East of Hounslow

by Khurrum Rahman

We sipped on our tea in a bout of silence. My eyes everywhere but on him. His eyes only on me.

  ‘Before Ghurfat-al-Mudarris‚ were you part of Al-Qaeda?’ I said‚ leaping recklessly into a cop question.

  ‘For a short while I fought for them. But I didn’t agree with their methods.’

  ‘Is that a result of it?’ I said‚ inclining my head towards his face.

  He nodded‚ as he filled his saucer with more tea.

  ‘One thing that I never agreed with was the sacrifice of life for the cause. But regardless I was sent on a mission‚ strapped to an explosive vest. I never intended to give my life on that mission. I wanted to live to fight another day.’

  ‘Did you… detonate?’

  Another nod.

  ‘So… How did you escape?’

  Bin Jabbar leaned in close to me. His face‚ lit up by the harsh light from the bare bulb‚ emphasising every cut‚ burn and sear. He smiled and said‚ ‘Does it look like I escaped?’

  I averted my eyes and sipped on my tea. He leaned back and looked at me with amusement. Sizing up his son‚ probably wondering if I had it in me to walk in his shoes.

  ‘We still have a relationship with Al-Quaeda. We use their groundwork‚ their infrastructure. But we do things a little differently. We do not broadcast ourselves or send out recorded messages to Al-Jazeera or the media‚ sitting in a cave‚ brandishing guns and claiming responsibility. They‚ the West‚ the infidels know what we want‚ we do not need to spell it out. They can stop all the bloodshed‚ the deaths of innocents‚ whenever they want. Until then we are standing firm and we are here to catch whatever is thrown at us‚ and throw it back at them with the might of Allah.’

  He looked at his watch. I looked at his watch. It looked expensive and it looked to be saying a few minutes to eight. I knew our time was coming to an end. A thought shook through me as I realised that I wanted to spend a little longer with him. A lot longer.

  There was a knock on the kitchen door‚ one that indicated that our time was up. It was hard to discern from his face what he was feeling‚ but I saw regret‚ or maybe I just saw whatever I wanted to.

  ‘Adeel-Al-Bhukara is a dear friend of mine‚ a friend whose opinion I value highly.’ He said. ‘He has put in a great deal of faith in you. I want you to go back to the training camp‚ Javid. Mustafa is a good man‚ let him guide you‚ build you. I do not want to hear that you haven’t been trying. You have seen with your very eyes what we are up against. Use it.’ He pressed his finger to my chest. ‘I know better than you that you are capable.’

  The kitchen door opened and Latif sheepishly popped his head around.

  ‘The car is waiting‚ sir‚’ he said‚ nervously.

  ‘Let it wait‚’ Bin Jabbar said‚ calmly.

  ‘But‚ the itinerary.’

  ‘I don’t care about the itinerary‚’ he yelled. ‘I am talking with my…’ My eyes widened and the hairs on my back of my neck stood. ‘I am talking with Javid. I will be out when I am out.’

  Latif’s head disappeared and the door closed. Bin Jabbar motioned for me to get up.

  ‘Walk with me‚ Javid.’

  We walked out into the evening and said our goodbyes to the Mehnaz family. They were handed a wad of cash by Latif‚ which they declined at first but then took willingly. Haqani was waiting inside the Mercedes as Latif held the car door open.

  We stood facing each other‚ both firm in the knowledge of what we were to each other but neither willing to admit it.

  ‘Aslam has been sent to pick you up. He will drive you back to the camp‚’ Bin Jabbar said.

  It was all too brief. Two days in the company of a man who I had no feelings for‚ but I wanted more. I wanted him to acknowledge the fact. Behind his tortured face‚ behind his sick beliefs‚ behind the monster was my father and I wanted him to say it.

  Just fucking say it.

  I looked down at his outstretched hand and blinked. They were my hands...

  I shook it‚ my grip tight as though to prove a point. His thumb ever so gently brushed against my knuckles and my breath caught‚ I immediately dropped my hand from his. With the slightest of nods I walked away without giving him second look.

  Determined that one day‚ somehow‚ it would be me that would take him down.

