One Way Out

by A. A. Dhand

  ‘The doors have been sealed. You are not prisoners here. This mosque can never be viewed in such a way.’ He pointed towards the window where ash from the blast was still clearly visible. ‘Think about what might happen now. People may start hunting the leaders of the so-called Almukhtaroon. They may see every Muslim as a target. The Far Right may mobilize. These are uncertain times. Division is here, it has been building. Are we any safer out there than we are in here?’

  He smiled, a warm, comfortable sight.

  ‘You are thinking, what if this bomb is inside this mosque? I can see it in your faces. We will coordinate a thorough search, just like every other mosque is doing. What I ask from you is to remember that the other hundred and four mosques are with us. Now I ask those of you who insist you still want to leave and put at risk thousands of lives, to raise your hand.’

  He looked carefully into the crowd.

  Hashim repeated the message in Urdu.

  Nobody raised their hand.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Our time to show we can endure has arrived.’

  He bowed his head and began whispering a prayer. In spite of her insides feeling like they were on fire, Saima focused on the prayer: the only thing she had now.

  SIX

  Harry’s decision to leave the Bradford Club wasn’t lightly taken. Again, his thoughts went to 9/11 and the second plane. If a secondary device detonated here, gas-main ruptures could lead to raging fires. Staying put and waiting to see what happened just didn’t seem right.

  The streets of Bradford felt alien to Harry as he hurried away from Piece Hall Yard, holding Aaron and supporting his mother. Philip had decided to stay put. Harry kept Aaron’s face pressed into his body so he wouldn’t inhale the thick, black dust swirling around them. His mother was struggling with her hip but forced herself on.

  The smog enveloped them in a choke-hold. Aaron was starting to freak out, sensing all was not right.

  And all the while, Harry knew he needed to get to Saima. She was at the mosque and would be safe. He couldn’t though rest until she was with him.

  Harry’s car was at the Midland Hotel carpark. His mind was filled with questions about potential next targets. He couldn’t see any danger here. It would be the shopping centre next, and they’d left that behind.

  People’s faces held disbelieving stares. Buttons on mobile phones were being pressed. Harry saw dismay that networks were still down.

  He secured his family in the car then started it, maxing out the air-conditioning and ignoring Aaron’s pleas for him to lower the windows. As they pulled out on to the road, the car still thick with summer heat in spite of the air-con, he saw an armed police car tear past, lights flashing, siren screaming.

  Harry headed towards Upper Piccadilly, away from the city centre, reaching to turn the radio off. He needed a clear head.

  More police cars tore past.

  Above he could hear helicopter blades getting closer.

  The roads were quiet, shock and fear keeping people away.

  Harry ignored the traffic lights and the speed limits, cutting through the side streets, heading towards Thornton Road. He used one hand to unlock his mobile phone, scrolled to the Favourites and hit the top entry before handing it to his mother, the car veering as he did so.

  ‘Keep trying Saima,’ he said, ignoring another red light.

  ‘It says Unavailable,’ said Joyti.

  From behind, Aaron started to whine about wanting his mum. Harry glanced at the clock: 14.05.

  ‘Keep trying, Mum,’ he said.

  ‘Still nothing,’ said Joyti, staring at the iPhone.

  ‘Just keep pressing Redial,’ said Harry, glancing at her to make sure she was doing it right. ‘Anything?’

  ‘No,’ replied Joyti.

  A speed camera flashed at Harry as the speedometer of his BMW tore past sixty on the forty-mile-an-hour road.

  The flash made Harry wince.

  Whoever had detonated that bomb was no ordinary terrorist.

  Surely there was more to come.

