Homegrown Hero Page 11

  I glanced out of the window‚ searching for something visual to stop my mind from picturing it.

  ‘The men responsible for these attacks have both been captured. Both cleanskins. Not on any watchlist‚ no priors and no history of any suspect travel. But… when questioned they both uttered the same phrase. One that you’re familiar with.’

  Yeah‚ I was very aware of that phrase‚ it was one that had been hammered into me when I played jihadi amongst the mountains of Khyber Pakhtunkhwa. The Teacher did not believe in the act of taking one’s own life. They never used suicide bombers; instead it was by means of guns‚ IEDs‚ car bombs and other tools of death and carnage. A soldier that fought for The Cause wearing a suicide vest would contradict the teaching of Ghurfat-al-Mudarris.

  Life is a gift. Leave no man behind.

  Lawrence took a sip of his coffee and eyed me over the rim. He’d played his hand without actually telling me what he wanted from me‚ but‚ in spite of what my school report card had alluded to‚ I ain’t stupid. Lawrence believed that The Teacher would resurface for one reason only.

  That reason being me. His son.

  Should I go back‚ just so he could pop his head out‚ just for it be taken clean off by a sneaky fucking shot?

  It’s probably what my father deserved.

  ‘Robinson‚’ I said. ‘He sent you?’

  John Robinson‚ Counter Terrorism‚ ruthless fucker. He who had sent me packing despite what I had given them. He’d never liked me‚ couldn’t suss me out. It didn’t matter. I didn’t like him either.

  ‘Robinson doesn’t know I’m here.’ Lawrence leaned in. ‘He has his own ideas which I don’t entirely agree with. But if you agree to this I can go over his head.’

  I stood up calmly and for the third and final time‚ I said‚ ‘The answer is no.’

  23

  Imy

  I waited for the bemused neighbour‚ Mr Tamir‚ to vacate the parking spot. He clearly wasn’t happy at being ordered to move his car‚ especially as there were no obvious spaces‚ but he agreed without voicing his annoyance. Whilst I waited‚ Rocket Rafi let himself into the passenger’s seat and messed with the volume on my stereo.

  ‘Your speakers are weak‚ Blud!’ Rafi said‚ as he turned the sound right the way up.

  ‘Leave it.’ I clicked off the stereo. I could see his head turned towards me‚ taking my measure.

  ‘It’s gonna be sick‚ yeah?’ he said.

  I glanced through the windscreen‚ Mr Tamir was slowly shifting his car back and forth trying to manoeuvre out.

  ‘The attack‚ innit‚’ Rafi continued. ‘It’s gonna be sick. One day I’m going to do something‚ yeah. Like you.’

  I turned towards him‚ his eyes were wide and wild‚ as though he was counting down the days until he would be unleashed. It saddened me. I wondered if‚ like me‚ that passion would one day be replaced by something else.

  Mr Tamir moved away and I finally managed to reverse park into the tight spot with Asif guiding me and whacking his hand on the roof every time my car got too close to another.

  I removed my shoes in the porch and walked into their house. I followed Asif through the gloomy hallway. Islamic art hung above a rusty radiator‚ which I recognised as the Ayut-al-Kursi. It was a prayer that I had once committed to heart‚ but now would struggle to recite. The Arabic was written beautifully in swirling calligraphy and engraved in wood. I stopped to read it.

  I felt Saheed Kabir’s stomach in the small of my back before I felt his hand clap heavily on my shoulder.

  ‘There is no God but He – the Living‚ the Self-subsisting‚ Eternal‚’ Kabir translated. ‘His are all things in the heavens and on earth. Who is there that can intercede in His presence?’

  Kabir nodded respectfully at the prayer‚ then held up a small see-through plastic bag spotted from the inside with blood. He smiled. ‘Best lamb chops in Blackburn‚ Brother.’

  He introduced himself to me as we shook hands‚ and he ushered me into the living room. Two women immediately shot up from the sofa and rushed away.

  Kabir was a big man‚ frighteningly obese. He lowered his frame onto the middle of the sofa and motioned for me to sit adjacent to him on the armchair. Rafi came bursting into the room and at speed leapt into Kabir’s lap‚ his stomach comfortably taking the brunt of the impact. Their laugh echoed around the room. ‘This is my youngest‚ Rafi.’

