by Ed Grace
He had no idea what he’d do when he found him, but he had to.
He could warn these people and urge them to leave but there would be no guarantee that they wouldn’t be caught in the blast — and if people began to leave, it would spook the bomber and make him hit the detonator.
For now he just had to find the boy, and convince him not to press the detonator.
It was his only chance.
Chapter Sixty-Five
Zain’s thumb stroked the trigger.
Funny, how something so small could cause such devastation.
So much power in just the lightest of touches.
Azeer would be wondering why he hadn’t pushed that trigger yet. Zain could not wait any longer.
He closed his eyes. Readied his thumb. Held his breath, and—
“Wait!”
He opened his eyes.
A voice amongst the mass of conversations stuck out.
It was a British voice, and not one he recognised, yet he felt like it was for him.
But it couldn’t be. No one knew what he was doing. They did not know why he was there. The detonator was in his pocket, no one could see it.
“Wait, please don’t!”
But there was the voice again, rising above all others.
Only a few people glanced in the direction of the shouting, then carried on with their lives. But Zain kept watching.
A man emerged from the crowds. He was older than Zain. He hobbled and limped. His face was a beaten mess. He looked bedraggled and wounded.
Yet, there he was, continuing to edge toward Zain.
“I know what you’re doing,” the man said.
He knew what he was doing?
How?
No, he couldn’t. He had no idea. He was lying.
“Please, just — just listen.”
“You don’t know who I am,” Zain said.
“Why don’t you tell me?”
“Fuck you!”
“Look, I—”
“Fuck you, stay back!”
“Fine!”
The man paused, only steps away, and held his hands in the air.
A moment of silence lingered. People hurried past without paying them any attention.
“What’s your name?” the man asked.
“Why does it matter?”
“Mine is Jay Sullivan. People normally call me Sullivan, but you can call me Jay if you like.”
Why was he telling him this?
If this man knew what Zain was doing, he should be tackling him to the ground, forcing the detonator off him, trying to kill him.
Yet he was just stood there, talking.
“So if you call me Jay, what do I call you?”
“… Zain,” he reluctantly answered.
“Zain. Great name. It means beauty and grace, doesn’t it?”
Zain nodded. How did he know that?
“Funny. I would never refer to myself as graceful. Would you?”
Zain shook his head.
“I’m sure your parents had good reason for calling you that.”
Zain grew angry. “Don’t talk about my parents.”
“Okay, fine, I won’t.”
“I know what you’re trying to do.”
“What am I trying to do, Zain?”
“You’re trying to talk me down. To persuade me not to do this.”
“You’re right, Zain, that is what I’m doing. I’m trying to talk to you, trying to persuade you not to hit the detonator — but, mostly, I’m trying to figure out what could make a young man like you, with his whole life before him, be so angry?”
Zain felt his face curl up and contort. His fists clenched, his heart raced; who the fuck was this guy?
“You know nothing!” Zain said.
“Then tell me.”
“I’m not telling you shit, you’re not stopping me doing this!”
“Okay, fine, maybe I won’t stop you. But you could at least tell me why you’re so angry.”
“I’m not—”
Zain stopped himself. He felt tears accumulate, and he fought them away.
He flexed his fingers around the detonator.
Enough talking.
He closed his eyes.
“Who was it?”
He opened them again. “What?”
“I said, who was it?”
“Who was what?”
“Obviously, there must have been a person who persuaded you to do this. And I don’t just mean Azeer Nadeem — I mean someone else.”
Zain refused to talk. But, somehow, his face gave it all away.
“You lost someone you cared about, didn’t you?”
Zain shook his head.
No.
Stop it.
This was not happening.
“I watched someone I love die too, you know,” Sullivan said. “I was only sixteen, but I watched it, and I don’t think anyone could have stopped me from hating the world after that.”
Zain shook his head harder. Fuck this guy. He wouldn’t understand.
“That anger made it so much easier to kill the bad guys — and it was clear who the bad guys were, because my mentor told me who they were. Sound familiar?”
“I am not like you.”
“Azeer used your loss to teach you that killing is necessary, didn’t he?”
“It is necessary.”
“Is it?”
“Go to hell, what do you know?”
“Actually, when it comes to killing out of anger, I probably know more than most.”
“Shut up! You don’t know a thing! You don’t know what it’s like to be angry all the time because you did nothing. You probably had parents who’d wipe your arse for you.”
“The only thing my father wiped was my blood from his fist. I never had a family who gave a shit if I lived or died. In fact, it was my parents I saw die, after my father killed them both. But what about you, Zain?”
The man stepped closer.
Zain backed away.
“Do you have a family who care?” he asked.
“You don’t know shit about my family.”
