by Kevin Brooks
And I didn’t have all day.
I took a final quick look through the gap in the fence, then I turned round and headed back to the footpath.
I’d taken a few pictures of the warehouse on my mobile, but the camera on my phone isn’t that great, and although the straightforward shots I’d taken weren’t too bad, the ones I’d taken with the zoom were too blurry to show the details of what I’d actually seen. So as I rode back to Nan and Grandad’s on my bike, I kept going over everything in my head, picturing time and time again what I’d seen, making sure that every little detail was safely lodged in my memory.
To make it easier to remember, I split the information into separate categories, and mentally numbered each different category.
1) The warehouse: it was a single-storey building, with a flat roof, a door at the front, and another at the back. I hadn’t actually seen the door at the back, but I’d seen the man with the goatee beard patrolling the yard at the rear of the warehouse, and he definitely hadn’t come out of the front door. There were blinds in all the windows, and all the blinds were kept closed.
2) The surroundings: there were patches of wasteground on either side of the warehouse, and the yard at the rear backed onto scrubby fields that stretched out into the distance. The fields were surrounded by hedges. The car park at the front of the building and the yard at the back were enclosed behind wire-mesh fencing that was approximately three metres high. The locked double gates that led into the car park were also about three metres high.
3) Sowton Lane: the street itself was barely used. In all the time I was there, I saw no more than a dozen passing vehicles, and no pedestrians at all.
4) The occupants: there were at least seven men in the warehouse. Winston (Grey Eyes), Shaved Head (the one who called himself Owen Smith), Goatee, the gunman (the one who’d shot out the tyres on the CIA cars), the gaunt-faced man, and two men I’d never seen before: a pale-skinned man with reddish hair, and a big muscle-bound guy with nasty-looking eyes. Three of them had come out of the warehouse while I was there. Goatee had spent five minutes patrolling the back yard; the big guy had come out and fetched something from the back of the van; and on two occasions Gaunt Face had wandered out and strolled round the car park smoking a cigarette. The other four had stayed inside, but they’d all shown their faces at a window at least once, either peeking out from between the blinds or pulling the blind halfway up for a more thorough look around.
5) Conclusion: there was no real evidence that Bashir was in the warehouse. I hadn’t seen him. I hadn’t seen anything that actually proved he was in there. But I was 99 per cent sure that he was. Everything pointed to it. Dad’s surveillance photograph, Omega’s interest in Bashir, the behaviour of the seven men in the warehouse – patrolling the building, constantly on the lookout, keeping the blinds closed all the time. It all made sense if Bashir was in the warehouse.
There was still a lot that didn’t make sense though. What was he doing there? Why did Omega have him? Were they protecting him? Or was he their prisoner? How long had he been at the warehouse? Had he been there when Dad had taken the photograph? And, if he had, why was he still there now? Why had he been there for almost three weeks, maybe even longer?
I didn’t have any answers.
But it wasn’t important now.
All I cared about now, as I carried on cycling back to Nan and Grandad’s, was making sure I memorised everything. I could think about what it all meant later. The facts were all that mattered right now.
The facts.
The details.
I hit the rewind button in my head and started going over everything again. 1) The warehouse: single-storey building, flat roof, door at the front, another at the back . . .
41
I realise now that part of the reason I was so intent on memorising everything I’d seen at the warehouse was that it helped take my mind off what was going to happen when I got back to Nan and Grandad’s. I really didn’t want to think about that. It was bad enough knowing that they were going to be upset with me. What was worse was that I didn’t know what that would mean. It would have been different if I’d been going home to Mum and Dad, knowing that they were going to be upset with me. I still would have felt anxious and worried, of course, but at least I would have known what to expect. The hurt in Mum’s eyes, the quiet firmness of Dad’s voice, their obvious disappointment in me . . . I would have known that. I would have known how bad I was going to feel.
