One Way Out

by A. A. Dhand

  The two women held each other’s gaze for a moment. When Saima didn’t back down, Maria said, ‘Fine. Door closed. You don’t open it in ninety seconds, I’m coming in.’

  Saima moved to close it. Just as she did, there was the sound of breaking glass at the far end of the toilets.

  Maria’s eyes darted to her right as Saima ran from the cubicle.

  There it was again. Quieter this time.

  Saima’s mind went into overdrive. Either this was a rescue attempt or it was someone trying to escape. Either way, with Maria here, one hand on her remote, she didn’t like it.

  At the end of the last row of cubicles, Saima stopped and saw a teenage boy holding a small marble ornament, standing on the toilet to reach the small window. Unlike so many of the larger windows, it did not have a shutter.

  ‘No! Stop!’ said Saima.

  At the sound of her voice, the boy panicked and began to squeeze himself through the tiny gap, catching his bag and his clothes on the remaining glass. Saima reached out for him, jumping on to the toilet seat and managing to grab his foot.

  ‘You can’t!’ she shouted. ‘What about the rest of us!’

  He kicked out at Saima, catching her in the chest. She fell from the toilet seat, crashing into Maria, both women hitting the floor. They landed hard. Saima’s head cracked on the marble and the world started to spin. Maria gathered herself immediately, phone to her ear.

  She said one word, calmly and clearly: ‘Breach.’

  SEVENTY-SIX

  For ACC Frost, those eight seconds after the mosque window was smashed would forever be etched on his memory.

  He was called to the CCTV banks immediately, in time to hear the voice of one of the snipers over the radio.

  Frost watched as a young man ran from the mosque, full-pelt towards the police cordon, head down, arms pumping furiously by his side.

  He heard the voices shouting, urgent, ordering him to stop.

  Frost saw the bag in his hand.

  The guy kept running. He didn’t hesitate.

  They had clear protocols for this.

  Eighty metres.

  Sixty metres.

  Despite their shouts, the guy wasn’t stopping.

  ‘Target acquired.’

  At the sound of the sniper’s warning, Frost’s blood ran cold. His eyes never left the screen. If he was a hostile, if he reached the police cordon, if that resulted in any loss of life …

  Fifty metres.

  That was a lot of ‘ifs’.

  Forty.

  More voices ordering him to stop.

  Thirty.

  Frost could hardly breathe, then he heard the words no Gold Commander ever wanted to hear.

  ‘Shots fired. Man down.’

  SEVENTY-SEVEN

  The humidity hit Harry as soon as they stepped out on to the dark walkway on the top floor of Saville Tower. Abu-Nazir went first, Harry just behind him, then Amelia escorted by Isaac.

  Harry had tied a tourniquet around Abu-Nazir’s arm to stem the bleeding. Neither were gagged – it would draw too much attention. The wound on Abu-Nazir’s arm was enough to keep them both compliant. The sooner they got out of here, the sooner it got tended to. Harry had the knife in his pocket. He’d warned them both that if they tried anything cute, he’d end this for them right now. Looking at the fear in their faces, he knew they believed he would do it.

  With the yellow turban back on his head, Harry was alert to everything around him as they headed towards the fire escape.

  His heart was racing.

  He didn’t trust Abu-Nazir or Amelia not to try something. Harry paused. Should he have gagged them? He still had time. He glanced down at the estate. The night was dark but there were signs of life on the street below. The red tip of a cigarette on the street corner, the glow of a mobile phone, the interior light in a car. No, gagging them was an obvious red flag. Harry would have to hope the threat to their lives was enough.

  They reached the end of the walkway and Harry glanced back to Isaac. He didn’t know what Amelia was capable of, or whether Isaac would be able to handle it.

  Harry pushed Abu-Nazir towards the metal staircase, but he resisted. Harry hissed in his ear. ‘Either walk or I’ll throw you down and watch as you break every bone in your body.’ He nudged him hard and held back a little, observing him move reluctantly.

  Their pace was slower than Harry would have liked. He couldn’t hurry them without drawing attention.

  Halfway down, the same kid they’d met on the way up was now lying comatose, a needle and syringe by his side. He was the only person they encountered.

