by A. A. Dhand
Frost didn’t have any of the four leaders of Almukhtaroon in safe custody.
Saima had not been in touch with any progress from the inside.
The monitor showed the special forces team making slow, measured progress. Frost was about to ask Allen how far out they were when a loud explosion on-screen almost made his heart stop.
The visual went blank.
Commander Allen, with a radio in his ear, stepped away asking for an urgent update.
Frost held his breath as Allen listened carefully before removing the device and turning to face him.
‘The Patriots just blew the tunnel.’
SIXTY-TWO
Harry, heart in mouth, watched Isaac enter the estate. If the kid was playing him and wanted to escape, this was his chance.
He was relieved when the boy entered the corner shop. Harry waited a couple of minutes then exited his car, heading towards the store.
The entrance to the estate had graffiti sprayed on the wall. Christ was a white man. It summed up the estate perfectly – too stupid to realize Christ had been Middle Eastern with a skin colour more closely aligned to Harry’s.
He went to check the time, realized his watch was in the car and momentarily paused.
You’ve got a five-grand Rolex in your boot in the worst area in Yorkshire.
Too late for that now. He checked his phone instead: 23.03. Nothing from Saima or his mother.
Harry entered the corner shop and saw Isaac on the far side, looking at the sweets.
Sweets at the back? This place was all wrong, not least the bizarre midnight closing hour. Shelves of booze, right next to the exit. On this estate? It was an invitation to steal it. Coffee, deodorant – all the things people bought regularly were near the door, at eye level.
Harry had been raised in a corner shop; this shit was second nature.
What kind of amateur was running this place?
Mr Singh looked no older than Harry, sitting behind the counter, bright orange turban, neatly trimmed beard. No protective glass between him and the customers. Nothing to stop anyone jumping over the counter to rob him.
All wrong.
‘Hey,’ said Harry, taking a closer look around the store.
No CCTV cameras.
What the fuck?
Singh didn’t take his attention off his mobile phone. In Harry’s experience, the half-hour prior to business end was critical – prime-time for robberies. Singh didn’t give a shit.
‘What do you need?’ asked Singh.
His voice was pure Yorkshire, just like Harry’s.
‘A word,’ said Harry.
Isaac loitered near Harry, in the periphery of his view.
‘A word? The fuck I look like to you? Citizens’ advice? You’re either buying or not. If not, piss off. It’s late.’
As Harry got closer to the counter, prepared to push Singh a little harder, he saw why the shop didn’t have CCTV and probably why he wasn’t concerned with anyone attempting to shoplift.
Two powerful-looking Alsatian dogs were sitting on the floor beside him.
Harry smiled. Smart move. One dog to chase anyone who dared to steal, one always by Singh’s side.
There were many threats Harry Virdee could negotiate. Big bastard dogs were not one of them.
‘Either buy something or, like I said, piss off,’ said Singh, focus still on his mobile phone.
‘Can you close up?’ said Harry.
That got Singh’s attention. He glanced at Harry. Then at Isaac. Then at his dogs. The message was clear: Harry had no control here.
‘I’m Detective Harry Virdee.’
‘Then you definitely ain’t welcome on this estate. What are you? Stupid?’ Singh stood up. The dogs stood up with him. ‘You ain’t got backup because it’s all in Bradford, sorting out that Paki shit-storm. Anyway, if you were a detective, you’d know cops don’t come into this estate without armed backup.’
The dogs started to growl.
Harry put his hand in his pocket for his identification.
‘Don’t bother with ID,’ said Singh. ‘On this estate, you can get passports so realistic, you and I could piss off to Syria without anyone giving us a second look.’
Harry folded his arms across his chest.
The dogs growled a little more.
In his periphery, Harry saw Isaac back away.
‘I’m going to count to three,’ said Singh. The dogs stood tall, ears raised, mouths hanging open.
Alone with Singh, Harry would have bent him in half and dropkicked him out of the store.
