by A. A. Dhand
‘Doc says I’ll live. If I start throwing up or feeling faint, I’m in trouble. Concussion. A&E job.’
‘We’re on. BBC director general has spoken with Whitehall. Eight-second delay, any more and the killer might realize we’re buffering. Transmission only goes to West Yorkshire. No warnings to the public.’
‘What about all the mess down there?’ Harry nodded towards the park.
‘They’re being told it’s a gas leak. No real panic. Just to leave the area.’
Harry checked his watch. ‘Thirty minutes to go. I’ll need to get to the incident room. Get wired up.’
‘Conway tells me you’ll be carrying a weapon.’
‘That’s my condition. Bastard got the better of me once. Likelihood is I won’t need it. We’ve enough snipers and armed police in the area. But it makes me feel like I’ve an added advantage.’
‘It was brave what you did tonight. For Aisha.’
‘Brave or stupid, not so sure.’
‘Does your wife know what you’re about to do?’ asked Tariq.
Harry nodded slightly. ’It’s being broadcast in West Yorkshire. If she saw it and I hadn’t told her, she’d kill me herself.’
‘How did she take it?’
‘Not well. She’s probably praying as we speak.’
‘Harry, can I ask you something?’
Tariq turned to face him, leaning against the office window.
‘Adnan Aziz; nothing shows up on any databases. He’s been in the UK ten years, got married to a local Bradford girl who died in a car accident …’
‘I know,’ said Harry who had seen the file. ‘I don’t know him, Tariq.’
‘So why pick you to do this?’
‘No fucking idea,’ said Harry. ‘Maybe we’re about to find out.’
SEVENTY-SIX
THE SNOW WAS falling heavier now, perfectly blanketing City Park.
Unbroken.
The white unblemished landscape all around Harry was calming. All that purity, along with the deafening silence only falling snow could bring. Harry closed his eyes. The snow reminded him of Saima.
Lister Park.
Arms around each other.
Dancing in the snow.
Cold faces, warm lips.
One of their earliest dates.
Harry opened his eyes and checked his watch: 22:00.
Showtime.
He closed his eyes and slowed his breathing. He hoped Saima wasn’t watching, but knew she would be. Any nerves he felt were really for her, it was hard not to feel safe with ten snipers watching his back.
His hand was drawn to the firearm holstered at his waist, tucked beside his bulletproof vest.
Even though he was weapons trained, he had never fired an active round in his career. All the same, he felt more secure with the gun at his side.
City Park was deserted. The water fountains were still. There was a peace to the scene, just the quiet, cool breeze and the falling snow. On any other night, it would have been spellbinding.
Harry had a microphone in his ear, the surveillance team giving him real-time updates, everyone wondering if the killer was going to show or if they’d been played for fools.
‘Harry,’ said Conway, her voice clear in his ear. ‘He’s on the line. I’m patching you in.’
There was a brief delay, then the killer’s voice.
‘Detective Virdee?’ he asked.
‘I’m here,’ said Harry.
The line went dead.
‘He’s gone, Harry.’
‘Got that, cheers. How’s everything your end? As peachy as mine?’
‘What’s got you so chipper?’ said Conway.
‘This guy got me once. Won’t happen a second time. Not on live TV anyway. We’re not on yet? Right?’
‘No. If he arrives, the BBC will change their regular feed in West Yorkshire with the delay. Cameraman is on the roof behind you.’
Eight seconds to pull the transmission if it all went sour.
Harry was aware senior politicians in Westminster were viewing the footage, watching it live, without the delay.
What a goddamn situation to become a celebrity in, he thought.
‘Stations, everyone,’ Harry heard in his ear. ‘We’ve got him on Manchester Road. A mile and closing.’
Harry took a breath. For the second time that evening, Adnan had Harry in unfamiliar territory.
Afraid.
‘He’s at the roundabout, Harry. Turning right.’
Harry was trying to calm his heart rate.
‘Car approaching, Harry,’ said Conway.
