by S. M. Hall
‘When?’
‘When the sun goes down he’ll make his decision.’
Maya wondered how she could wait so long. Closing her eyes, she leaned back. It was hot, too hot. She heard the old man cough and felt a tap on her shoulder. Gratefully she accepted the bottle of water he was holding out to her. It was tepid, but she gulped it down. When she handed it back he nodded, replaced the cap and said, ‘We haven’t been formally introduced. My name is Sharif.’
Pulling the shawl from his shoulders, he folded the white fringed square carefully, laid it on the seat beside him and began to talk. He told her about his family, his early life in Pakistan.
‘I had a good life. I was professor of Literature at Lahore University. But I was young, idealistic, I believed in democracy. I joined a resistance group in the 1960s. We helped bring down Ayub Khan’s military dictatorship.’ He paused, looking wistful. ‘I was a freedom fighter . . . but ultimately we failed. Then I was hounded from my post by the government.’ He turned away, reached for his shawl and dabbed at his face. ‘The government in Pakistan is always at war with its people,’ he added.
‘What about Omar,’ Maya asked. ‘What happened? Why does he hate the West?’
‘I don’t think he ever forgave me for leaving Pakistan. Here we became outsiders. In Lahore we had a spacious bungalow, servants, a beautiful garden. What did we come to? A dismal, shabby terraced house. Then my wife died soon after we came here. I couldn’t get a job. Omar hated school, was spat at in the street, called a Paki. Perhaps it was too much for him to bear.’
‘But your other son, Majid, he’s not the same?’
‘No. Majid’s an academic, devout, honourable. His struggles have made him stronger, determined to succeed, while Omar’s hurt has turned to bitterness.’
‘But Omar’s rich.’
‘Yes, but his business methods don’t command respect. He has lied, cheated. Everyone knows this – he’s not liked in our community.’
‘So now he thinks he’ll get people to respect him by turning into a terrorist?’
‘A twisted way of thinking. It was because of Omar that Majid was arrested.’ The old man bowed his head. ‘Majid’s lawyer told me. Omar was distributing Islamist leaflets at Majid’s college, spreading hate to the students. When the police went to his home, they found suspicious items Omar had left in the cellar. Omar wasn’t brave enough to tell them they’d got the wrong man, and Majid would not implicate his brother. So Majid is awaiting trial.’
Suddenly Sharif seemed exhausted. He closed his eyes, his body slumped and shivered with every breath. His eye sockets were dark holes, his brown skin tough and leathery, deep lines etched on either side of his nose.
The hours passed. Maya fell asleep and awoke with a jolt, annoyed at herself for letting her guard down. Anybody could have crept up on them. The old man was still sleeping; he stirred and muttered, but didn’t wake. Maya climbed out of the van and went deeper into the wood, squatted down behind a tree and peed. A rustling noise set her nerves quivering but it was only a bird caught in a thicket. She straightened up and stood with her back to a tree while she re-tied the scarf round her head.
When she returned to the van, Sharif was awake. Almost immediately his phone jangled. He picked it up and held it out to her. When she pressed the button to connect, Omar’s voice came through loud and clear.
‘Abbu, are you all right?’
‘He’s sleeping.’
‘Oh, it’s you.’
‘Yes, it’s me.’
‘You’re causing a great deal of trouble.’
‘Is my mum all right?’
‘She’s safe.’
‘I want to see her. I want you to let her go.’
‘Then you have to release my father.’
‘I’ll make a deal.’
‘Why should I negotiate with you?’
‘Because if you don’t let my mother go, I’ll kill your father. He’s here now by my side, sleeping. I have a gun. I could put him to sleep forever.’
The peal of laughter that came through the earpiece shocked her. It was a horrible, evil, twisted sound that made her blood run cold.
‘You’re not capable of killing,’ Omar taunted.
Making her voice as strong and steady as she could, Maya said, ‘His fate is in your hands.’
Omar hesitated. She heard him sniff and swallow, then he said slowly, ‘Come to the mill yard at ten o’ clock tonight.’ He breathed deeply, paused and then added, ‘Your mother will be waiting in a silver Mercedes. Release my father, get in the car and you and your mother will be free to drive away.’