  ‘Yes‚ sir‚’ I said‚ keeping in line with the respect that is afforded to elders. ‘We’ve met.’

  ‘Abu‚ did you buy me the football cards?’ Rafi asked‚ his voice sickly sweet‚ at odds with the caricature that I had earlier met.

  ‘I knew I had forgotten something‚ Beta‚’ Kabir said.

  Rafi frowned. ‘It’s okay‚ Abu.’

  Kabir smiled and nodded towards the top pocket of his kameez. Rafi’s face lit up as he snaked a hand into his father’s pocket and emerged with two packets of Match Attack Cards. Rocket‚ as he liked to be called‚ peppered his father with kisses before dismounting from his lap.

  ‘I’m going upstairs to do my homework now‚ Abu‚’ he cooed.

  ‘Prayers first‚ Rafi‚’ Kabir playfully chided.

  Rafi skipped out of the living room‚ looking far removed from the hard-man image he’d desperately tried to portray to me.

  ‘You were late‚ Brother Imran.’ Kabir turned his attention back to me. ‘I believe the message was sent to you yesterday.’ He smiled brightly as he said it‚ I could tell that he was a good father‚ the kind of man that was everybody’s favourite uncle.

  ‘I’m sorry‚ sir. I only received it this morning and I came straight away‚’ I said‚ as my mind raced back to proposing to Stephanie. Was that only last night? I cleared my throat. ‘May I ask who gave the order?’

  It wasn’t a question that he would have been asked before.

  He held my gaze for a moment. ‘You ask this question‚ why?’

  ‘I have to speak with them.’ I forced my hands to stay placed on the arms of the chair when the nape of my neck was begging to be scratched. ‘Can you put me in touch?’

  ‘Many times the package changes hands before it arrives at my doorstep. I wouldn’t know who has given the order and‚ young Brother‚ I don’t need to know. I am blind to The Cause. As should you be.’ He paused. ‘I will ask you this only once: is there a problem?’

  I should have realised that Kabir was a middle man. He couldn’t help me. ‘No.’ I said. ‘No problem.’

  ‘Very well.’ Kabir nodded slowly and his smile returned. ‘But I can say this: you won’t be alone.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘You missed our other guest. He too picked up his package.’ His smile wavered. ‘Strange character‚ if I may be so bold. Not much for socialising.’ He rubbed his chin. ‘Very unsettling individual.’

  I felt myself sinking into the armchair‚ as a shiver swept through my body. I had an idea who Kabir was referring to. Somebody who I had huge love and respect for. He had turned a lost angry boy into a man. A jihadi. Giving my life a purpose before sending me out on my own to a strange land. I remember clearly his last words to me:

  Be patient‚ Imran. Keep your emotion and your anger buried deep within you. Your time will come‚ Inshallah.

  And I had. Buried my anger so deep that it was no longer anywhere to be found. I wondered if whether‚ when we crossed paths again‚ he would notice that the fight in my eyes had disappeared.

  He was the one that I had to talk to. He was also the one that would never understand.

  ‘Brother‚ your package is waiting‚’ Kabir said‚ and nodded at Asif who had entered the room. ‘This is my eldest‚ Asif. One day‚ Inshallah‚ he too shall do something worthy for The Cause.’

  ‘I’ll be ready when the time comes‚ Abu‚’ Asif declared.

  ‘Mashallah. For now‚ he will take you to pick up your package.’

  I stood up. Kabir stood up too but it took him a
while longer and pride made him wave away help from his son. He walked me out of the house with a heavy arm across my shoulder.

  ‘It is not my business what is inside the package‚ our duty is to keep it safe until it is collected‚’ Kabir said. ‘Whatever it is that you are going to do‚ do it with Allah in your heart and Inshallah‚ Brother‚ you can only succeed.’ He kissed me on both cheeks and whispered the Ayut-al-Kursi in my ear.

  *

  The package wasn’t far so we walked. Asif bopped and bounced‚ stopping to say a respectful Salaam to an elder‚ a fist bump to a youth‚ or a polite nod to any Burka-wearing women. He was the man around these ways‚ and he was enjoying showing just that.

