‘I haven’t got it,’ Jay said, without flinching.
‘I know you took it. Do you think I’m stupid?’
‘I don’t know,’ he said, ‘do you think you’re stupid?’
I straightened up, took my eyes off him and stared at Lawrence, who was standing at the door wearily watching us. ‘Why am I here? I don’t want anything to do with this… child!’
‘If you can both allow me to explain,’ Lawrence said, trying to keep the peace. He sat on the edge of the sofa. ‘Imran, please, take a seat.’
‘Make yourself at fucking home,’ Jay said. ‘Can I get you a drink? A sedative or something?’
Jay was circling, pushing the boundaries, there was desperation in his hostility. He wanted me to react, punish him, anything to alleviate the guilt he was carrying.
My head started to hurt. A pulsating pressure either side of my temple. I’d woken up that morning feeling strong, my mind focused on nothing but the task ahead. Being in that room, with Jay, it was starting to cloud my mind. It was starting to tire me.
I sat down on the armchair beside Jay.
‘So when did you get in bed with MI5?’ he asked, mocking. More than that, there was a sense of resentment.
‘The Teacher,’ Lawrence started, ‘or Abdul Bin Jabbar as we now know, went into hiding December of 2017.’
‘Can we skip the history lesson, for fuck’s sake?’ Jay spat.
‘You need to hear the truth,’ Lawrence said. ‘Let me finish.’
‘Your version of the truth,’ Jay muttered. ‘Go on, then. Let’s hear it.’
‘Despite numerous attempts we were unable to locate Bin Jabbar, until, that is, in early April 2018, he decided to come out of hiding of his own accord to lift a fatwa placed on your head.’
I glanced across at Jay and noticed his face colour slightly.
‘The fatwa was placed by Sheikh Ali Ghulam who, in the absence of Bin Jabbar, had assumed control of operations for Ghurfat-al-Mudarris. We were able to track Bin Jabbar’s movements as he crossed the Afghanistan/Pakistan border before sailing to Dubai. He was captured at the Sheikh’s palatial residence where he murdered Ali Ghulam by way of strangulation. Bin Jabbar refused to give himself up, instead he opened fire. We had no choice but to return fire. He took shots to the heart and kidneys. Both lungs were punctured. His vital organs shut down. One bullet was lodged in his brain, another at the base of his spine. It’s still in there now. How he didn’t die, minds greater than most couldn’t quite fathom. His nervous system collapsed. By all accounts, the man known to the world as The Teacher, is as good as dead.’
Jay stood up and slowly ambled out of the room as though we weren’t there. This was probably the first time he’d got any answers about his father. I shook my head at Lawrence. Maybe the truth wasn’t what was needed right now.
A few seconds after he’d walked out, Jay stormed back into the room, his eyes wide and on fire. ‘But he ain’t, is he? He ain’t fucking dead and you spread that bullshit like it was fucking so.’
‘If it was my decision, it wouldn’t have played out that way. I think people should have been told the truth. The Prime Minister at the time was under intense scrutiny; this country was becoming a battle zone. Hundreds of Muslims, thousands across Europe, soldiers of Ghurfat-al-Mudarris held The Cause above human life. Innocent lives. In accordance with the teachings of your father.’
A part of me felt for a part of him. I had known Jay before all of this. He was nothing but a street urchin, happy to sell a little dope around town from his car and whittle his life away in blissful ignorance. He led a simple life that, if I’m honest, I’d envied. He didn’t ask for any of this, it came asking for him. They, MI5, opened his eyes and kept them forced open. Used him, like they’re using me, but what did they expect? For us to believe in what they believed in?
‘You figured that if the world thought that The Teacher had died, the world would move on,’ I said.
Lawrence shook his head up and down and side to side as though he was trying to dislodge an answer. ‘Yes, actually. When Osama Bin Laden was killed, to an extent al-Qaeda died with him. Operations shifted from top down, the organisation was split and the attacks that continued were smaller scale, lone-wolf operators without facilitators and without funding. We’re now seeing the exact same pattern emerge with Ghurfat-al-Mudarris. When it was announced that The Teacher had died, the cell split. Splinter groups were formed, smaller and to a degree manageable in regards to impact. Lone-wolf operators carrying out attacks all over Europe, but again, smaller, fewer deaths, less destruction. The attacks are no longer intelligent but crude in nature. The Foreign Secretary, along with the PM, made a decision – one that was heavily influenced by the Security Service and fully deniable.’
