by Ted Tayler
The room fell silent. Prayers followed and then they read from the Qur’an. Later in the afternoon, Munaf showed them what they needed to do.
As night fell, everything was assembled. It was time for them to eat. A simple meal of dates followed by pasta cooked with vegetables and chicken and a slice of plain cake with custard washed down with cranberry juice.
Aaleyah and Farooq made their way back to their respective digs.
“I’ll see you in the morning,” said Farooq. Aaleyah nodded and stood silently by the doorway into her apartment block.
“We only have two messages to go,” she said.
“Until tomorrow then,” said Farooq, not wanting to think about it.
Back at the flat, Munaf and Abdul studied the results of their handiwork. Munaf was satisfied.
“We have done well Abdul.”
“Roadrunner,” he said.
“Do you have your uniform ready for tomorrow Roadrunner?”
“I do, Spider-Man,” said Abdul with no hint of a smile, “we must be the best Games Makers we can be at Greenwich Park. Many people are relying on us.”
As Abdul went to his room to sleep, he glanced at his watch. The Opening Ceremony had been on the television tonight. He had forgotten it. He wondered if it had gone well.
The newspapers and the media were ecstatic about the extravaganza that had taken place at the Olympic Park last evening. Twitter was in meltdown with ten million tweets. The first day’s events were due to begin.
The four students were on duty, ready for a ten to twelve-hour shift. Aaleyah had a ten-minute bus ride to the swimming events; the journey for the boys was just over forty minutes. Bright eyed and bushy tailed in their purple and red uniforms they welcomed, directed, assisted and comforted visitors of all ages, and from every corner of the world. It was a long day, and at the end of it, they were shattered.
Deep in the Dorset countryside, Khadim and Shamila were laying low. She didn’t realise it, of course, she thought they were just chilling, getting to know one another better. It seemed to her that Khadim wanted to spend his day as a devout Muslim should during Ramadan, fasting in quiet contemplation. Shamila was cool with that.
Khadim allowed Shamila to take the bus into Dorchester on Monday to shop and they drove to Lyme Regis together on Wednesday to stroll along the Cobb. The weather was very pleasant; Khadim thought they were far enough along the coast from Weymouth to pose little risk. It would be Friday soon enough.
At Larcombe Manor on Thursday morning, Colin lay on his bed. He tried to think of a way to tell Athena that he was going to be away for the day tomorrow. She was bound to want to know where he was going. If he was evasive, she would smell a rat. Therese had texted him to remind him about Greenwich Park. Colin was catching an early train and would be up there by eleven o’clock.
A few hours in her company wouldn’t be too much of a hardship; far better to keep her sweet than to provoke her. Therese could expose him. Now that Erebus had told him he would soon have one and a half million in his bank account, keeping Therese sweet was of paramount importance.
Colin had at least done his research, and he now knew that it was horses he was watching, not blokes kicking a ball. A slight improvement, but he was desperate for something to break in the hunt for Khadim Salah and he could go somewhere else instead.
These past few weeks, since the prison break mission, he had been starved of action. Most of all he missed the buildup, the planning he found so fascinating, pitting his wits against the complexities of the job in hand. He loved working out in minute detail how he would complete a successful mission. Reacting at a moment's notice to an impending crisis was alien to him; he did not like it.
There was nothing for it; he had to bite the bullet. He must tell Athena the truth about the London trip. Colin had made up his mind. He jumped up off the bed and made his way towards the main house.
No sooner had he poked his head around the door to his room and entered the corridor when Rusty shouted out to him.
“Come and look at this mate!”
Saved by the bell! Colin turned and followed Rusty’s voice. Hi, ex-SAS buddy was looking at images.
“Don’t tell me,” sighed Colin “did I ever see any this big?”
“No mate,” said Rusty “it’s not a porn site, it’s a CCTV feed from Lyme Regis.”
“Lyme Regis,” asked Colin “where’s that, when it’s at home?”
“On the Dorset coast, you ignoramus; twenty-five miles from Weymouth.”
