself that he hadn’t been in Afghanistan it was easy to convince others. His training had kicked in and he let nothing slip. He also knew that there was no evidence that he had ever officially crossed through a border control between the two countries.
Neither had there been any forensic evidence linking him to any activities; at least that he was aware of. He didn’t speak much when interrogated; he just stated that he had been in Pakistan visiting relatives and gave the names and addresses of his father and an uncle as proof. He explained that his recent injuries were due to a road accident in Lahore whilst travelling and he had a fake police report to prove it. He couldn’t be sure that they hadn’t got samples of his blood from where he had been dragged across the compound and whether they had even connected him to the events of the day when he had been wounded. But he didn’t talk. He didn’t need to.
A small part of him did in fact want to talk, to state his true feelings. And maybe six months before he would have done given similar circumstances. Now he didn’t see the necessity.
“If they nail me then fine,” he thought. “But it will be better if they don’t find anything to pin on me. I’ll ride it out. I won’t give them anything.” He meditated while in confinement.
Three weeks later he was released from the whitewashed facility. After further checks it seemed that the authorities were only concerned that he had been an illegal immigrant. At no point had he given away any clues about where he had been: he had letters from bona fide religious schools and his contacts in both Bosnia and Yemen had backed up his stories to the British authorities. It had become increasingly obvious to Az throughout the questioning that there was no actu
al evidence linking him with any terrorist activities in Afghanistan; and the line of questioning never seemed to follow that route. He was free to carry on with his life.
He called Shakil as soon as he was told he was being freed. He was conscious his mobile was now being tapped and didn’t give anything away.
“Well Shaks, whatever you think about this country at least it’s not dull. I think they thought I was an illegal immigrant. But I explained about the road accident – dad sent over the police report to them. And at least my life has stopped being dull; compared to Khalil, for example. I think he has always had it in for me, bruv.”
“I don’t know if that’s really the case, Az. There may be more to him than meets the eye,” replied Shakil.
“How do you mean, bruv?”
“I don’t know exactly; it’s not important. Everything’s ready for you here Az.”
***
Dex and Baz were sat in Joe’s conservatory. Dex had smoothed things over between the three of them and they were trying to avoid going over old ground. Joe explained that he had now bought the freehold of the two flats above, which he was turning into a duplex; and he therefore now owned the whole building. He needed to work on it - a new kitchen and bathroom on the first floor were required. He had recently started on the upper floors, with new oak flooring and underfloor heating.
“Mate, when this done you will have the best flat in Waltham Forest,” said Baz.
“House, Baz, house!” replied Joe.
“Sorry; I didn’t mean to undermine your achievements,” Baz said sarcastically and with a hint of jealousy.
“So what’s happening with work?” said Dex.
“We have nothing coming into the office and the sooner I start renting out the upper floors the better. I need the cash Dex. I really don’t know if I’ll be working in a few months time but me and Alison are planning on living together permanently so I need to sort things out.”
“You’re not the only one worried where work’s concerned,” Baz replied. “What’s worse - Izzy’s pregnant.”
“That’s a cause for celebration, mate; not soul searching,” said Joe.
“I’ll drink to that as well,” replied Dex. “Let’s all go out to celebrate.”
“Yeah, no probs boys,” replied Baz.
***
Khalil and Saira had just got up when the black van pulled up outside the house. Khalil heard them approach and he had already got dressed quickly: he was expecting them. He had told Saira the night before that he was going on a training course for a couple of days but that it would probably finish early. He would call her.
Saira only found out that the police had been following Jeff Katz a few days later; at the same time as everyone else when it was on the early evening news. He had apparently been organizing a network of activists who were going to stage a “mass hack” into British and American government computers, the aim being to bring whole areas of government and the security services to a standstill. Khalil had explained to her by then what he had actually been doing for the last few months: delivering all his computer files and hard drives for the authorities to check.
She sat stoically listening to what he had to say and then replied: “So they didn’t need to turn this place over then?”
“No – I kept you out of it. I said to them when they first contacted me that I would help them as long as they didn’t involve you. That was the deal.”