Sullivan relaxed his body. He stopped edging closer.
“Then tell me,” he said.
Southend, United Kingdom
ONE YEAR AGO
Chapter Sixty-Six
Three tentative knocks on the door. Shifting weight from one foot to the other. Sweat trickling down his forehead.
Zain could not remember ever being this nervous.
He hadn’t called. He’d thought about it, but wasn’t sure what they’d say. Instead, he decided to show up and hope for the best.
The door opened.
His mother’s eyes flickered in recognition. There was a moment of hesitation, then she enveloped him in her arms. He said nothing, just held her, staying in the moment, until finally she pulled herself away and looked at him.
“Oh, Zain,” she said, her eyes damp, and hugged him again.
Over her shoulder, and further into the house, he saw his father. Standing in the corridor. Watching.
His mother let him go and, guided by her hand on his back, Zain entered. He walked up to his father and paused.
“Hi,” he said.
His father put his arms around Zain and gave him a stern hug.
“Come,” he said. “Let’s get you a drink.”
Within five minutes they were sitting in the living room with cups of tea. Zain didn’t particularly like tea, but his family weren’t to know that. Maybe once they would have, but not now. So he took it and placed it next to his seat, leaving it untouched.
His mother spoke quickly, but his father stayed quiet.
“We have been so worried, we had no idea where you have been, what you’ve been doing. Have you been at college? University? Oh, it doesn’t matter, you are back now. Are you back for good? I mean, I’ve left your room just as you left it, but…”
She trailed off, as if realising that she had not left space for answers to any of her question
s.
“I am back,” Zain said. “I’m staying with friends, but I’m back here for a while.”
“How long is a while?” his mother asked, then quickly added, “oh, it doesn’t matter. Just so long as you’re okay.”
“Where have you been?” his father asked.
A moment of uncomfortable silence descended, and his mother tried to fill it.
“Your sister is doing very well, Zaynab is at university now, she’s studying law, she’s found herself a man and is engaged, he’s very nice, his name is—”
“I would like an answer to my question,” his father interrupted.
This time, his mother stayed silent.
“Where have you been?” he repeated.
“Away,” Zain said.
“Where?”
“I’m not allowed to tell you.”
“You are my son. You will tell me where you have been.”
Zain looked down. He wondered how much his father knew. He wondered whether he’d be disappointed.
Then again, why should he care? If his father was a true Islamist then he would be supportive, not dismissive.
“Pakistan,” Zain finally answered.
“Pakistan!” his mother repeated. “How on earth did you — what were you doing there?”
Zain didn’t answer.
“Oh, it’s okay, you’re back now and—”
“What were you doing there, Zain?” his father asked.
Zain paused. “Training.”
“Training for what? I imagine it was not university.”
“No.”
“Then what?”
Zain looked around, considering how much to tell him.
“You’re one of them, aren’t you?” his father said.
“One of who?”
“I heard rumours. I heard people saying terrible things. But I said, not my son, wherever he is, he is strong, he is noble, he is brave, he would not be one of them. But you are. Aren’t you?”
“One of who?”
“Don’t take me for a fool.”
“Do you mean the Alhami?”
“You know damn well that’s what I mean.”
“And what if I was? Wouldn’t you be proud?”
His father dropped his head. Shook it.
He had never seen such disappointment on his father’s face before.
Zain fought through it. He was doing the right thing, even if his father couldn’t see that.
“You are to come home,” his father said. “You are to stay here. You are to leave your friends—”
“No.”
His father looked horrified.
“No?” he repeated.
Zain took in a deep breath. He could not back down, never mind however much it hurt.
“The Surah says, but if ye cannot, and of a surety ye cannot, then fear the fire whose fuel is men and stones — which is prepared for those who reject faith.”
His father scoffed.
“Please,” he said. “I had been studying the Quran for decades before you were born.”
“Then evidently you didn’t study it very well.”
His father stood. His face turned red. “You cannot guide those you would like to, but God guides those He wills, He has best knowledge of the guided — what about that verse? Did you read that one?”
Zain went to respond, but his father did not let him.
“God does not forbid you from being good to those who have not fought you in religion or driven you from your homes — what about that one?”
“But they have driven us from our homes, they—”
“God does not love corruption. Surat al-Baqara, 205. And that one?”
“They are the ones who are corrupt.”
“No, my son, it is you. You are the ones who are corrupt, for trying to poison my religion by picking out the pieces of the Quran that suit your will.”
“It is Allah’s will.”
“Are you so sure?”
“And you are the one who is picking parts of the Quran to suit you. I have studied it, and I have—”
“You studied the parts the fools who taught it to you wanted you to study.” Zain’s father stood. “You are nothing more than a victim of their sickness. You are tainting our lives, and you are causing friction between us and everyone else in this country.”
