by Tanya Allan
Omar sat in his car for many minutes, feeling his heart rate racing. He waited for it to slow, and for himself to calm down.
Omar had not been as frightened as that, ever. Finally, he started the car and slowly drove away. He did not see Ben watching him go. He drove past the police station, heading into London. Ben smiled and went to bed.
The constable was bored, but was trying not to show it.
“What makes you think your daughter’s boyfriend is a terrorist, sir?”
Omar had gone into his local police station in Ealing, as he was passing. He stated that he wanted to report someone as being a suspected Al-qaeda terrorist.
PC Ronald Fisher took all the details, including contact details and told the man he would pass it to those who dealt with such things.
He was not paid to make decisions, just pass on what information was submitted and let others make those decisions. He was, however, able to submit his thoughts on the informant and the value of the information:
Omar Khan (54) an Asian male of Pakistani origins attended Ealing Police station to report he suspected his daughter’s boyfriend – Ben Gomez 24, as being an Al-qaeda subversive. He was unsure as to the actual origins of Mr Gomez. He believes he might well be from somewhere in the Middle East. His daughter, Shamin Khan, aged 24, is a psychologist working at Hillingdon Hospital. Mr Gomez works for Tescos. The couple reside in the premises listed in the Uxbridge Road, Hayes. PNC reveals no trace of convictions for Mr Gomez; he has not had contact with police. Mr Khan admits he wanted his daughter to submit to an arranged marriage, and sent her to Pakistan to receive an education and in the hope she would come round to his way of thinking. It appears she met Mr Gomez since returning to the UK. He stated that Mr Gomez claimed to be an Islamic activist and threatened him. When asked why he should threaten him, Mr Khan admitted he offered a considerable sum of money to Mr Gomez to leave his daughter. Suspected domestic disagreement.
The details were passed through the intelligence system, and were marked ‘not urgent’ and were subsequently buried under a mountain of similar reports on the desk of a team at MI5.
A young clerk called Rachel, whose job it was to log all reports, sat at her computer and entered the details into the system and filed the report in a cardboard box that was taken to the basement archives.
A few days later, the computer spat out the name – Ben Gomez. Michael Lawrence, one of the team looking at Islamic terror suspects, picked up the name, and started making routine enquiries with the Border Agency and immigration intelligence officers. He certainly didn’t expect to find anything, but was surprised to find nothing at all. This might sound odd, but Ben Gomez didn’t exist.
Although Border Agency had his passport on file entering the country, coincidentally on the same day and time as one Shamin Khan, checks with the Portuguese passport office revealed that this passport was not one they issued.
Alarm bells rang, only perhaps not as loudly or as soon as they should have done.
Eighteen
Shannon’s behaviour was very unusual. For a start, she was quiet, so that drew attention to her straight away. Secondly, she barely allowed Keira out of her sight, so, as the two girls were neither in the same year, nor sharing any classes, this was proving a problem for her.
Keira believed that she was the only one to notice, but she had not taken the experience and observation skills of Mrs Doreen Lambert into consideration. Friendship was one thing, but Mrs Lambert was beginning to wonder whether these girls were on the verge of forming an unnatural relationship. It wouldn’t be the first time, and she was sure it wouldn’t be the last. However, from what she had seen in the past, these two did not display the tell-tale signs that she normally observed.
However, the girls had work to do, lessons to go to and sports to play. They did not get that many chances to discuss what they had seen, or what they could do about it. Keira slightly regretted telling Shannon, but was the first to admit that being alone in situations like these wasn’t helpful. She needed someone else to bounce ideas off, and, hopefully, have someone watching her back. The problem was that Shannon was not liable to do as she was told; which she proved only so well on the previous night.
Keira became aware that Mrs Lambert was watching her a little more closely than before, so she was able to warn Shannon to cool things and to back off.
It was three nights later that Shannon crept along the corridor at three in the morning to knock on Keira’s door.
“What are you doing?” Keira hissed at her friend.
“Look, we have to do something; they could be blowing up big shit with that stuff.”
“No, I’ll do something, what you can do is call it in to the police.”
“Me, the police? You have to be kidding?”
“We have to get the information to someone. This is too big for just us.”
“Just what is too big for you?” asked a frighteningly familiar voice. “And just what is so serious as to warrant the police to be notified?”
Keira’s heart sank, as she realised that the Lambster was far more astute than anyone gave her credit. Shannon gave a little shriek.
“Mrs Lambert, I can explain,” Keira said, trying to work out what she could say.
Mrs Lambert looked at her.
“I’m sure you can, Keira, but try to make it the truth, there’s a good girl.”
“The truth?” Keira said, smiling slightly. “Are you sure?”
That response was not what Mrs Lambert expected.
“Of course.”
Keira took a deep breath and quietly considered exactly what she should and should not say, while Shannon was making very strange gesticulations behind the head-teacher’s back.
“We think we’ve discovered a possible terrorist bomb-making plot,” she said.
Shannon groaned and whacked her forehead with the palm of her hand before she realised exactly what her friend had said.
