I turned the volume low. ‘Have you been here before?’
Jay shook his head. ‘We still in Gardez?’
‘On the outskirts.’
The brake lights came on. Haqani stuck an arm out of the window and gestured with his hand for us to park the car roadside. He pulled away and turned into an opening, automatic sensor lights illuminated the drive as he pulled up next to a gleaming white Audi Q7.
I pulled up slightly before the house so that I had a view, and parked tight against the kerb underneath a palm tree. The small Honda hatchback looked out of place. I switched off the headlamps but left the car running.
Chapter 63
Jay
My old man had money, I knew that. For years he had sent Mum monthly cheques to the tune of three G in the name of maintenance. That was his idea of playing the good dad, the caring fucking husband. From what I’d learnt about him, he didn’t lavish money on himself, lived in pretty much near poverty up a mountain or in a straw hut or whatever. Truly a man of the fucking people! But since his so-called timely demise, it would seem as though Latif had taken a slice of that sweet terrorist funding and set himself up nicely. I figured that, in a roundabout kind of way, the big white double-fronted motherfucker of a house, the gardener, the private security and the killer motor all belonged me. In my head it made sense, and, probably, a half-decent lawyer would agree. But in my heart I knew I could never accept gains that were built on the foundations of bricks, mortar and the blood of innocent lives.
Haqani stepped out of the Merc, a lot dirtier than when it had started its journey. He gestured to the gardener who abandoned watering the neat rectangle of front lawn and changed the setting of the hose from lazy spray to a faster number, and went to work on the Merc. Haqani jogged over and approached my window. I slid it down and he knelt down and folded his arms on the window frame.
‘What’s up, Haqani?’
‘What’s up, Jay?’ Haqani imitated me with a smile.
‘This it?’ I asked. ‘We here?’
‘Yes. You wait here. I come back.’
‘Wait? Wait for what?’
‘I go speak with Brother Latif.’
‘He knows we’re here, right?’
‘He not,’ Haqani replied.
‘Seriously?’ I said, frustration creeping up on me. ‘You didn’t tell him?’
‘If I called Brother Latif and he say no, then we have big problem, yes? You here now, he must say yes. Yes?’
‘Yeah, I guess.’ I shrugged at his logic, but I was feeling uncomfortable at just showing up at Latif’s doorstep without a heads-up.
Haqani looked down in the footwell. Beside my Jordans were his pistol and blade. ‘You leave in car. No weapons in Brother Latif house.’ I nodded, and Haqani patted me softly on the arm and bounced to his feet before scurrying towards the house. I noticed he hadn’t addressed Imy once, not even glanced in his direction.
‘Listen, Imy,’ I said, clearing my throat. ‘Was thinking…’
‘What were you thinking?’ Imy said, as he pulled out the gun from under his thigh. I didn’t even know it’d been there.
‘For starters you can’t take that in with you! You heard what Haqani said.’
‘It’s coming with me.’ Imy leaned forward and tucked the piece into his waistband. ‘What were you going to say to me?’
‘I was going to say maybe you should wait in the car. I mean, Haqani clearly doesn’t like you, you’re just going to make everyone edgy.’
‘No. I’m coming.’
‘I could call your phone and you can listen in, first sign of trouble and you come abseiling down the roof and somersaulting through a fucking window, guns blazing, for all I care! But for now, for right now, I think that you should sit tight for a bit.’
Imy didn’t reply. It didn’t matter. I’d been harsh how I’d said it, as though I’d used him to get me there and now that I was done with Imran Siddiqui Protective Services, I could simply cast him away. But it was the right decision. Since Imy had met Haqani, I could see that he was looking for it, an excuse to start something. Last thing I needed was for Imy to be there with a shooter tucked into his pants, making everyone nervous.
Haqani appeared at the lip of the drive, he threw a hand up and waved me over. I checked my appearance in the sun visor mirror and patted and matted my hair in place, before stepping out of the car. I walked towards Haqani, wondering how Latif would greet me. Behind me I heard a car door close, and before I knew it, Imy fell into step with me.
