Ride or Die

by Khurrum Rahman

  It was time. I squeezed my eyes shut and saw Mum. I held onto her as long and hard as I could.

  Around me, the atmosphere had changed. An eerie silence broken only by the sound of a squeaky wheel moving closer and closer and closer until it came to a stop somewhere in front of me.

  Latif was back on me, recomposed after the punch I had delivered, ready to deliver one of his own. His tone a furious whisper.

  ‘I want him to recognise that unlike Ghurfat-al-Mudarris, Al-Muhaymin has no place for sentiment. I want him to recognise that Al-Muhaymin has no place for weakness.’

  I opened my eyes and they adjusted to the figure in front of me. I blinked again. Slowly. Dreamlike. The tears that I’d tried so desperately to hold back raced down my face.

  In front of me was a shadow of who my father once was.

  Confined to a wheelchair and broken beyond repair.

  Chapter 69

  Imy

  I estimated that we were approximately twenty minutes behind Jay and Latif. Despite the urgency I ensured Haqani kept to the speed limits as I’d figured that Latif would have done the same, in fear of being pulled over and the police discovering a hostage.

  Haqani kept tight to the border and around the four-hour mark, as night gave way to dawn, we drove on the outskirts of seemingly untouched green land within the Laghman Province. It was an area that I had never seen before but I knew we were deep in Taliban territory.

  The geography made me wonder.

  When Ghurfat-al-Mudarris was at its inception phase, it had received the attentions of al-Qaeda. Though their directives and methodology were at odds, they shared the same objective. Al-Qaeda lent support initially by sharing ground and facilities with Ghurfat-al-Mudarris, before they grew and were able to stand on their own.

  Al-Muhaymin were currently at a similar state and stage. External funding for the splinter cell would be an issue, a risk in light of recent events surrounding Bin Jabbar. They would require the support of an existing network. There was a real possibility that support for Al-Muhaymin was being provided by the Taliban. If that was true, I dared to believe that the Taliban had provided Al-Muhaymin passage, and a safe haven for Abdul Bin Jabbar.

  I dared to believe I was close.

  Chapter 70

  Jay

  I knew he’d suffered badly. But my mind could never go there.

  Now, in my eyes, the horror was complete, and I was unable to turn away. I couldn’t even blink, I had to take him while I still could and search for a part of me in him.

  His body slack and lifeless, his clothes hanging off his skeletal frame. The skin on his face was burnt and tightly stretched. A grey threadbare blanket was placed over his lap, below it his feet pointed inward on the metal foot rest. His head was tilted to one side and his mouth was flopped open. I remembered the last words he’d said to me, to anyone.

  It was always going to end this way.

  The only life that was left in him was in his eyes. And his eyes were on me.

  This didn’t change a fucking thing! I found the resolve to snatch my eyes away from my evil fuck of a father. Latif had moved behind the camera and was recording every fucking emotion in my face. I wouldn’t give him any more.

  My hands were free, but heavy hands on my shoulders held me down. The six men had moved closer towards me, and six guns were pointing at me. I nodded. Defeated. It was my time. But it wasn’t to happen in the way I’d expected.

  A noose was looped over my head and I didn’t fight it.

  It was tightened around my throat and I didn’t fight it.

  Fuck Latif if he thought I was going to let him capture my struggle. Fuck him if he thought I was going to let my dad see me suffering. I would not allow him to see me beg for my life.

  I looked past them all, past the camera, past Latif, past my father, searching for something real to focus on. The green rolling hills in the distance. Pure and beautiful. I took a breath that I’d never taken before and wouldn’t take again and watched as a burning car rolled down the hill.

  Chapter 71

  Imy

  On my instruction Haqani stopped at the foot of the rolling green hills, vast with a gradual incline. I met his eyes in the rear-view mirror and noticed something close to victory in them.

  ‘Where is he?’ I asked.

  ‘On other side. Follow track, two, two and half kilometres.’

  ‘No,’ I said, eyeing up the hill. ‘We go up.’

  Haqani snorted.

