I handed him back the joint. ‘Finish it.’ He took it off me and spent the next few minutes smoking it silently down to the butt. He flicked it out of the window and turned to me with red eyes and his mouth open. I was already dreading what he was going to say next.
With tumbling words he said, ‘For what it’s worth, and I know it’s not worth shit, I know that, I do, but, honestly, truly, I’m so sorry about…’ Jay squeezed his eyes shut.
‘Stephanie.’
‘Yes! Stephanie.’ Jay’s face reddened. ‘And, uh…’
‘Jack.’
‘Jack, yeah, I know, Stephanie and Jack.’
I turned away from him and through the windscreen I focused hard on a spot, trying so hard to control my emotions, but it was difficult as Jay was tapping me repeatedly on my shoulder.
‘Imy?’ Tap, tap, tap. ‘Imy?’
‘What is it?’
‘You do believe me, yeah?’
‘Believe what?’
‘That I’m… I’m really sorry, about…’
‘You’re not very good at this, are you?’
Jay slumped down in his seat and out of frustration whacked his knuckle on the plastic dash. Contrary to how I was feeling – possibly it was a combination of the high and Jay’s clumsy attempt at condolences – but out of nowhere, trapped somewhere deep inside me, escaped a laugh.
‘The fuck, man?’ Jay shook his head. ‘What’s so funny?’
‘I think the two of you would have got on.’
‘Me and Stephanie?’ He beamed at me. ‘You think so?’
I suppressed a smile.
‘Oh, you mean me and Jack?’
I burst out laughing again. Hard, harder, harder than I had done in a very long time, and over the barrelling sound I could hear Jay joining in, filling the small confines of the car and escaping through the windows and echoing amongst the trees, just as it had once done many years ago.
Afterwards, we both sat quietly for a moment or so, carrying the afterglow on our faces. It was the first time that I’d thought about Stephanie and Jack and been grateful for what I’d had, rather than raging at what I’d lost.
‘We cool?’ Jay asked.
‘I want you to know something, Jay.’
‘Yeah. What?’
‘If I’d stopped and thought about the consequences of sparing you,’ I said, ‘no question, I would have killed you in a heartbeat. I want you to remember that.’
Chapter 59
Jay
Fuck! Talk about ruining the moment. That bombshell sobered me up and put me in my place all at once. Before I could respond, Imy stepped out and disappeared amongst the trees, leaving me alone, his words still ringing in my head.
It wasn’t exactly a bombshell, though, was it? In hindsight, of course he would have put a bullet through me. I mean, obviously I wouldn’t have been pleased about it, but, honestly, I think I would have taken it.
Family first.
It meant something to him and it fucking meant something to me.
I’d been pretty pissed that Imy had dragged me across the border into Afghanistan, but I was starting to understand the reason. It was apparent that Bin Jabbar’s many loyal followers in the North of Pakistan would open their arms and their homes and lay down their lives for him. But they were just that, they were his followers. They weren’t his men. There’s a difference, I think. His followers hang on his every word as though the man was a prophet, and if Bin Jabbar says ‘that kid is my blood’ then I was starting to believe that apart from the odd crackpot, I would’ve stayed pretty safe in North Pakistan.
Afghanistan, though, that’s a whole different ballgame. The men are more than followers, they believe wholly in a cause, one that I royally put a hole in. Regardless of who I was, or my relationship with their leader, they would be a lot less forgiving. By the same token, if anyone was protecting Bin Jabbar, it’d be his men and not his followers. So yeah, right now Afghanistan seemed like the place to be. But it wasn’t going to play out like Imy had planned.
I stepped out of the Honda, stretching and yawning, ridding myself of the last of the haze. The lamb curry that I’d devoured was making itself known in all sorts of forms. I rubbed my stomach and thought about dropping one in the woods. I even went as far as to establish a bunch of soft green leaves I could use for the clean-up process, before checking myself. There’s no way I’m doing that. I wondered if that’s what Imy was up to, and made a mental note not to shake his hand or offer up a high five any time soon, not that Imy was the high five type.