‘Got him.’
‘BBC transmission is now up.’
Harry focused on the car. Calmly, serenely, the snow continued to fall.
His earpiece fell silent.
They would have switched to another channel.
Leaving him to focus on the exchange.
He waited, hand nervously twitching near his firearm.
The Volvo pulled up, killed its engine.
It stayed where it was, snow continuing to fall on the windscreen.
Slowly, the passenger-side door opened.
Harry braced himself, ready.
Aisha got out wearing a flimsy red sari, her arms, stomach and chest exposed to the snow which quickly chequered her body. Harry could see she was gagged, blindfolded and wearing ear-protectors.
She hesitated by the car, unable to move.
Adnan climbed out of the passenger door behind her.
He wore a traditional Asian tunic, thin against the wind, and a beanie.
No thick jacket or obvious explosive belt.
Adnan kept close to Aisha, holding a knife up near her throat but not across it.
‘I’ve got eyes on Aisha and Adnan,’ said Harry, his hands shaking with adrenaline. ‘No obvious threat. Be prepared for anything now. This guy is not to be underestimated.’
They began a slow walk towards Harry, mindful of slipping on the snow.
From all four corners of City Park, Harry envisaged the scope of rifles fixed on Adnan’s head.
Harry started walking, closing the gap.
They met halfway, by the dormant water fountains, stopping a few metres apart.
Adnan smiled. Aisha was holding an iPhone, streaming live BBC iPlayer.
With the eight-second delay.
Adnan seemed unfazed.
‘You really don’t know who I am, do you?’
‘No,’ said Harry. ‘I just want the girl. Nobody needs to get hurt here.’
‘There are armed police, here? Right? Snipers on the roof? The whole business?’ said Adnan, excited.
‘This can all end peacefully,’ Harry said carefully.
‘You’re carrying a gun,’ said Adnan, nodding towards it. ‘Point it at me.’
‘There’s no need,’ said Harry, but his hand twitched for it.
Slowly, Adnan waved the knife at Harry. Very slowly. He wasn’t stupid. Knew the snipers would have itchy fingers.
‘I say. You do. Now point your gun at me.’
Harry breathed out deeply, his breath white in the freezing air.
‘Do it, Harry,’ said Conway’s voice in his ear.
Harry unholstered his pistol and pointed it at Adnan’s head.
‘Now that microphone on your chest,’ said Adnan. ‘Throw it in the fountain.’
‘Aisha,’ said Harry. ‘First, let me get her to safety.’
Adnan shook his head. The knife wavered again in his hands.
Harry braced for a shot from a sniper. He tensed his own hand around the gun, finger on the trigger.
If he fired now, he’d save the girl.
But Adnan had always been one step ahead. Harry couldn’t shoot him now, there was no way to know what contingency plan he might have in place.
‘Do as I say, Harry.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I want to tell you something. Just between us.’
‘If I remove the microphone, you need
to release Aisha.’
‘Okay.’
Harry tried to figure out if Adnan was bluffing. Slowly, he reached his left hand up to his chest, keeping his gun trained on Adnan.
‘There,’ said Harry. ‘Now let her go.’
As promised, Adnan dropped the knife, released Aisha into Harry’s arms and raised his hands in surrender. Harry grabbed Aisha with his free hand, never letting his gun drop.
Quickly, eyes darting between her and Adnan, he tugged at her blindfold and removed the ear protectors from her head.
It was her, she appeared fine. He pushed her behind him.
‘On the ground,’ shouted Harry, turning back to Adnan. ‘Now!’
Officers rushed forward from their lookout spots, weapons raised.
This was too easy.
Harry felt a creeping sense of dread at the back of his neck.
Adnan stepped forward, closer to Harry’s gun.
‘Back down!’ shouted Harry. ‘On the ground! Now!’
Adnan smiled. ‘Harry, this is all I wanted.’
Harry put a hand behind him, reaching for Aisha, pushing her away.