  I was asking the Honda hatchback to go beyond its capabilities. With no knowledge of what lay on the other side of the hill, height advantage was all I had.

  ‘Reverse,’ I said. Bemused, but with my gun dictating, Haqani reversed the car. ‘That’s enough,’ I said, eyeing up the thirty-yard run. From this vantage point I took another measure of the hill; the climb looked aggressive. ‘Get the car into third gear as soon as you can and hold it there. When you hit the hill, drive in a horizontal incline and keep your speed steady.’

  So there was no mistaking my intention I clicked the safety off the gun close to his ear.

  Haqani shook his head as he pulled the seatbelt across. I did the same. He slipped the car into gear, but before setting off, he locked eyes with me in the mirror. ‘You risk your life? For Javid?’ he asked, his eyebrows knitted, as if he genuinely needed to know.

  ‘I’m not doing it for him,’ I said. ‘Now drive.’

  The mud kicked up underneath the tyres, as Haqani moved through the gears quickly into third. The car was already whining as we picked up speed, begging to be released from the constraints of third gear. We hit the hill with a thump. The wheels crouched and the chassis rattled as we climbed. Behind me, black smoke billowed out of the exhaust. I glanced out of the window, the car was nearly at a forty-five-degree angle. Any hidden obstruction in our path and it would topple back the way we’d come. The Honda kept on going; slowly but surely, it climbed.

  ‘Slow down gradually and stop at the top.’

  Haqani pulled up at the peak and wrenched up the handbrake. I heard him hiss quietly in discomfort, the effort of driving the car up the hill had agitated the tourniquet around his leg, the gunshot wound had reopened and coloured his shalwar dark red. Haqani massaged his thigh with his fingertips, but he was bleeding out heavily. In defiance of the pain, Haqani focused on evening his breathing, but there would be no let-up.

  I placed the gun by my side and picked up the length of rope. In one quick movement I looped it around his chest and arms and pulled back hard.

  Haqani thrashed wildly in his seat and grunted through his teeth. He threw his body forward hard enough that the momentum pushed my face into the back of his seat. The car rocked from side to side, threatening to upturn and send us spiralling. My eyes darted to the gun sitting beside me but using the gun would announce my arrival to those below. Haqani reached low and pulled the seat lever and slid back hard, trapping my legs between the seats. I leaned back hard, twisting the rope around my fist and I pulled with every ounce of energy I had.

  I felt Haqani weaken, his breaths coming ragged and hoarse as his body finally slackened.

  Before he could get a second wind I looped the rope around him a second time, before tying it into a constricting knot. Haqani dropped his head, his hair escaped from his hat and curtained his face.

  I pushed down the passenger seat and pushed open the door. I practically fell out of the car. I stood bent at the waist, panting as I looked down from the peak of the hill. I was unable to make out anything except that it was around a one-kilometre drop.

  I straightened up and rounded the car. From the trunk I removed the Go-Bag. At the peak of the hill, I stamped at the long grass so that I had a flat twelve-inch square area. I removed the sniper rifle, slotted it onto the bi-fold legs and steadied it on the surface that I’d prepared.

  I lay flat on my stomach and put my right eye to the telescopic sight. A small robin came into the crosshair, its red chest a stark contrast
to the green hill opposite the one that it sat atop. I angled the rifle on its axis thirty degrees lower and peered through the scope. Cartoon sharks circling palm trees on light blue linen came into view. I turned the dial on the scope anti-clockwise decreasing the magnification. Jay was sitting in a chair, I could see the red in his eyes, the tears streaking down his cheeks. Behind him stood a well-built man, his face covered in a balaclava. He held a machete low by his leg.

  I angled the rifle thirty degrees lower so it was parallel to the decline of the hill. At the foot stood six men dressed top to toe in black, lined up six feet apart and stock still. They were all cradling assault rifles. I could take one of them out from this distance without hesitation, but I wasn’t ready to give away my position yet.

  In between the six men and Jay I recognised Latif’s small figure. He was leaning over a mounted video camera. To the side of the camera was a frail man hunched in a wheelchair. I adjusted the sight a fraction and the side of his burnt face came into view.

