One Way Out

by A. A. Dhand

  Ranjit reached for his now cold tea.

  ‘When I heard him crying, my chest started to ache.’

  ‘We’ve shared so many burdens, Ranjit. Why not this one?’

  ‘I didn’t want to believe it had happened. I didn’t want to remember.’

  ‘How old were you?’ she asked.

  ‘Eight,’ he replied. ‘I was too young to know loss like that. And I saw it every day in my mother’s eyes.’ Ranjit looked at Joyti. ‘You and her share the same look of sorrow. The day Hardeep left, your eyes became like hers.’

  Joyti winced. She wanted to ask him why, then, had he not understood her pain? Why had he banished their son? It wasn’t the right time.

  ‘How could I do to you the very thing that was forced upon my mother?’

  Joyti looked away. He had understood what she was thinking.

  ‘I must be a real tyrant,’ he said, ‘not to have afforded you the opportunity my mother never had – just to be a mother to your child, to protect him and love him, no matter what.’

  Joyti wiped a tear from her face.

  ‘I saw what the Muslims could bring – the pain, the loss’ – he paused – ‘the suffering.’

  Joyti opened her mouth but Ranjit raised his hand.

  ‘On the day terrorists descend on Bradford to ruin this city we call home, a boy arrives in my house to torment what little life I have left.’

  ‘Torment?’

  Ranjit nodded. ‘Until I stared at his little face, I thought I had suffered all I had to suffer.’

  Joyti leaned forward and put her hand on his.

  ‘So, nothing changes?’ she said softly.

  ‘I want to go upstairs and crawl into bed with him, Joyti,’ said Ranjit, starting to cry again. ‘I want to wake him up, take him into the garden and fly a kite with him, like I used to do with Charanjit.’

  ‘Then do it!’ said Joyti, putting her hands together as if in prayer.

  Ranjit slammed his hand on the table, making tea spill from both their cups. ‘I cannot, woman!’ he cried.

  Joyti allowed her tears to soak her face.

  ‘What kind of sick man must I be that I cannot go upstairs and embrace that boy? My heart and mind are working against each other. I wish I were dead, Joyti—’

  She got up to go to him but he stormed past her, hesitating by the living-room door, hammering his fist into his chest, the sound sickening.

  ‘My bones are too old, my mind too stubborn and my heart too weak to do what you ask. I am,’ he said coldly, ‘dead inside.’

  FORTY-SEVEN

  Harry screeched his car to a stop outside Quebec Nursing Home, yelling for Isaac to follow as he got out.

  It wasn’t a small place. At least thirty rooms, he thought. Thirty vulnerable targets.

  It appeared peaceful but Harry knew better than to feel relieved yet.

  ‘Shouldn’t we call for backup?’ said Isaac.

  ‘Not until we actually have a problem.’

  If Azeez was here and had not yet carried out his attack, Harry needed to detain him himself. But if he found a knife-wielding lunatic in there, he’d be forced to call this in.

  Tariq Islam’s voice boomed loud in his ear.

  The government does not negotiate with terrorists and that policy will not change simply because thousands of lives are at risk.

  They looped around the side of the nursing home, Isaac on Harry’s heels. He wasn’t sure what use, if any, Isaac would be. Or if Azeez was even here. He could never really be sure in his job, but two decades of policing told Harry Azeez would be inside. He had to try.

  Thirty vulnerable elderly patients. It’d be a tragedy of the worst kind.

  The back entrance, like the front, had automatic double doors and a window either side: four panels of glass. Curtains were drawn across the first two. Peering through the third panel, Harry saw a brutish figure, tall, broad, skin dark against his white vest. He was tying up a member of staff, the last of five. Harry spied a knife in his hand, another down the back of his jeans, handle sticking out. The room was full of elderly residents, most looking bemused. A few appeared to be shouting at Azeez.

  He grabbed Isaac, put his fingers to his lips and nodded for him to have a look.

  ‘Azeez?’ said Harry, giving Isaac a few seconds even though he knew the answer.

  ‘Yes,’ replied Isaac, mouth dropping open.

  Harry tried the door but it was locked for the night.

