Zain checked everything again including his laptop. It seemed to start up slightly slower than usual, and he sighed. Something or nothing? Did he need it? He’d worked so hard to get it but… He made a habit of emailing himself with everything important. He already had a copy of his university application. The UCAT results had been put in his bag but they’d be sent directly to any university he applied to. Though he had the horrible suspicion Helen could ensure that no medical school in London offered him a place.
Theoretically, he could leave everything behind, just in case. But if Roman wasn’t there on Saturday, he’d have done it for nothing. There were lockers on the other side of the room. Maybe he’d just store his things. Pay for another night. Apart from the clothes he was going to wear tomorrow, the two trackers he’d found and his toilet bag, he put everything in the locker. Then he went downstairs and paid for another night, hoping this was the only night he’d spend here.
When he curled up on the bed, he wondered if he was being a fool. If Roman wasn’t there tomorrow, what was he going to do? Go back the week after, and the week after that, go back for a whole year? Unless he could be sure he wasn’t being followed, he couldn’t risk going to the museum. He’d seen what Roman did to make sure they weren’t followed when they’d gone to Brighton. Zain had to do that and more. All this could be for nothing if Roman was dead.
But he isn’t.
Chapter Twenty-Two
If one of the occupants of the bunk room was spying on Zain, he had no idea which guy it was. A couple had tried to engage him in conversation, Zain had pretended to not understand and he’d been left alone to think. The only safe thing to do. By the time he walked out of the building the next day, he had a plan.
It was almost a relief to register he was being followed. If they’d just wanted him out of the capital, they’d have grabbed him, given him a talking to about wasting their time, put him on another train and maybe accompanied him to Manchester. They wanted Roman. But Zain wanted him more.
He needed to lose his tail but not make it look as though that was what he was trying to do. The moment he felt unobserved, he’d get rid of the tracking devices, then wind his way to the Science Museum, making doubly sure he wasn’t being watched before he headed for the Natural History Museum, which was only a short distance away.
Zain shopped. He bought a dark blue peacoat, shoes, scarf and a red beanie from Primark and, for the first time ever, was pleased to pay for a carrier bag to hide his purchases. He gave one follower the slip by getting onto a bus that was just about to pull out. Zain dropped a tracker into the bag of the woman he sat next to and as soon as the bus rounded the corner, he got off again and went down onto the underground. The other tracker went into the shopping bag of a pensioner as they moved down the escalator. He’d thought about putting them both in the same bag but figured that those who were following him would have to split up, assuming he’d found one tracker and not the other. He sighed. But what did he know?
He changed his shoes in a toilet and left the old ones next to a waste bin. If someone took them, so much the better. After travelling around on the Tube for thirty minutes, Zain was confident he was safe. He put on his coat, scarf and beanie, and headed for the Science Museum. Midday already. He ate and, just in case, he people watched as he ate, checking for anyone he seemed to see too much of, anyone he’d seen before, anyone who looked at him. Finally, at fifteen minutes past one, he set off for the Natural History Museum, excitement bubbling.
But excitement turned to fear when he saw the face of one of the men who’d been following him earlier. Fuck. How? What had he missed? Though it killed something inside him to do it, Zain walked past the entrance to the Natural History Museum without even glancing at it. He couldn’t risk going inside. He had to be smarter than them and that wasn’t going to be easy. Experts against a guy who might have love on his side, but barely knew what he was doing.
He had to find a way. The first thing he needed to do was go somewhere and make it look as though it was where he was going to meet Roman. But not the Victoria and Albert Museum. He needed to lead them well away from this area.
It was further to walk to Brompton Cemetery than he’d have liked. Zain wasn’t supposed to be walking much while he recovered. He was unsure of the exact route but he didn’t want to check on his phone. Even though he’d kept it switched off, he wondered if they’d put a tracker into it so it didn’t even need to be switched on for them to follow him. Before next Saturday, he’d buy another phone with the money they’d given him.