  66

  I arrived back at camp around seven in the morning‚ and the troops‚ as per schedule‚ were being put through their paces by Mustafa with some hand-to-hand combat training. They eyed me curiously‚ but I kept my head down and walked past them to my room. My intention was not to ignore them‚ but it probably came across that way. I sat up on my sleeping bag‚ tea in one hand‚ phone in the other‚ fully aware that I had to send a message to Parker‚ informing him of my dalliance with The Teacher but I… I just couldn’t do it. Not yet. I had to get my head together first. I heard multiple footsteps approaching and the group all bundled in and stood around me. There were no handshakes or salaams. Amirah moved to hug me‚ but something in my face stopped her. The rest didn’t say anything‚ unsure where to start‚ until Parvez asked‚ ‘Why are you drinking your tea like that?’

  ‘You should try it.’ I said‚ sipping tea from the saucer.

  ‘Where did you go?’

  ‘Across the border. Afghanistan‚’ I said‚ coolly.

  ‘Jalalabad?’ Kevin asked.

  ‘Yeah‚ amongst other places.’

  ‘What did they do with you?’ Parvez approached me‚ and sat cross legged at the foot of my sleeping bag‚ invading my private space as always. It made me smile. ‘Why are you smiling?’ he asked.

  ‘How are you‚ Parvez?’ I said.

  ‘Aren’t you going to tell us what happened?’

  ‘Nothing happened. I’ve had a lot of time to think and I just want to apologise to you all. I wasn’t there with you‚ not fully. I was scared‚ but not anymore. You don’t have to worry about me. I’ve got your backs and I hope that you have mine.’

  ‘We shall see‚’ Irfan said sharply and walked out. Yasir followed‚ embarrassed by his hot-headed younger brother.

  ‘I hope so‚ Brother‚’ Kevin said‚ uncertainty etched in his face. ‘Rest‚ for now. After breakfast we have military training. Today we will be climbing the highest of mountains‚ where we will break for lunch and prayers and continue well into the evening. Inshallah.’

  ‘He shall not be participating.’ Mustafa entered the room. ‘Jay will be spending some time training by himself.’

  Questions clear on all their faces‚ but not on their lips.

  I nodded to myself. I knew this was coming. I wasn’t like the others‚ I was different. I was the son of Al-Mudarris.

  ‘It’s not my decision‚’ Mustafa continued. ‘It has come from higher authority‚ one which cannot be questioned. However‚ I must clarify‚ this is not a punishment. There is no doubt that Jihadi Jay’ – he winked at me – ‘has the same intention and passion as everybody here; do not be fooled into thinking any different. But he will progress quicker and faster working on his own. You will still be able to see him during meal times and free time and he will still pray with you‚ so you will have plenty of time to bond‚ to create that trust.’ Mustafa clapped his hands. ‘Okay. That’s enough for now. Give him some space and the rest of you reconvene outside in fifteen minutes.’ He grinned. ‘We have a mountain to conquer.’

  They all bundled out except Amirah and Akhtar. Akhtar sat on his bed and Amirah stood over me. We eyed each other quietly for a moment.

  ‘Amirah‚’ I said. ‘Whatever this is… Between us. It has to stop.’

  She nodded. I think that she was relieved. I looked at Akhtar. He was busying himself‚ pretending not to listen.

  ‘I need to focus‚’ I continued. ‘Maybe after we—’

  ‘What happened to you out there‚ Jay?’

  ‘Remember you once told me to open my eyes‚’ I said. She smiled sweetly at the memory and I almost fell back in love right there. ‘Well t
hey’re open.’

  She leaned down and kissed me on the cheek and walked out.

  Akhtar seemed relieved when she had left. ‘Wanna hear a joke‚ Bruv?’

  No‚ not really.

  ‘Yeah‚ go on then.’

  ‘Where do suicide bombers go when they die?’

  ‘I don’t know. Where do suicide bombers go when they die?’

  ‘Everywhere!’ He started to chuckle.

  ‘Not bad‚ Akhtar. You really put the “fun” into “fundamentalist”.’

  ‘I’m glad I’m not a suicide bomber‚’ he said. ‘I mean‚ I’d do it if I was asked… But I really don’t want to die.’

  ‘You alright‚ Akhtar?’ I said‚ pouring some more tea onto the saucer.

  ‘Yeah‚ Bruv. I’m good.’ His drooped shoulders told me something different.

  ‘What’s up‚ man? You know you can talk to me.’

