by Tony Salter
‘I did a research master’s at Imperial last year and then my tutor offered me a job assisting him. I love London so …’
‘You must be good. What are you working on?’
‘My MRes was in cancer biology and my team’s trialling a treatment for late stage leptomeningeal carcinomatosis. It’s a type of brain cancer.’
‘Oh,’ said Dan, looking down as the pain reminded him it wasn’t going anywhere.
‘Are you OK?’ she said, reaching forward to squeeze his shoulder.
The morning sunlight streamed through the windows and bathed the unlikely pair in its weak, eight-minute-old rays. Dan felt the spasm ease. Not much, but enough.
‘I’m fine,’ he said. ‘Probably British ale disagreeing with me.’
‘Eeergh. I can’t stand it. Warm and brown. It’s revolting.’
Dan laughed. What was it about Spanish women? They had such expressive lips and mouths and weren’t afraid to make themselves ugly when showing disgust. It didn’t matter whether they were joking or deadly serious, they could contort their faces into a horrible sneer and then slip seamlessly back to sultry beauty. Much more honest than mirror-conscious Brits or North Americans.
‘What part of the States are you from?’ said Ramona.
‘I’m Canadian, actually. From Toronto.’
‘Ahhh. Much better,’ she said. ‘Everyone loves Canadians. I went to the States to see family last year. To Texas. I felt like a second-class citizen half of the time.’ She leant back and straightened her jacket. ‘Do I look so much like an illegal immigrant?’
Dan looked at her raven-black hair, brown eyes and olive skin and thought back to his time in Austin; he raised his eyebrows and smiled. ‘Well, from the perspective of an oil-rich good ‘ol boy in cowboy boots … in a certain light …’
‘Huh,’ she said, pouting extravagantly. ‘Maybe Canadians aren’t so great after all.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Not everyone appreciates my sense of humour.’
‘It’s OK. I knew you were joking.’
‘I didn’t say I was joking,’ he said, forcing himself to repress a childish giggle. Talking with her made him feel young again, and he was happy to wallow in the moment for a while longer.
Ramona just smiled and arched her eyebrows. ‘You sound like you know Texas?’
‘I used to. Once upon a time.’
‘Which part?’
‘I studied at UT. The University of Texas. In Austin.’ Dan hadn’t talked about that time for so long that the words seemed to be coming from someone else’s lips. ‘Then I stayed on for a few years afterwards to work as an associate professor. A bit like you really.’
‘That sounds great. Austin was the only place I went where most people knew that Spain was a real country.’
‘It was fabulous for a few years,’ he said, turning away. ‘It was a wonderful time, such a time as is only possible when we are young …’
‘Sounds like heaven,’ said Ramona. ‘I’m surprised you wanted to move back to somewhere cold like Toronto.’
‘It was never the plan,’ said Dan, his eyes fixed on the huge skull hanging in the air across the hall. ‘But that’s the way life goes, isn’t it? We don’t always get a say in what happens.’
‘That’s for sure,’ she said. ‘But …’
Dan couldn’t face digging deeper into memories which had been buried for so long. ‘Would you mind talking about something else?’ He managed to remain gentle and polite even as he interrupted her. ‘Why do you keep looking at that young museum guard?’
Ramona giggled like a naughty schoolgirl.
‘His name’s Will,’ she said. ‘I met him on Saturday and we’re going out for a drink tonight. What do you think?’
Dan looked over at the young man, who was now chinwagging with the grumpy guard he’d seen earlier. The old one seemed less sour than before, but they made a strange pair in their matching purple fleece tops. Almost like an old music hall double act. They weren’t doing a lot of guarding as far as he could see.
‘He seems nice enough,’ said Dan, not sure what his opinion had to do with anything.
‘I just popped in here to check everything was OK for tonight, but he’s been talking to the other guard since I arrived.’ Will looked over and Ramona waved.
Dan watched as Will waved back before leaning forward and saying something to his companion. They both laughed, Will oozing the cockiness of youth as he stood up and turned to go. A little too full of himself, thought Dan as he watched him saunter over to the other side of the hall. Ramona needed to be careful of that one.
