Burka pointed at the menu board and judging by her head movement seemed to be ordering.
‘You’re gonna have to speak up louder‚ love. Can’t ’ear ya under all that material‚’ Jo said. I noticed her look at one of her customers and shake her head in disbelief. Burka repeated her order and Jo looked at her with a grimace on her face. ‘The All Day Breakfast‚ without sausages?’ Jo asked. Burka nodded‚ enthusiastically. ‘It’s still gonna cost the same with or without‚ you might as well ’ave the sausages. More for your money‚ eh‚ love?’ A stifled giggle from somewhere in the café. Burka waved her open hands at her‚ indicating no. ‘Suit yourself‚ take a seat wherever. I’ll bring it across.’
Burka looked around‚ there were plenty of empty tables and available seats. She made eye contact with me – well‚ I think she did anyway – and wheeled her pushchair‚ weaving clumsily‚ knocking into chairs and tables. A few tuts rang out around her‚ her destination seemed to be towards me. Yeah‚ great. Nice one‚ Sister!
She stumbled forward slightly and then she seemed to be stuck‚ held back. She looked behind her towards the floor. Black Eye had his foot on the hem of the Burka. Shit. I’m going to have to get up and do something here. But before that thought could come to pass‚ she had‚ with some force‚ tugged it free and continued towards me. She parallel parked the pushchair on the side of the table‚ pulled out a chair opposite me and carefully sat down.
Then she said something which made an already bizarre situation even more so.
‘What a stupid fucking bitch!’
I looked up at her in bemusement. Had I heard her wrong? Or did she‚ under her Burka‚ shielding her modesty from the world‚ have a mouth on her? ‘Excuse me?’ I said‚ my eyes almost popping out of my head.
‘You heard me.’
I should have known as soon as she had entered the café. Only she would have the balls to pull a stunt like that.
‘Amirah. What the fuck are you playing at?’ I looked towards the pushchair. I could just about make out the watermelon-shaped head through the muslin cloth covering it. ‘And whose baby have you stolen?’
She discreetly lifted the muslin off the pushchair revealing the baby‚ except it wasn’t a baby‚ it was‚ actually‚ a fucking watermelon. She replaced the muslin over the fruit and I just knew that she was smirking under her veil.
‘Look at them‚’ she said‚ purposefully loud. Louder than I would have liked. ‘It’s like we’re from a different planet.’ She folded the UKIP leaflet into a paper airplane and flew it at me.
‘Will you stop fucking around? You’re going to get us murdered.’
‘Sitting there drinking their coffee‚’ she continued. ‘If it wasn’t for Muslims they wouldn’t have fucking coffee… or chess… or shampoo. Although I can’t see this sorry lot taking advantage of any of those.’
‘I don’t care if we invented Sky Plus. Can you keep your voice down?’ I hissed.
She turned her attention fully to me and asked‚ ‘So‚ what did we learn today‚ Jay?’
I looked around the room‚ and the room looked back at me with menace. I turned my head back quickly to Amirah. ‘Yeah‚ alright‚ you made your point. Can we go?’
‘It doesn’t matter if I am dressed in a Burka‚ or that you’re dressed in jeans and a T-shirt‚ and walk and talk like they do‚ you’ll never be one of them.’
‘I get it. Okay‚ I fucking get it. Now can we get out of here. You win‚ all right?’
‘I always win‚ Jay. It’s just something that you’re going to have to get used to‚’ she said‚ clearly enjoying proving her point. ‘Besides‚ I’m waiting for my meal. I am famished.’
And just on cue‚ her plate arrived and was placed on the table. We both looked down at it and then at each other. And then at Grubby Jo‚ who stood above us smirking for a moment before returning to her station. I knew right then that shit was going to hit the fan‚ and most of it was going to land on me.
‘Hmm‚’ Amirah said‚ looking at her All Day Breakfast‚ with two sausages staring back at her. ‘This is not what I ordered. Must have been a terrible mix up‚’ she said. ‘Never mind. I seem to have lost my appetite.’