‘The fuck, man!’ I hissed at him. ‘I asked you to stay in the car.’
‘And I told you I’m coming,’ Imy replied.
I couldn’t make a scene a few yards outside of Latif’s yard, so I let it slide, but I gave him a sideways glance sharp enough to cut. But with his eyes fixed on Haqani, I don’t think he noticed.
‘This way,’ Haqani guided us. I took a heavy breath in through my nose as I slipped in between the Audi Q7 and the Merc and stood outside heavy black double doors with gold accessories.
Haqani pushed the door open. In the large hallway stood a little girl and a little boy, toddlers possibly, definitely not babies or grown-ups. They were decked out in matching his-and-hers dungarees. I stepped into the hallway and flashed them a smile and the little girl replied in perfect English, ‘I like your shirt. It has sailing boats on it.’
‘Nice one,’ I smiled.
‘What’s your name?’ the boy asked.
‘Jay,’ I said.
The boy incredulously replied, ‘J? That’s not a name. That’s a letter.’ The girl covered her mouth with her hands and they giggled in unison.
‘Ha. Yeah, I guess it is. How about you? What are your names?’
‘I’m Cookie Monster,’ the boy replied. ‘And this is Dora. She’s an explorer.’
‘Is that right?’ I laughed, just as Latif appeared in the hallway.
He was just how I’d remembered him: small, round Lennon glasses sitting on a small nose, and a shiny bald spot. He stood behind the boy and girl and put his arms protectively around their shoulders. Stood together, it was clear that they were his children and all of a sudden this seemed like the worst idea. It didn’t matter that he was a terrorist, it didn’t matter that he may be the only lead to my dad, all that mattered was I was bringing fuck-knows-what into his home. He acknowledged me with a nod. I returned it with a small smile.
Latif tapped Dora the Explorer on the shoulder. ‘This is Malaila.’ He tapped Cookie Monster on the shoulder. ‘And this is Misbah.’
I could feel Imy behind me, could hear his shallow breathing, knowing he had a gun concealed made me want to spin on my heels and walk away. I didn’t want any more fucking consequences from my actions.
‘I can come back… If this a bad time.’
It sounded as stupid in my head as it did coming out of my mouth.
Latif took his eyes off me and tapped his kids on the shoulder. ‘Get ready for bed. I’ll join you soon.’
‘Yes, Papa,’ they chorused. ‘Goodbye, Uncle Jay.’ They smiled sweetly at me, before nudging each other mischievously as they raced up the stairs.
‘There’s no way those kids are getting ready for bed,’ I said through a nervous laugh. I looked back at Imy. He wasn’t laughing. I looked across at Haqani. He wasn’t either.
I looked at Latif.
He seemed at a loss without his children by his side. I watched him for a reaction, a handshake, something that would tell me where I stood with him, but he remained still and without expression. It felt like we’d been facing off in the hallway for ages before he finally said, ‘Come into my study.’
I flashed Imy a reassuring smile and gestured for him to follow me. The study was a moody number, dark wooden flooring and wood panelling on the wall giving it a cabin feel, which felt out of place to the rest of the airy house. The only light came from a floor lamp which stood beside a wall map of the Afghanistan/Pakistan border. My eyes flicked to it in the hope that La
tif had helpfully stuck a pin in the exact location where my dad was being kept.
There were only two chairs in the room. Leather, high-backed and pretty grand, as though they were designed to admire and not park on. Latif took a seat and motioned for me to do the same. I did. As suspected, the chairs were as uncomfortable as fuck. I resisted the urge to fidget.
Haqani stood behind Latif. I looked over my shoulder, and Imy was stationed behind me. They could make eyes at each other for all I cared. I wanted to say my piece, hear his, and then walk away leaving him to put his kids to bed.
Latif looked as uncomfortable as I was, but more from nerves than anything else. He sat right at the edge of the chair, his small hands wringing in his lap.
‘Haqani,’ Latif said, without looking at him. ‘Will you arrange refreshments for our…’ he searched for the right words, before landing on, ‘guests?’