He stumbled on the cemetery eventually and after wandering around as long as he could manage, he headed for the Courtoy Tomb. It was a place he’d been to before, a large stone monument with a bronze door that some claimed was a time machine while others thought was a transportation chamber that led to a cemetery in Paris. No amount of wishful thinking would make either of those things true.
He’d occasionally checked behind him, hoping to see the guy following him but maybe they’d switched to someone else. Didn’t matter. Zain sat on the sloping plinth of the monument and waited. People strolled past, men and women, old and young. Zain suspected some might be MI5 agents. He had a good memory for faces and he gave everyone a name based on what they looked like. Spotty Man. Overbite Woman. Big Lips Guy. Nice Coat Man.
He tried to look worried that Roman hadn’t turned up. He checked his phone a couple of times, switching it off again afterwards. He stood up and paced, then sat. He looked as restless as he could. When he started to get cold, he made his way back to the hostel. He spotted Big Lips Guy as he looked both ways before crossing the street, and went inside the building with a small smile on his face.
The smile didn’t last. Now he had to wait a week before he could go to the museum again. A week to find a way to disappear without them knowing where he’d gone, unable to use his phone or laptop, and still worrying if he’d found every tracking device. The only way to be sure was to leave everything. Stick to the things he’d bought.
Zain had to lie down for a while. He might have been sitting for the last two hours, but it had been a long day and he was exhausted. Though his mind still raced and he registered that the money put in his bank account might not stay there now he’d run. So he went out again, found an ATM and drew out five hundred pounds. He’d take out the rest tomorrow. Before he returned to the hostel, he went for a meal. He still didn’t feel like eating but if he was weak, he was vulnerable and he needed to be strong.
While he sat waiting for his food to arrive, he mentally made a list of how to handle the next seven days. He had to find somewhere else to stay just in case he did manage to give everyone the slip, somewhere that didn’t require a credit card. But for the time being, he didn’t mind the watchers knowing where he was.
Roman sighed. TV dramas made getting out of a hospital when you were under surveillance look much easier than it was. At least they hadn’t handcuffed him to the bed. There had been a guard outside his room at all times, but not a policeman with a gun, just a selection of ordinary looking people. A woman holding flowers, a man with a clipboard, a guy in overalls pretending to work on the lighting. Well maybe they weren’t all NCA or MI5 but Roman would be under surveillance. He guessed that only people high up in the hospital hierarchy knew he was a prisoner. It was possible that one of Arkady’s contacts might discover where Roman was and he’d get an unexpected visit. MI5 wouldn’t want it to look as though he’d been arrested.
He needed help to get out of here.
In an ideal world, he’d have spent longer recovering but his desire to escape and go to the museum to meet Zain outweighed everything. Though he had to be sure that when he did go, he wasn’t caught. If necessary, he’d wait a week. Because if he fucked up, they’d put him somewhere he’d never get out of. So he missed the first Saturday but he wasn’t going to miss the next.
He couldn’t get out of the hospital without help. He needed to make a temporary friend. Roman waited becau
se the staff changed so often but he had to leave before they discharged him into the care of MI5.
A gay nurse seemed promising, he’d flirted with Roman, but in the end he opted for the youngest nurse taking care of him. Julie.
“Can I borrow your phone?” Roman asked her. “My boyfriend’s not even come to see me.” He manufactured a fake sob.
She hesitated, then pulled it out of her pocket.
“Thank you.” Roman tapped in the number of his local Chinese Takeaway and hoped they didn’t answer since it was outside business hours. “It’s me… Why haven’t you been to see me? I kept… No, I didn’t do… Malcolm, please. Don’t… I don’t have clothes, shoes. Please. I know these places freak you out. I know, honey… God, I want to see you too… I’ll ask.”
He looked at the nurse. “He spaces out in hospitals. Last time he went in one he had a panic attack. He says he’ll meet me at the door in thirty minutes. I just need to see him. Can I do that?”