  ‘We need to hurry,’ said Isaac, panic clear in his voice.

  In the rush to get here, Harry had left everything in his car.

  He was unarmed.

  Harry returned to the window. Azeez was still with the staff. A car pulling up behind drew his attention and he turned to see a blue Ford Focus parking in the rear carpark. A young woman in a yellow healthcare uniform got out.

  Nursing home staff.

  Isaac moved with Harry, both of them rushing towards her. She saw them coming, tensed and turned to run.

  ‘Wait!’ called Isaac, but she was on the move, sprinting. And now screaming in panic.

  Harry flew past Isaac, reached the girl and threw one arm around her, putting his other hand across her mouth.

  She bit down, her teeth puncturing his skin.

  Harry cried out in pain as she bit harder, shaking her head from side to side like a pit-bull. Then the girl moved her head backwards, butting Harry in the nose.

  He let go, stumbling, as she ran for her car. Isaac came towards Harry, who waved him away.

  ‘Go after her!’ he snapped at the boy.

  Harry blinked away tears and touched his nose.

  No blood.

  Back in her car, the young nurse reversed wildly.

  Harry hurried in front of the car, struggling to get his police ID from his jacket with his injured hand.

  He heard the gear change, no doubt from reverse into first.

  Isaac moved out of the way but Harry stood firm, waving a pair of handcuffs and his identification in desperation, hoping Azeez had not seen any of this out of the window. Hoping they had not triggered his attack.

  Harry saw something in the young woman’s eyes shift.

  She wasn’t bluffing.

  As the car came at him, Harry dived out of the way. He felt a gust of air brush by him, the car closer than he wanted it to be.

  She was gone.

  Harry, on the floor, groaned. He’d fucked it up.

  He heard Isaac approach, offer his hand, which Harry ignored.

  In his other hand, he waved a set of keys at Harry. ‘She dropped these. Want to bet one of them opens that back door?’

  FORTY-EIGHT

  They entered a kitchen, a lingering smell of cooked onions. He saw what appeared to be three empty trays of shepherd’s pie on a worktop, waiting to be washed up.

  Harry could hear Azeez’s voice from the room next door, loud and angry.

  ‘Weapon,’ whispered Harry to Isaac, pointing for the kid to have a look and gesturing for him to be discreet.

  Isaac pulled the kitchen drawers open on one side, Harry on the other. The bite the nurse had inflicted on his hand was bleeding. It hurt like a bitch. Harry grabbed a cloth and pressed it firmly against the wound, wiping blood clear. He’d been bitten before, a drug addict several years before. A fleeting memory of seeing Saima in A&E, of antibiotics and a dressing, flickered across his mind. He focused on the task. Surely there must be a knife around here.

  Had Azeez been in here and secured them all?

  ‘Come on, come on,’ he whispered, hearing Azeez in the other room. He was becoming increasingly irate. He crept to the door and nudged it with his foot, thankful it didn’t creak.

  Azeez was about twenty feet away, muscles taut, sweating heavily in the heat. He was now standing proud in front of the residents, a knife in each hand. The cook, judging by her apron, was on her knees at his feet, eyes fixed on the floor.

  The sight angered Harry, white hot fury rose in his chest.<
br />
  These innocent people.

  Azeez gesticulated wildly as he shouted. Harry couldn’t hear his words, he was too focused on the knives in his hands. Every few seconds, one of them would find its way to the blonde curls of the cook cowering on her knees.

  Azeez was enjoying this – his moment of glory, his time to exert control and feel all-powerful. Harry clenched his teeth; he was going to tear this bastard apart.

  ‘Harry, we should call for backup,’ Isaac said, fear in his voice.

  The residents’ faces were a mixture of bemusement, fear and blankness. Some looked unfazed and Harry was momentarily grateful that they might be too unwell to realize what was happening.

  Azeez grabbed the cook’s hair suddenly and yanked her head back, raising a knife.

  ‘Shit,’ whispered Harry. He turned to Isaac. ‘This goes bad, don’t be a hero. Call 999.’

  ‘Let me help you.’

  ‘No. He can’t know you’re here.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘No time,’ said Harry impatiently, ‘just do it. You hear me?’