‘No, that’s fine. We’re fine,’ I said, even though refreshments were exactly what I needed.
Latif nodded, and we both waited for the other to speak and then started to speak at the same time.
‘Please,’ I said. ‘You go first.’
‘Very well,’ he said. ‘News reached me about the terrible business in Khyber Pakhtunkhwa Camp. Very distressing indeed.’ Latif placed a hand to his heart. ‘Mustafa was a loyal servant; his loss will be greatly felt. However, Javid, you must understand, I am no longer involved.’
Not very nice to start with a lie.
This seemed very much like a with all due respect moment.
‘With all due respect, Latif, you know about Mustafa, and according to your message, you know that I’m in danger, so, please, don’t tell me you’re not involved.’
I tried to say it passively, and Latif didn’t seem to take offence. But over his shoulder Haqani looked at me as if to say, careful.
‘Remnants, Javid. That’s all. Information passes through me and largely it goes without my attention. On this, however, I had to intervene, out of courtesy for who you are, for what Bin Jabbar meant to me. When news came to me that you were in the country I had to look my son and daughter in the eyes and determine how my intervention would affect them. Do you understand, Javid?’ Latif’s voice rose a touch. Behind him, Haqani poured a glass of water from a tall bottle and handed it to him. Latif took a small sip and placed the glass on the table between us. ‘I beg you, Javid, do not let this courtesy become a burden.’
‘I just want to know where he is,’ I said, softly.
Latif removed his glasses and ran a hand over his face, stopping only to massage his forehead with his eyes squeezed shut. I understood I had him in a corner, his loyalty to my dad split with protecting his children.
‘I have something for you,’ Latif said, sidestepping my question. He signalled for Haqani to leave the room. We sat in silence, with my question still floating in the air. Haqani returned carrying Imy’s travel holdall in one hand and pulling my trolley with the pink ribbon intact in the other.
Latif cleaned and slipped on his glasses. ‘I had your luggage transported across the border.’
My heart dropped a couple of notches. ‘I wasn’t expecting to see our bags again.’
‘It was reckless for you to leave them behind,’ Latif added.
‘To be fair,’ I smiled, ‘we were running for our lives.’
‘And again at the market,’ Latif said, trying to hammer home the point. ‘It seems that you caused quite the commotion.’ He leaned back in his big fuck-off chair and crossed his spindly legs. A little more assured now. ‘You really ought to be more careful.’
It’s the way he said it. It seemed like something had changed.
Haqani retook his position behind Latif. His face a little harder than his default hardness, and I wondered if when he’d popped out to get our luggage, he’d come back armed. I ran my eyes over him but couldn’t tell from all the loose material of his kurta. My brain ticked quickly and I struggled to catch up. The change in Latif’s tone, less conversational, more cautionary. Haqani stared at me without expression, his fingers loose and relaxed by his side. The luggage, our only belongings, were here. With us. All in one place.
Did Latif know, despite his protests, that we would track him down? Did that mean what I thought it meant? Because it was starting to look like Latif wanted to make us disappear along with our belongings.
As if we were never there.
Chapter 64
Imy
Jay twisted in his chair, turning his back on Latif and Haqani and looking over his shoulder at me. ‘We’ve got our luggage back. Pretty cool, huh?’ he said, casually, but at the same time he threw me a look that expressed what I was thinking.
I know, Jay. Just turn back around and be calm.
I watched Haqani for the smallest of movements. He mirrored my look, his eyes trailed down my arm which was slowly moving behind me, ready to lift the tail of my shirt and release the gun from my waistband. From the corner of my eye I noticed Jay slouch down slightly in his chair. Latif’s mouth opened and closed as his gaze moved from me to Jay and then back to me.
No secrets. No turning back. Everyone present had the measure of the room. The only sounds were the muted laughter and high-pitched voices of Latif’s children from above us.
Haqani moved first and he was quick.
My fingers brushed the handle of the gun before they wrapped around it. I released it smoothly from my waist and my arm tracked Haqani.