  They hit the bottom and moved through the metal gate. Harry had allowed himself a small breath of relief but he regretted it when he saw what was up ahead. A parked car, internal lights on, suspension bouncing. Someone was having a good time. At least the two people in the car would be more interested in what they were doing than in four people walking by.

  As they passed, Nazir dodged over to the car and, before Harry could stop him, he raised his leg and hammered his boot through the driver’s-side window. Glass exploded, the sound deafening.

  ‘You fucking prick,’ said Harry, as Nazir dropped to the ground. Harry turned to see Amelia had followed suit and she was also now on the tarmac. Isaac looked shell-shocked. The back door of the car flew open and a young, wiry skinhead got out, pulling his jeans back on.

  Nazir started to yell, nodding at the wound on his shoulder.

  On the other side of the car, a young woman got out, in just a bra and short skirt. She started screaming at Harry – every curse he’d ever heard.

  The tower started to wake up. Lights came on in windows. Shouts from the hallways.

  Harry had badly misjudged this. He’d lost control.

  Momentarily stunned, he didn’t notice the young lad step over to him until he’d been punched in the stomach. He crumpled to the ground, winded.

  Shadows formed silhouettes in Harry’s peripheral vision.

  ‘Oi, why’s Singhy on the floor?’

  ‘What the fuck have you done to Singh?’

  The guy who had hit him searched Harry’s pockets, removed the knife. ‘It ain’t Singhy.’

  ‘Course it’s him.’

  A crowd had gathered around them.

  Harry got his breath back, rolled over and scrambled to his knees. The turban fell to the floor.

  Abu-Nazir shouted, sounding panicked, ‘That Paki’s a groomer – taking my girl for his mates. Got to stop him!’

  Amelia joined in, backing up the claim.

  Harry was thinking desperately of his next move.

  Don’t ever go into Saville Tower alone. Mandatory armed backup.

  Harry didn’t want to say he was a cop.

  Amelia did it for him. ‘That pig is fucking setting us up! Protects groomers! He’s a bent copper! He raped me!’ She spat towards Harry and the pantomime was complete.

  The crowd started to murmur disbelief – no way a copper would come here alone, especially at night.

  ‘Groomer!’

  ‘Do him!’

  The lad who had struck Harry, early twenties maybe, raised his hands and the crowd fell silent.

  Ring leader.

  He had tattoos of tears dripping from his left eye down his cheek. Stony-faced, pronounced jawline. He cocked his head to one side.

  ‘Joe,’ said the boy.

  ‘Harry,’ he replied.

  ‘You a cop?’

  Harry nodded.

  ‘Groomer?’

  ‘No. She’s just kicking off cos she’s under arrest.’

  ‘What’s the charges?’

  ‘Soliciting.’

  ‘And him?’

  Harry didn’t want to reveal Abu-Nazir’s identity and they hadn’t clocked it yet. ‘Every bitch needs a hound.’

  Joe sniggered and pursed his lips. ‘Nobody comes into the Tower without a pass.’

  ‘Singhy said I—’

  ‘Singhy doesn’t ru
n this tower,’ said Joe, pointing up at the building.

  ‘And you do?’ said Harry, unable to hide the smirk from his face. You’re just a boy.

  Isaac stood back, looking lost.

  Harry’s eyes darted between Joe and the crowd gathered around. Girls chewing gum, boys in hoodies with hands in pockets. Everyone was calm and nobody had their phone out. He’d heard that when shit kicked off in the tower, they’d learned not to film it.

  ‘I got four tears,’ said Joe, touching his face. ‘One for each pig I put down.’

  Harry sighed. Last thing he wanted was a fist fight.

  ‘You wanna leave the Tower, you’ve got to earn it.’

  ‘If I was white, would the rules be the same?’

  ‘If you were white, Apu, you wouldn’t have been stupid enough to try this in the first place.’

  The girl who had been in the car came across to Joe. She ran her hands across Joe’s chest, dragging her nails.

  ‘Show him, baby,’ she said to him.

  Joe smiled and said to Harry, ‘You put me down, you walk. Saville Tower rules.’