  I watched him carefully, everything and everyone around him melted away into nothing. I studied every scar, sear and burn on his face. I’d never met him before, but I was in no doubt, in my crosshairs was the man I had once worshipped, the man that the world knew as The Teacher.

  Time slowed and then time stopped.

  A feeling from within clawed at my insides, threatening to slice me open and burst through to the surface. My finger found the trigger and sat firm against it. A touch and he would be gone. I’d walk away, never to be seen again.

  It wasn’t enough. I needed more. I needed him to look me in the eye and recognise the hurt before I unloaded my all rage into him.

  I took a breath. My finger relaxed away from the trigger and I moved the sight away. It landed back on Jay. A noose was being placed around his neck.

  Time started again.

  I scrambled through the Go-Bag, picking out a zippo lighter from one of the front pockets, and liquid paraffin in another. The Honda was sitting still at the peak of the hill. I rushed across to the car and flung open the door. Exhaustion and heavy bleeding had rendered Haqani unconscious. I flicked the lid off the paraffin and doused the seats of the car, before emptying the last of it over Haqani.

  He stirred, opened his eyes. Unable to admit defeat, he growled from underneath his hair, ‘I will send your family a video of your beheading.’

  I flicked the lighter, the flame catching reflection in his eyes, and lobbed it onto his lap. I released the handbrake, as the cotton quickly caught alight. I gripped the doorframe and helped the Honda along.

  Haqani’s desperate cries mixed in with the crackle of the fire consuming the interior of the car as it made its descent down the hill.

  I rushed back to my station and watched through the sight. Jay was suspended six feet in the air. His leg flailing and his hands ripping at the noose around his throat. I adjusted the scope. It was near a 1km shot, thankfully, there was little to no crosswind. I willed my body to be still and held in a deep breath and counted three in my head.

  It was time to put Jay out of his misery.

  Chapter 72

  Jay

  I felt light. As though my soul had already left me. My hands scratched at my throat. Fingers clawing and prying hopelessly at the noose flush around my neck. The white stars were back and there were many of them. I could feel my eyes bulging, popping out of my eye sockets as I chased but failed to catch a breath. I fought unconsciousness with everything I had and for as long as I could, but it was coming. I could fucking feel it.

  I waited. Looking down through slits. Below, my Jordans furiously trod air. Past them I could see black-masked faces looking up at me. I could see my dad, his eyes on me. I pleaded silently to him, get the fuck up, do something, say something. Fucking help me, please!

  From somewhere in my peripheral vision, our little red Honda continued to grumble down the hill. Too late. Even from the distance and my fading state I heard the muffled explosion as the fire reached the fuel tank, the windows shattering, body panels being ripped away.

  Through heavy eyes I watched masked faces turn away from me. Confusion and barked instructions and then bodies scattering towards the fireball on wheels. Leaving only my dad with me.

  Heavy now, my head dipped. My chin rested on my collar bone. My body swayed gently. I don’t know when I stopped struggling.

  I felt the bullet a second after a prayer left my lips. It whizzed over my head and caught the rope above me. It wasn’t a clean hit, and my body tilted as the rope tethered. I threw up in my mouth as a second shot hit the rope clean and I was in free fall. The ground rushed up at me so quickly that I didn’t have time to change my position and somehow my arm took my body weight.

  Biting back the pain shooting up across my shoulder, I viciously pulled at the noose, managing to get my fingers in and pry the thick rope away from my throat. I scrambled it over my head and threw it as far as I could as though it was a venomous snake.

  I rolled onto my back and searched desperately for that long overdue breath. It caught somewhere in my throat as I looked up to see Balaclava standing over me.

  C’mon, man! Cut me a fucking break.

  Toe to toe, Balaclava was head and shoulders above me, but from my position on my back he looked like a masked fucking giant. The sun caught the machete as he raised it above his head ready to strike down upon me.

  I squeezed my eyes shut as two bullets whistled past me. I felt a warm spurt on my face. I opened my eyes to see Balaclava staggering over me like a piss-head, a bloody hole in his chest and another hole torn in his mask. He dropped like a fucking tree and I rolled away before he collapsed on me, and finally I took the breath of a newborn.