  SEVEN

  This is BCB radio’s Grace Chia reporting live from Bradford city centre, where a devastating explosion has reduced City Park from the well-loved mirror pool to nothing more than rubble and smoke. The heat of the fires raging through City Hall and the clock tower can be felt even from a good fifty or so metres away. Sources have told me that at around 13.10, a frantic twenty-minute warning was given to those in City Park, some two thousand people, to immediately evacuate. The cinema screen allegedly stopped playing a children’s movie, instead flashing an urgent message for everyone to leave. Sources have confirmed that soon after, a further message featuring a skull and crossbones cast an entirely different light on this evacuation order. A video circulating on social media by a group calling themselves the Patriots, a seemingly new nationalistic group, has claimed there is a bomb inside one of the hundred and five mosques within the city. This claim is as yet unsubstantiated and I understand this group is unknown to security services. They are demanding the arrest of the leaders of the well-known radical group Almukhtaroon, who were due to give a speech in Bradford tonight, but what is to happen after that is unclear. Almukhtaroon, of course, have long been a contentious topic, especially for the current Home Secretary, Tariq Islam, who failed to get their organization banned last year. Islam himself is in Bradford and, according to sources, was evacuated from Bradford City Football Club, where he was opening a new Asian football academy. At exactly 13.30, the bomb detonated. We do not yet know the extent of the damage caused. The emergency services are expecting a number of casualties, and we understand the Prime Minister has convened a COBRA meeting. As I stand here, smoke continues to bellow into the skies, and you can probably hear – raising her voice over the sudden noise – dozens of sirens behind me, police cars, ambulances and fire engines all desperate to save the lives of anyone trapped in the area.

  Grace moved the microphone towards the centre of City Park. I don’t know if you can hear that – almost shouting now – but there seem to be further explosions around the City Park area. The emergency services are ushering me away. I’m hearing something about a gas pipe.

  EIGHT

  Harry passed through the black iron gates of his brother Ronnie’s grand Victorian house in Thornton. His brother was the model son, buying a big house and moving his elderly parents in with his own family. He’d even gone along with Asian hierarchy – this was his house, but while his parents lived there, they had the authority. It was not a house Harry was welcome in. His father had disowned Harry for marrying a Muslim and the rest of the family had been forced to follow. Harry had only recently been reconciled with his mother, but his father was a different animal entirely.

  He hated being here. It was a place laden with the terrible memory of the night his job had brought him to this house to tell his brother and wife that their eldest daughter, Tara, had been murdered.

  Harry did not want to leave Aaron here. He didn’t trust his father not to react badly but he had no choice.

  He turned to his mother and was about to speak when she raised her hand.

  ‘He’s my grandson,’ she said fiercely in Punjabi, ‘and, Hardeep, I love him more than I love you. He is my baby today and nothing your father says or does will change that. Put it out of your mind and go and get my daughter-in-law. Make sure your family is safe and I will do the same.’

  Harry smiled. He needed to hear it. But he couldn’t help glancing up at the house once more. He had been inside only once, when he had delivered the heart-breaking news about Tara. His father flashed before his eyes, his words from that night coming back to haunt Harry,

  ‘This morning when I woke up, it was a good day. If I had known I would have to suffer seeing your face, in this house, on this day, I would have wished my own death.’

  Harry grimaced. Punjabi could be such a coarse tongue, insults delivered with a force the English language could never muster.

  Joyti put he
r hand on Harry’s chin, forcing him to look at her. Harry realized she had seen the pain in his face.

  ‘Today is not the day to think of the past,’ she said firmly. ‘Go and get Saima.’

  He got out of the car, the humidity immediately sucking at his energy levels, and lifted Aaron from his car seat in the back.

  ‘Listen, I’m going to leave you here with Grandma,’ said Harry.

  Aaron looked startled. ‘No, Daddy, you stay here too.’

  ‘I’ll come back later with Mummy.’

  ‘No, Daddy, I come with you.’

  His pleading got to Harry, who felt a lump in his throat. He’d never left Aaron here before. The fact his father was inside and likely to treat Aaron with contempt troubled him deeply. At least they were surely safer here in Thornton than anywhere close to City Park.

  Joyti arrived by his side and tried to take Aaron, who shied away from her, putting his arms tightly around Harry’s neck.

  ‘Daddy stay too!’ he cried.

  Joyti went to take him forcefully, which made it worse.