“Where the sailing events are being held, so what?”
“Check this couple out.”
“Khadim Salah and Shamila Javed; pleased to make your acquaintance. When was this?”
“Yesterday afternoon.”
“Let’s get over there then; why are we waiting?”
“Hold your horses Phoenix, Erebus and the others haven’t seen this yet. We’ve only just intercepted it. Henry said Giles had people up through the night scrambling through CCTV footage, anywhere within a thirty-mile radius of an Olympic venue. Have you any idea how much that was? We are talking needle and haystack territory mate.”
Colin was itching to be doing something, not hanging around waiting for a green light to go to Lyme Regis. They had to stop this couple from doing whatever it was they planned to do.
Rusty viewed the footage again.
“I know the spooks reckon this Salah fellow spent time in the old country last year and had him recorded as a potential terrorist, but look at them. Are we sure? Look at the way she’s gazing lovingly at his face. She’s in love. They‘re strolling arm in arm on The Cobb, they don’t look bombers to me.”
Colin stared at the screen.
“She’s gazing at him, Rusty. The guy’s not looking at her. He’s checking out everything around him, keeping his eyes on the floor when those two old women walk by them; there, do you see? No, this one’s clever; he’s using the girl as a decoy. He wants people to think they’re the perfect couple. As a loner, he’d stand out from the crowd. This way he’ll blend right into the happy throng spending the day at the seaside.”
“Well, you’re probably right, you usually are, mate. I’ll get this seen by the bosses and they can decide who goes to locate these two and sort the problem.”
Colin left Rusty and headed off to see Athena. As he walked across the lawn, it dawned on him that if he volunteered for the Weymouth mission, he had his ‘Get Out Of Jail Free’ card. He could send a message to Therese telling her a rush job had come up on the South coast. He could say he couldn’t get out of it and there would be nothing to tell Athena.
Colin tried to get in to see Erebus. He thought if the boss viewed the evidence of the Lyme Regis CCTV, it wouldn’t do any harm if he sat in too. He’d be in prime position to be picked for the mission. The old man was off site for the rest of the day; a visit to his solicitors. Athena saw him loitering in the corridor.
“The ‘little boy lost’ look doesn’t suit you Phoenix,” she said, running her nails up the middle of his back, hard.
“Rusty tells me we got a break in the Salah case. He’s been spotted in Lyme Regis. I reckon I should get over there pronto.”
“I’ve assigned Hayden Vincent and Kelly Dexter to that job. They are picking up a former sniper in Yeovil on the way. I reckon they should be positioned sometime before noon. If these two terrorists are targeting the sailing programme then they’ve still got over a week to strike. We’ve got people checking the live feeds from the tourist webcams in Weymouth and Portland. As soon as we get a positive sighting we can let the agents know. If Jack Mould gets a clear shot, he’s been told to take them both out, no messing. We have a clean-up crew from Bournemouth on their way; if they can remove any evidence from the beach it will be great, if not I have a backup plan.”
Colin was impressed. Athena was on top of her game alright. Erebus was away and she had assumed control, sorted out the actions necessary. There was nothing left for him to add.
/> “OK, it looks as if you’ve got it covered; I might pop up to London tomorrow, to get a flavour of the Olympics, you know, if that’s okay? Won’t be long. I’ll be back by nightfall.”
“Not so fast,” Athena said “you didn’t say anything about getting tickets. You hate sport. What’s going on?”
“Nothing, honestly; but after Erebus told me my money was being freed up, I thought it was time to look for something on which to spend it.”
“You don’t need me along too then?” said Athena coyly.
“Not just now,” said Colin “but thanks for the offer.”
Athena had to get on with Olympus matters, so she kissed him quickly on the cheek and told him to have a good day. As Colin made his way towards the front door and back outside, he gave a huge sigh of relief.
“Hurry back tomorrow Phoenix,” Athena called “you might find you have a guest waiting for you.”
Colin congratulated himself on dodging the bullet. He now had the chance to keep Therese sweet and something to look forward to when he got back to Larcombe.