But I wasn’t going home to an upset Mum and Dad. I was going home to an upset Nan and Grandad, and I really didn’t know what that was going to be like. Which, to be honest, was kind of scary. So rather than actually thinking about it, I suppose I just blocked it all out and concentrated on memorising things about the warehouse instead.
I don’t think I was aware of what I was doing.
In fact, I know I wasn’t.
Because I don’t really remember riding back from the warehouse at all. It was almost as if I was in a trance. I vaguely recall arriving back at Nan and Grandad’s house . . . getting off my bike . . . putting it away in the shed . . . but I can’t even remember if I came in the front way or through the back gate. I was so fixated on what I’d seen at the warehouse that I was still mumbling away to myself about it as I made my way from the shed to the back door – How many men did you see? Seven. Who were they? Shaved Head, Winston, Goatee, Gunman, Gaunt Face . . .
Then the back door opened, and I looked up and saw Nan standing there, her eyes brimming with tears. And suddenly everything became real again.
‘Oh, Travis!’ she cried, throwing her arms round me. ‘Thank God you’re back. We’ve been so worried. Where have you been?’
She was squeezing me so hard that I could hardly breathe, let alone say anything.
‘It’s all right,’ she said tearfully, still hugging the life out of me. ‘Everything’s all right . . . you’re OK now . . .’ She suddenly let go of me, put her hands on my shoulders, and held me at arm’s length. ‘You are all right, aren’t you, Travis?’ she asked, staring intensely into my eyes. ‘Please tell me you’re all right . . . that’s all I need to know—’
‘I’m fine, Nan,’ I told her. ‘Honestly, I’m OK.’ I wiped a tear from my eye. ‘I’m really sorry, Nan. I shouldn’t have—’
She grabbed hold of me again, pulling my head to her shoulder and holding me so tightly that this time I really couldn’t breathe. But I didn’t mind. With my face pressed up against her tear-stained skin, and her strong hand gripping the back of my head, I somehow felt like myself again – my real self – and just for a moment I didn’t have to think about anything or try to understand anything. I didn’t even have to know what I was feeling. All I had to do was feel it.
Whatever it was.
I couldn’t hold my breath for ever though, and eventually I had to lift my head from Nan’s shoulder and gulp down some air. That’s when I saw Grandad. He was standing in the kitchen doorway behind Nan, staring quietly into my eyes. He looked tired, his face lined with worry and stress. But what struck me the most was the way he was looking at me. I knew that look. I’d seen it in Dad’s eyes when he’d been upset with me. That strange mixture of disappointment and relief, pain and concern, despair and understanding . . .
I knew it.
And although that didn’t make things any easier, it somehow felt OK.
‘I’m sorry, Grandad,’ I said, gently stepping out of Nan’s embrace.
He nodded. ‘I’m sorry too.’
‘I don’t know what I was thinking,’ I said, shaking my head. ‘Well, I do . . . but I just . . . I don’t know . . . it was just . . .’ I let out a sigh, not really knowing what I was trying to say.
‘Are you hungry?’ Grandad said.
I looked at him, slightly surprised by the question. ‘Well, yeah,’ I said hesitantly, ‘but I really need to talk to you about—’
‘Oh, we’re going to talk about things,’ he said ominously. ‘Don’t you worry a
bout that. We’ve got a lot of talking to do. But before we start, you need to get some food inside you.’
I wanted to tell him that there wasn’t time for food, that I had to talk to him right now, before it was too late. But even as I opened my mouth to speak, and he angled his head and gave me a don’t-you-dare-say-anything look, I knew it wasn’t a good idea to start arguing with him now.
Besides, I was pretty hungry.
In fact, I was starving.
42
After Nan had made me some bacon and eggs and a big plate of toast, and I’d scoffed it all down as quickly as I could, I went into the sitting room and found Grandad waiting for me in his armchair. He gestured for me take a seat, and I sat down on the settee. I’d kind of imagined that he’d want to talk to me on my own, so I was a bit surprised when Nan came in and sat down next to me, but I was really glad that she did.
I looked at her.
She half smiled at me, then turned to Grandad.