  The crowd started to whoop and cheer.

  Joe smiled. Touched the tears on his face.

  Harry wasn’t stupid. Joe had struck him hard. The kid knew what he was doing. Harry glanced at his bandaged left hand. He stood little chance.

  Joe cocked his head to the side. ‘You want to try, Harry, or lie down now and let the crowd have some fun?’

  More jeers.

  Another car pulled up beside them, its lights illuminating the area, music pumping loud. The crowd bounced to the music. They were ready for some entertainment.

  A sense of despair crept over Harry.

  The car’s music system got cranked up, bass booming now.

  Girls were dancing to the tracks, boys grinning, and all the while Joe kept smiling.

  Harry pulled Isaac to one side and dropped his voice. ‘This shit goes sour, take your chance and run.’

  ‘Are you kidding? What about … everything else?’

  ‘Find my colleague, DS Conway. Tell her everything.’

  Harry moved towards Joe. ‘Let’s get this over with.’

  Louder jeers from the crowd – a carnival atmosphere now. Didn’t matter that across town thousands of lives were at risk. Here in Saville Tower it was all about this moment.

  Joe danced to his left. The kid was light on his feet.

  Harry stood firm, flexing his injured hand.

  The kid flashed his fists in front of Harry, left–right jab hitting air. He smiled and touched the tattoos on his face. Four tears, one for each pig he’d put down.

  Soon to be five.

  SEVENTY-EIGHT

  Harry felt a lightning-quick left jab followed by a thunderous right hook into his stomach. Air disappeared from his lungs. His vision blurred as he felt a third blow to his jaw. He was weightless until he hit the ground heavily.

  Pain.

  He struggled on to his side, air rushing back into his lungs.

  Harry had expected feet to kick him when he was down but Joe had backed off. He and his girlfriend were celebrating his win.

  Harry looked around. Nazir, Amelia and Isaac were still in the crowd, secured by some of Joe’s entourage. He half wanted Isaac to make a run for it and get help, fearful that Joe was not a man he could beat. The only way he was getting out of this was to play dirty.

  He wasn’t going to die here, that was for damn sure.

  Harry stood up. The crowd cheered. He massaged his side and touched his nose. His hand came away red with blood.

  Joe’s girl moved away and Joe smiled again.

  Arrogant shit. Harry just needed to get close enough.

  Joe danced around Harry, stayed out of range.

  Slowly, Harry moved his right foot, pressing his toes into the ground and releasing his heel from his shoe.

  Joe smiled, pearly white teeth flashing.

  Harry inched closer. He threw out a left jab, slow and clumsy. Joe saw the punch coming a mile away. The crowd laughed.

  Joe turned and laughed with them.

  Harry flashed out another jab, his fist landing inches from Joe’s face.

  Before the kid could laugh at him again, he kicked out towards Joe. His shoe flew from his foot. Joe ducked.

  With his opponent low and distracted, Harry lurched forward and threw as hard a punch as he could towards Joe’s liver.

  The kid was too quick and moved out of range.

  A flash of fists.

  Agony.

  Blood in his mouth, tarmac under his cheek. And Joe was on top of him, angry, possessed.

  Hands around Harry’s neck, squeezing.

  Joe’s eyes were full of an anger Harry didn’t understand. The world started to fade, his life being choked out of his body. Harry could do nothing.

  The music suddenly stopped.

  Joe pulled his hands away, allowing Harry an urgent breath, but kept a knee on his face. The crowd parted anxiously.

  Harry heard dogs.

  He saw Singh standing there, both of his Alsatians on a lead, straining to break free, barking aggressively.

  Joe stood up, turned towards Singh and raised his arms as if to say, What the fuck?

  Harry rolled over, trying to breathe, scanning the crowd for Abu-Nazir, Amelia and Isaac. They were at the back, surrounded by Joe’s thuggish mates.

  ‘Got to back off, Joe,’ said Singh.

  ‘The fuck has this got to do with you, Singhy? This is Tower business.’

  ‘That prick owes me money.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So, you do what you normally do and it makes collecting impossible.’

  ‘You want me to back off so you can collect twenty quid from this pig?’

