The Ultimate Truth

by Kevin Brooks

  I don’t know what he hit me with. I didn’t even see him move. At least, I don’t remember seeing him move. All I remember is a sudden impact, a black light exploding in my head, and then nothing.

  51

  The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was a young man in a black tracksuit sitting on a white settee. He had a longish face, short black hair, and hauntingly dark eyes. Mason and Lenny were sitting on the settee with him, and Winston was standing just to one side. Mason and the young man were talking about something, but the settee was on the other side of the room and I couldn’t hear what they were saying.

  I didn’t understand it.

  I didn’t know where I was.

  I didn’t know why my head was throbbing.

  And I didn’t know why the young man in the tracksuit seemed so familiar.

  I closed my eyes and tried to think about it, but nothing would come to me. Nothing at all. I just couldn’t get hold of anything. My head was all fogged up.

  I didn’t want to open my eyes again.

  I didn’t want to see things I didn’t understand.

  It was too confusing.

  But then I felt a hand on my arm, and a gentle voice whispered my name, and I opened my eyes and saw Evie peering into my face.

  And all at once everything came back to me.

  The room we were in was a lot more comfortable than the other rooms in the building. It had two small settees (one of which I was sharing with Evie), an armchair, a table, a good-sized TV. There were rugs on the floor, a couple of cupboards, a little kitchen area. Evie wasn’t sure exactly where the room was located. She’d been brought here at gunpoint with Mason and Lenny, she told me, and I’d been carried here by Muscleman. So she’d had other things on her mind at the time, and she hadn’t really paid that much attention to where she was being taken. But she thought we were probably somewhere near the front of the warehouse.

  ‘Winston’s explained everything to us,’ she told me. ‘And Bashir’s confirmed it.’

  I looked across at Bashir Kamal. He was still sitting on the settee across the room with Mason. I saw Mason smile at something he said. He said something back to Bashir, miming a punch, and Bashir laughed quietly.

  Winston had noticed that I was awake now, and when he saw me looking at him, he nodded at me. It reminded me of the time he’d nodded at me in the church car park after the funeral. And it was probably the memory of that that prompted me to glance at his suit jacket now and realise that the middle button looked slightly different from the other buttons, just as it had at the funeral.

  He was wearing the hidden camera again.

  As I thought about that, I gazed around the room. Shaved Head was leaning against the wall by the door, and Goatee was sitting in the armchair with his legs crossed, staring idly at his mobile.

  The door to the room was open.

  There were no guns in sight.

  Everyone seemed very relaxed.

  It didn’t feel right to me.

  Nothing felt right.

  ‘Why’s it so quiet?’ I asked Evie. ‘Why aren’t the kids outside making any noise?’

  ‘Mason called them off.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘We don’t need them, Trav,’ she said softly. ‘We never did.’

  ‘She’s right, you know,’ I heard Winston say.

  I looked up and saw him coming towards us. Bashir was with him, and as they both stopped in front of us, I got the impression that they were reasonably comfortable in each other’s company.

  ‘How are you feeling, Travis?’ Winston asked. ‘I’m sorry I had to hit you . . .’ He grinned, pointing to his battered face. ‘But you didn’t really leave me much choice, did you?’ He turned to Bashir. ‘Travis does a bit of boxing himself.’

  ‘Yeah?’ Bashir said, nodding his head at me and glancing at Evie.

  I stood up.

  Bashir turned back to me and held out his hand. ‘I hear you’ve been looking for me.’

  I shook his hand, not sure what to say.

  He grinned. ‘Well, here I am.’

  ‘Right,’ I said.

  ‘And as you can see,’ he went on, ‘I’m not tied up or chained to a radiator or anything. The door’s open. I could walk out of here right now if I wanted to.’ He shrugged. ‘It’s like I told your friends, I’m not a prisoner, OK? I mean, I appreciate your concern for me and everything, but I don’t need rescuing.’

  As Bashir smiled at Evie and sat down on the settee beside her, I turned to Winston.