Maya’s heart leapt. He was giving in, he was going to let her mum go.
‘Have you got that?’ he asked.
‘Yes. I’ll be there.’
Maya was so excited that she didn’t care when he abruptly cut the connection. She looked out at the woods, her heart singing, congratulating herself on how clever she’d been. What a stroke of genius plotting to kidnap Sharif. But after a few moments her mind began to fill with doubt.
And when Sharif heard what Omar had said, he stroked his beard, thoughtfully. ‘If he’s letting your mother go, then she is no longer a threat to him.’
‘But she knows about his organisation.’
‘That’s true.’
Maya saw the doubt on his face. ‘He won’t let her go, will he?’
‘No.’
‘Will he double-cross me?’
‘Yes. I fear he will.’
‘Then thank goodness I have plan B.’
Maya felt in her pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. She unfolded it and carefully studied the map Khaled had drawn in the restaurant. Then, turning the paper over, she picked up her phone and punched in the number written on the back.
Chapter Twenty-three
The mill yard was full of shadows. Maya stopped the van at the entrance, checking for a welcoming party. She saw no one, but was sure she was being watched. At the back of the yard she saw a silver Mercedes.
Putting her foot down on the accelerator, she eased the van forward and steered it carefully through the gates, but as she scanned the yard she lost concentration and the van lurched forwards. Slamming on the brakes, she skidded past the Merc and ploughed into a grassy bank. The steering wheel smashed into her chest and the old man half-fell off the seat, trembling and muttering.
Maya reeled back, wincing with pain. ‘Sorry,’ she whispered.
Cursing her clumsiness, she turned to look back across the yard and saw the silhouette of a person sitting in the Mercedes.
She used her mobile to call Omar. ‘Stay back. I’m walking your father to the car. Only when I see that my mum is OK will I let your father go.’
She unzipped her pocket, took out the gun and pointed it at Sharif.
‘That won’t be necessary,’ he said quietly.
‘It’s for Omar’s benefit,’ Maya replied.
‘Let’s go out the back way,’ he said.
‘Why?’
‘They won’t be expecting it.’
It wasn’t easy getting him over the seat, but with a bit of help from Maya, Sharif managed it. They edged round an old sofa and shuffled forward in complete darkness to reach the back doors. The old man found the handle and pulled, but the doors wouldn’t open.
‘The dent,’ Maya said. ‘The doors are stuck because of the accident.’
She helped him push, and suddenly both doors swung open.
‘Stand here,’ Sharif said.
Maya stood beside him. He pressed a button, and a hydraulic lift slowly lowered them into the yard. Before he stepped forward, Sharif turned and whispered a blessing in Maya’s ear. Then he began to pray, ‘Ashaduan la ilaha illa hlah,’ and he continued a low chant as together they walked over to the Mercedes, Sharif in front, Maya’s gun pressed into his back.
Over Sharif’s head, Maya saw the car and the silhouette of Pam in the passenger seat. Everything else dropped away, nothing else mattered except her mum, her w
onderful, lovely mum, there at last, just ahead of her. She gave Sharif a gentle push, stepped round him and plunged forward.
Her fingers were clumsy, scrabbling to open the door. The light came on. The woman at the wheel was wearing a headscarf. She turned and looked at Maya – her eyes weren’t soft and grey, they were glittering and green.
Before Maya could react, somebody grabbed her from behind, strong arms circled her and hauled her from the car.
‘Where’s my mum?’ she shouted.
She recognised Nazim’s voice. ‘Don’t worry, we’ll take you to her.’
Mad with anger, Maya thrashed and squirmed, just managing to wriggle away. Light blazed in her eyes, shadows flew past her. She pointed the gun, pressed the trigger and fired into the blackness.
There was a rustling behind her, but before she could turn and shoot again a hand gripped her throat, she was hauled to her feet and then she was falling, stars shattered round her head. As she was dragged across the yard, she heard the sound of a helicopter circling overhead.
Thump! She was slung onto a hard bench, the breath knocked out of her. A door clanged shut. She opened her eyes: everything was blurred. Eventually she made out a table, a chair and a small, high window. It was a cold room in the basement.