It was good to see him laugh, though, open up a little. I’m pretty sure there was no one left in his life that he could talk to. If he wanted to, I would step into that role. It was the least, the very fucking minimum I could do.
I waited for Imy to return, and with next to nothing to do I aimlessly walked around the little hatchback Honda, checking out its little biscuit wheels and rust on the rear arch. I tried not to turn my nose up at it, after all it had saved my life, but seriously, MI5 really scraped the bottom of the barrel for this little number.
I approached the rear and located the latch for the boot and flipped it open. Inside there was a red cooler bag, which, upon closer inspection, stored chilled bottles of water. Beside the cooler bag, in the side compartment, was a torch. I switched it on. It worked. I switched it off. I picked up a compass and watched the hand fly around until it landed on South. Not sure what that told me, so I put it back. And finally, there was a first aid kit containing first aid shit.
Bored already, I sighed and looked over the roof of the car, hoping Imy had finished contemplating his life. I thought about calling out to him, but decided to give him a little break from me. I slipped out my phone, hoping for a signal, but fuck all presented itself back at me. I placed my phone on the roof of the car and continued to look around the largely empty boot space.
There was a small handle to lift the inlay. I pulled it up carefully to reveal a pretty serious looking holdall decked out in army colours. I remembered what Imy had said about the eye scope thing, that it was an attachment to a sniper rifle. This I had to check out. With both hands I lifted the heavy bag out of the boot and placed it on the ground. Kneeling down next to it my hand reached for the zip, just as my phone decided to come to life in the form of a series of short beeps.
As is the way of the world, I abandoned whatever I was doing to check my phone. Three bars had appeared, and I had three missed Facetime calls from Idris, and three text messages.
Two of the text messages were from Sophia. The other number I didn’t recognise.
I read Sophia’s message first with a feeling in my chest that could only be described as fuzzy.
Sophia
FYI, I told Lawrence everything I know. Truth and nothing but the truth your honour. Hoping no jail but am under protection until all gets sorted out. S x
It was good news at a time where I could’ve done with some good news. As feisty as Sophia made out to be, I didn’t think she would fare well in jail. It wasn’t all good news though: until it all gets sorted meant that MI5, or whoever the fuck was tasked with the job of bringing Omar and Tommy in, were still chasing their tails. It was a concern for Sophia and, bigger picture, it was a concern for everyone else.
I read and reread the message, trying to suss out the meaning of the x at the end of the message. Back when I was dealing, I had a customer that would end his messages with an x, and I was pretty sure he didn’t have feelings for me. It’s just a way people sign off these days. I’m sure that was the case here; it was probably just how she signed off all her messages. I was ready to brush off any significance of the x, and then I read the second message from Sophia.
Sophia
Another FYI, I’m thinking about you. S x
It’s like she knew that the x in the original message would perplex me, and felt the need to clarify matters. That fuzzy feeling that was hovering around my heart was now climbing up my back and working its way up my nec
k. I flexed my fingers and thrashed out a reply. It sounded crap. I deleted it and composed another. Again, crap. Delete. I did this a few times before deciding to keep it real.
Jay
Xx
It felt good. I felt good. I had something to look forward to. Something away from this hell. She’d be trouble, no question, but I could handle trouble. Trouble was fast becoming a companion.
I wondered if she’d spend Christmas Day with me.
When all was said and done, maybe I’d pop into duty free and buy her a Christmas present, maybe a bottle of perfume. Ah, man, perfume, that’s so lame. Maybe a cheesy Christmas jumper. She’d like that. I could picture her wearing it. Though wasn’t that the kind of thing you got after you’d been with someone for some time? I’d figure it out. I read her text again and smiled to myself.
Yeah, I’d figure it out.
In the meantime there was still a message from an unknown number that sat unread. I tapped it open and read it once and then read it again, really fucking slowly.
+93 070 234 7855
You are in grave danger. Return home immediately. A friend.