  ‘The British security services treated Bashir like dirt,’ he explained. ‘He risked his life for his country, but as soon as MI5 had no more use for him, they just threw him out into the cold. The only reason they want him back now is because the CIA are after him, and MI5 will do anything to stop the CIA interrogating one of their informants, whether they value him or not.’ Winston looked at me. ‘The CIA think Bashir’s a terrorist.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘If they were to get hold of him, there’s no knowing what they might do.’

  ‘I’m aware of the situation,’ I said. ‘What I want to know is—’

  ‘No, Travis,’ he said firmly, ‘you’re not aware of the situation. If you were, you wouldn’t be here.’

  ‘I had to make sure Bashir was safe.’

  ‘He was safe,’ Winston said, sighing. ‘We had it all under control. No one knew where he was, he was guarded around the clock, and we were in the final stages of arranging a new identity and a new place for him to live. We’ve also been gathering evidence to prove beyond doubt that, far from being a terrorist, Bashir was in fact an MI5 asset who’d successfully infiltrated a terrorist cell.’ Winston stared at me. ‘Do you get it now? Once we convince the CIA that Bashir’s not a terrorist, he’s no longer of interest to anyone. He’s free to start a new life without having to keep looking over his shoulder all the time. If it wasn’t for you, Travis, he would have been starting that new life tomorrow.’

  ‘What do you mean, would have been?’ Bashir said, suddenly concerned.

  Winston looked at him. ‘I’m sorry, Bashir, but our operation’s been compromised.’

  ‘What? ’

  ‘Earlier tonight emergency services received an anonymous call about a serious disturbance in Sowton Lane. The good news is that the call was intercepted by one of our contacts, who managed to bury it before any action was taken, so we don’t have to worry about the police showing up.’

  ‘What’s the bad news?’ Bashir asked.

  ‘The CIA have contacts in the local police force too. They intercepted the call before it was buried.’

  ‘So what?’ Bashir said, frowning. ‘I mean, the CIA don’t know we’re here, do they? So why does it matter if they know about a bunch of kids kicking off in Sowton Lane? There’s no reason for them to connect that to us, is there?’

  ‘We have a contact in the CIA.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So we know they’re not stupid. They monitor everything, they analyse everything. Their agents are trained to take particular notice of anything out of the ordinary. And forty-odd kids from the Slade Lane estate besieging a supposedly empty warehouse is definitely out of the ordinary.’ Winston glanced at me, then turned back to Bashir. ‘According to our contact, within two minutes of the emergency call being received, a CIA agent was dispatched to investigate the disturbance. He arrived at the scene ten minutes later, spent a further ten minutes getting close enough to the warehouse to see inside, and then quickly reported back to his bosses.’

  ‘He couldn’t have seen me,’ Bashir stated, shaking his head.

  ‘He didn’t,’ Winston told him. ‘But he didn’t have to. He saw one of my men. He recognised him from an altercation we had with the CIA at Travis’s house in Kell Cross this morning. I’m sorry, Bashir, but the CIA know you’re here.’

  Bashir said nothing, just stared intently at the floor.

  ‘They’ve got the building surrounded,’ Winston said qui
etly. ‘There’s at least a dozen agents out there, maybe more.’

  Bashir slowly gazed up at him, a look of disdain on his face. ‘You promised you’d look after me. You gave me your word.’

  Winston shrugged. ‘These things happen.’

  ‘So that’s it, is it?’ Bashir said. ‘You’re going to give up without a fight? Just throw me to the wolves?’ He laughed scornfully. ‘You’re no better than the rest of them.’

  ‘We’re heavily outnumbered,’ Winston said patiently. ‘We wouldn’t stand a chance if we tried to fight our way out of here. The only option we have is to negotiate.’

  ‘Negotiate? ’ Bashir sneered.

  ‘Why not? I know we still don’t have undeniable proof of your innocence, but we have enough circumstantial evidence to at least give the CIA something to think about. If we show them what we have right now . . . well, who knows? By the time they’ve processed and analysed the evidence we’ve given them, it’s possible we’ll be in a position to give them all the proof they need.’

  ‘And what do you think the CIA are going to do with me in the meantime?’ Bashir scoffed. ‘Put me up in a five-star hotel?’

  ‘Well, that’s one of the things we can negotiate—’

  ‘They’re Americans!’ Bashir hissed, spitting out the word as if it sickened him just to say it. ‘You don’t negotiate with Americans.’