‘Deniable?’ I asked. ‘To what extent?’
‘We never said he was dead. We didn’t say anything. The press, well… the press writes whatever it wants.’
Jay dropped down heavily in his chair, his mind processing it all.
‘And you couldn’t bring him back to England,’ I said. Lawrence nodded. ‘Too many eyes.’ Another nod. He looked across at Jay.
‘Your father was—’
‘Don’t call him that,’ Jay said, softly.
‘Bin Jabbar was transported to a safe house on the Afghan/Pakistani border. A functional farm for all intents and purposes, and was looked after by two of our own. A couple.’
‘Is that it?’ I said. ‘You had the world’s most wanted man and that was the extent of your security?’
‘We had extensive CCTV, tripwires, sensors. The place was secured to the hilt. The couple were highly trained marines. We couldn’t place any more manpower without the Pakistani Government asking questions, and risking a leak. We had a unit located thirty klicks south, four minutes’ quick release by Apache attack choppers in the event the alarm was activated. But… It took us by surprise quite how speedily they were able to act upon the information they obtained. We couldn’t get to Bin Jabbar in time.’
‘How was this information obtained?’ I asked.
Jay snorted through his nose. He ran an arm across it. ‘John Robinson squealed like a stuck pig.’
Lawrence shifted uncomfortably in his seat. ‘He was tortured. Either way, it’s a rather unfortunate series of events. Events which we now need to control.’
‘Yeah, you’re good at that, controlling events, controlling people.’ Jay said what was on my mind.
He gave me a look as if he’d forgotten I was there. He turned back to Lawrence.
‘Bullshit to one side.’ Jay jabbed a thumb over his shoulder at me. ‘Tell me what the fuck he’s doing here?’
Chapter 39
Jay
In less than twenty-four hours I’d be stepping on that plane. Teddy Lawrence couldn’t stop me. For once MI5 didn’t have jack to hold over me. Fuck, man, I’d just saved John Robinson’s miserable life, they should have been lining up to spit-shine my Jordans!
‘There’s no way I can stop you from flying to Islamabad,’ Lawrence said.
‘Wait,’ I heard Imy say. ‘What did you say?’
‘Trust me, Imy,’ I said. ‘This ain’t none of your business and it definitely ain’t none of their business. I can do whatever I like in my own time, and I can go wherever the fuck I want. And come tomorrow morning I’m stepping on that plane and there ain’t a fucking thing MI5 can do to stop me.’
I said my piece as calm and as controlled and as black and white as I could, so they wouldn’t be left with any doubt. I spent a second or two giving Lawrence a customary Hounslow stare before leaning back in my armchair. I waited for them to get the fuck up and get the fuck out of my house, but I think deep down I knew it wouldn’t be that simple.
‘I’d like to put forward a proposal to you, Jay,’ Lawrence said, arms out, palms up, his butt balancing on the edge of his seat. ‘I’d like Imran to accompany you to Islamabad.’
‘You’re out of your fucking head!’ I ex
claimed.
Imy did a little exclaiming himself. ‘There’s no way! I am not babysitting Jay.’
Babysitting. Did he just say babysitting? The fuck does he know? MI5 had me on missions whilst he was still earning a commission renting one-bed flats to families of four. Frankly, I was pretty fucking offended that Lawrence had approached Imy first, after everything I’d done for those leeches.
I bit back my natural reaction and coolly said, ‘Do not underestimate me, Imy.’
Feeling pleased with my delivery I picked up my coffee and took a sip, but the metal coaster was stuck to the bottom of the mug and had come along for the journey, before slowly peeling itself off and clattering onto the coffee table.
‘I think I estimate you just fine,’ Imy said, winning the hand.
I turned my attention to Lawrence. ‘Whatever hare-brained scheme you’ve got in mind, get this: I’m doing this alone.’ I jabbed a thumb at Imy. ‘I don’t need him moping around, slowing me down.’