He took two steps forward, his leg knocking onto the small table and sending the glass of water smashing onto the hardwood floor. The sound reverberated around the room. I flicked the safety and pointed the gun square at Haqani’s chest.
‘Drop it,’ I said, as he held a small pencil knife under Jay’s chin.
‘You drop,’ Haqani said.
‘Haqani!’ Latif snapped.
Haqani moved the knife away immediately. He backtracked and returned sentry behind Latif. I wasn’t going to relinquish my position as easily.
Latif puffed his cheeks out. ‘What is the meaning of this?’
‘You knew we would come to you,’ I said.
‘You think I want you here?’ Latif replied, his voice pained. ‘Here! Near my children! You think I want this?’
‘You have our bags. You damn well knew we would find you.’
‘The bags?’ Latif pushed his glasses back up his nose and took a moment to consider it. ‘Is that what this is about? You think we were going to… Eliminate you? And remove any trace of you? This! This is your line of thinking? Please put down the gun and let me explain.’
I shook my head. ‘Explain first.’
‘After I learnt news of Mustafa’s death, the very first thing I did was to remove any sign that either of you were there. If your belongings were found at the scene, believe me, my hot-headed young Brother, the police would be looking to pin the murder on your head. I had the bags transported here as a matter of urgency. I didn’t believe for a second that you would find me and turn my world upside down.’ Latif turned his head a quarter-turn towards Haqani. ‘You should never have brought them to my door.’
Jay finally lifted his head above the parapet and straightened up in his seat. He got up and stood by me. ‘It’s cool,’ he said gently. ‘It makes sense.’ He placed his hand on my arm, and I lowered the gun. Jay breathed a sigh of relief before turning to face Latif and Haqani. ‘Talk about misreading the situation!’ He laughed nervously. ‘It’s all good. We all good, right?’
‘Under no circumstance will I allow a gun in my home.’
Jay nodded his head enthusiastically. ‘Of course, Latif, your home, your rules, and can I say, it’s a great rule!’ Jay made a show of putting his hand out towards me. I stood my ground. ‘Come on, Imy. There’s kids here. Let’s lose the gun, shall we?’
‘It stays with me.’
‘So be it.’ Latif got to his feet. ‘Please leave my home and my family in peace.’
I wanted to grab Jay by the scruff of the
neck and march him the hell out of there.
‘No, no, no.’ Jay plastered a desperate smile on his face. ‘Nothing has happened, nobody got hurt. It’s just a misunderstanding, yeah. Seriously, can we all just calm down?’ He turned back to me, a tight smile to pacify, but I could see his frustration hitting boiling point. ‘Imy, give me the gun!’
‘No. We’re going,’ I said. ‘I don’t trust them.’
‘You wanna go, then fucking go!’ he hissed. ‘This has nothing to do with you.’
His breaths came heavy, as heavy as the words that sat between us. He puffed his chest and bore his eyes into me, standing by his every word. He had come this far and he knew he could find his father without me.
But I could never find Bin Jabbar without him.
I gave up my gun.
Jay would soon know that, despite his words, this had everything to do with me.
Haqani led us through a large modern kitchen, rounding the ivory marble island to a door on the far side. He pushed it open and stood to one side. I peered in, I could sense Jay doing the same over my shoulder. The room was similar in size and shape to a second lounge, and it was in the latter process of being converted. Two La-Z-Boy armchairs, still sealed within protective plastic speckled in paint, pointed towards a large flat screen. Beside the TV was a still-boxed PlayStation console. The walls had been primed, and there were small brush strokes of bright colours – pink, blue and yellow – as if a colour scheme had yet to be determined. It looked very much as though this room was on its way to becoming a spot for his children.
‘Go, go,’ Haqani gestured. ‘Room no bite.’
My eyes dropped instinctively to the key in the lock on the outside. I stepped into the room. Jay followed pulling his trolley behind him.
‘Still work to be done, but you be relaxed here, yes?’ Haqani said. ‘Latif bhai make telephone calls to help you. You rest, sleep.’ He pointed at a small basin in the corner of the room. ‘You can wash there for prayers.’
That wasn’t going to be happening.
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