  His burst of anger took me by surprise, and as I turned and glanced at him it was hard to believe the sudden change in his demeanour. The easy-going young man who’d sat down on the settee a few minutes ago had gone, and in his place was a hate-filled fanatic seized with venom and rage – his face livid, his eyes unbalanced, every muscle in his body strained to breaking point.

  Evie had clearly noticed the change too, and without making it obvious she was quietly edging away from him.

  For the next couple of seconds, everything seemed to happen in slow motion.

  I saw Winston moving towards Bashir, a consoling look on his face. As he began to bend down and reach out, intending – I assumed – to give Bashir a reassuring pat on his shoulder, I wondered why the look in Winston’s eyes didn’t match the look on his face. His face was a picture of sympathy – comforting, soothing, encouraging. But his eyes were ruthless and razor sharp.

  He leaned over a little more, extending his hand towards Bashir’s shoulder.

  His jacket was unbuttoned. It opened at the front as Winston leaned over, revealing an automatic pistol in a shoulder holster.

  I looked at Bashir.

  He was already reaching for the gun.

  I opened my mouth to say something, but all of a sudden everything speeded up. Bashir’s hand flashed in and out of Winston’s jacket, and before anyone had a chance to do anything, he’d grabbed Evie around the neck, dragged her to her feet, and was holding the gun to her head.

  52

  ‘What the hell—’ Evie gasped.

  ‘Shut up!’ Bashir hissed.

  I’d jumped to my feet as soon as he’d grabbed her, and Mason and Lenny were already halfway across the room, but there was nothing any of us could do. Bashir was holding Evie in front of him, the gun jammed to her head, his left arm curled tightly around her neck.

  ‘Get back!’ he snapped at Mason and Lenny.

  They stopped in their tracks.

  ‘Over there,’ he said, jerking his head to the left. ‘Against the wall.’

  They backed up slowly and stopped at the wall.

  ‘You, sit down!’ he barked at me.

  I slowly sat down.

  Bashir turned to Winston. ‘If anyone moves, I’ll kill her,’ he said simply.

  Winston didn’t say anything, he just stood there, looking back at Bashir and casually buttoning his jacket as if he didn’t have a care in the world. I glanced over to see what Shaved Head and Goatee were doing. They were both on their feet, both watching Bashir’s every move, but they weren’t doing anything to stop him.

  What’s the matter with them? I thought. Why aren’t they doing anything?

  And what the hell’s Bashir up to anyway?

  I looked at Evie, desperate to help her, but I didn’t know what to do. I just didn’t understand any of this.

  Bashir was approaching the doorway now. I saw him glance quickly over his shoulder to see how close he was, and as he did so a familiar muscle-bound figure appeared from the corridor and stepped quietly into the doorway, blocking his exit. Bashir glared at Muscleman for a moment, then tightened his grip around Evie’s neck and jammed the gun harder into her head. Evie winced, grimacing at the sudden pain, but she didn’t cry out.

  Bashir turned back to Winston. ‘Tell the musclehead to move, right now, or I swear I’ll pull the trigger.’

  ‘It’s all right, Evie,’ Winston said softly, looking her in the eyes. ‘You’re going to be OK. I promise. Nothing’s going to happen to you.’

  ‘You think I’m bluffing ?’ Bashir spat.

  Winston ignored him for a moment, concentrating on Evie, silently asking for her trust. She calmly held his gaze, the message in her eyes saying – go ahead, do what you have to do. Winston turned his attention to Bashir. ‘No, Bashir,’ he said, fixing him with an icy stare, ‘I don’t think you’re bluffing. I think you’re perfectly capable of shooting an innocent girl in the head.’

  Bashir hesitated, momentarily confused.

  ‘You see, we know who you really are,’ Winston told him. ‘We’ve known all along. What you are, what you’ve done, what you’re planning to do.’ Winston smiled. ‘Do you really think we’d let a man like you get anywhere near a loaded gun?’

  Bashir grinned coldly. ‘Nice try. Now tell the big guy to get out of the way or I’m going to put a hole in the girl’s head.’

