by Bill Ward
“It is a small price to pay for the information I provide,” Baz said. “And I think you actually found it quite enjoyable.”
She sat across the table from Baz and looked him straight in the eyes. “Perhaps I should use the toy on you next time? If you think anal sex is so enjoyable.”
“We can discuss it the next time.”
She couldn’t believe she had been so stupid as to suggest there might be a next time. She needed to get back on track. “It’s time for you to live up to your end of the bargain. What do you have for me?”
“A man has recently flown to England. Unfortunately, I did not learn of this until yesterday. I am told this man’s presence in the UK is highly significant. He undertakes only the most important operations. I do not know his exact mission but it may even be that he is the one responsible for the bombing of the London Marathon.”
“Who is this man?” Lara demanded. The capture of the bomber was the number one priority within all the security services. To deliver the name of the bomber to her bosses would be an amazing addition to her CV.
“Have you made any progress with finding the bomber?” Baz asked, ignoring Lara’s question.
In truth, Lara had no idea what progress had been made. She was too far removed from the investigation. “I am not going to share such information with you. Perhaps you are here just to find out what we know about the bomber.”
“Lara, you are so distrusting.”
“I have to be. I spend my life around people like you.”
“Now you have hurt me.”
“You’ll get over it. So when did this man arrive in England?”
“Recently.”
Lara was getting angry. She felt like she was being played for a fool. “You mean to tell me I let you fuck me just so you could tell me some man has already flown to England to do something but you don’t know for sure what. You’re taking the piss!”
Baz was smiling. “You should not speak like that. It is not ladylike.”
“Fuck you!”
“You forget my role in the organisation. I promised important information and I keep my word. I provided the passport for this man to travel. It is not his real name but the passport is in the name of Fawwaz Al-Hashimi.”
Lara’s heart skipped a beat. There would be a record of this man entering Britain. She needed to urgently return to the embassy and set in motion steps to find him.
“Now I think you are happy with our arrangement,” Baz continued.
She had to admit, Baz had delivered on his promise after all. Delivered big time in fact. A fresh thought crossed her mind. “I hope you haven’t been sitting on this information waiting until after the bombing before passing me his name. That would be a very dangerous game to play.”
“I swear on my children’s lives I only learned the significance of this name yesterday.”
“Is there anything else you can tell me about this man or his mission? Is he definitely a bomber?” she asked.
“I don’t know for certain but I will try to find out more. If I hear anything we can meet again for another pleasant time.”
Lara gave him a cold stare. “Don’t push me.” Then more lightly she added, “Maybe when we have this man in custody we can consider spending some more pleasant time together but until then your cock stays firmly inside your clothes.”
She thought there was no harm in offering Baz an extra incentive to help find this man. A promise was all it would ever be.
CHAPTER THREE
The knock at the door brought Fawwaz instantly alert. He was not expecting any visitors. He had been instructed to lie low for a few days and then he would receive further instructions about his next target. In the five days since his bombing of the marathon, he had not left the house.
It was a small terraced property and in need of renovation but Fawwaz didn’t care. It served its purpose. There was an adequate kitchen for his simple needs. The bathroom, despite the cracked tiles and some damp causing mildew around the floor, had a good shower. In the mornings, he would spend several minutes under the shower, mixing the temperature from hot to very cold, in order to invigorate his body.
There were stained curtains on the windows, which he kept permanently closed. He didn’t want anyone peering inside his workshop because that was how he thought of the house. It was not a home but a place for him to prepare bombs. At the moment though, he had no more materials for bombs and had to wait patiently to be resupplied.
He maintained his fitness by twice a day doing press ups and pulls ups. He would also stand in the middle of the room with his hands outstretched holding the kettle and toaster as weights. He was not truly concerned about losing his fitness in such a short time but exercising helped keep boredom at bay.
There was plenty of food in the house and he spent the vast majority of his time watching television, mostly glued to the BBC and Al Jazeera news channels. He was confident there was no evidence linking him to the explosion. According to the news, the police had no suspects. Certainly they had not broadcast any photos of him so his attempts to avoid cameras seemed to have been successful.
He had been disappointed by his limited success. He had hoped to kill hundreds not just a handful of people. Fortunately, there would be further targets and he was confident of killing far more of the enemy next time. He would not return home until his family were properly avenged. In truth, he knew he would probably never go back but he would make the English pay dearly for their crimes.
There was a second knock at the door. He could pretend he was not at home but if whoever was outside had heard him, then it might attract more attention. The one thing he didn’t want was to be noticed. If it was someone come to kill him on the other side of the door, they would not be politely knocking.
He regretted not being properly armed. He felt naked without a gun. He picked up the large kitchen knife from the table and put it through the belt of his jeans and under his shirt so it wasn’t visible. He had been wearing European clothing since arriving in the country to help blend in with the locals.