  Isaac nodded.

  Harry was ready to enter when something on the counter caught his attention. He flipped the lid of a small pot and stared at the contents.

  That could be useful.

  Harry put the container in his pocket.

  He stepped into the corridor.

  Azeez’s head snapped up at the noise. He glared at Harry, pointed a knife at him, eyes cold with rage.

  Harry walked towards Azeez, lifting an empty chair on the way.

  ‘I am Detective Chief Inspector Harry Virdee. Hello, Azeez.’ He stopped about ten feet away, poised to throw the chair, nothing more than a distraction technique.

  Azeez waved a knife at Harry. ‘Drop it.’

  Harry glanced at the cook; she was unharmed. He replaced the chair on the floor.

  Harry and Azeez held each other’s gaze, their eyes burning, both motionless.

  Then Harry smiled and started to laugh.

  FORTY-NINE

  ‘Do you want to tell me what this is about?’ Hashim asked Saima.

  She didn’t know what to say. Her face was flushing and she couldn’t meet his gaze. He didn’t know there was a sleeper cell. Frost had told her to keep that vital piece of intel to herself. All she had told Hashim was that the bomb had been too complex to disable. She thought she had delivered the lie well enough.

  Hashim sat at his desk, calm as you like. ‘These are extraordinary times we find ourselves in,’ he said, clicking a few buttons on his keyboard, then turning his computer screen to face her. Sky News – live footage of the Mehraj mosque. Her eyes narrowed as she saw the enormous police presence.

  Saima knew they might be planning a break-in to try to save the worshippers, to try to defuse the bomb. Frost had hinted to her it might be coming but knew he couldn’t confirm it.

  ‘With all this going on, I find you acting like some sort of spy? Did what happened in the basement not build some trust between us?’ He sounded genuinely wounded, looking at her with a critical eye. ‘Are you something far removed from what you appear to be, Saima Virdee? A spy for these Patriots; someone I should detain?’

  He was really turning this on her? Saima was outraged. ‘You are so full of shit.’

  She regretted the profanity and glanced at the canvas of Mecca on the wall behind Hashim. Saima grabbed her ears and whispered, ‘Toba astaghfar.’

  I seek forgiveness from Allah.

  ‘Assume it has been given, Saima. Now, I’d like an answer to my question,’ said Hashim.

  She sighed. ‘I wanted to send an email. My mobile has no reception, but I couldn’t use your keyboard, it’s in Arabic.’

  Hashim gave her a menacing smile.

  Saima knew she’d been rumbled.

  ‘How long should we play this game?’

  She nodded at the computer, still streaming the live feed from outside the mosque. ‘You’re very calm, considering what’s happening out there.’

  He didn’t respond.

  Saima couldn’t stop thinking about the emails she had read. It was time to confront him. ‘I know what is going to happen in a few hours. You cannot! Think about what you and the other mosques are doing!’

  ‘You do not know anything, Saima.’ His words were delivered with real anger.

  Saima came across to him, determined. Frost had told her the sleeper cell would have a simple device no larger than a car-key-sized remote.

  ‘I wonder, would you turn out your pockets if I asked you to?’ she said.

  ‘Are you asking?’

  ‘I am, unless you have something to hide, Imam.’

  Hashim shook his head in dismay.

  ‘Fine,’ he said, standing up and emptying his pockets.

  A mobile phone. A wad of twenty-pound notes. Rosary beads.

  Saima stared at him, waiting.

  Hashim smiled and turned his pockets inside out, showing her they were indeed empty.

  ‘Do you intend to frisk me? Inside a mosque?’ he said, bemused.

  She didn’t reply. Her eyes never left his.

  ‘Really, Saima, this is very improper,’ he said, raising his arms. ‘Do what you must. We are not leaving until we both understand each other.’

  She couldn’t frisk him. It was a step too far. He’d called her bluff.

  Saima backed away, retaking her seat.

  Hashim reclaimed the contents of his pockets and sat down, waiting.

  ‘Who else knows why the other mosques have not evacuated?’ she asked him.

  He stared at her hard enough that she was forced to drop her gaze.