From outside she heard sirens, a harsh light sliced across the room, then flicked away. She rolled onto her side and pushed herself up. Her throat was dry, her head throbbing and she was overwhelmed with nausea. She retched, and just managed to stumble into a corner before she threw up. Then she sat on a chair and wiped her mouth on her sleeve.
Dragging the bench under the window, she climbed up and tried to look outside, but couldn’t see anything except a haze of lights above her. She got down and tried to put a chair on top of the bench but couldn’t do it; her head was swimming. Moments passed, there was a confusion of rattling noises outside. Her head drooped, her eyes were heavy, she lay down, her energy gone.
She hardly moved when the door opened, but suddenly a hand grabbed her and pulled her upright.
‘Bitch!’ Nazim screamed at her. ‘This is all your fault. You called the cops. We’re surrounded. Now we’ll all die. Nobody will escape.’
He pushed Maya into a corridor. A man dressed in black was standing there, pointing a heavy gun at her. She thought it was her last moment, she thought the final thing she’d see was the barrel of a gun, and somehow, strangely, she didn’t care. She stood there shivering, prepared for the bang. But the next moment she was seized and thrown inside another room.
As she fell into the room, she veered into a chair and knocked it over. Putting her hands out to steady herself, she rammed up against a wall. Behind her, she heard Omar’s voice.
‘Shove Khaled in there too. He’ll die, like the traitor he is.’
Maya turned round to see Khaled being led in. As the door was re-locked he looked despairingly at her. ‘They found out,’ he said.
‘I thought you’d betrayed me.’
He dropped his eyes, walked over to the far wall and knelt down. There was somebody lying on the bed underneath thick grey blankets. Khaled reached out and pulled the blanket aside.
A cry escaped from Maya. Pam’s blonde hair shimmered against the pillow, her eyes were closed, her face pale as death.
‘Mum!’ Maya shouted, throwing herself down beside the still figure. But, though she wrapped her arms around her and kissed her, Pam didn’t stir. ‘Wake up!’ Maya shrilled, shaking her. There was no response.
‘What have they done to her?’ she yelled at Khaled.
‘She’s drugged. She’ll come out of it. Don’t worry. She’ll be all right.’
As he spoke, Pam’s eyelids flickered and for a brief moment Maya saw the soft grey of her eyes, but then they shut tight again. Maya stroked her face and kissed her. Pam’s eyes opened again but didn’t focus; she gazed at Maya with a glassy stare.
‘What have they given her?’
‘Just something to keep her quiet. It’ll wear off. She tried to escape.’
Maya looked at her mum’s bloodless face. ‘She needs help,’ she said.
Getting up, she rushed at the door with a flying kick, then banged on it with her fists and shouted, ‘Help! Help! My mum needs help.’
Khaled grabbed her, pinning her arms to her sides. ‘Don’t,’ he warned. ‘Don’t make trouble or he’ll kill us all. He’s got nothing to lose.’
From somewhere above them came a loud bang.
‘What the hell was that?’ Maya asked. ‘Are they raiding the place? I wanted a few MI5 agents, not the whole bloody army.’
‘I sent Simon your message,’ Khaled said. ‘This isn’t his doing. Maybe it’s been taken out of his hands.’
She stared at him. ‘One helicopter that’s all I wanted.’
Khaled loosened his grip on her arm, his handsome face set into grim lines. ‘He’ll send it, he won’t let you down.’
‘Whatever happens, we have to save Omar,’ Maya said. ‘He’s the only one who can give orders to stop the bombing.’
She went over to her mum and stroked her hair; she was sleeping soundly. Khaled came and stood beside her.
Another loud bang came from outside. They looked at one another, their eyes softening. ‘I’m frightened,’ Maya whispered.
Khaled put a hand on her shoulder. ‘I have prayed. We won’t fail.’
‘I have to go,’ she said. ‘I have to get to Omar.’
Khaled stiffened. ‘No, it’s too dangerous.’
Maya almost smiled. ‘It’s all been dangerous.’ Going over to Pam, she bent down and hugged her.
‘Love you, Mum.’
Pam’s eyes flickered.