‘I’m going over to say hello. I’ll be back in a minute. Don’t go anywhere.’
‘I’ll be here,’ said Dan, wondering to himself where else he might go, anyway.
Ramona’s questions had dug a little too deeply into his papery skin and, as he settled back onto the hard bench, the worst memories came flooding back … Everything happening at once … The sound of sirens … People shouting, screaming and running … But none of them knowing which way to run.
Nadia
‘OK. If Nadia has it right, we’ve got very little time. Quick, concise, stick to the facts.’ David looked over at Nadia. ‘Let’s start with Birmingham.’
Nadia stood up. ‘Thanks, David.’ She looked around the table. The three men were all leaning forward, alert and expectant. She would probably disappoint them. ‘As you know,’ she said, ‘for the past six months I’ve been working undercover at the Birmingham Central Mosque. When Snowflake went overseas, a lot of flags were tripped and I was sent in to find out what I could. A job as a cleaner was the best that could be done at short notice, but at least it left me with good access to documents and files.’
‘What was the mosque like?’ said Ed. ‘It’s never been on the radar as far as I know.’ He looked exhausted, but his eyes were bright and he seemed full of energy, pianist’s fingers twitching and tapping on the white table.
‘No reason why you should know anything about it,’ said Nadia. ‘It’s very moderate. Imam Khan’s been there since the nineties and he’s got a great reputation in the city for reaching across communities. From what I observed, he deserves that reputation.’ She took a sip of water. ‘As you might imagine, the female cleaning staff are mostly invisible in a place like that, but the imam knew everyone by name and made a point of greeting all of us politely and thanking us for our work. Watching him in action was the only real highlight in an otherwise shitty assignment.’
The assignment had been shitty – boring and demeaning – but there had been benefits. Until Birmingham, Nadia hadn’t been near a mosque since her parents died and she’d been surprised by the way the experience had made her feel. Being around so many devout Moslems had helped to remind Nadia of her mother and, in particular, the modest unobtrusive way she would always find a place to pray without fuss or fanfare. For some reason she’d found herself able to picture her mother’s face and gentle smile better than she had in years.
‘So there was no sign that Snowflake was being radicalised, and that he was a potential threat?’ asked Phil, jerking Nadia back into the real world.
‘Absolutely none,’ said Nadia. ‘That being said, the place is huge – maybe five thousand worshippers on an average Friday – and it would have been easy to miss something. Unfortunately Snowflake’s personal belongings were all cleared out before I got there, but his digital history is clean. All I picked up was an association with a group of young guys in Birmingham – including the imam’s son – who would meet up once a week and rant about discrimination and injustice; even there, I couldn’t find anything to suggest they were doing anything more than talking. You’ve all seen Snowflake’s profile – there are no indicators to suggest he might be a person of interest and, even after everything that’s happened since, I’m struggling to see him as a potential recruit.’
‘Unless there’s something else. Something you missed,’ said Phil.
‘Indeed,’ said Nadia. ‘
We can’t exclude that. I’m just telling you what I think.’
Typical of Phil to suggest she might have missed something. Prick.
‘Let’s move on,’ said David, before Phil had a chance to respond. ‘What about the scholarship to the madrassa in Peshawar? Anything of note?’
‘We accessed all related digital records,’ said Nadia, ‘and I was able to get eyes on Imam Khan’s notes as well as the mosque’s council minutes. It’s all in the file. I can’t see anything unusual. Mullah Akthar ul-Haq, who ran the madrassa, was an old friend of the imam’s and there’s no evidence to suggest the Peshawar scholarship was anything other than a genuine project. Snowflake was expected to work as a teacher at the Madrassa while studying himself and the mosque had plans for him to enter local politics on his return to Birmingham.’
‘But Mullah Akthar died over two months ago, didn’t he?’ said Ed.
‘Yes,’ said Nadia. ‘Although I don’t see what that changes.’
She looked around the room, seeing the disappointment on each face. It wasn’t much to show for six months work.