‘Nan knows what’s going on,’ he told me. ‘I explained everything to her this morning.’
‘Right,’ I said.
‘So from now on,’ he continued, ‘we’re all in this together, OK?’
I nodded.
He glanced at Nan, then looked back at me. ‘Listen, Travis . . . about what I said on the phone—’
‘It doesn’t matter—’
‘Yes, it does. It was an inexcusable thing to say. Utterly selfish and thoughtless. I’m truly sorry for hurting you.’
‘I deserved it,’ I said. ‘I did put you through hell again. If anyone was selfish and thoughtless, it was me.’ I looked from Grandad to Nan, then back to Grandad again. ‘I know I shouldn’t have sneaked out without saying anything. I mean, I know it was wrong. I know it was really stupid—’
‘You can say that again,’ Grandad muttered.
‘All right,’ Nan said quietly, shooting a quick look at Grandad. ‘Let’s leave the recriminations for now, shall we?’ She looked at me. ‘You need to tell us where you went, Trav, OK? Forget about all the rights and wrongs, just tell us where you’ve been and what you’ve been doing.’
It was a lot to tell, but by the time I’d finished I was pretty sure I’d told them everything. The only thing I didn’t mention was my suspicion about the yellow paint on the Mercedes van. And I only kept that to myself because it was just a suspicion, and a pretty vague one at that, and I knew what Grandad would say about it anyway. I’ve seen the official police report, I remembered him telling me. I’ve spoken to the accident investigators. There’s absolutely no evidence to suggest that anyone else was involved in the crash.
As I began reeling off all the details I’d memorised about the warehouse, I couldn’t help feeling kind of pleased with myself. I’d done a pretty good job, I thought. I’d been thorough, determined, patient. I’d behaved like a professional private investigator. Mum and Dad would have been proud of me.
But the comfort that gave me didn’t last very long.
I’d only just begun talking about the occupants of the warehouse when Grandad brought me back to earth with a cold hard thump.
‘I definitely saw seven of them in there,’ I was saying, ‘but there might be more. The seven I saw were . . .’ I started counting them off on my fingers. ‘The one who calls himself Winston, the one with the goatee beard, the one with the shaved head—’
‘All right, Travis,’ Grandad said. ‘That’s enough.’
‘I haven’t finished yet,’ I said, carrying on. ‘The man with the gun was there, the one who shot out the tyres, and the gaunt-faced man from the van—’
‘Look at me, Travis,’ Grandad said firmly.
I glared at him. ‘I’m trying to tell you—’
‘I know what you’re trying to do,’ he said calmly. ‘But you need to stop it right now.’
‘Stop it?’
He nodded. ‘No more, OK? This has gone far enough.’
‘What do you mean?’ I said, frowning at him in disbelief. ‘We know where Bashir is now. We know that Omega have got him. All we have to do now is—’
‘We don’t have to do anything, Travis. We’re not going to do anything.’
‘But if we don’t—’
‘That’s enough!’
Grandad had never raised his voice to me before, and the sudden shock of it stunned me into silence. I stared at him, awed by the burning intensity of his eyes.
‘Now you listen to me,’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘Just listen, OK?’ He paused, taking a few moments to compose himself. ‘This isn’t some sort of game, Travis,’ he said. ‘You have to understand that. This is the real world. And the real world can be a dirty and dangerous place. You might think you can deal with it, but I can assure you that you can’t. You were lucky today. Very lucky. You had a gun pointed at you. You outfought a man twice your size. You got into a car with three trained killers and they let you out when you asked them to.’ Grandad looked into my eyes. ‘Do you realise what could have happened? What probably should have happened? I mean, just think about it, Travis. Think about what could have happened to you today. Do you understand what I’m saying?’
I nodded.
‘Life’s tough enough as it is without taking unnecessary risks,’ he continued, leaning back in his chair. ‘The only people who go looking for danger are fantasists or fools.’
‘What about you?’ I said quietly.
‘Me?’