‘Don’t worry,’ Maya told her. ‘I’ll get you out of here.’
Pushing a pillow under her head to make her more comfortable, Maya turned to Khaled. ‘Right,’ she said. ‘Did you unlock the vent?’
He nodded.
‘How many men does Omar have?’
‘About fifteen.’
‘Help me up to the window.’
‘No,’ he protested. ‘Let me go instead.’
Maya shook her head. ‘They’ll shoot you.’ She pushed him out of the way and went over to the window. ‘Look after Pam.’
Khaled stood on a chair and tried to open the small oblong window, but it wouldn’t budge. Maya grabbed a piece of old piping, climbed on the chair and smashed at the window. It was safety glass and hardly cracked.
‘Stand back,’ Khaled said. He snatched the pipe and slammed it into the pane. After a few attempts the glass smashed into fine cobwebs.
‘OK. Let me stand on your shoulders,’ Maya ordered.
From her precarious position she took the piping and smashed out jagged shards from the frame. Then she levered herself up and put her head through the window. Immediately a burst of fire zipped across the yard, ricocheting off the stone walls. Khaled dragged her back inside and they collapsed onto the floor.
‘You can’t do it, they’ve spotted you.’
‘No, it was just coincidence. They were firing above me.’
She caught up a sheet, tore off a strip and tied it to the piping.
‘Insurance,’ she said. ‘Heave me up.’
Climbing on Khaled’s shoulders again she put her head through the window. This time there was no response. ‘Give me the pipe.’
It was a tight squeeze. Her jacket tore and a piece of glass pierced her arm, but with Khaled’s help she managed to wriggle through the small window which gave onto the yard outside at ground level.
Before her the yard glowed white in a blaze of floodlights; over the boundary wall she saw silhouettes of armoured vehicles. It was dangerous to move, and yet she had to risk it. Slowly, slowly, she edged towards the back of the building.
* * *
Omar and his men were cocooned in an upstairs room.
‘We’re surrounded,’ Nazim said. ‘What do we do?’
The men looked at Omar. He was loading a pistol. ‘We f
ight,’ he said.
‘There are massive weapons out there,’ Nazim said.
‘They won’t fire on us,’ Omar said. ‘They know the girl and her mother are in here. And they want us alive.’
‘They might want you, but they don’t care a damn about us,’ Nazim snapped back.
Omar’s lip curled. ‘You’ll die as martyrs,’ he said.
Nazim stared at him. ‘I’m not giving up without a fight. We’ve fixed two machine guns, there are some grenades downstairs. Who’s with me?’
Several of the men shouted their support, then they ran down the stairs into the bottom loading bay, leaving Omar to his fate.
Chapter Twenty-four
Maya slid along the wall under the shadow of the roof until she reached the corner, then crept silently round the back of the mill. It was totally dark there. Her hands clawed at the gritty stone, feeling for the vent. At last she touched flat, smooth metal. Her fingers found the handle, she pulled hard.
At first it wouldn’t budge, it was too heavy. She gritted her teeth as she bent and pulled with all her might. Her injured hand was weak. She was beginning to think she’d have to go back for Khaled, when she gave one last mighty tug and the cover moved. She pulled again and managed to get her arm inside to lever it open. Pushing with her shoulder, she eased her body inside.
It was tight. She jammed her arms against the sides, pulled up her knees and edged forward. Slowly she slid along the tunnel. Blackness surrounded her. It seemed to take forever to reach the end but, just as Khaled had foretold, her hand eventually touched the rung of a steel ladder. Her fingers traced the bottom rung.
Raising her arm over her head, she felt the space above, then her hands found the higher rungs, her feet got a purchase and she pulled herself up. Still holding onto the piece of piping she climbed, hand over hand.
The rungs were slippery, her feet faltered, but she hung on, up and up until her head touched something solid. Bump! Not a heavy knockout blow but a gentle bang. She’d reached the manhole cover. If Khaled had loosened it, then she should be able to push herself up and through.
She hoisted herself onto the top step and pushed with her head; the cover wobbled. With a mighty effort she moved it to one side, then placing her elbows on either side of the hole, she levered herself up.