‘One,’ said Singh.
But he couldn’t find a way to argue with the dogs. He turned to see Isaac almost by the front door. Clearly the kid was afraid.
‘Two.’
Harry let the pause linger. He didn’t think Singh was bluffing. Not on this estate.
Just as Singh opened his mouth to say ‘Three’, Harry leaned a fraction closer, dropped his voice and said, ‘Bet the Q5 moves on this estate. What are you shifting? A thousand £10-wraps a week?’
Singh stayed silent.
‘I’d hate to put a call in to Enzo and tell him you’ve been unhelpful. That shit finds its way to the top of the food chain, and well’ – Harry glanced towards Saville Tower – ‘plenty of middle-men who could run this operation. Maybe even this store. Where would you be without a supplier?’
Enzo was Ronnie’s number two and a name known to only very few people. He handled the streets while Ronnie handled the business: distribution, pricing and management of heroin.
Q5 was the latest code for the pure-heroin wraps Ronnie distributed.
Singh’s eyes darted around the store, panicked now.
‘You think I’m bluffing? You want me to call Enzo?’ said Harry, removing his phone.
‘You a cop?’
Harry nodded. ‘You think this shit gets moved without someone on the inside knowing?’
Singh placed one hand on each of his dogs. Both of them stopped growling.
‘What the fuck are you doing here?’ said Singh, still not quite sure how to proceed.
‘I need your help.’
‘I don’t help pigs, connected or otherwise.’
‘I’ll get you ten per cent off your next delivery.’
Singh sniggered. ‘Like you have the power to make those decisions.’
‘You want to try me? I can discount it or I can hike it. And if you really piss me off, I’ll cut it completely. You’ve got sole distribution here and you want to chance all that for your fucking ego?’
Singh didn’t reply.
‘Close the fucking store, lock the dogs out back and let’s do what needs to be done here.’
Singh nodded towards Isaac.
Harry beckoned him over and said, ‘He’s with me.’
SIXTY-THREE
They were alone in the kitchens.
Just as Saima had been ready to strike, Maria had pulled a small, simple-looking electronic device from her pocket and waved it at her, ordering her to sit down.
The remote was just as Frost had said it would look. Hard to believe that little thing could detonate a bomb.
Saima had followed instructions.
Maria didn’t amount to much: slight, and shorter than Saima. But if Harry had taught Saima anything, it was that underestimating people was one of the most foolish things you could do.
‘How did you know my surname?’ asked Saima, sitting on the floor, back against the wall. Maria was standing in front of her, out of reach.
‘It doesn’t matter, does it?’
Saima shrugged. It was obvious there was a leak somewhere in Frost’s unit. ‘So, what now?’
Maria stood a little taller. ‘I’ll tell you when you need to know. If you choose to play games, this will all end sooner than anyone wants.’ She waved the remote at Saima.
‘I don’t believe killing a thousand innocent Muslims is going to help you and the Patriots make your point.’ Saima knew her best bet was
to keep talking and to keep listening. Imam Hashim would notice soon enough that she hadn’t returned from the kitchens.
‘Sacrifice, especially on a scale like this, will mean what we stand for cannot be ignored. Things will change.’ Maria’s eyes were cold.
‘And what things are those?’
‘Taking back control of our country.’
Saima tapped the back of her head against the wall, beating a steady rhythm to keep her brain focused. ‘If we’re all going to die, doesn’t hurt to tell me a little bit about yourself, does it?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘So, what then? We just stay down here in silence?’
Saima stopped tapping her head against the wall and focused on Maria.
‘In a little while, once I’m sure you understand what’s at stake, we are going to go back upstairs to rejoin the crowds, and you and I are going to be close. Like sisters, arms linked, inseparable. If you go to the toilet, I’ll be handing you paper to wipe. Got it?’
Of course she did. She nodded at the remote in Maria’s hand. ‘You’re in control here.’