I could feel every eye‚ every whisper and muffled laugh directed at us‚ waiting for us to make a move. Our move should have been: lesson learnt‚ let’s get the fuck out of here. Instead Amirah slid her chair back‚ the legs scraping noisily on the floor‚ and lifted up her plate‚ balancing it on the palm of her hand.
‘Where are you going?’
‘I’m going to return my meal and leave.’
‘What about the…’ I looked at the pushchair. ‘Baby?’
‘Leave it here.’
She walked towards the counter‚ where Jo stood defiantly with her arms crossed over her chest.
And then Amirah launched the plate.
I watched open mouthed as the plate flew perfectly over the counter‚ with Jo taking a sideways dive. It landed plum on the menu board and smashed on impact. Beans‚ hash brown‚ grilled tomato‚ eggs sunny side up and two sausages stuck briefly to the board before lazily descending.
The door chimed and Amirah had left the building.
Grubby Jo did not get up‚ she stayed cowering behind the counter. But the rest of the friendly patrons were up on their feet‚ eyes at the door. And then eyes on me!
Fuck’s sake!
I was up like a shot‚ not giving the pushchair another thought‚ pushing past stubborn bodies and out into the fresh air. Amirah‚ now disrobed of the Burka‚ stood across the dual carriageway‚ smiling at me. I ran across two lanes one way and then two lanes the other‚ almost getting hit by a cyclist in the process‚ and stood next to her‚ out of breath‚ with my hands on my knees.
‘What the fuck‚ man?’ I said. She started to laugh. I couldn’t help it‚ I joined her. ‘Now can we go?
‘Not quite yet‚’ she said‚ mischief dancing in her eyes. ‘The best is yet to come.’
We waited a few minutes before the door to the café opened and everyone bolted out‚ trying to outdo each other‚ pushing and barging. It didn’t take long for me to work out what had happened.
‘The pushchair‚ they think... they think it’s a bomb.’
‘How’s that for narrow mindedness?’ she said‚ as the customers and Grubby Jo quickly made their way to the end of the street‚ most of them with phones attached to their ears.
‘Amirah‚ you can’t do that.’
‘Do what? I haven’t done a thing. I just broke a plate. Hardly terrorism‚ is it?’
‘I’m going in to get it. Look at them‚ they’re scared out of their minds.’
‘Leave it in there‚ they deserve it.’
Ignoring her‚ I ran back across the road and into the café. I retrieved the pushchair and calmly wheeled out the fucking watermelon. I made sure that I was seen by the customers. I gave them an Oops‚ we seem to have left our baby behind look.
I looked across the road and Amirah was gone. My phone beeped‚ informing me of a text message.
Now your eyes are open. Call me if you are interested.
39
To: John Robinson‚ Stewart Sinclair
Cc: Kingsley Parker
From: Teddy Lawrence
Subject: Kevin Strauss/Parvez Ahmed
Attachments: PA1.jpeg‚ PA2.jpeg‚ KS1.jpeg‚ KS2.jpeg‚ KS3.pdf
FYI
Parvez Ahmed – age 27. Based in Heston and living at home with his parents and brother. Currently unemployed and regularly receiving benefits. Affiliated with Sutton Mosque‚ Heathrow Mosque and Cranford Islamic Centre. Regularly attends 15 Jersey Way‚ twice a week‚ Tuesdays and Thursdays at 2pm. Two recent trips to Pakistan: 10–24 October 2014 and 9–27 January 2015. Each time landing in Islamabad and each time citing a family wedding as reason of visit. His family in Pakistan are located in Karachi which is 1447 km south from Islamabad.
No previous.
(See att
ached photos PA1 and PA2)
Kevin Strauss – age 36. Based in Hounslow West. Lives alone. Parents currently live in Australia. No known partner. Assumed to have converted to Islam in 2009. Works from home as a freelance web designer. He is also the author of many inflammatory websites which incite hate against the West and organise and populate protests. Affiliated with Sutton Mosque‚ Ealing Mosque and regularly gives lectures at Cranford Islamic Centre. He is also a regular attendee at 15 Jersey Way.