The rest of Colin’s day was quiet and uneventful.
In London, it was yet another busy day in mobile phone activity.
“543”
CHAPTER 21
The morning of Friday 3rd of August 2012 had arrived.
Popeye and Olive Oyl received their call to go to Munaf’s flat. Both had been up before dawn, praying and eating a light breakfast. They dressed in their uniforms and ready to resume their Games Maker duties. This was to be their final day.
While the two young students collected their bombs, Colin listened to the weather forecast. He was sat on the train pulling out of Bath Spa station on the way to Paddington.
‘The UK is in an unstable south-westerly flow with scattered showers, but most of the showers are over the west and southwest. On Friday, central and eastern Britain will begin fine with hazy sunshine, but cloud will build with a scattering of showers by the afternoon. A few showers might reach the southeast of the UK through the morning. These will then die away in the afternoon with fine and sunny weather to end the day. Moderate southerly breezes will develop, becoming fresh and gusty over the southwest of England later in the day. Afternoon temperatures in London should be around twenty-one degrees Celsius.’
Typical, thought Colin, I should have brought a coat. English summers weren’t what they were when he was a boy. Sitting in an open stand watching bloody horses as they trotted around while it rained, was not what he would be doing given a choice.
Colin checked his watch. The train would get him into Paddington before ten and then it took just over thirty minutes to reach the Park. Colin looked out of the window at the wide-open spaces. He wondered if the descendants of the deer that Henry VIII hunted in the Park all those years ago were still in residence. Would the organisers have rounded them up and moved them somewhere else during the Olympics perhaps?
He sent a text to Therese, telling her he would see her at half-past ten by the Royal Observatory. As the train pulled into Swindon, he got her reply: -
“I can’t wait. Missed you x”
Colin did not take much notice; he was still scanning the platform for Andy Partridge.
At Greenwich Park, the second day of the Men’s and Women’s Team Dressage was due to get underway at eleven o’clock. The crowds were building and as the spectators emerged on the other side of the security cordon, the temporary open seating began to fill.
Spider-Man and Roadrunner left the flat a few minutes after Popeye and Olive Oyl. Munaf told them he would call again, once more. When they received the message, they knew what to do.
In Piddlehinton, Khadim Salah and Shamila Javed made an early start too. They too rose early, they prayed and Khadim packed the car.
“Are we going somewhere nice today?” Shamila asked Khadim.
“I thought we would go into Weymouth,” he replied.
“What, to the beach? What shall I wear?”
“I think you should wear the shalwar kameez, like the one you wore the first day we met; that would be perfect. I shall wear traditional clothing too. I have an embroidered kurta, that I wear on special occasions and with a dhoti and a pagri, we will show these English people what fine Punjabi’s we are.
Shamila was beside herself. Surely today, Khadim would tell her he was going to ask her father if they could be married. She ran to her room to change into her finest outfit.
Khadim was in his bedroom changing too. He carefully donned the jacket and then the outer clothing. He checked himself in the small mirror on the dressing table. He looked bulkier than normal, but he knew he could carry it off.
As he reversed the hire car into the street and headed towards Weymouth, he turned on the radio.
‘If you are heading off to the sailing today then there is a thirty percent chance of a shower in the morning; with luck, it will then be a dry afternoon. Expect around twenty knot southerly winds off the Weymouth coast and temperatures of around eighteen degrees.’
“I hope it doesn’t rain Khadim, it will be such a shame.”
“We won’t let it spoil our day Shamila.”
Meanwhile, in London, Colin stepped off the train onto the platform at Paddington station; his phone rang. Commuters and staff turned their heads as Judas Priest welcomed their arrival in the capital.
It was Rusty.
“Where are you Phoenix?”
“Paddington, I’ve just arrived.”
“You need to get to Stratford mate, it’s urgent.”
“What’s happened?”
“Giles picked up a video posted on YouTube thirty minutes ago. It’s already going viral. A student called Farooq Habibi uploaded it. He wore a Games Maker uniform. He’s been at the swimming this week, but I guess they won’t be coming into work today.”