  Winston sighed, looked down at the floor, then looked up again and began walking deliberately towards Bashir.

  ‘I mean it!’ Bashir warned him. ‘Come any closer and I will shoot her.’

  Winston kept walking. ‘Go ahead,’ he said casually. ‘Pull the trigger.’

  As Bashir stared back at him, desperately trying to decide what to do, I couldn’t take my eyes off Winston. Was he telling the truth? Was the gun really empty? Or was he calling Bashir’s bluff ?

  It was impossible to tell.

  Winston’s face was a mask.

  He was about three metres away from Bashir when Bashir made his decision. Without letting go of Evie, he suddenly straightened his right arm and levelled the pistol at Winston’s head. Winston stopped and stood perfectly still, his eyes never leaving Bashir’s. Bashir paused for just a moment, then steadied his arm and pulled the trigger.

  The gun clicked emptily.

  I breathed out.

  ‘It’s over,’ Winston said quietly to Bashir. ‘Let her go.’

  Bashir slowly lowered the gun, but he didn’t let go of Evie.

  ‘Let her go, Bashir. Now.’

  Bashir dropped the gun. But he still didn’t let go of Evie.

  Winston had had enough. He glanced over at Shaved Head and Goatee, and they began moving towards Bashir.

  Bashir smiled. ‘It’s never over, Winston,’ he said ominously. ‘You of all people should know that.’ In one swift movement he let go of Evie’s neck, grabbed her arm and twisted it up behind her back, while at the same time reaching round to the back of his trackpants and whipping out a short-bladed kitchen knife.

  ‘Tell your men to move back against the wall,’ Bashir ordered Winston, holding the knife to Evie’s throat.

  Evie choked back a cry.

  ‘Do it,’ Winston told them, staring at Bashir.

  Bashir waited while Shaved Head and Goatee cautiously moved back, then he turned to Winston again.

  ‘Now tell the big guy to join them.’

  Winston nodded at Muscleman, and the big man reluctantly moved away from the door and crossed over to the far wall.

  Bashir looked over at the three of them. ‘Lie down,’ he barked, ‘face down on the ground, hands on you
r heads.’

  They glanced over at Winston. He nodded. They got down on the ground. Bashir shot a look at Mason and Lenny, who’d both moved away from the wall, and they held up their hands and moved back.

  Bashir looked around, making sure he was safe, then he started edging back towards the doorway, taking Evie with him. ‘I’m walking out of here now,’ he said. ‘If anyone tries to stop me, if anyone follows me, the girl’s dead. Understand?’

  ‘No one’s going to follow you,’ Winston assured him.

  ‘They’d better not.’

  I stared helplessly at Evie, wanting to help her, wanting to go after Bashir, but I didn’t dare move. As long as he had the knife to her throat, I knew I couldn’t take any risks. All I could do was sit there and watch as he dragged Evie out through the doorway . . .

  The arm that flashed out from somewhere behind him moved so fast that at first I didn’t even realise what it was. I just saw a blur of movement and a shape snaking out of the shadows. But then, as Bashir’s knife hand was suddenly jerked away from Evie’s throat and yanked to one side, I saw the figure behind him. It was a man, an old man . . . with a grizzled old face and grimly determined eyes . . .

  ‘Grandad?’ I heard myself whisper in disbelief.

  He was twisting Bashir’s right hand now, bending it back at the wrist to make him drop the knife. Bashir’s face was screwed up in pain, but he was doggedly holding on to the knife. Grandad drew back his left arm and started hammering his fist into Bashir’s side. Thud! Thud! Thud! Bashir groaned, and Grandad yanked on his right arm again, and this time the knife dropped to the ground.

  Bashir let go of Evie then, and as she took her chance and ran back into the room, Bashir spun round to his right, swinging his left fist at Grandad. Grandad leaned back to dodge the punch, but he wasn’t quite quick enough and Bashir caught him square on the chin. As Grandad staggered backwards, momentarily dazed, I was already on the move, jumping to my feet and running towards the doorway. But as Bashir moved towards Grandad, his fist drawn back, ready to hit him again, I knew I wasn’t going to get there in time.

  ‘Grandad! I shouted out, trying to warn him. ‘GRANDAD!’