Two trips to Jalalabad‚ Afghanistan: 11–23 March and 17–27 June 2012. Two trips to Islamabad‚ Pakistan: 10–24 October 2014 and 9–27 January 2015. For all four trips‚ reason cited as Business.
(See attached photos KS1 and KS2)
(See attached files KS3 for arrest sheet)
Regards
Teddy Lawrence
The email‚ Parker thought‚ had an underlying hint of smugness. He could picture Lawrence sitting hunched over his laptop with a triumphant smile on his face. Establishing pertinent information that Parker himself could and should have provided. It infuriated him that Lawrence chose to ‘cc’ him into the email‚ as if he was just a voyeur watching from behind the curtains‚ rather than include him in the ‘To’ column.
The hard copy of the email had arrived to Parker at his home by MI5 courier‚ with strict instructions that Parker had to sign for it. It was common knowledge that he didn’t regularly check his emails‚ so it had to be this way.
As he read through the printed email again‚ he tried to determine how much of this information he should pass on to Jay. It was imperative that Jay keep his mind clear of everything but the task ahead; this information would only serve to cloud his judgement. Sometimes knowledge is not power‚ it’s a noose around your neck. If Jay were to learn this information then it would have to come from Parvez or Kevin‚ and then his reaction would be natural. Genuine.
What was clear from the email was the fact that Parvez and Kevin were going far beyond the duties of a typical practising Muslim. It was obvious that the reasons they had given when travelling were a cover and‚ in the case of Parvez‚ not a very clever cover. It was also telling that they had both visited Islamabad twice‚ on the same dates for the same duration. There are a lot of mountains and privacy around those parts‚ and it would be easy to assume the obvious reason for the visit. Kevin’s other two trips to Jalalabad also raised some concern‚ as that particular location is known for its many training facilities.
Parker placed the hard copy of the email to one side and flicked through the printed attachments. Two images of Parvez‚ both with effortless clarity. One image was of him outside 15 Jersey Way‚ looking over his shoulder with one foot in the door. The second image was as though Parvez had posed for it. Stood outside the mosque‚ leaning casually against a lamp post and looking straight down the throat of the lens.
One image of Kevin was just as clear. Smiling‚ he was stood by a Range Rover outside a church‚ stone in hand‚ looking as though he was about to apply a deep scratch to the paint work of the car door. The second image‚ not as clear‚ was of him at a protest‚ sitting on somebody’s shoulders‚ his face masked with rage as he held aloft a burning Bible like a trophy. It was a look that Parker had seen many times in his life.
Unbridled passion and hatred.
40
One by one they walked in. The instructions were clear. On approach the door will be opened for you to enter. If the door is closed do not knock or ring the bell‚ do not look up at the window or wait. If the door is closed‚ continue walking.
The door was open.
They climbed up the narrow stairs‚ past the chintzy wallpaper and the stair-lift chair. They made their way into the back bedroom‚ and sat on the floor and waited. There were some hushed whispers as there always is‚ some nervous energy and quick glances at the door‚ waiting for it to open and the class to begin. Though they had been coming to these classes for a long while‚ the anticipation stood firm. This was due largely to the man‚ the much respected‚ the right honourable Imam Adeel-Al-Bhukara.
Parvez was sat up against the back wall‚ his fingers moving quickly over prayer beads. Always happy to listen and learn and take orders from Al-Bhukara‚ who had been nothing short of a father figure to him. Not that his own father was lacking in that department. But this wasn’t about playing catch in the park‚ or having an awkward conversation about the birds and the bees. Al-Bhukara was a different strain of father figure. He educated Parvez on Islam‚ the real Islam‚ on Jihadism‚ the real Jihadism. He educated him on Politics‚ not the politics that we see on television and read about in the red tops.
He educated him on life.
Parvez was grateful. He owed his life to the esteemed Imam and if ever called for‚ he would have given it. But‚ for the first time‚ he disagreed with Al-Bhukara – albeit in silence; there was too much respect to question or challenge him. But Parvez could not understand why out of the hundreds‚ no‚ thousands of young Muslims that were available for selection‚ why the Imam was hell bent on Jay. Ever since Jay started showing the first bit of interest in Islam‚ Al-Bhukara had been determined to meet him. To talk to him. To recruit him.