“Did you say they?”
“His girlfriend has been volunteering there too; she’s not in the video. Giles is trying to find out who else hasn’t turned up for work today, so we can get names. They were due in half an hour ago.”
“What’s on the video?”
“There are lots of quotes from the Qur’an about violence and attacking the non-believers. That’s us, mate. Oh and he rambled on a lot about Arabic posters.”
“Did he give any indication of what they planned to do? Are these two in it together, the boy, and the girl? Is Salah connected to this in any way? What have we missed?”
“That’s just it Phoenix. In the video, he says they are carrying out suicide attacks today. The lad’s scared shitless, and he wants to live. By the sound of it, he has something to live for, this girl student by the sound of it. Salah is heading for Weymouth if our sighting of him is a big clue, but whether they know one another from somewhere in their past, who knows? Giles hasn’t found a link yet. Unless he turns up something else, and fast, our best bet is that these two kids will be together, near to Stratford and the Olympic Park.”
“Oh, cheers; that narrows it down.”
“We’ve got people on the ground already mate, don’t worry. They’ll meet you as soon as you get over there. If you’re up there on a jolly today, I’m guessing you’re not carrying?”
“I’m naked as the day I was born. Sorry love.”
“What was that?”
“Frightened an old lady at the ticket machine, she snapped her head round so quick, it nearly fell off her shoulders. Right, I’m on my way to Stratford. I’ll be there around half past ten. Who am I meeting?”
“Do you remember Brad? We worked with him at Oxford Circus. He transferred from Birmingham in April. Brad’s squad lives in the Chiswick area. We’re scanning CCTV for sightings of Habibi. The deadly duo from Devizes is heading for the beach, with their ‘plus one’.”
“Jack Mould, the sniper; is he any good?”
“Jelly was one of the best we had.”
“Jelly, what do you mean ‘was’?”
“Jelly Mould, you plonker; it’s just a nickname. Dark h
umour from those who lie around, picking off targets further away than I can see. It was because he never had even a quiver; we’re in safe hands Phoenix, don’t fret.”
Colin stood on the platform; it was just after ten o’clock. He waited impatiently for the train to arrive.
Farooq and Aaleyah were outside Jamie’s Italian inside the Westfield Stratford City shopping centre. The huge retail space had been open for a year. They still wore their Games Maker uniforms. They carried their official bags. The pipe bombs they had collected from Munaf’s flat were inside. When they left Munaf and Abdul, they had turned to one another at once and said, “I can’t do this.”
“I know Aaleyah;” Farooq had said “can we stop using these stupid nicknames he gave us too. I am ditching my burner phone as soon as Munaf rings us. We should hang on to them until he rings. He’ll never know we aren’t going through with it. Whatever he and Abdul do is up to them. I want to stay alive and be with you.”
Farooq took Aaleyah back to his flat. He told her he was recording a video and planned to upload it to the internet.
“What are you going to say? Can I be in it too?” asked Aaleyah.
“Not if you don’t want to.”
Farooq turned on his computer and set to work. The finished product was not a slick presentation; just an outpouring of emotion from a naïve young man. He was a student experiencing love for the first time, caught in the fervour and ideological miasma surrounding life at his university. He did not want to die.
Farooq quoted verses from the Qur’an. He talked about why he still wanted the West to suffer at his hands. He quoted several examples that only warranted a brief mention in the media, but which to him seemed significant. Farooq talked of the posters at the shopping centre near the Olympic Park that welcomed shoppers in Arabic, but had been an incorrect translation. This was unforgivable, he said. Farooq talked a lot about respect.
“Our words have no effect, so we shall talk to you in words you understand. We give our words life with the blood of your people. Our religion is Islam - obedience to the one true God, Allah, and following the footsteps of the messenger Muhammad. My mission was to protect and avenge my Muslim brothers and sisters with my death. I do not want to die. I want to live. Until we believe you respect us and treat us as equals, you will always be our targets. We will still make sure our bombs are used today. If it is the will of Allah that we survive, so be it.”