  ‘See this newsagents‚ right here.’ He pointed‚ as we walked past a parade of shops. ‘Owned by a Kafir. The only Kafir on the street‚ trust me‚ Fam. He’s been here for time! Gotta respect him though. We tried everything to get shot of him‚ even smashed that place up a couple of times. He’s been threatened too‚ by some hard-hitting Brothers. We poisoned his dog once‚’ he laughed‚ ‘but the little bitch was as tough as his owner.’

  I glanced into the shop as we walked past it. A short‚ white‚ balding man with round spectacles sat proudly behind the counter in an empty shop.

  ‘Yeah‚’ Asif smiled. ‘Boycotted that fucker‚ too.’

  We passed two halal butchers‚ located directly next to each other‚ both packed‚ and then a large Mosque. It should have looked alien‚ situated between a row of terraced houses on either side‚ but it fit‚ standing high above everything else‚ the minaret shining between tall slender towers.

  ‘This is the main Mosque‚ but it’s not our kind of place‚ you get me‚ Fam.’ He side-smiled at me. ‘C’mon‚ let’s cross over.’ He stepped out onto the road without checking for oncoming traffic‚ his hand out indicating priority‚ and swanned across the street as if he owned it. We stopped at a shoddy‚ brick-built‚ double-fronted building.

  ‘Time back‚ this used to be a pub‚’ Asif said‚ sweeping his hand over it. If it wasn’t for all the Muslims milling about‚ talking in hushed tones‚ peering blatantly at the new face amongst them‚ it would have still looked like a pub. ‘We gutted it out‚ took one of those high pressured jet washers and rinsed the hell out of it. Took weeks to dry‚ but it got rid of the smell of booze and Kafirs.’

  We removed our shoes and Asif led me inside the hastily-converted Masjid. There were no bookshelves‚ nor any Islamic literature. The lighting above was out. Instead the light was provided by floor lamps‚ whose yellow glare lent the room a sinister feel. The floor was without prayer carpets‚ in their place was random patterned bed sheets and throws. A crudely-drawn arrow on the far side of the wall indicated the direction to Mecca.

  ‘It needs work‚’ he whispered over my shoulder‚ ensuring that he didn’t disturb the few that were praying. ‘We’re raising money but it’s difficult. Most Brothers are dedicated to the bigger Mosque across the road‚ and any money we do raise goes towards The Cause.’

  Asif sat down and motioned for me to follow. He took out his phone and silenced it and then typed out a text message. A minute or two later a tall‚ well-built man with a wild‚ straggly beard entered the prayer area. He stood to one side and waited for those few who were praying to finish‚ and then one by one whispered in their ears and they all left the room without question‚ until only the three of us remained.

  ‘Zahid‚’ Asif said. ‘Lock up.’

  Zahid walked out and I could hear the always-open doors of a Mosque being closed and locked. It was clear from the off that this wasn’t a normal Masjid‚ and the worshippers were not your typical peaceful‚ religion-abiding citizens. The whole set up was geared for and towards The Cause; it had all the concealed markings of Ghurfat-al-Mudarris sympathisers.

  ‘Is it ready?’ Asif asked. Zahid glanced at me before nodding. ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’

  Left alone‚ sat on the cold hard floor‚ I checked my phone. It had registered a couple of missed calls from Kumar‚ and a recent innocuous text from Stephanie which put my mind a little at rest. I slipped my phone away as Asif came back into the room. He was carrying a black briefcase‚ formed of hard‚ ribbed plastic. He placed it in front of me.

  ‘Mashallah‚ Brother Imran‚’ he said with a change of tone‚ now righteous. ‘I am privileged to be a small part of your jihad. Inshallah‚ I too will soon be in a position to carry out Allah’s work.’

  I looked down at the briefcase‚ unable to bring myself to touch it. I could feel his eyes on me‚ waiting for a reaction. I smiled; it was forced.

  ‘Whatever is in there‚ Brother‚ may it bring us success.’ He glanced at the wall clock. ‘Let us pray.’