‘Walk away, Aisha, slowly. Someone will come for you.’
She didn’t hesitate.
‘You really don’t know who I am, do you?’ said Adnan.
Armed officers were getting closer, guns trained on Adnan. Fifteen feet away.
Adnan looked around, bemused at the activity, a helicopter now swooping overhead, police at every corner of City Park.
‘The snow is beautiful,’ said Adnan, blinking it out of his eyes. ‘I couldn’t have asked for a better setting.’
Harry didn’t like the look on his face.
‘What for?’ Harry asked.
‘Tell me,’ said Adnan, smiling now, ‘do you know where your wife and child are?’
Harry’s hand tightened on the pistol. His eyes narrowed and he searched Adnan’s face.
‘I know exactly where they are,’ said Harry.
Adnan nodded. ’At Nadia’s house.’
He smiled again.
Harry’s eyes widened involuntarily.
‘Bullshit,’ he said, but his stomach clenched in fear.
‘You see,’ said Adnan, getting on his knees, holding his hands up in surrender. ‘Nadia’s husband is my brother. And that wife of yours was never yours to have. She was mine. She should have been mine.’
Harry heard a shout from an officer behind him but he couldn’t make out the words.
He could only hear Adnan.
‘If you tell your police friends that I have them, that my brother has them, they’ll die. So, you see,’ said Adnan, finally lying on the ground, ‘Saima and Aaron’s only hope is me. What are you prepared to do to see them again?’
SEVENTY-SEVEN
ON THE TELEVISION screen, the camera zoomed for a close-up.
Unmistakable.
Adnan Aziz.
Saima would have known him anywhere.
The transmission cut.
This was personal.
Harry had known all along that it was, but she’d never thought it was about them.
Saima stood quickly, needing to check on Aaron. She needed to get to the police station. But she found Imran standing in the living room doorway, Aaron slung over his shoulder, half-asleep, drowsy, his face flushed where the fever from his chest infection was raging.
‘What are you doing?’ she snapped, stepping forward to take her son into her arms.
She stopped when she saw the blade in Imran’s hand.
Nadia was out at the mosque at the all-night prayers. Saima was alone with Imran.
‘Did you think you could do this to us?’ he hissed. ‘Ruin my brother, my family, dishonour us all and there would be no consequences?’
‘What? Please, give me my son, look at him, he’s not well.’
Imran placed Aaron on the couch, gently laying him down. Saima lunged for the knife but Imran struck her hard, the back of his hand like a rock against her cheek.
Saima flew across the room, tripped over the coffee table and hit the floor clumsily.
Pain in her side.
Blood in her mouth.
She raised her head to see Aaron asleep on the couch and searched the room desperately for a weapon.
Imran grabbed her by the hair, dragging her across the room and into the kitchen. Saima didn’t scream, she wouldn’t wake Aaron, he would not witness whatever was about to happen.
In the kitchen, Imran tried to bind her hands together. Saima resisted, trying to claw at his face with her nails.
Imran slapped her again.
‘You bitch, you stay still or I’ll go in there and hurt your boy.’
Imran grabbed her by the neck, squeezing her throat.
‘You understand?’ he hissed, eyes wide, lips curling.
Saima immediately went limp, afraid more for Aaron than for herself.
Imran roughly taped her hands together and yanked Saima to her feet.
‘Now, we go for a drive. If you make a sound, do anything stupid, then it is not you but the boy who gets hurt.’
He grabbed her by the throat again, ‘You understand?’
Saima nodded, the edges of her vision blurring.
Again, she tasted blood in her mouth.
Imran raised the knife to her throat. ‘One wrong move and I slit the boy’s throat. Then I’ll leave you alive so you’ll always know it was your fault.’
‘Please,’ she said. ‘Don’t hurt him. I’ll do anything you want.’
‘Good,’ said Imran, shoving her towards the door. ‘Now, move.’