I heard the rustle of leaves and then the crack of twigs, and Imy was at my shoulder. His eyes on the message. Without a second thought, or even a first, I jabbed at the number and slapped the phone against my ear. Before the line could connect, Imy snatched the phone away from me.
‘Give my phone back,’ I said with my hand out.
‘Can we talk about this for a minute?’ Imy said.
‘Like we chatted about crossing the border? Give my fucking phone back!’ I reached for my phone and like a dick he lifted it out of my reach.
‘Calm down, Jay. Talk to me.’
Calm had left the building and Outrage had rocked up in its place. I pushed him, the heels of my hands slamming against his chest. He didn’t so much as budge, so I dug my back foot into the ground for leverage and pushed him harder. He stumbled a step back and before I could revel in the smallest of satisfactions, that cold look in his eyes had returned.
Imy pushed back.
It knocked the wind out of me and dropped me to my backside. He stood over me and I steeled myself for a kick in the ribs, instead he lobbed my phone towards me and I flinched as it landed by my head.
Typical Imy, non-fucking-descript, the drop of emotion that he’d displayed earlier in the car had disappeared, as if he’d rebooted himself. He shook his head. ‘It’s not the right move,’ he said.
‘You don’t know that. Let’s call back and at least find out who it is. That’s all I’m saying.’
‘We stick to the plan.’
‘You mean to travel down to the safe house guarded by Al-Muhaymin, that fucking plan? You think we’re going to spot Bin Jabbar out front watering the fucking plants? No, I tell you what’s going to happen: you’re gonna dangle me like a carrot in the middle of Al-Muhaymin territory.’
‘That’s not true,’ Imy said, and I couldn’t determine if he was telling me the truth because of his lack of fucking emotion. I wasn’t taking the risk.
‘I’m tired of being a fucking carrot!’
I unlocked my phone with intent, expecting him to intervene again. When he didn’t, the stubbornness left me and uncertainty filled me. I read the message, again.
+93 070 234 7855
You are in grave danger. Return home immediately. A friend.
‘You think it’s a setup, like, reverse psychology?’ I said, feeling a lot less confident.
‘I think, on this side of the border, you have no friends. It could possibly be a trap.’
I turned the phone over in my hand, my mind ticking over as I chewed the insides of my mouth. Imy and Lawrence had a plan from the off, and to some extent it was working. My name was flagged, first at Islamabad Airport, and then at the border. The only hiccup in their plan was that the rumour of my involvement in taking down Ghurfat-al-Mudarris seemed to be widespread. It was more than a hiccup, it was a full-blown vomit. Knowing Lawrence, and knowing how his devious mind worked, he was going to use it to his advantage.
I wasn’t having that. I wasn’t playing their fucking game. I made the call.
The phone connected and I put it on speaker. A man answered.
‘Javid.’
I licked my lips. ‘Who is this?’
‘Go home. Please do not call this number again.’
I sensed that a disconnect was on the cards. I spoke quickly, unable to hide the anguish in my voice. ‘I… I need your help. I have to find my father.’
There was a moment of stretched silence, followed by a sigh. He wanted to say more, I know he did! Imy leaned in closer, our heads almost touching, our eyes meeting.
‘Goodbye, Javid,’ the man said, leaving me with dead air.
Imy and I separated. He said something disparaging like ‘I told you so’, or some shit, but I’d tuned him out. Because the man’s voice, it had thrown me.
I was expecting a regional accent, but what came through in those few words was unmistakably middle class British. Clipped and educated the expensive way; somebody who had chosen to use that education to further a cause.
‘I know him,’ I mumbled quietly to myself, before letting it out. ‘I know him!’
‘What?’ Imy replied frostily.
‘I think his name is Latif.’
‘You think?’
‘It’s definitely Latif. I met him last year, here, in Afghanistan. I travelled with him and my dad.’
‘He’s Ghurfat-al-Mudarris?’