  ‘Mum, leave it a minute,’ said Harry, spotting a bright red, ride-on mower parked on the grass. ‘Aaron, look at that,’ said Harry. Aaron did, and stopped crying immediately.

  ‘Mum, I’m going to take Aaron with me so he can’t play with the tractor,’ said Harry solemnly, looking at Joyti.

  She nodded, understanding the game. ‘Yes, I put it here so Aaron could play with it, but if he is going with you, I’ll have to lock it away.’

  Harry saw the change in Aaron’s face, eyes widening with excitement.

  ‘Come on then,’ said Harry, turning away from the tractor.

  ‘No, Daddy,’ said Aaron, struggling to get free.

  Harry put him down.

  Aaron looked at him matter-of-factly. ‘I stay here … I play with tractor with Grandma and you get Mummy and come back?’

  Harry shook his head. ‘I don’t know. You said you wanted to come with me?’

  ‘No, Daddy, I sit on the tractor.’ He paused, thought about it some more and added, ‘I good boy.’

  Harry crouched and ruffled Aaron’s hair. ‘OK. Because you’re a good boy, I’ll leave you here with Grandma.’ He kissed him twice and stood up to leave, giving his mother one final look.

  ‘Sunscreen’s in his bag and make sure you give him lots of water.’ Harry stared up at the house. ‘And, Mum, make sure he’s –’ Harry struggled for this next word, an image of his angry father flashing across his mind – ‘safe,’ he said.

  Joyti came across and took Harry’s face in her hands, kissing him. ‘Go and get Saima.’ She let go of him, picked Aaron up and held him tightly. ‘My life flows through his veins. Nothing and nobody is hurting this boy while I’m here.’

  NINE

  West Yorkshire Assistant Chief Constable Steven Frost was no stranger to fast-moving operations in Bradford, but the sight he was looking at on his TV screen was unprecedented. The whole of City Park was no more. He had quickly established a Gold Command centre at the Dudley Hill police station to handle the emergency unfolding in his hometown. They’d evacuated Police HQ at Trafalgar House, less than a half-mile from City Park. Their switchboard had been forced to section off work to other centres around the country. It seemed like the whole of Bradford had hit 999 within the last hour.

  They knew relatively little about what was happening but one thing was certain. Once this was all over, whatever this was, every decision he made would be scrutinized. This afternoon could come to define Frost’s career, for good or for bad.

  No pressure.

  The regional counter-terrorism centre was located in Leeds and the assistant chief constable for that department, Peter Weetwood, was on his way.

  Frost’s current priority was avoiding any loss of life. All his officers who didn’t need to be present at Gold Command were making their way to City Park. They would establish a hot zone where secondary terrorist activity might be imminent, a warm zone where casualties could be treated, and a cold, safe zone where operational teams could base themselves.

  Frost also needed to try to prevent the media from getting ahead of him, no easy task in an age where social media could quickly manipulate the news. That meant making sure his officers weren’t about to leak information to the press. It could jeopardize the whole operation.

  The West Yorkshire Police had seen the video the Patriots put out on Twitter. They had also received a further video which had not been shared publicly. This second one showed a detailed, step-by-step demonstration of the make-up of a bomb, the bomb that was currently inside one of the hundred and five mosques of Bradford. A CTU bomb-disposal expert had briefed Frost on the video, giving an initial assessment that it looked credible. The assembly was flawless and clearly organized by someone proficient in bombmaking. Most importantly, the level of explosives it contained was enough to kill thousands.

  ‘I’ve got no way of knowing if this is the bomb inside the mosque, sir,’ he’d been told. ‘I can tell you that if these are the Patriots on this video, then they know what they’re doing. They’re very much capable of carrying out their threats. Perhaps, even, of more.’

  Frost picked up his phone, dialled the main switchboard and said, ‘Get me the Prime Minister’s office.’