I stopped in my tracks as soon as the words escaped. It was insensitive considering that Imy was still in mourning. The guilt kicked in instantly. I turned to face him, a rushed apology ready to leave my mouth, but he had already bounced to his feet and was towering over me and effectively trapping me in my armchair. His face so close to mine that his scrunched features blurred in front of my eyes.
‘I shouldn’t have said that.’
‘Alright! Okay!’ Lawrence said from somewhere; I couldn’t see as I was blocked by Imy’s frame. ‘Cut this out right now.’
Imy remained unmoved, baring his teeth at me like Cujo. ‘Say that again,’ he growled. ‘I want you to say it again.’
I dropped my gaze and noticed his hands balled into tight fists. I readied myself for a much-deserved slap.
A voice that hadn’t been in the room a minute ago said, ‘What the fuck is going on?’
I inclined my head past Imy’s frame, past Lawrence who was on his feet ready to pull Imy back from knocking my teeth out. There he was, at the tip of my living room, a travel holdall in one hand and a travel trolley in the other. Despite the wet weather, he was dressed in a half-sleeved white shirt to best show off his tan. I know Idris. I know how his mind works.
I slipped past Imy and with Lawrence’s eyes on me, I stood by Idris.
‘Alright,’ I said to my friend.
‘Yeah, Jay, I’m alright.’ His eyes locked in mine. ‘You?’
I looked back into the living room and tried to picture it through Idris’ eyes. What would he make of it? A life that I had tried so desperately to hide from him stared back at us. My old MI5 handler and a man who once came to kill me. My two lives had finally collided like that middle bit of a Venn diagram.
‘Yeah, you know.’ I shrugged at Idris. ‘All good.’
I left Imy and Lawrence in the living room. ‘Back in a minute!’ I called out as I ushered Idris out of the room. We bombed it up the stairs and into my bedroom. The last thing I wanted was Idris to get involved with my crap, but at the same time, I was beyond relieved to see him.
Idris sat down on the plastic swivel chair by my computer desk. It wasn’t the first time. He’d probably sat at my desk more than I had. Over the years in this room I’d taken the piss out his various hairstyles, and questionable facial hair choices, as we blagged our way through homework. Hours didn’t feel like hours as we bit the bullshit about girls, friction at school, and family. Anything that was on our minds. Nothing was off limits. But nothing had been like this.
I shuffled nervously in front of him, burning a hole in the carpet.
‘How’d you get in?’ I asked, buying myself some time to figure what I should and shouldn’t tell him.
‘Still got your key, haven’t I?’ he said, flicking my key ring over his finger and then pocketing it. ‘I did bell first but I guess you couldn’t hear me over the raised voices.’
‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘About that.’
Idris shook his head. ‘Imran Siddiqui, in your living room. Feel free to correct me but didn’t you say that you and him weren’t that tight?’ He said, taking little or no pleasure in it. ‘Then again the way he was stood over you like he was going to rearrange your features, maybe you’re not so tight.’ Idris tapped away on his knee with his index finger as his mind tick-tocked away. ‘And who’s the other one, the stressed-out-looking fella. Didn’t think you had any white friends, Jay.’
‘I’ve got loads of white friends.’
‘Yeah. Name one.’
‘You, for starters,’ I said.
‘Who is he?’ Idris was in no mood for a back and forth. I pursed my lips tight and blinked at him. ‘Jay!’
‘Fuck, Idris!’ I said. ‘His name’s Teddy Lawrence and he ain’t my friend.’
‘I didn’t think he was. So, twenty questions, or shall we save some time and you can tell me what you’ve got yourself involved in?’
I couldn’t tell him.
My best friend, inseparable since the day we were born, at the same hospital, within minutes of each other. For so long we’d shared each other’s secrets and so many times I wanted him to tell him this fucking secret and relieve some of that burden that was dropping me down to my fucking knees. Instead I had been spinning it, sprinkling seeds just enough to keep him at arm’s length. I had signed confidentiality agreements and non-disclosure documents, there was no way I could tell him even I wanted to.
But… There’s a flip-side to that coin.