  67

  I had set off around three in the morning and arrived at the assault course around two hours‚ three cigarettes and two bottles of water later. I looked at the hellish course in front of me. The sweat‚ effort and traces of blood of the group still lingered. I had no idea how long we had left at the camp‚ but I knew with conviction that I had to beat this thing. I had to show him that I was strong. As strong as the others. As strong as him.

  I climbed onto the high beam and sat in the middle of it and slipped out my phone and composed a coded text to Parker stating everything I knew about The Teacher. Not quite everything. I wasn’t ready tell him about our relationship.

  My finger hovered over the send button as I read and reread the message. It was enough to give them enough intel to track his movements and possibly lead to capture. If Dad ever found out that it was me‚ he would probably ground me for a very long time!

  I smiled sadly at the thought and pressed send.

  Sorry, Dad.

  *

  From a distance‚ through the dusty haze‚ I could see a jeep approaching. I pocketed my phone as the jeep pulled up and Mustafa stepped out.

  ‘I thought I might find you here‚ Jihadi Jay‚’ Mustafa said‚ looking up at me perched on the beam.

  ‘Do you have to call me that?’

  ‘Yes.’ He smiled. ‘I can’t work you out.’

  ‘What’s to work out?’ I said‚ sparking up.

  ‘Not everybody is granted an audience with Al-Mudarris.’

  ‘Well I must be the lucky one then‚ eh?’

  ‘There is something about you. People seem to believe in you‚ though you don’t believe in yourself.’

  ‘I get by‚’ I shrugged.

  ‘Okay‚ Jihadi Jay. This is how it will be. You have free run of the camp. I will join you as and when I can‚ we’ll go through some hand-to-hand combat training and we’ll get you out for some shooting practice.’ He eyed up the course. ‘But this course… It’s broken many men. I am going to leave it up to you how you wish to tackle it.’

  *

  It became routine. At four o’clock‚ each morning I would wake up‚ cleanse‚ pray and head to the camp. I would walk at pace for almost two hours to the assault course. That time shortening each day‚ until I could do it in under ninety minutes. Upon arrival I would run several laps of the running track around the assault course‚ keeping one eye on the course at all times‚ beating it mentally‚ trying to build up the strength to tackle it. Mustafa would drive down and join me daily whenever the group had free time. I took in all I could from him.

  I could disassemble‚ check‚ clean and reassemble a Glock as easy as tying my shoelaces. I could‚ from a running position‚ duck and roll‚ landing onto one knee in perfect shooting position‚ with the sawn-off AK47 gripped firmly in both hands‚ my finger on the trigger‚ ready to take out the enemy. My hands‚ that had never before felt the effort of a hard day’s work‚ developed hard‚ thick callouses. The smell of cordite warmed me and filled me with the kind of comfort that only a gun could provide.

  As for the assault course‚ well that turned out to be my kryptonite. Mustafa mentioned that he would soon be communicating with Al-Mudarris on our progress. My dedication and work rate had already improved‚ but I wanted him to know that I could do it all. I didn’t have the blind faith that the others had‚ that divine mental strength. I was just a son trying to impress his dad.

  I stretched out on the floor and closed my eyes‚ trying to picture myself beating it. I was rudely poked in the chest by the muzzle of a rifle.

  ‘Salaam‚ Brother.’

  I opened my eyes. The sun bounced off his head‚ giving the impression of a halo. His AK47‚ as though a natural extension of his arm‚ pointing at me. His eyes were unwavering and he was chewing on a toothpick. A far cry from the fool I had grown up with.

  ‘Man‚ get that thing out of my face‚’ I said‚ slapping the gun away. ‘What are you doing here‚ Parvez?’

  ‘Mustafa sent me. Said you might need a friendly face.’ He smiled to indicate how friendly his face could be. ‘Have you completed it yet? The course?’

  ‘I was just thinking about it.’

  ‘It’s going to have to wait‚ Brother. Mustafa has called a meeting.’

  68

  Parvez and I walked back to base at snail’s pace. It was the ideal opportunity to talk with him and see if I could find a chink in this jihadist’s armour. I had to be careful not to give the game away. But it was no good; he was at his militant‚ preacher best.

  ‘What happens after?’ I asked him. ‘You know… after?’

  ‘We go on. We fight. Another target‚ another location.’

  ‘What if you get caught?’