“They caused the friction when—”
“When they went into one of their many wars, I bet?” His father stepped closer, casting Zain in his shadow. “Let me ask you a question. Who do you think gave the go ahead for the war? The entirety of this country, or just the few who lead it?”
Zain shook his head.
“You sound like one of them,” he said. “You abuse Allah.”
His father shook his head.
“You are a fake Muslim,” Zain continued. “You are a kafir.”
His father’s face changed. He went from forceful authority to shock. From resolve to shame.
Zain retreated in on himself. That was the most outspoken he’d ever been, it was the most aggressive he’d ever felt himself become, and it was at a family that he loved.
But there were more important things than his family.
His cause. That was more important. Azeer relied on him.
His father wasn’t right. He couldn’t be.
Could he?
“This is not what Fahad would have wanted,” his father said. “There is a big difference between the people who hurt him, and the people you hate.”
Zain did not respond.
This was as much confirmation of Zain’s stubbornness as his father needed.
“Get out,” said his father.
“Oh, please, let’s just—” his mother attempted, but was ignored.
“Get out,” his father repeated, his voice low and quiet. “Get out of my house, and never return.”
Zain looked to his mother. She looked away.
Zain turned and left without looking back.
London Heathrow Airport, United Kingdom
NOW
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Despite all he believed, all he had fought against, and his struggle against Azeer — Sullivan did not see a terrorist in front of him.
He saw a boy on the verge of committing a terrible, atrocious act, yes — but he did not see a member of Alhami.
And he did not see a monster.
He saw a scared, desperate young man, who had witnessed awful things, and had suffered because of those awful things.
A troubled man, who was punishing himself as much as he was punishing everyone else.
A boy on the verge of choosing a life that would not only harness his anger, but would build on it.
Sullivan saw himself.
But Zain could still avoid Sullivan’s fate, and Sullivan was desperate to help him.
He decided to take a different tact.
“I was brainwashed too, you know.”
“What?” This seemed to make him angrier. “I have not been brainwashed! I have been set free!”
“So was I.”
“Stop it! I am nothing like you!”
“The only difference is which side brainwashed us. For me, it was the British government. For you, it was Alhami. But they are both the same.”
“They are not both—”
“They really get to you, don’t they?”
Zain’s face was a mess of emotions. Sullivan could see fear, he could see fury, but he could also see hope.
Then again, he could also see the detonator in Zain’s pocket, and Zain’s hand wrapped around it.
This was a fine line he was treading, and the wrong word either way could sentence the people around them to death.
So many people. Families, friends, lovers — there were hundreds who might die.
But Sullivan did not judge Zain for that. Yes, he was about to do a bad thing, but Sullivan had done plenty of bad things.
He’d killed families. He’d killed friends. He’d killed lovers.
He hadn’t done them all at the same time, but he’d done them. It had taken him years to realise he had been manipulated, and he’d made a mistake.
Zain did not have years. He had minutes.
Seconds for Sullivan to save this world from another person like himself.
“This person you lost… They tell you all kinds of things to make it seem like his death had a purpose, don’t they?”
Zain furiously shook his head. “You don’t know—”
“They offer you something that makes you feel like their death wasn’t in vain. That it could mean something. But Zain, guess what?”
He stepped forward and Zain did not step back.
“It’s not worth it,” Sullivan said. “It’s never going to be okay.”
Sullivan could reach out and grab that detonator. He could grab with his right hand, then choke Zain with his left.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he looked the boy in the eyes. Zain shook his head, trying to be assertive in his defiance, but Sullivan could see it was wavering.
This was no longer about saving an airport full of innocent people — it was about saving a troubled, desperate boy.
“Was this person a family member? A friend? A brother?”
“They are all my brothers!”
“They are, I’m not saying they are not.” He edged forward. “But nothing will make that death okay.”
“You’re an infidel. You deny the spread of Islam. You are not in Allah’s—”
“But do you really believe that, Zain?”
Sullivan placed a hand on Zain’s arm.
He heard heavy footsteps in the distance behind him. He glanced over his shoulder.
Firearms police had arrived. They were still far enough away that Sullivan and Zain remained unnoticed, but Sullivan knew they were looking for a young Muslim male like Zain. They would be ready to take down anyone they even suspected of trying to blow up the airport.
He didn’t have long to save Zain’s life.
The tannoy announcement began. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is an emergency. Please proceed to the nearest exit. I repeat, please evacuate the airport, as calmly as you can.”
Sullivan ignored the people rushing past. He focused on Zain’s eyes.
“Those firearms officers. You see them behind me?”