SEVENTY-EIGHT
HARRY WATCHED ADNAN being escorted to a police van, his hands forensically bagged, surrounded by armed officers.
He had to be bluffing.
Aisha Islam had been taken away. Harry was sure that her reunion with her father would have been an emotional one.
Overhead, the helicopter continued to circle City Park.
Conway was rushing around, unable to keep the smile off her face. This was the biggest thing they’d faced in their careers. And as far as Conway was concerned, they’d nailed it.
Do you know where your wife and child are?
Harry dialled Nadia’s home.
Six rings.
Eleven.
Conway reached him and Harry put out his hand,
‘Just phoning Saima. Telling her I’m all right. Give me two?’
She nodded, put her arm on Harry’s shoulder and squeezed it tightly. ‘Great job, Harry,’ she said, beaming.
Harry turned away.
‘Fuck,’ he muttered to himself.
How was this possible?
The confidence in Adnan’s voice.
Harry dialled again.
Nothing.
He looked towards Adnan being escorted into custody.
Safe from Harry.
‘Holy shit, this isn’t happening,’ whispered Harry, running his hand across his face, wiping the snow clear. He observed the high-fives of his team, the embraces, the jubilation of an operation carried out well.
Do you know where your wife and child are?
If he told Conway what Adnan had said, Harry would never get close enough to him to find out what the fuck was happening. He was under police protection now, and Adnan’s lawyer would never let Harry get in front of him.
He hurried towards Conway.
‘Listen, just got a call from the hospital. Old man’s surgery didn’t go so well. I need to get there. Fast. Can you deal with things here?’
‘Of course, Harry,’ she said, still clearly elated their operation had gone so smoothly and Tariq Islam had his daughter back safely.
He started to walk away.
‘Harry?’ she said, walking quickly towards him.
He stopped.
‘Your firearm? I’ll take it back in,’ she said.
Fifteen frantic minutes of hazardous driving, losing his traction on the snowy roads several tim
es, and Harry finally arrived at Nadia’s house on Great Horton Road.
He tore up the footpath and went straight for the door.
Unlocked.
Harry stepped inside.
‘Saima!’ he called out, rushing through the house. He cleared all the rooms in under a minute.
Empty.
‘This isn’t happening,’ he said, unable to think, unable to breathe.
In the living room, on an old coffee table, the only thing in the room was a plain white envelope.
Harry snatched it.
A wedding invitation.
Adnan Aziz & Saima Hayat.
An invitation to a wedding eighteen years ago.
Saima would have been only seventeen.
It had to be a mistake.
Saima would have told Harry.
He looked around the empty house.
He’d spoken to Saima only an hour and a half before. Whatever happened here had happened recently, they couldn’t be that far ahead of him.
He couldn’t tell the powers that be. He wouldn’t take the risk that Adnan had been bluffing about that.
He needed Adnan out of prison.
Fuck.
He was in custody in Trafalgar House and there was simply no way Harry was going to get him out of there.
‘Shit,’ said Harry, trying hard not to panic.
Nothing made sense.
Only one thing Harry was certain of.
He had to get to Adnan.
SEVENTY-NINE
ADNAN HAD BEEN processed, fingerprints and photos taken. His clothes had been removed and bagged and a doctor had examined him before he’d been sent into the basement prison cells of Trafalgar House.
The station was still buzzing in the wake of bringing him in and rescuing Aisha. On the upper floors, statements were being drafted, officers debriefed. Tariq and Aisha were at Bradford Royal Infirmary where she would spend the night, no doubt surrounded by Tariq’s close-protection unit.
Harry approached the duty sergeant, Kevin.
‘People are talking about a big promotion for you after tonight, mate. You really held it all together. Especially after what that animal put you through this week.’
‘Tell me about it,’ said Harry. ‘Listen, before the lawyers get here and we get into due-process, I want a few minutes with him. Just the two of us.’
Kevin frowned. ‘Shit, Harry, I don’t know. There’s breaking procedure and there’s doing that.’