‘You were in the army. That’s a dangerous thing to do, isn’t it?’
‘That’s different.’
‘Why?’
‘It was my job. I was specially trained, I knew what I was doing.’
‘Then you became a private investigator.’
‘That’s right.’
‘Another dangerous thing to do.’
He just looked at me.
I said, ‘No one forced you to be a soldier, did they? I mean, you chose a career that you knew was going to be dangerous—’
‘It was my job,’ he repeated calmly. ‘Just as it was your mum and dad’s job to find Bashir Kamal. But it isn’t yours. That’s all I’m trying to say, Trav. Whatever’s going on with Bashir, whatever happens or doesn’t happen to him . . . it’s nothing to do with you. And even if you think it is, I’m not going to let you risk your life – or anyone else’s – over something that doesn’t concern us.’
‘But we can’t just leave Bashir at the warehouse.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because we don’t know what’s going to happen to him—’
‘We don’t know what’s going to happen to anyone.’
I couldn’t think of an answer to that, so I just scowled at him.
‘I’m sorry, Travis,’ he said, ‘but all I care about is looking after you and Nan and Granny Nora. And right now the only way I can do that is by keeping the CIA and MI5 out of our lives. If that means leaving Bashir at the warehouse . . . well, I’m sorry, but that’s how it has to be.’ He leaned forward in his chair. ‘Look, even if he is at the warehouse – and it’s quite possible he’s not – there’s nothing we can do for him anyway. You said yourself that there are at least seven Omega men there . . .’ He shrugged. ‘What chance would we have against seven trained men? Besides, if they are just protecting him from the CIA . . . well, good for them.’
‘Yeah, but what if they’re not?’ I said. ‘What if they’re working for a terrorist group? I mean, just because Omega claim they’re working for the good of the country, that doesn’t mean they are, does it? You said yourself that no one knows anything about them. They could be a bunch of mercenaries for all we know, working for anyone who pays them. What if the terrorists found out that Bashir was an MI5 informant and hired Omega to kidnap him? They could be keeping Bashir at the warehouse until they hand him over.’ I looked at Grandad. ‘And they have to hand him over tonight or tomorrow morning because the warehouse is going to be demolished on Monday. That’s why Winston asked me not to do anything for twenty-four hours.’
<
br /> ‘Not necessarily,’ Grandad said, without much conviction. ‘They might just be moving him somewhere else. Somewhere safer. And anyway—’
‘Why don’t we call the police?’ I said. ‘If we’re not going to do anything to help Bashir, we should at least let the police know what’s going on.’
Grandad sighed again. ‘You still don’t get it, do you?’
‘Get what?’
‘The only safe thing for us to do is nothing. If we go anywhere, talk to anyone, make any phone calls . . . if we do anything at all that connects us to this case, we’re going to have a whole load of people crawling all over us – the CIA, MI5, counter-terrorist units, Special Branch, Omega. If Omega are working for a terrorist group, and we start poking our noses into their business . . .’ Grandad looked at me. ‘Do you really want to take that risk?’
I reluctantly shook my head. I didn’t like admitting he was right, but there was no getting away from the fact that he was. Everything he was saying made perfect sense. And I knew I just had to accept that. As I gazed down at the floor, feeling kind of deflated, I felt Nan’s hand on my knee.
‘I know it hurts, love,’ she said tenderly. ‘But we can’t always follow our hearts, no matter how good our intentions are. Sometimes, whether we like it or not, we just have to do whatever’s necessary to keep ourselves going.’
I wasn’t exactly sure what Nan meant, but as I trudged up the stairs to my room – feeling physically and mentally exhausted – my only intention was to lie down and close my eyes and empty my head of everything.
I was through with thinking.
I’d had enough of it.
I just wanted to sleep.
43
After about ten minutes of doing what I thought I wanted to do – lying on the bed with my eyes closed, trying not to think about anything – I finally gave up and admitted to myself that it wasn’t what I wanted to do after all. And even if it was, it wasn’t going to happen.