‘Fully pledged, paid-up member. Logistics, I think. He dealt with the finer detail of the operation. Always carried an iPad with him.’ It was coming back to me quickly, years of smoking weed not having any lasting effect on my memory. ‘But he’s more than that. They’re close, Latif and my dad, like brothers, he’s his…’ I clicked my fingers as I searched for the word. ‘Confidant! His fucking confidant. He knows things that no one else knows… Maybe I do have a friend here.’
Imy leaned back against the car and looked up at the sky. I followed his gaze, the sun had done a runner, and it felt cold and grey and depressing. I looked across at Imy in the hope that I could convince him to consider our options, given this new information. I think he sensed it and walked away in that brusque manner of his before I could speak.
He rounded the car and noticed the army bag that I’d taken out of the boot and placed on the ground. ‘You don’t go anywhere near this bag!’ he chided, before mumbling to himself.
I ignored him. I could no longer allow him to dictate to me.
I let myself back in the car.
Imy busied himself packing the bag of supplies back into the boot, and slamming it shut to prove a point. He joined me a moment later, no doubt ready to give me the high and mighty. He looked across at me, and then at the phone in my hand.
I smiled at him. It was sheepish at best.
‘Jay?’ Imy said. ‘What have you done?’
‘I’ve sent Latif our location,’ I said, without hesitation.
‘You fool!’ he said tiredly and without bite. I think he knew I wasn’t going to let this go.
I shrugged. ‘It’s done now.’
‘Latif made his position clear. He doesn’t want to speak with you, let alone see you. What makes you think he’ll turn up?’
‘Because,’ I said, ‘I’m the son of Abdul Bin Jabbar.’
Chapter 60
Imy
I could feel the realisation within him. The change. I noticed the way he started referring to Bin Jabbar as his father, and himself as his son. It meant something. It meant his emotions were hitting the surface. I didn’t need him emotional, I needed a clear head.
He should never have texted Latif our location.
That was the one place that we should have kept to ourselves, somewhere secluded to retreat to. It would have been safer to drive to the nearest village in Sharana and arrange to meet Latif there, somewhere less exposed with fewer points of entry.
&nbs
p; I left Jay in the car, with the car keys and the task to charge both our phones. I gave him a radio receiver and a crash course on how to use it. I made my way to wait for Latif a couple of hundred yards from the dirt road, where I had the height advantage.
Partially covered by a tree I watched the road through the spotting scope. I’d left the sniper rifle secured in the car. If Latif was indeed a friend, as his communications suggested, there would be no need for it. But I wouldn’t know that until I’d met him and taken measure. If it turned out that Latif anticipated this, and we were walking into a trap, then I had with me the Browning.
I checked on Jay every thirty minutes.
‘All good?’
‘Yeah, all good.’ His voice, surrounded by static, came back through the two-way. ‘The phones are fully charged. Anything from your end? Over!’ Jay insisted on playing at soldiers. I didn’t indulge.
‘Nothing as yet.’
‘It’s so dark,’ Jay said. ‘Can’t see shit outside the window, or in the car. It’s pitch fucking black! There could be a family of four sitting in the back seat and I wouldn’t know. Over!’
‘Do not turn on the interior light. Or use your phone. Any light will attract attention.’
‘Like I don’t know that! How about you, can you make anything out in this light? Over!’
I could. The spotting scope was equipped with night vision and thermal imaging and at that moment I was watching a dark saloon moving shakily along the uneven dirt track. It was the first car I had seen in the two hours that I’d been there. Despite the narrow track, the car moved at speed, bumping and veering and I couldn’t get a clear view of the driver. However, the thermal imaging helped me identify that there was only the driver present.
‘Yo, Imy, you still there? Over.’
‘I see a car. Wait.’
‘Shit! Is it Latif? Over!’
‘I don’t know. Stand by.’
‘Stand by for what? Over!’
I turned the volume down on the two-way as I continued to track the saloon. I expected it to slow down and park at the foot of the forest, but it continued along, its acceleration constant as the dirt track met the main road. It then slowed smoothly and stopped at the junction. I focused in on the driver.
Ride or Die - Jay Qasim Series 03 (2020) Page 27