“I’ll take you down for a few minutes.”
Roman beamed at her and told his imaginary boyfriend. He ended the call and handed the phone back to her. “Is there something I can wear?”
It turned out to be easier than he’d thought. Hospital scrubs replaced his gown. Grey clogs were produced. Fucking hideous things. Roman wrapped himself in a blanket to hide what he was wearing and Julie pushed him down the corridor to the lift. A guy in overalls followed but as luck would have it, there was no room for him. As the doors closed, Roman lifted the wallet from the pocket of the man in front, and slid it under the blanket.
The moment Julie pushed him out of the lift, Roman stepped from the wheelchair, kissed her on the cheek and hurried away. He was counting on the man who’d been watching not to have had time to alert anyone. Roman headed for the taxi rank, climbed into the first cab and sighed as the vehicle pulled away. His flat wasn’t far but he couldn’t go back there. He asked the driver to take him to Spitalfields market, mentally crossed his fingers before he looked in the wallet, then allowed himself to smile. Plenty of cash. Maybe one day he’d be able to pay the guy back.
Zain was as sure as he could be that no one was tailing him, no one was tracking him. He’d left almost everything inside the locker at the hostel together with a note asking them to please keep his things safe for a while and he’d pay for the inconvenience when he came back. Though he knew that might never happen. All he had were the clothes he was wearing, his plastic wallet with his ID and documents around his neck, and money. He’d left his phone and even his secondhand leather wallet just in case.
He spent two nights in a cheap hotel. Two nights in a different hostel. One night in another hotel and woke on Saturday morning knowing this was the day that could change everything. He’d bought a different coat and hat, another scarf to wrap around his face. He wasn’t sure what else he could do. Instead of constantly moving from one place to another, Zain went to the Museum early, hoping to hide among the crowd. The queue to get in was huge.
But finally, he made it inside and stuffed his scarf into one pocket, his hat in the other. He was too nervous to eat. Too nervous to look around but he wandered through the dinosaur exhibit before he sat in the café and made a cup of coffee and a sandwich last a long time. He couldn’t contemplate the thought that Roman wouldn’t come. But if he didn’t, Zain would return to the first hostel, hopefully get a place there and…and what? Keep his life on hold?
He’ll be here.
When it was time to make his way to the Vault, Zain’s heart hammered. He’d hoped Roman would be waiting but he wasn’t. He’ll come. He will. He stared into the cabinets of treasures, not taking in a thing, hoping and hoping that the biggest treasure in his life would appear behind him. He was glad he didn’t know the exact time because he was going to stand here until…
Someone exhaled on his neck and Zain looked up into the glass to see Roman’s reflection. It was all Zain could do not to cry out.
“Two thousand meteorites,” Roman said. “One of the best collections in the world but what is outside the case is the greatest thing I’ve ever seen.”
Zain shuddered with longing. “They told me you were dead.”
“They told me the same.”
“That you were dead?”
Roman laughed. Zain turned around and stepped into his arms. Roman was holding him too tight and it hurt a bit but Zain didn’t care.
“Careful. Remember I was shot. Twice.”
“I completely forgot.”
Roman pressed his face into Zain’s hair and Zain could feel him shaking with laughter.
“I can’t believe I have you in my arms,” Roman whispered. “Where have you been?”
“They put me on a train to Manchester,” Zain whispered. “But they wanted me to get off because they needed me to lead them to you. They put trackers in my bag and on my jacket. They’ve been following me but I managed to lose them.”
“Not quite,” said a voice behind them.
And Zain found himself dragged away from Roman. No! As two men restrained Roman, Zain struggled to get free from the one man who held him.
“Calm down,” Helen said.
“Let me go,” Zain shouted. “Let him go. Help! Help!”