  Asif took position facing Mecca. I stood up and joined him. On the floor beside me lay the case. Without having had a chance to investigate it‚ I knew that it had thick‚ reinforced walls and high-density pick and pluck foam interior. Externally‚ four heavy duty hinges and six dual stage latches‚ with a gripped extendable carry handle and travel wheels.

  A case designed to carry a high powered handgun.

  I snatched my eyes away from it and for the first time in twenty years I bowed my head and I prayed to Allah‚ whose help I now craved.

  24

  Jay

  Honestly‚ I didn’t care if I’d thrown a spanner in MI5’s plans. My life was on track and chugging away gently through the boring countryside‚ with nothing to see. The last thing I needed was for it to derail.

  Teddy Lawrence was a piece of work. I hadn’t seen him since the Boxing Day disaster and in he swans‚ la-di-fucking-da‚ back into my life with a smile on his face and the balls to ask me back into the fold. As far as I was concerned I had gone above and beyond the call of duty‚ did what I was told to do‚ and did a fucking good job of it too. It was no longer my problem that they still hadn’t captured Bin Jabbar. All the intelligence in the world at their disposal and they want me to entice him out.

  There’s no fucking way I’m playing bait‚ regardless of the prize.

  I drove away‚ leaving both Slough and Lawrence in my rear-view mirror. I still had the afternoon to kill‚ and now more than ever I craved normality. I headed home‚ only stopping at the corner shop to pick up some over-priced cleaning products. Once I got started I found myself moving swiftly but meticulously from room to room. My mind focused solely on the job ahead. I vacuumed‚ dusted‚ polished‚ vanished and banished all signs of a lazily-led life. The house hadn’t sparkled like this since Mum had moved out. I took pictures so I could show her that I’d become a domestic God.

  I was on a roll and feeling good. My Beemer was due a service‚ so feeling pretty pleased with my work rate‚ I decided that I may as well get that done too. I wheeled it into Southall‚ left it with my trusty mechanic and went shopping for a gift for Mum. The spring in my step was back‚ my mind clear‚ my senses full of the colourful smell of food‚ the incessant chatter and the barrage of cars honking down Southall Broadway‚ as I dipped in and out of the many fabric shops‚ eventually settling on a beautiful maroon silk shawl. I picked up my Beemer from the garage and then treated it to an inside & out car wash.

  Not once did I let the bad stuff cross my mind.

  Idris called‚ asked me if I was in the area‚ hoping to scrounge a ride home. It was early evening and I was exhausted‚ but eager to keep the day going‚ so I said I’d swing by and pick him up from the station after his shift.

  ‘Five-a-side tonight‚’ he said‚ as we headed towards his house. ‘Don’t forget.’

  ‘I can’t tonight‚’ I said‚

  ‘I expect you to pick me up at quarter to eight. Don’t be late‚’ he said‚ ignoring me.

  ‘Why am I always picking your ass up and dropping your ass home?’ I said‚ as I pulled up outside his house and killed the engine.

  ‘Cos you got the motor‚’ he said‚ gesticulating his hands around my car like a magician
. ‘Don’t be late!’

  ‘Seriously‚ I can’t play tonight. I’ve got a flight to catch tomorrow.’

  ‘Oh shit‚ Qatar! Is that tomorrow? Make sure you give your Mum a kiss from me.’

  ‘I’ll tell her you said hello‚’ I said‚ making a face.

  ‘When are you back?’

  ‘Fourteen nights and fifteen days.’

  ‘Why couldn’t you just say two weeks?’

  I shrugged‚ reached into the back seat and brought forward a plastic bag. I pulled out the maroon silk shawl.

  ‘I got this for Mum. What do you think?

  ‘Yeah‚ very nice. Will you tell her it’s from both of us?’

  ‘No.’

  He let himself out of the car. I started the engine. He knocked on the passenger side window. I slid it down.

  ‘What now?’ I said. I could tell from the expression on his face that he wanted to say something soppy and meaningful like after all you’ve been through‚ you deserve a holiday. But he knew better.

  ‘Send me a postcard.’

  ‘Not going to happen.’

  ‘I’m gonna miss you.’ He grinned.

  ‘Fuck off!’

  ‘Call me the moment you land otherwise I won’t be able to sleep.’

  I slid the window up hoping to catch his head in the frame‚ he moved his head back and gave me the finger.