Mrs Lambert looked non-judgemental, but possessed a definite ‘I’m listening, but I want more’ expression.
To be fair, Keira held back, as she did not want to mention her abilities. When she finished, she didn’t feel that Mrs Lambert was convinced she had just had the truth.
“You leave me with more questions than answers, Keira. For a start, how did you get to these woods?”
“We walked.”
“In just a few minutes?”
“Okay, it might have taken us longer than I mentioned. We were talking so didn’t really take any notice of the time.”
“How do you know about Ammonium Nitrate?”
“At my last school, I did a project of chemicals that had perfectly normal industrial uses as well as potentially dangerous uses by terrorist or criminal organisations. I was that kind of geek.”
Mrs Lambert regarded her sternly for a moment or two. Keira didn’t flinch or break eye contact.
“What were you going to do?”
“I did some checking and that confirmed my suspicions. We were going to contact the police, but didn’t want the school involved.”
“And just how were you going to do that?”
“We were going to go to the village and use the phone box there,” Shannon said, grinning conspiratorially at her friend.
Mrs Lambert looked from one to the other several times.
“Your story is certainly not what I expected, that is for sure. However, I am afraid that some aspects of your story just do not hold water. The woods you are talking about are over five miles away. For you to take ‘just a few minutes’ to get there and back is, quite honestly, ridiculous. Secondly, how could you see a van from all the way over here?”
Keira looked down and said something that Mrs Lambert didn’t hear.
“Speak up girl!”
“I’m not like other girls!” Keira said, quite a bit louder than she meant to.
It wasn’t as if she was bragging, but it was a simple statement of fact that alarmed Mrs Lambert. Had Keira been braggi
ng, then she might not have been alarmed at all, but it was the clinical manner in which she said it.
“Would you care to expand?”
“Not really.”
That surprised Mrs Lambert.
“And why not, pray?”
“Once you realise how different I am, then everything about me is in jeopardy.”
Mrs Lambert’s eyebrows rose at that one.
“Child, I think you do me an injustice. I am hardly likely to be that surprised at anything you can claim.”
Mrs Lambert couldn’t have said anything less truthful, as she discovered when Keira claimed nothing. She simply floated from the floor and rose to the ceiling.
She looked down at her head-teacher with a calm and rather solemn expression. Shannon closed her eyes and was praying to anyone and anything that might happen to be listening.
Mrs Lambert could remember three occasions in her life when she lost the right words and one of them involved sexual intercourse. This made the fourth.
“Keira, please come down from there,” she finally managed to utter. Keira gracefully rejoined the rest of the human race on Terra Firma.
“I’m sorry, I was wrong. I am about as surprised as one could ever be.”
“I thought you might be.”
Mrs Lambert glanced in some annoyance at Shannon, who was still praying.
“Shannon, dear, please belt up, you’re not helping!”
Shannon stopped abruptly and reopened her eyes appearing surprised that Keira was back on the ground.
“Both of you; my study, now, and with as little noise as possible; that applies to you particularly, Shannon!”
A few minutes later, both girls were feeling uncomfortable, sitting in the comfy chairs in Mrs Lambert’s study. The door was closed, and the curtains drawn; a small haven of light in an otherwise dark night.
The lady herself was standing behind the desk, holding the curtain open a crack so she could stare out of the window with her back to the girls. If she was honest, Mrs Lambert was at a loss. It was rare, but she was genuinely unsure as to how best to proceed.
She turned and looked at the girls.
“I have to be honest and to tell you that I am not sure how to play this. You have me stumped!”
“May I make a suggestion?” Keira asked.
“Of course.”
“Well, I do not wish my abilities to become general knowledge, and I certainly do not feel that we should attract any adverse publicity to the college, so perhaps we ought to simply sort this little mystery out and ensure the appropriate authorities do what they are paid to do and are none the wiser after the event.”
“I think that sounds like an excellent idea. I think we need to flesh it out before it becomes a proper plan, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“May I ask a question?” she asked the girl.
“Yes.”
“This is all a little surreal for me. I mean, I’ve read about superheroes in comics and in films, so it’s a little difficult to comprehend that they are not pure fiction. Just what are your abilities?”
“I’m not like a real superhero, as I’m still sort of learning my way. There’s no one to teach me.”
“That’s as may be, you can still do things that most of us can’t. What can you do?”
“She can fly!” said Shannon.
“No, that’s not really true. I can adjust gravity and make really long jumps. It’s not flying, as such.”
“Is this how you travelled all that way?” Mrs Lambert asked.
“And she carried me!” added Shannon.
Keira looked at her crossly.
“Shannon, shut up, please!”
“Thanks. Now, I can jump, and I think that I’m bulletproof. I can also move very heavy stuff with the power of my own mind.”
“Like?”
“She can move cars!”
Shannon subsided as both regarded her with unforgiving expressions.
“I really don’t know my limitations. As I said, I’m still feeling my way here.”
“May I ask how you come to be graced with such abilities; are they inherited from your parents?”