‘I know it’s not a lot, but I genuinely believe there wasn’t much there. It’s only in the last couple of weeks that I’ve found out anything … I’m now convinced that an attack is imminent, but we still don’t enough to tell us what, where or when.’
‘What happened two weeks ago?’ said Ed. ‘Sorry. I’m a bit behind.’
‘That was when Snowflake landed back in the UK three months earlier than expected,’ said Nadia. ‘Or to be more accurate, things changed when we lost him. David will know more details but, as I understand it, we had eyes on him for four days, as well as trackers in his shoes and bags, and then he disappeared. Is that right, David?’
‘Just so,’ said David. ‘Either he’s had some high level training or someone must have helped him. Whatever the explanation, we lost him and I decided to pull Nadia out. She knows more about his background than anyone.’
‘But there are still some big gaps,’ said Nadia. ‘Since I came out from undercover, I’ve been following down all the background leads I have, trying to find him. A bunch of dead ends with one exception. I asked the counter terrorism unit in Birmingham to arrest Imam Khan’s son, Sadiq, and one of his other friends. It didn’t take much to get them talking. Sadiq told us Snowflake called him three days ago out of the blue. The guy didn’t know much – apparently Snowflake mostly wanted to chat, ask about friends and the imam, general life stuff. However, he did say that he was planning a visit to London in a few days which is why we’re here now.’
‘Nothing else?’ said Ed.
‘Nothing concrete,’ said Nadia. ‘Although, right at the end of the call, after he’d said he needed to go, Snowflake asked Sadiq to pray for him.’
The room fell silent and Nadia could feel the tension spreading out like a poisonous cloud.
‘Shit,’ said David. ‘Whatever you think about this guy, Nadia, we have to assume that the threat is real and imminent. I need to speak to Susan. Wait here. I won’t be long.’
He turned and left the room.
‘Who’s Susan?’ said Ed.
‘Susan Hammersley, head of JTAC - the Joint Terrorism Advisory Committee,’ said Phil. ‘The current UK threat level is already Severe. David must be recommending a move to Critical.’ He looked at Nadia. ‘There’ll be plenty of flak if it’s a false alarm.’
‘You think he’s over-reacting?’ said Nadia.
‘Actually, no,’ said Phil. ‘I’m disappointed at how little we have, but we can’t ignore this.’
‘I think my intel will reinforce that decision,’ said Ed. ‘Something’s going down.’ He leant forward and opened the folder in front of him.
‘We’ll wait for David,’ snapped Phil.
Ed scowled as he closed the folder and leant back in his chair, Phil had made another friend.
Nadia thought back to the police interview at Birmingham’s Colmore Circus. Had she missed anything? She’d been behind the glass in case one of Snowflake’s friends recognised her from the mosque, but she’d played back the recordings dozens of times afterwards and there wasn’t anything more. The young men weren’t hiding anything, she was sure of that. Whatever their political views – many of which she half-sympathised with – a group of well-educated, polite intellectuals were unlikely to be high risk.
They’d been afraid – the counter terrorism officers had made sure of that – although they seemed to be mostly worried that someone would tell their families or the imam that they’d been arrested. She was good at her job and she wasn’t wrong about them. The image which stuck in her mind, however, was the face of the second witness when he mentioned that Snowflake had asked him to pray for him. There was no doubt that he’d been surprised and that those words had left a strong impression.
During her training and subsequent career, Nadia had built a reputation for an almost-supernatural ability to piece together limited information and to find the connections that were invisible to her colleagues. She’d become very used to male colleagues whinging about women’s intuition and how it was an unfair advantage. She was familiar with explaining to them that it was simply shortcomings in their intellectual talents which made the difference.
Nadia had spent six months studying Snowflake and trying to assess him. She thought she knew him even though they’d never met; the man she thought she knew wasn’t a high risk radicalisation target, but the few bits of hard evidence they had pointed elsewhere. What had she missed?
11:12
Jim
‘You’re not too old,’ said Will, stepping back and looking Jim up and down. ‘Not in bad shape for your age either. Plenty of girls like a bit of experience.’ He grinned. ‘You should come out with us one night.’