  TEN

  The Mehraj mosque was opposite Forster Square retail park and the only way Harry could get to it was by driving past the blast site. Saima was the only thing on his mind as he stopped his car half a mile from City Park, where a yellow police cordon and two patrol cars were blocking the route. He showed his identification to uniformed officers and waited as they made a gap for him to pass.

  Harry managed another quarter-mile before he was forced to stop. The roads surrounding the immediate perimeter of the park were blocked off by more police cars, these ones unmanned.

  He started to jog towards City Park. He reached the site of the old Odeon cinema and immediately felt the heat, the air thick with smoke. The only way to reach the Mehraj mosque from here was on foot. Not far, if he cut through the side streets.

  His phone rang.

  Saima.

  ‘Hey, I’m fine and Aaron is fine,’ he said quickly, afraid reception would cut out.

  ‘Oh, thank God!’ She burst into tears.

  Harry retreated into a dark side street, abandoned mills to both sides, afraid the sound of deafening sirens would alarm her.

  ‘Saima, calm down, we might not have much time before reception cuts. Are you OK? Where are you now?’

  She sobbed again and asked how Aaron was.

  ‘He’ll be playing with Ronnie’s lawnmower for a good while this afternoon. Not a scratch on him.’

  ‘Have you seen social media?’

  ‘No. I’ve had no signal. What’s going on?’

  ‘You need to see the video on Twitter, Harry. I … I … can’t explain.’

  ‘I’m coming to get you first. Twitter can wait.’

  ‘No, Harry. I can’t leave the mosque.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The terrorists have said nobody can leave any of the mosques or they will blow one up.’

  Harry kept her on the line as he opened Twitter on his phone. He held his breath while it loaded, painfully slowly.

  ‘Stay there, Saima, I can’t afford to cut the connection with you. We might not get it back.’

  It was the first thing in his newsfeed. He must have gone silent.

  ‘Harry?’

  He swallowed a lump in his throat, energy sapped from his body, and put the phone back to his ear.

  ‘Yeah,’ he said, completely flat.

  ‘I don’t know what to do.’

  Neither did he.

  ‘People are sweeping the mosque now to see if they can find anything.’

  Harry put his head in his hands, closed his eyes.

  ‘Harry? Are you there?’

  ‘I’m here, Saima.’

  ‘I can hear lots of sirens. Are you sure you’re OK?’r />
  ‘It’s a mess down here. I was on my way to see you. Still am.’

  Harry didn’t know what else to do. He just wanted to be close to her.

  ‘No,’ she said firmly, almost angrily.

  He knew what was coming.

  ‘Aaron needs you. That is your priority. Not me. You cannot change what is happening or going to happen but you damn well can and bloody well will look after that boy of mine.’

  ‘That boy of ours,’ he said quietly. He’d seen the blast site, he’d been there for the warnings and now, with the Patriots’ video, he knew there was nothing he could do to stop this.

  ‘Promise me you will go back and look after Aaron.’

  ‘Aaron’s safe, I—’

  ‘Harry Virdee, you swear to me now.’

  He blew his cheeks out and stared up at the sky, angry smoke blocking out an even angrier sun. He couldn’t find the words.

  Saima’s tone changed.

  ‘You’ve always looked after me, Harry, but today it’s about Aaron, not me.’

  Harry said nothing.

  Terrorism was not his expertise. As far as Bradford went, for now, he felt like a civilian, powerless.

  ‘I’ll look after Aaron,’ he said.

  ‘Promise me you will stay away from here. From every mosque in the city.’

  ‘There’s a mosque everywhere, Saima. What do you want me to do? Leave Bradford?’

  ‘That’s exactly what I want you to do. Take Aaron with you.’

  She meant well but it irritated Harry.

  ‘This isn’t the time for your macho shit, Harry. You haven’t promised me yet—’

  ‘—and I’m not going to.’

  ‘Harry—’

  ‘—Saima, I don’t want to fight with you. Not today.’ His tone silenced her pleas. ‘All I need to hear are three little words.’

  ‘I trust you,’ she said.

  ‘Not those, you muppet.’ He smiled.

  ‘I love you.’