“No.”
“Well?”
“I’m not sure, but I think they come from my torc.”
Mrs Lambert regarded the torc from afar.
“Why?”
“They don’t work when I’m not wearing it.”
“Fair enough. Best you keep it on then. We don’t want it going missing, now, do we?”
Keira looked surprised.
“Why do you look so surprised? Don’t you know how many girls have dreamed of possessing the very powers that you now possess, and yet in this boring old world, what is the most likely thing to happen? I’ll tell you; the bloody government, who have displayed an innate ability to get everything wrong, will steal it and try to work out how it works, and probably break it in the process, rending it completely bloody useless, just like themselves! What we have to do is to divert all attention away from the true power, and allow you the freedom to grow and develop and to be able to do all those wonderful things that most of us can only dream about.”
Both girls stared at Mrs Lambert in complete surprise.
She smiled.
“I was young once and was able to dream with the best of them. Now, let’s make a plan!”
* * *
Omar made the mistake in telling Laila, his wife, that he suspected that the boy called Ben was a terrorist.
“I know that we don’t like him, but that doesn’t make the man a terrorist,” she said, not unreasonably under the circumstances.
“I don’t believe that that is his real name either!” he persisted.
His wife was long-suffering and patient, so she smiled gently and let him have his rant.
“I told the police he was a terrorist,” he finally admitted.
That was enough, and his wife turned on him.
“You what?”
Feeling the abrupt change in the tone of her voice, he felt immediately defensive.
“Well, he threatened me,” he said.
“You stupid, bloody, idiot. That is the sort of thing that will lose any hope we have for Shamin to make a decent marriage. Oh, I hope to God she never gets wind of this, or you can wave goodbye to all our hopes and dreams. What did the police say?”
“I don’t think they believed me.”
“Why not?”
It was then that Omar admitted to offering Ben a substantial amount of money to leave his daughter.
Liala went ballistic, accusing him of utter stupidity and a complete lack of thought.
“Did you tell the police about this offer?”
“I might have mentioned it in passing; I can’t really remember,” he said.
“Of course you did, which is why they didn’t believe you.”
“But he threatened me!” Omar wailed.
“Oh yes, and I don’t suppose you threatened him at all?”
Omar was silent.
“Oh, tell me you didn’t?”
“I might have suggested that I had friends who might make his life difficult.”
“I don’t wonder the boy doesn’t go to the police and report you for being a terrorist!”
Omar was shocked.
“But he said things, about killings he’s done before. He was quite graphically unpleasant.”
“You just pray that Shamin doesn’t hear about this.”
Shamin did, because Ben decided to tell her.
“Your father offered me a lot of money to leave you,” he told her after a few days.
It was Saturday morning and they were waiting at Waterloo rail station for the ‘technician’ who was supposed to be arriving on the 11.32.
“When?”
“After I took the van back, he was waiting for me at the flat.”
“He must have waited for me to go to work. How much am I worth, then?”
“His first offer was fifty grand,
but I sensed he would double it if I was interested. I told him he could offer me a million and I still wouldn’t take it.”
Shamin tried to work out how she felt. On the one hand, her parents had struggled to give her and her brothers everything they could, but on the other hand, they had failed to maintain what she considered an honourable lifestyle. They had succumbed to a quasi-Western/Asian culture that encompassed the lesser qualities of each, notoriously pride and greed. They also paid lip-service to their Islamic heritage, for which she felt betrayed by them.
“I shouldn’t be surprised, but in a way I am. What did he say when you turned him down?”
“He told me that he had friends and that he could make my life difficult if I didn’t cooperate.”
That made her feel slightly sick.
“So, you threatened him back?”
“I told him what I would do.”
She covered her ears.
“Enough! I don’t want to hear any more. I wash my hands of them; you are my family now!” she said.
Ben smiled. A small triumph tasted well in his mouth.
The man, when he arrived was a nondescript fellow, of average height and owning a weasel-like face, with a sharp nose and prominent teeth. He also had bad-breath. He carried a brief case and a small suitcase. He handed the suitcase to Ben.
He said his name was Ali, but no one cared. He was Lebanese, but had not been home for many years. He had left as a young man when the fighting had been very bad with Syria and Israel and all the various factions fighting for supremacy in the eighties.
He had gone to Libya, trained at one of the many Islamic training camps, and learned all about bomb-making from an Irishman who was hiding over there for a few years after a large bomb had killed many people in England.
Ali had learned English from this man, so still spoke with a pronounced Belfast accent.
“I have arranged a bedsit for you in Uxbridge. There will be no worries, as the landlord has been paid up front for a month,” said Ben.
They travelled in Shamin’s car; a Ford Fiesta. Ali had never been to England before, so was like a tourist while they drove out of London. It was all so ordered and very much cleaner than the places he had stayed in. The cars were all in good condition, and the traffic moved well, despite being so much of it. He couldn’t understand what was missing for ages, and then he realised that no horns were sounding. The drivers were all behaving so much better than those in Pakistan.