  ‘If it was pocket change, I wouldn’t have got off my couch to come out here. He owes me first. Your debt comes later. You know that’s how it is around here.’

  Joe looked around for support.

  ‘Stand down, Joe.’ Singh pointed at Harry. ‘He doesn’t pay then I’m ten large out. And that means prices are going to have to go up around here because I’ll need my debt clearing.’ Singh paused then added, ‘Business is business.’

  Joe’s shoulders slouched. Whatever dealings he had with Singh, they were important enough that he had to back off.

  ‘You help him get in here?’ said Joe.

  Singh pointed towards Abu-Nazir and Amelia. ‘Those two fuckers need clearing off this estate. We don’t need that kind of heat around here. That’s bad business for everyone.’

  ‘Who are they?’

  ‘Ghosts. They were never here.’

  ‘And if I say no?’

  Singh didn’t need to reply. He loosened the leads a little and both dogs bared their teeth.

  Harry struggled to his feet. Each breath rattled and his nose wouldn’t stop bleeding.

  ‘OK, Singhy,’ said Joe through gritted teeth. ‘Pig’s yours.’

  SEVENTY-NINE

  Abu-Nazir and Amelia were in the back seat of Harry’s car, tape Harry had got from Singh’s store over their mouths. Nazir seemed to have realized the wound in his shoulder was not as critical as Harry had made out earlier.

  Harry stood a little distance from his car now, trying to call Saima, news reports of a shooting at the Mehraj mosque filling him with dread. Her phone, as before, was dead.

  ‘If anything’s happened to you …’ His words trailed off. He switched phones, reaching for the burner Tariq Islam had given him, and made the call.

  Tariq answered on the first ring.

  ‘The shooting at the mosque. What happened? Is Saima OK?’

  The background noise was chaotic, clearly the Gold Command room. Tariq was evasive.

  ‘I get it, you can’t talk. Is she OK?’ Harry asked again.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Ops took a shot at an escapee. Can’t say any more.’

  Harry drew his hand across his face, suddenly exhausted. ‘I’ve got what we need. Al
l four. Tell the Patriots. I’ll call again shortly.’ He turned off the phone. He needed to think – choose what his next best move would be.

  Isaac approached him looking concerned. ‘Joe beat you up pretty bad. Your mouth is still bleeding.’

  It wasn’t Harry’s mouth that was the problem but his chest. Felt like cracked ribs. Every time he took a breath it sent pain pulsing through his body.

  ‘Just a scratch,’ replied Harry, though even his rebuttal was delivered with a wince.

  Singh struck a match and lit a cigarette, the end burning a furious orange.

  ‘Appreciate the help back there,’ said Harry.

  ‘Fuck your thanks,’ replied Singh, pinching the cigarette from his lips. ‘Protecting my debt. Joe puts you in a coma, I kiss my ten grand goodbye.’

  ‘Thanks anyway. Kid was untouchable.’

  ‘No argument there. Only way a twenty-year-old can run that place. Ain’t a man in that tower gets anywhere near him.’

  ‘Seems you can.’

  Singh sniggered. ‘My dogs have their own reputation. Now you best piss off.’

  Harry turned to Isaac and nodded at the car. ‘Get in,’ he said.

  ‘One thing,’ said Singh.

  Harry turned to see him holding his phone up.

  A flash as he took Harry’s picture. Then two more of Abu-Nazir and Amelia in the back of Harry’s car.

  ‘Perfect,’ he said, checking the images and smiling.

  ‘The fuck’s that for?’ said Harry, irate.

  Singh flicked his cigarette to the floor and stepped away. ‘You’ve got the most hunted bastards on the planet. Reckon this shit you’re doing is off the books.’ He waved his phone at Harry then put it in his pocket. ‘Insurance on your debt.’

  ‘I gave you my word; my watch.’

  Singh nodded. ‘Still a pig, though. And you can take a pig out of its pen but, know what? It’s still dirty.’

  EIGHTY

  The Patriots were on the line.

  ‘This is ACC Frost.’

  Less than an hour since that sniper had pulled the trigger. News outlets were running wild, speculating that one of the terrorists had been shot dead.