Jim felt a half-remembered twinge in his stomach as he imagined himself leaning against the bar of some seedy West End nightclub, sipping a Mojito and sharing his tales of adventure and bravery with a gorgeous dewy-eyed blonde. Maybe Will was right, and he’d given up too soon? He was still in his early sixties – there was plenty of life in the old dog yet.
The problem was that the blonde at the bar always ended up having the same face. However hard he tried to imagine someone different, it was always her. The bloody woman had somehow even managed to invade his fantasies, and he hated the way that made him feel – angry, of course, but also sad, pathetic and weak.
He looked at Will – big, perfect teeth flashing confidence, all square-shouldered and oozing vitality. He wasn’t taking the piss, but he was talking bollocks. Jim could barely motivate himself to get up and go to work these days. He wasn’t too old, but he was too tired and he couldn’t be bothered any more.
He held out his left hand, palm up and fingers splayed. The gold band wrapping his third finger was hardly shining, but it managed a dull glow.
Will’s goofy smile got bigger if anything. ‘All that says is that there won’t be complications. I’ve got mates who put on rings when they go out cause they reckon it helps.’
‘I’m married. I’ve got two grandkids.’
‘Come on Jim. Are you telling me you wouldn’t? … If it was on a plate?’
Jim toyed with the idea of getting annoyed. There were limits to how far Will could be allowed to go before he would need to be straightened out. But the cheeky young bastard was right. Jim would have been unfaithful without batting an eyelid. Marital loyalty had always been a one-way street in his world.
Will had no idea that he might be overstepping a boundary and ploughed on.
‘Have a look at those two on the bench over there,’ he said. ‘The old bloke and the girl who’s just come in. He’s seventy-five if he’s a day and she’s about twenty and very tasty. If he can, then why shouldn’t you?’
‘Leave it out. They’re never a couple,’ said Jim. ‘She’s not his daughter though, I’ll give you that.’ He cocked his head to one side like a pigeon and squinted. ‘Unless he married a dago, and he doesn’t look the t
ype.’
‘Jim!’ Will’s voice had pitched up an octave and his eyes were stretched wide.
‘What?’
‘You can’t say stuff like that.’
‘Like what?’
Will’s voice dropped to a whisper. ‘You can’t call people dagos any more. You just can’t.’ The girl had seen that they were looking at her. She half lifted her hand and smiled.
Will waved back at her, his shocked face gone in an instant. ‘… And besides, Ramona would be extremely pissed off with you if she heard what you said.’
‘You what?’ Jim was struggling to keep up. ‘Ramona? You know that girl?’
‘Course I do,’ said Will, giggling. ‘She said she’d pop by this morning. I’m seeing her tonight. Had you going for a second there though, didn’t I?’
There was a moment when the old Jim surfaced and he felt his body tense. A second or two longer and he’d have wiped the smile of that smug face, job or no job. Not today, though. He looked over to the girl and back to Will.
‘Has anyone ever told you you’re a twat?’ he said. ‘Now piss off back to your station before you get us both fired.’
Jim’s smile faded uncomfortably as Will sauntered back across the hall. He was a decent enough kid, but he went too far sometimes. A bit more respect was in order.
The girl was pretty though. Head arching back in uninhibited laughter at something the old git was saying, her smooth, dark throat exposed and white teeth flashing. Jim licked his lips and smiled.
Before his Dad died, they always used to go to Javea on the Costa Brava. The first two weeks of August, every year without fail. The area was full of sun-starved Brits, ready to make the leap from pasty pale to livid lobster without passing “Go”. Javea was a little Margate with sunshine and cheap wine but, for a young East End boy, it was packed full of exotic promise.
The English were everywhere, but they weren’t alone; there were plenty of locals and tourists from Madrid as well, all tanned golden brown like well-basted turkeys. The Spaniards would spend the whole day roasting in the sun, stretched out in neat rows along the beach like dominos, only moving when they turned over, cooled off in the sea or pranced about playing that stupid bat and ball game in their Speedos.