  ‘I won’t get caught. Even if I get caught‚ I won’t get caught.’

  ‘Parvez‚ c’mon man‚ I’m shattered‚ stop talking in riddles.’

  ‘They can catch me physically but they will never get inside here‚’ he said‚ tapping his head.

  ‘You know you’ll be locked up for the rest of your life‚ right.’

  ‘So?’ He shrugged. ‘There are a million Brothers ready to step up and take my place.’

  ‘But the rest of your life. That’s a long time.’

  ‘The afterlife is longer‚ Jay.’

  ‘You know they’ll torture you‚’ I said. He yawned. ‘Are you listening to me‚ man? They’ll torture you.’

  ‘Yes‚ I heard you. I’m ready‚ Brother. I have been ready for many years. I have prayed‚ begged Allah to give me this chance. I have got on my knees and cried for the opportunity to make a change‚ to give a voice to Muslims. I don’t think about being caught or tortured or never seeing my family. I have chosen a path‚ the same as you‚ to fight‚ to kill‚ to deliver a message from Allah.’

  Shit.

  ‘I’m not going to ask you the same question‚’ he said. ‘I know if you were to ever get caught you would do the same.’

  I put my head down and kicked a small rock and watched its journey.

  ‘Goes without saying‚ Parvez‚’ I said.

  *

  The meeting took place within Mustafa’s quarters. There were nine small wooden desks laid out in rows of three‚ a pencil and a pad sat on top. The others in the group had already taken their places. Irfan turned from his position in the front row and motioned for Parvez to join him. I sat at the back. Next to me was Akhtar and next to him‚ Amirah. Mustafa stood at the front‚ facing us. He had a small remote control in his hand and his chest muscles seemed to be dancing of their own accord as he waited for us to settle in. Behind him was a large white screen. He clicked a button on the remote control and the projector above me woke up. It whirred for a minute and then it shot out an image onto the white screen.

  My blood ran cold. I was looking at an aerial view of a street. A street that I had been down many times. Where I had shopped and eaten and got drunk. A place where‚ even though you were surrounded by thousands‚ you were invisible.

  ‘This is Oxford Street‚’ Mustafa said. His v
oice‚ low and measured. ‘This… is our target.’

  The room erupted with an ‘Inshallah’ back at him and it frightened me to death. I glanced across at Akhtar and saw fear in his eyes.

  This was it‚ this was the moment that I had been selected for. There was no way I was going to remember all the details to report back to Parker‚ but it was imperative that I did not miss anything out. Masked by the excitement of the noise around me I slipped my hands in my pocket and held down the home button on my phone.

  My phone had been set up so that a long press of the home button would record audio straight onto a micro SD card which would automatically send itself as a message to Parker’s phone. I hadn’t used this function for previous communication because I’d wanted the SD card to stay clean. Even if after the card was formatted‚ it would still be possible to recover data from it. My instructions were clear‚ use it and lose it.

  Mustafa gestured for the room to calm and I casually removed my hands from my pocket.

  ‘It was supposed to be a ten-man operation‚ but as you all are aware young Iqbal decided it wasn’t for him. It’s okay‚ what I see in front of me is more than enough.’ Mustafa moved his eyes over each one of us. ‘You will work in pairs‚ apart from one group of three. Now pay attention and take notes.’ He waited for everybody to pick up a pencil and open up their pad before he continued.

  ‘Your starting point will be Park Royal‚ West London.’ A click of the remote‚ the slide changed to a nondescript mid-size industrial unit. ‘Kamran and Akhtar. You are to travel by tube and step off at Oxford Circus. You will come up at ground level at the Nike shop. That is where you will hold your ground.

  ‘Parvez and Jay. A car will be provided. You are to drive to Cavendish Square. From there you will walk to Oxford Street‚ towards Oxford Circus tube station‚ directly across the road from Kamran and Akhtar. I want you to split up into two locations. Jay‚ you will hold position at the mouth of Argyll Street‚ facing Oxford Street. Parvez‚ next to the station there is a fashion shop called Tezenis. A Brother who works for a lettings agent will be waiting for you with a key for an empty apartment directly above Tezenis. Let yourself in and make your way through to the living area. You wait there until it is time and then walk through the French doors which leads to a balcony. That balcony is looking down on Oxford Street.’