“Good morning,” the man on the doorstep said. He was middle aged and dressed casually. His shoulders were hunched and he was clearly no danger. There was a badge pinned to the man’s jacket. “I’m here to read the gas meter.”
“I was just going out, can you please come back another time?” Fawwaz asked politely. He spoke good English. One hand was behind his back grasping the handle of the knife.
“It will only take a minute. This meter hasn’t been read for a very long time.”
The man took a pace forward and gave Fawwaz little choice but to let him in. There were people walking by on the street. He couldn’t risk trouble.
“Do you know where the meter is?” the man asked.
Fawwaz closed the front door. “I believe it is under the stairs,” he said, leading the way to a small cupboard, bending down and opening the double doors.
He was careful to ensure the knife was concealed. As he stood back up, the first thing he noticed was the extended arm and the weapon, then he noticed the man was smiling.
“On the floor,” the man commanded. “Get on the floor,” he repeated when Fawwaz was slow to move.
Still Fawwaz didn’t move. He was calculating the possibility of disarming this man but he was keeping his distance. His body no longer sagged but was upright and the man had an air of confidence, like he had done this before.
“Lie down now or I will put a bullet in your knee,” the man threatened, taking a step backwards.
Fawwaz wondered if the man had read his mind. There was too much distance between them. He had no chance of overpowering the man. And if his knee was shattered, there would be no possibility of escape in the future. He wished he had worn a suicide vest at the marathon. He could have died a martyr and killed so many more of the enemy. Fawwaz did as ordered and prostrated himself on the floor.
There was the crashing sound of the front door being taken off its hinges and suddenl
y the hallway was flooded with people. He felt two burly men pull his hands behind his back and apply handcuffs. He was searched and the knife removed from his belt. Then he was pulled to his feet and a hood put over his head.
Fawwaz felt himself dragged out the front door and seconds later he was being bundled into the back of a van. He had never known such a desperate feeling of misery. He had failed in his mission and he would never be able to fully revenge his family.
CHAPTER FOUR
Powell was sitting, drinking a coffee and reading the newspaper when his phone rang. It was the leisurely way he started most mornings. He glanced to see who was calling and could barely believe the name that appeared. He wasn’t sure why her name and number were still in his phone.
“Hello Lara,” he answered, tentatively. “This is a surprise. I didn’t expect to ever hear from you again.”
“Powell, can I come and see you?”
There was an urgency and something else in her voice that made him become alert. She sounded scared. He didn’t think of Lara as someone who would scare easily.
“Has something happened?” he probed.
“I can’t talk on the phone but I need your help.”
Powell realised she must be really desperate if he was the person she was turning to when in need of help. “When do you want to come?”
“How about this afternoon?”
“Are you in England?”
“Yes, I arrived a few days ago.”
“Okay. My bar is called Bella’s and is in Hove. I’ll be here all day. It’s a ten minute taxi from Brighton station.”
“Thank you. I’ll be there about two.”
Powell realised she had disconnected before he could ask any further questions. As he put the phone down on the table, he was in a state of shock. He hadn’t thought about Lara for many months. She was strictly history and he had never thought he would see her again.
He wondered what had brought her to England and whether it had anything to do with Baz and the children. He hoped not. The children were happy back home with their mother. Lost in his thoughts, he didn’t notice Afina approach.
“Are you still okay to look after things tonight?” she asked.
“Of course I am. You know, I did manage to run this bar for twenty years before you arrived.” Powell had recently become almost superfluous to running the bar, Afina did such a good job of managing everything. “You and Mara have fun. Who is it you’re seeing?”
“Jason Derulo.”
“Sorry, never heard of him.”
“Want to want me?”
“That sounds confusing.”
“It’s a song.”
“Not ringing any bells. Listen, I’m expecting a visitor about two this afternoon so I’ll use the office, if that’s okay?”
“Of course, it is your office,” Afina replied with a grin.
Powell sensed Afina would like to know more about his visitor but he had no intention of letting her know it was Lara. After coming back from Saudi, Powell had given Afina an edited version of events and mentioned Lara’s name but not the fact they had been lovers.
“What time do you plan to get away tonight?” Powell asked, changing the subject.
“Mara’s coming over for a drink about six and we’ll leave about seven, I guess.”
“That’s fine with me. Let me finish my coffee and then I’ll help you behind the bar a bit. See if I can remind myself how it all works.”
“I read once elephants never forget,” Afina said.
“That may be true of elephants but I’m more of a dinosaur.”
“Must be why you’ve never heard of Jason Derulo,” Afina said, as she walked away.
Powell enjoyed his relationship with Afina. She no longer looked at him with puppy dog eyes and hadn’t made any further suggestions they should have a sexual relationship. Not that he was completely averse to the idea. He couldn’t deny he found her very attractive and there was no other woman in his life. He had gone back to being celibate. In fact, one of the reasons it would be strange to see Lara again was because she was the last person he had sex with and that was almost a year ago.