  ‘You’re looking for a sleeper cell,’ he said. It wasn’t a question.

  Saima didn’t reply.

  ‘You are not the only one with influential contacts outside this mosque. I know just as much as you. But it is right that they trusted you.’

  ‘How did you know?’ she said, looking at him.

  ‘Like you, I have people on the outside whom I trust. And they trust me to find such a person.’

  Saima saw what he was contemplating. ‘You think it might be me?’ she said incredulously.

  ‘You’re snooping around my office.’

  ‘With good reason. I saw your emails – care to explain them?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘And you say you have nothing to hide.’

  Hashim’s face hardened. ‘Do not meddle in things you have no knowledge of.’

  ‘Or you’ll what?’

  ‘First, tell me what you have learned about the sleeper cell.’

  ‘Nothing. I’m looking for a needle in a haystack.’

  ‘As am I. And since we seem to be the only two aware of this, it would be far wiser to tackle it together.’

  Saima pointed at his computer, her anger palpable. ‘I don’t trust you.’

  Hashim shook his head. ‘Fine. I will tell you something you do not know but only if, right here and now, you swear to keep it secret.’ He pointed to the canvas of Mecca behind him. ‘With God as your witness, swear that what we speak of in this room will go no further.’

  ‘If it does not put anyone’s life at risk.’

  ‘Nobody inside this mosque.’

  Hashim didn’t say any more.

  Saima glanced at the painting of Mecca. She swore an oath of secrecy.

  Hashim stood up and made his way to her, perching on the desk.

  ‘You’re a brave woman, Saima. Lots of heart. Guts. Determination. I saw that in the basement. Clearly, important people outside trust you and I will too.’

  Hashim told her about the emails.

  She was about to protest when he raised his hand then pointed to the canvas behind him. ‘Have faith,’ he said, simply.

  Saima struggled, went to say something but stopped. This was too much.

  ‘How do we find this sleeper, so that the things I have told you do not come to pass?’ Hashim retook his seat. ‘I know everyone inside this mosque
.’

  ‘Everyone?’

  He nodded. ‘Some for many years. Some more recent.’

  ‘Nobody new?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Why do you think I have been moving through the crowd so often? Why I am handing out food and drinks and engaging in prayer circles?’

  ‘Could someone be hiding in the building?’

  ‘They could. We have swept it twice. Another search is under way.’

  ‘Have you told anyone about the sleeper?’

  ‘There is nobody to trust.’ Hashim pointed towards the grand hall. ‘Somewhere down there is our shaitan, Saima. In plain view.’

  Shaitan – devil.

  ‘It’s time we worked this through together because soon what I have confided in you will come to pass.’

  FIFTY

  Azeez tightened his grip on the cook, shaking her head a little as he lowered the other hand to her throat, blade only inches from her skin.

  ‘Don’t come any closer,’ said Azeez.

  ‘You’re quite something, aren’t you,’ said Harry, calming his laughter so he could speak. He reduced the distance between them.

  ‘You cannot stop me,’ said Azeez.

  ‘Sure I can.’

  Harry focused on the cook. From near the front of the hall, a few elderly residents, those still with their marbles, shouted for Azeez to put down the knives.

  ‘What’s your name?’ he asked.

  ‘Ellie,’ she said.

  ‘Everything’s going to be fine, Ellie.’

  ‘Hey!’ snapped Azeez. ‘Are you fucking stupid?’

  Harry nodded. ‘Clearly,’ he said, before facing the elderly audience. ‘This will all be over in just a few minutes, folks,’ he said calmly. He turned back to Azeez and started laughing again.

  Azeez looked angry and confused.

  Harry searched for the words, something to injure Azeez, the more offensive the better. He needed Azeez to come for him.

  ‘Ellie, he’s not going to kill you. I doubt this gay boy can do anything except bend over.’

  A shift in Azeez’s eyes. Slight, but Harry saw it.

  ‘Oh yeah, I know all about you. Got your boyfriend in custody. He likes to talk. In fact,’ said Harry, stepping even closer, ‘he showed us some footage on his laptop and that cute little camcorder.’