  With limited medical knowledge, I pushed my leg out and poked his ribs with the toe of my shoe. Satisfied that he wasn’t getting up, I crawled over and patted his dead body and retrieved my phone that he had jacked. I stared at the gun in his holster and took a second to decide, I’m fucking having that, too.

  I turned it around in my hand, trying to suss it out. I know very little about guns. But I know a little. This one was a Desert Eagle semi-automatic handgun and all I needed to know was where the safety was and if I had it in me to pull the trigger.

  I held it close to my chest and moved away on my haunches, keeping myself as small a target as possible. I found refuge behind the tree I’d just been hanging from. The six Jihadis at the foot of the hill were fully distracted by the burning Honda careening down towards them, as though the Devil himself was laughing behind the wheel. They fired blindly, the sounds of their AK assault rifles relentless as they ripped holes and kicked up grass and earth. Unable to find the threat they scattered in different directions looking for cover that they would not reach.

  Six shots, equally spaced out. Six composed shots, whistling down from somewhere above where my eyes couldn’t reach. Six fucking shots is what it took, and I watched six of them drop one at a time.

  It took a moment for my ears to stop ringing and tune in to the growl of a diesel engine. Latif wasn’t sticking around, he’d used the distraction of death to make his escape. I swung the gun and pointed at the moving Q7. My finger stroked the trigger. Latif’s son and daughter decided, at that very moment, to pop into my head. I recalled how they giggled behind their hands.

  J. That’s not a name. That’s a letter.

  It couldn’t be me that took away their father. I couldn’t have that shit hanging over me.

  The gun suddenly felt heavy, forcing my arm down, answering the question I’d asked myself. Maybe I didn’t have it in me to pull the trigger. To take a life.

  I watched Latif disappear just as our little red Honda reached even ground. It’d lost some of its momentum but it burned brightly and roared loudly. It slowed down and came to a natural stop as if recognising its part in this was complete.

  I searched for my dad. Dust and dirt swirled in front of him before dissipating and revealing him unmoved in his wheelchair.


  It was just me and him. And I couldn’t figure out my fucking reaction.

  I felt anger, I felt love. I felt like screaming and crying. I had to work pretty fucking hard to shut down every contradictory emotion, because it wasn’t over yet. And I had to be quick.

  Imy would have made the call to Teddy Lawrence, and any minute coalition forces would turn up in their big helicopters with their big guns ready to take away the most wanted man in the world. Hide him away from the world. From me.

  I couldn’t accept that. I couldn’t let it happen again. No longer was I MI5’s puppet to be used as they pleased. I’ve come too fucking far. They can’t shut me down.

  The world needed the truth and I was going to deliver it to them.

  I slipped out my phone and opened up the BBC news app. I glanced down the latest headlines and memorised whatever I could before switching to the camera app. I flipped to video mode.

  Before starting, I looked up towards the hill. I could see the peak but I couldn’t see from this distance if Imy had started to make his way down. I had time.

  I pointed my phone at my dad and he came softly into focus, his eyes beckoning me to him. I pressed the red button and started recording.

  ‘The, uh… date is December 20th 2018.’ I cleared my throat. ‘The EU are offering Theresa May a delay on Brexit. Uh… Facebook accused of cashing in on user data… There is drone chaos at Gatwick Airport… Trump announces he’ll pull US troops out of Syria.’

  It wasn’t exactly a newspaper with today’s date sitting on his lap, but it was close enough to validate the timing and authenticity of the video. I pinched the screen and zoomed in. My heart fucking dropped as his gormless form filled the screen. I held it for a moment, taking him in through my camera. Despite his pathetic state, I think his eyes were smiling. I had to hold it the fuck together. I took a breath and exhaled loudly.

  ‘The man that you are looking at goes by the name of The Teacher, AKA Al-Mudarris, AKA Abdul Bin Jabbar. The world presumes him dead, he’s not. Abdul Bin Jabbar is alive.’