‘I know. And if you force my hand, I will do what I was sent here for, without hesitation.’ Maria pulled a mobile phone from her pocket and waved it at Saima. ‘I text every thirty minutes, code words. If anything happens to me, they will know. So don’t get any stupid ideas.’
‘And if you do not get the leaders of Almukhtaroon?’
Maria raised her hand, pointing upstairs. ‘Then a higher power will decide our fate.’
Saima forced a laugh. ‘You are threatening to kill a thousand innocent people yet you believe in God?’
‘The fight for the survival of every religion on the planet has involved far more bloodshed than this. Do not be so foolish as to kid yourself into thinking death does not play a part in creating a new world order.’
Saima got to her feet slowly. ‘A new world order? Is that what you’re about?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you achieve that by persecuting Islam?’
Maria shook her head and smiled. ‘You are so naive. This has nothing to do with religion. Today is simply the biggest calling card we could have created.’
Saima shoved her hands in her pockets. ‘Since you seem to know everything about me, you’ll know that I need to call my husband and check in.’
‘Nice try.’ Maria stooped, removed Saima’s phone from her pocket, dropped it on the floor and stamped on it, hard enough that it shattered.
Saima let out a wounded cry.
Aaron.
Harry.
‘Since we are sisters now, Saima Virdee, the only person you need to talk to is me.’
SIXTY-FOUR
Harry and Singh went out to the storeroom, full of newspapers and stock, leaving Isaac alone in the shop. Harry was painfully aware midnight wasn’t far away, leaving just over six hours to bring this thing home. He felt the pressure starting to weigh on his mind.
‘I deal with Enzo,’ said Singh. ‘Don’t know shit about you. What do you want anyway?’
‘Access to the tower.’
‘What the fuck for?’
‘Need to lift someone.’
‘Who?’
‘None of your business.’
Singh moved an outer of detergent off a wooden stool and sat down, one dog sitting obediently next to him. The other had stayed in the shop with Isaac.
‘You know how hard it is to live on this estate as a brown man? I’ve earned my place. Got the locals’ trust, built a business—’
‘—based on drugs.’
‘Fine. But I still created this place the hard way.’
‘Bullshit,’ said Harry, more forcefully than he intended. The Alsatian growled. Harry softened his tone. ‘No one here’s buying newspapers from you. Your booze display is mostly cheap cider. Fag sales are way down. The drugs are your lifeline. And I can take it away.’
‘Get Enzo on the phone,’ said Singh, his tone sharp. The dog growled a little louder, stood up.
‘He’s busy.’
‘Then you best return when he’s not.’
Harry was getting annoyed. ‘If I walk out of your shop without the help I need, I promise you – I give you my fucking kasam, your business is over.’
‘What do you need to know?’ said Singh reluctantly.
‘Not everyone can know you’re a dealer or some fucker would have snitched on you by now. So how do you exist here?’
‘Done time. Ain’t a Paki. The tower knows the difference between me and them.’
‘You mean Muslims?’
Singh smiled.
Harry didn’t bite.
‘If I walk out there, to the tower, how long will I last before they come for me?’ said Harry.
Singh shook his head slowly. ‘Which flat?’
‘Four twenty.’
‘Top floor. That’s a lot of eyes to pass.’
‘Can it be done?’ said Harry impatiently.
Singh nodded. He was studying Harry closely.
‘When I do a drop-off, I wear my yellow turban. It’s bright enough anyone can see it. And I take one of the dogs with me. They all give me space, no fucker messes about. If I go for a walk with a blue turban, people scatter, hide or flush their drugs – means we’ve got cops on the estate.’
‘Genius,’ said Harry, genuinely impressed.
‘I’ll give you the yellow turban. Take one of the dogs. That will give you your shot. Thing is, if it gets ugly, dog’s not going to protect you. Just as likely to take you down. Their loyalty is to me.’
‘Come with me then,’ said Harry.