Idris. Detective Inspector Idris Zaidi had also signed similar agreements. Fuck, man, he had taken an oath and everything, but not once had he put that shit in front of me, in front of our friendship. I’d lost count of the number of times I’d asked him to use and abuse his position, and after some token huffing and puffing, he’d always, always come through for me.
‘What you thinking, Jay?’ Idris knocked me out of my thoughts. I took him in. My friend. Sitting there on the plastic swivel chair, as he’d done a thousand times, creaking as he swivelled a touch to the left, a touch to the right, in his stupid white shirt, showing off his stupid tan. I crossed the room and popped my head around the doorframe and glanced down the stairs. Lawrence and Imy were still in my living room, and I doubt they were making small talk. Judging by the silence, Lawrence was probably eavesdropping. I closed my bedroom door and sat on the corner edge of my single bed close to Idris and leaned forward towards him.
Idris stopped swivelling. The chair stopped creaking.
‘You gotta keep this shit to yourself,’ I started, and knew that I had to keep going.
Idris nodded quickly. ‘Goes without saying.’
I cleared my throat and took in an almighty breath. ‘For the last eighteen months… I’ve been working with MI5.’
The relief, I swear to God, was like nothing I’d ever experienced before. I’d finally been able to share with my best friend. Except my best friend was doubled up in the chair, holding his stomach as his shoulders danced and he laughed hysterically at my revelation.
‘Fuck’s sake, Idris. Shut the fuck up!’ I said, but too late, the floodgates had opened, his dumb cackle had always been infectious and I couldn’t help but laugh along with him. He placed the back of his hand to his mouth to mute his laugh, but there was no stopping him. He gripped my shoulder and leaned against me for support, as if he was about to fall out of his chair. I watched his eyes starting to fill up and I couldn’t remember the last time we had laughed like that.
I let it happen, didn’t try to stop him or myself. I didn’t care that Lawrence and Imy could hear us. I didn’t know when I’d be laughing like that again.
It lasted a long minute until it died down. Idris rubbed the tears from his eyes as the last remnants of laughter died down with an almighty sigh. We sat in silence for a bit, both carrying dopey smiles on our faces as you do after a spell of hysterics, but I could see behind his eyes, the thought process putting it all together. My behaviour over the last couple of years, my actions that had put distance between
us.
‘Yeah,’ Idris said, nodding slowly. ‘I believe it.’
I told him the fucking lot, from spying on other Pakis to travelling to a training camp in North Pakistan. The gun attack on Oxford Street and my part in it. I told him how Imy had saved my life once, and spared my life another time at the expense of his family.
Idris listened carefully, only to interrupt me once when he muttered, ‘Fuck, a fatwa!’ before getting off his chair and sitting beside me on the bed and placing an arm around my shoulder.
I told him about my dad, about who he was. His reaction was to take me into an embrace, and all I could think was, why the fuck didn’t I tell him all this before…
We sat side by side on the edge of my bed in silence. I could see the goose bumps raised on his forearms, but couldn’t tell if it was from what he’d just heard, or because he was dressed in a half-sleeved shirt in December. I slipped my phone out and it registered four missed calls from Lawrence and a text message. Be down in a minute, I replied back.
‘You’re definitely going to go?’ Idris asked. ‘Islamabad.’
I nodded. ‘Ticket’s booked. I fly out tomorrow morning.’
‘How you going to find him?’ he asked, hesitated, and then added, ‘Your dad?’
I shrugged. ‘I just will.’
‘And then what’s the plan?’
‘He deserves it all,’ I said. ‘Everything that’s coming to him. That man should suffer, but not like how they want. Not locked up in a fucking safe house in the middle of nowhere with the world thinking he’s dead. He’s not! Despite everything he’s done they can’t deny him his human rights. He needs to answer for his crimes, every single fucking one of them, but in a court of law… Fuck, what’s that word?’
‘Two words,’ Idris said. ‘Due process.’
‘That’s right. Due process,’ I said, as my phone rang in my hands, I swiped it and answered. ‘Alright, okay, I’m coming,’ I said into it before disconnecting Lawrence. I got to my feet and stood in front of Idris. The echo of laughter a distant memory.
Ride or Die Page 19