Zain fought with every ounce of strength he had. He’d not found Roman only to lose him again. There wouldn’t be another chance. The man trying to keep hold of him was strong, but Zain slithered out of his coat and managed a couple of steps towards Roman before he was brought down. Even as someone knelt on his back, he still fought to get free, squirming on the floor, lashing out. Until handcuffs snapped around his wrists and he found himself hauled to his feet.
“Keep still and keep quiet,” snapped the man holding him. Zain had managed to make the guy’s nose bleed.
Keeping still and quiet were not going to happen. Zain was frantic, throwing himself from side to side, crying, shouting out but the guy holding him was squeezing too hard and hurting him and… Roman dropped to his knees, then all the way to the floor and put his hands on the back of his head. Zain stopped moving. Roman is giving up?
“Stop hurting him,” Roman said.
Zain let himself go limp and the moment he felt the hold on him weaken, he kicked back into the guy’s shin and flung himself at Roman, skidding across the floor on his knees.
“Get up and run!” Zain pleaded.
But when Roman stayed where he was, Zain understood that it was all over. There would be no running. Zain was yanked up by his handcuffs and brought to his feet but he still struggled.
“Stop this right now,” Helen said.
Zain didn’t take his eyes off Roman. “I’m really sorry,” he whispered. “I was sure I’d lost them.”
“You did,” Helen said. “Several times. We should have given you a job. Now you’re both going to leave quietly with us. We’re not talking in here.”
Zain wasn’t doing anything quietly. He wouldn’t accept that this was the end, that they’d never let them see each other again. He made them drag him out of the museum, though they used a private exit, and all the time he shouted for Roman. But Roman never even turned to look at him. He was just walking out without protest and even though Zain understood that the situation might seem hopeless, that being separated might look inevitable, he wasn’t going to stop fighting.
Roman got into the lead car and Zain was forcibly shoved into the one behind.
If he could get free, he’d go to the papers, he’d… He didn’t know what he’d do, but… I won’t fucking give up!
Fighting was physically and mentally exhausting. Zain knew he might be damaging both his battered body and his fragile mind but he’d gone through too much to not try. He wanted to see Roman and they ignored him. He was put in a cell on his own and he screamed until he was hoarse, yelled until he was so exhausted, he couldn’t stay on his feet. He curled up on the thin mattress and even tears didn’t fall, he was so wiped out.
When he woke, he hammered on the door, shouting
for Roman. They kept telling him to shut up but he wouldn’t. He ate the food they gave him because he needed to be strong to keep resisting, but when they took him to an interrogation room and fastened him to a metal chair with his hands behind his back, he wondered how strong he’d need to be. If this had been Syria, he wouldn’t have lasted long.
They asked questions to which he had no answers. He knew virtually nothing about what Roman’s business entailed. He had no names to give them. It was easier when they asked him about Syria, his family, Qashim, how he’d gotten to the UK and all that happened after that. Even the car wash. He told them almost everything. They didn’t need to know that one thing that he hadn’t even told Roman.
They questioned him about the photos on his phone of the room in the Mayfair house. He explained that he’d googled what the words meant. He told them about the hidden room in the closet, the trip to Brighton, walking on the cliffs, playing crazy golf, Roman’s saxophone, his love of rocks. He wanted them to see another side of Roman. He needed them to understand that the two of them had a life outside all this, beyond this. Roman wanted out. Why wouldn’t they let him go?
Where is Roman?
Is he okay?
What have you done to him?
Why won’t you let me see him?
Repeated time after time. None of Zain’s questions were answered.
The same thing continued day after day. Zain fought, struggled and objected. They threatened to deport him. Just fucking do it he’d shouted. And I’ll tell everyone what happened. He yelled over the voice in his head that was warning him to be careful.
He knew he must have rights but in the depths of this building on the north bank of the Thames, he was invisible. No man. Rightly or wrongly, he’d convinced himself that once he stopped fighting, all was lost, Roman was lost. Fierce determination had brought him out of Syria and all the way to this country. He’d found Roman’s heart, seen inside his soul and he wouldn’t give him up.
Whatever It Takes Page 35