He enjoyed the banter he shared with Afina and Mara had even described them as like an old married couple. In private, Mara would ask him when he was going to get together with Afina. Mara would always say they were meant for each other. Sometimes he wasn’t sure if she was serious or just desperate to be a bridesmaid, which she had insisted she would be, when they finally tied the knot. In her opinion, he was just delaying the inevitable.
Powell didn’t share Mara’s view. Afina deserved the chance to have a family, something he was certain he didn’t want. He was too old to start changing nappies again and have his nights interrupted by crying babies. He was sure he would make a terrible father second time around.
With Afina it would have to be all or nothing. He couldn’t just be her boyfriend for a few years, before inevitably breaking up when her need for children became greater than her need to stay with him. He knew if he opened the door to a relationship with Afina, she would expect marriage, kids, the full works.
Powell recognised Afina put all her energies into her work. He continued to be impressed with how she ran the bar. She went through the motions of asking his opinion from time to time but he knew she did it out of politeness, rather than truly needing his help. As a result, he found himself with far more free time on his hands than had been the case for most of the last twenty years. He was attending kick boxing training three evenings a week and getting back to peak fitness.
Powell hoped Afina would find a boyfriend but there was no sign of anyone. She had been invited out by a few of the customers but she always declined politely. He wasn’t surprised given her past experiences. It was going to take someone very special to win Afina’s heart.
CHAPTER FIVE
As Powell waited for Lara to arrive, he had an uneasy feeling in his stomach. He was certain Lara wasn’t just paying him a social visit but wasn’t sure what to expect. Powell had mixed feelings concerning Lara. On the one hand he was intensely attracted to her but he had discovered the hard way, he could never really trust her motives. He didn’t want to be drawn into some further web of deceit of her origin.
Life had returned to a more normal existence since his return from Saudi. There was no longer any Romanian gangsters trying to kill him and he was coming to terms with the loss of Bella. He recognised that in some ways, Afina had filled part of the void left by Bella’s death. He still had dark moments and on a daily basis he would speak to Bella, share things and ask advice. She was still very much alive in his mind.
Powell was behind the bar when Lara arrived. She was wearing blue jeans, a red jumper and a leather jacket. Her jet black hair framed a naturally suntanned complexion. She looked as stunning as he remembered. She stood at the entrance and looked around until her eyes fell upon Powell. She smiled the same captivating smile he remembered and walked towards him.
“Hello, Lara.” He noticed for the first time she had bags under her brown eyes, which hadn’t been there the last time they met. She looked tired.
“Powell… ” There was a second while they both just studied each other. She took the initiative and kissed him on both cheeks in greeting. “Thanks for seeing me. I wouldn’t have been surprised if you’d told me you never wanted to see me again.”
“It sounded important.”
“It is. Can we sit down and talk?”
“Would you like a drink. Coffee or something stronger? I’m going to have a Latte.”
“A double espresso would be good.”
“Coming right up.” He turned to the coffee machine behind to make the drinks.
“This is a great bar,” Lara said, casting her eyes around.
“Thanks.”
In the mirror behind the bar, Powell could see Lara checking out the bar. He was fairly sure she was taking more than a casual interest. She was taking note of all the other customers and the
layout, in a way he had done twenty years before when he worked for MI5. She was checking entrances and exits.
Powell placed the two coffees on the counter. “Have you eaten? We do good food.”
“I’m fine thanks. Let’s sit and talk.”
“Okay, let’s go through to my office.”
Before Powell could pick up his coffee he noticed three men enter, cast their eyes around and then head directly in his direction. They all looked like clones with their dark suits, white shirts and short haircuts. They looked as if they were on official business and he had a nasty foreboding they weren’t here to eat or drink.
“We have visitors,” Powell nodded in the direction of the men as they came near.
Lara gasped as she turned and saw the men. From her reaction, Powell thought she recognised them.
“Can I help you?” Powell asked.
“You need to come with us,” the man in the middle of the three said to Lara, completely ignoring Powell. He was slightly shorter than the other two. The men on either side of him were both wearing sun glasses, which seemed decidedly odd given it wasn’t the least bit sunny outside.
“What is going on here?” Powell asked more firmly.
“This woman is under arrest,” the spokesman responded. “Please step back. She is dangerous.”
“Don’t let them take me, Powell,” Lara pleaded. “They’ll make me disappear.”
Powell noticed the two men on the side were slowly circling Lara, trapping her against the bar.
“If she’s under arrest, show me your identification,” Powell demanded.
“Please keep out of this, Sir. It’s none of your concern.”
“You’re not police. You have an American accent and you’re friends look like extras from a Men in Black movie.”
“Are you going to come quietly?” the American asked, turning back to Lara. “We don’t want any trouble in here. People may get hurt.”
“She’s going nowhere,” Powell stated. “Now get out of my bar.”