Singh shook his head. ‘Two of us is unusual. They’d smell a rat.’
Harry sighed heavily and nodded towards Isaac. ‘That mean I can’t take the kid with me?’
‘You can take him. Young white kid with me wouldn’t be a red flag.’ Harry was thankful Isaac was fair enough to pass for white.
Harry glanced at the dog. ‘He going to come without ripping me to pieces?’
‘If I hand him over to you. Make it clear you’re friendly.’
‘Can I take him inside the tower?’
Singh shook his head. ‘He won’t go inside with you but he will get you there. When you’ve reached the tower, take his lead off and push him back in the direction of the store and say my name forcefully. He’ll come home. You’re on your own when you come out.’
‘They’ll think I’m you, though, right?’
‘I never walk around here without my dogs. They might notice. They ain’t academic these lot but they’re street smart and razor sharp with it.’
Harry covered his face with both hands and rubbed it wildly, mind throbbing, feeling tired and irritable.
‘If I can make your life easier, what’s it worth?’ said Singh.
Harry lowered his hands. ‘Easier?’
‘You can get to the top floor without even entering the tower.’
‘How?’
‘Fire escape.’
Harry stared at him, waiting for the catch.
‘There’s a security code for the bottom gate that gives you access.’
Singh stopped talking.
‘How much?’ said Harry.
‘Five grand.’
Harry laughed. ‘You best try again.’
Singh stood up suddenly and pushed Harry hard enough that he hit the shelving behind him with some force. Tins of food fell to the floor and the dog barked noisily, the other running through from the shop.
Harry saw Isaac peering around the counter, alarmed. He looked apt to do a runner.
Fear invaded Harry’s body. The dogs were ready to tear him to pieces.
Singh yelled for them to stand down.
‘You want to rock up in here, throw Enzo’s name around to get an audience with me, then ask for my help – shit that puts everything I’ve built here at risk. And when I want payment, you try to tell me I’m taking the piss?’ Singh jabbed a finger hard into Harry’s chest. ‘Don
’t take the fucking mick with me, Harry Virdee. Either cough up five grand cash in used notes or’ – he pointed towards his front door – ‘get the fuck out.’
Harry was annoyed at himself. He should have seen this coming.
He could get five grand from Ronnie once this was over. He held up his hands, apologetically. ‘You’re right—’
‘Price just went up to ten.’
Harry wanted to react, mood souring. Singh was taking the piss but Harry would give this man everything he had to get Saima home safely from the Mehraj mosque.
‘Fine,’ he said, coolly.
‘I don’t do credit.’
‘You think I carry ten grand around with me?’
‘I don’t give a fuck if you do or don’t.’
The dogs growled again at Singh’s raised voice.
‘Look, I give you my word—’
‘Your word isn’t worth ten grand to me.’
If the dogs hadn’t been there, Harry would have been making a very different type of deal with Singh.
‘I can give you a five-grand deposit now,’ said Harry. ‘My watch. In the car. Rolex. Brand new.’
Singh looked unsure.
‘It’s legit. You can Google its value.’
Singh nodded. ‘Thing is, Harry, I know something about watches, so it better not be some Kirkgate-market rip-off or our deal is off and you can forget about Saville Tower.’
SIXTY-FIVE
Kesh – uncut hair.
Kara – steel bracelet.
Kanga – the comb.
Kaccha – cotton underwear.
Kirpan – steel sword.
Ranjit Virdee had observed the five Ks of Sikhism. He had lived as good a life as he thought possible.
He had drunk alcohol, smoked cigarettes and allowed his faith to lapse when he had first arrived in England, desperate to make a new home for his family. The memories of partition had never allowed him to forget his bitterness towards the Muslims who had hurt him. There wasn’t a single day when he didn’t think about his baby brother, Charanjit. That last kiss on his cheek, feeling his skin wet with Ranjit’s own tears before walking away. Was it his mother screaming or had it been him?