Saira couldn’t understand why she suddenly felt proud of Khalil: maybe it was because he had stopped her from being involved. Or maybe he had stopped Katz from doing something he would regret. It didn’t matter: the case was closed as far as she was concerned. Nor, she reflected, had they wanted to question her; in fact when officers had briefly spoken to her they had seemed very polite and told her not to worry about Khalil when he had been taken in for further questioning. The day after he had returned they sent a woman constable round to check on her welfare and that of the unborn baby.
A week later Khalil was given a new private bank account. He was told that there would be regular payments into that account for an indefinite period, and that he would receive compensation for any long-term damage to his business interests. A personal message of thanks was communicated to him from the head of the new Department of Internal Security, for his work in supporting counter-terrorism operations.
***
Two years later Joe, Alison and six month old Charlie were approaching a village near Galashiels, southern Scotland. It had been a long drive and luckily little Charlie had kept quiet throughout most of the journey. They had left at 6.00am on a Sunday morning and with one stop had done it in just over eight hours from north London.
“Thank God for people carriers,” Joe said to Alison as they pulled up in a parking space. He still felt thankful that he hadn’t turned the car over on the way back from work on the Friday night. He was also glad that they had left it until the Sunday to travel. It was just as well it was October and the weather was still warm - the recent rain had caused some mist at times, but that had burnt off during the day. It was, Joe had decided, a good time to travel to Scotland.
Joe finally managed to find the grave; it was on the edge of the cemetery nearest whitewashed cottages, which framed the north side of the area while an old redundant factory overlooked the east. Douglas Fir trees lined the other two sides. Cam’s family had favoured the location. Some of their relatives were buried there and it seemed like a quiet spot, at least according to Cam’s wife when Joe had spoken to her on the phone.
Joe wore his olive green uniform with sergeant’s stripes and the regimental tie, out of respect. Alison pushed Charlie through the lanes between the graves, and he pointed at the leaves in the sunshine. The warm glare from the sun came through the trees and Joe felt the rays on his back as he knelt down. He wished they had bought a much larger bunch of flowers, but it was all they could find that morning.
Joe lingered by the grave and remembered only one of Cam’s phrases - “You can take as much or as little time as you want to get the job done; either way you are here for the same length of time, no matter what.”
GLOSSARY
ANA
Afghan National Army
ANP
Afghan National Police
Askar
Pashtun for soldier
ATO
Ammunition Technical Officer (British Army)
Bergen
British Army rucksack
C17
Large American military transport aircraft
Card Alpha
British Army card detailing Rules of Engagement
Chogey
British soldier’s slang for Afghan civilians
CIED
Counter Improvised Explosive Device
CLP
Combat Logistic Patrol
CMT
Combat Medical Technician
COIN
Counter Insurgency strategy
Coms
British Army term for communications
CP
Checkpoint
CPR
Cardiopulmonary Resuscitation
DC
District Centre
D&V
Diarrhoea and Vomiting
Dickers
British Army slang for Taleban informants dressed as civilians
Dragunov
Russian long range 7.62mm Sniper Rifle
ECM
Electronic Countermeasures
Fast Air
NATO term for attacking fighter aircraft
FOB
Forward Operating Base
Gats
British Army slang for guns
GPMG
7.62mm General Purpose Machine Gun: also known as a “Gimpy”
Hesco
Metal framed containment system used for military fortifications
HLZ
Helicopter Landing Zone
IDF
Indirect Fire
&n
bsp; IED
Improvised Explosive Device
Intel
Slang for information gathered by Military Intelligence
ISAF
International Security Assistance Force
Jangalay
Afghan warrior (Pashtun)
KAF
Kandahar Air Field
Mastiff
Six wheeler NATO vehicle with heavy armour and machine gun mount
MERT
Medical Emergency Response Team based in an aircraft
MIST
Medevac report: Mechanism of Injury, Signs, prior Treatments
MO
Medical Officer
MOB
Main Operating Base
NAAFI
Recreational facility (The Navy, Army & Air Force Institutes)
NES
Nahr-e Saraj District of Helmand Province
Nine-liner
Medevac report carried out as immediate action drill
NVG
Night Vision Goggles
OP Barma
British Army De-mining Techniques
OSPREY
British Army Combat Body Armour System
Overwatch
NATO aerial surveillance capability
PB
Patrol Base
PEDRO
UH-60 Blackhawk Helicopter used for medevac
PKM
Russian 7.62 mm rifle and weapon system
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