Was Javid at the Masjid today? How many prayers did he attend? I hear that he is attending Islamic classes after prayer? Tell me‚ again‚ about his bravery at Elmsleigh Car Park.
It was embarrassing for the great man. He must have had his reasons‚ but Parvez could not fathom what they could possibly be.
Yasir and his brother Irfan‚ younger by two years‚ sat at the front. Both local lads‚ both unemployed‚ both angry at the way the world had turned out for them. They had been tasked with writing a report‚ to choose any attack in the last twenty years and explore the motive‚ sacrifice and reward of it. How it had been planned and what they would have done to improve it. It was a heavy subject‚ but one that the brothers relished.
Stood at the window‚ looking carefully through the net curtains‚ was a pensive Amirah‚ her head covered with a shawl. She had done her part in trying to convince Jay to attend‚ though she wasn’t sure he held the personality that was required. The Imam would be angry if she failed‚ and he would express that anger without restraint.
The door opened and in walked Kevin. He joined Amirah at the window and stood next to her‚ peering out‚ with his hands clasped behind his back.
‘How did it go‚ Sister?’ Kevin asked.
‘It went!’ Amirah replied.
‘What does that mean?’
‘I did what I had to do.’
‘Did you manage to convince him?’
‘I tried… God knows I tried. It shouldn’t have to be this difficult.’
‘We just have to get him here and Imam will do the rest.’
‘What do you want me to say?’ she asked‚ turning to him‚ her eyes wide and hands in the air. ‘I… I tried‚ all right?’
She held back the profanity which was never far from her lips.
Kevin looked at his watch and nodded grimly. ‘It’s quarter past‚ he will not be pleased.’
‘It’s not on me.’
‘I never said it was‚ Sister.’
The door creaked open and Amirah and Kevin immediately took their places on the floor. Parvez shifted forward from against the back wall‚ in amongst the others. Yasir and Irfan nervously placed their report on a small side table‚ ready to be scrutinised.
Even hobbling with the aid of a walking stick‚ Adeel-Al-Bhukara walked in confidently‚ larger than life‚ and sat down on the only chair in the room as though a King taking his throne.
Al-Bhukara had hurt his knee in the icy winter of 2007‚ when he’d slipped outside his house‚ landed on his backside and torn his tendons. However‚ the official line that he fed to his students was that he had been attacked‚ whilst helping a young Muslim mother who was being pounced upon by baseball bat-wielding Kafirs. This version of the story added fire to the Cause‚ and it was better than tell
ing everybody that he had fallen on his arse.
Adorned head to toe in black shalwar and kameez‚ slightly embroidered around the neck‚ Al-Bhukara ran his hand through his thick beard‚ which made him look older than his years. Behind the beard was hidden handsome features which‚ in the past‚ had attracted many suitors. But he was happy as a one-woman man. Happy with his one wife‚ Aaidah‚ in London. And happy with his one wife‚ Rani‚ in Bradford!
Aaidah lived with him for the most part‚ here‚ in this house. Their two children‚ both now of age‚ had left for university and work. They never had any pressure to join him in jihad. It would have been deemed too dangerous for his own blood.
Rani‚ his stunning‚ go-to wife‚ lived alone in a two-bed flat‚ paid for by you and me. He would visit her as and when the fancy took him. She too wanted children‚ but he believed that a God-given body like that should not be spoilt by childbirth.
Al-Bhukara gave one last stroke of his beard and then tugged at the bottom of it‚ appearing to give it more length‚ and instead of any greeting or acknowledgement to his students‚ he went straight to the burning question.
‘Where is Javid?’
Parvez bit his tongue at the mention of Jay’s name‚ again. Yasir and Irfan twisted their bodies and looked at those that the question was aimed at – Kevin and Amirah. They looked hopelessly at each other and then at the Imam‚ whose dark eyes were like lasers‚ burning a hole through them.
Kevin smiled. ‘We have done all we can.’
‘Then why is he not sitting here? Amongst us. No‚ Kevin‚ you have not done all you can.’
East of Hounslow Page 16