An open area with buildings and a road in between. He didn’t recognize the area, and suspected that he wasn’t meant to. “Looks like it will be a relatively simple shot—what need do you have of me?”
“Insurance,” the former SAS man replied simply. “We both take the shot simultaneously, positioned on a line about fifty meters apart. If one of us doesn’t hit his mark, the other will.”
“Fair enough.” It was a simple shot—or would be for someone who had handled a long gun more recently than Iraq. He hadn’t. “And our target?”
Hale held his gaze for a long moment, eyes boring into his own—not responding, just looking at him. Finally, “It’s natural that you’d ask, mate. And you wouldn’t be standing here if I didn’t trust you.”
“You said we were going to take the fight to them—and no politician was going to stand in our way this time. What is this,” Gordon asked, indicating the building markers on the terrain map, “some sort of training camp?”
“Not exactly.”
6:46 A.M.
Leeds, North Yorkshire
Fired up, feels good. Harry’s feet slammed rhythmically into the pavement as he ran through the carpark, trying to ignore the exhaustion—the pain still pulsating through his weakened ankle.
He could hear Aydin ahead of him, breathing heavily as he vaulted over the hood of a parked Nissan—heading for an alley between two towering brick buildings of the type that characterized the center of Leeds. He might have been two decades younger, but youth had its limits and the boy had already hit the wall.
This wasn’t a videogame. And it wasn’t Harry’s first foot chase.
The buildings above cast strange shadows in the morning sun down upon the runners as they entered the alley, never slackening their pace. He didn’t know if Mehreen or Ismail were behind him—whether they had been able to follow him from the station.
Or whether this was where it was all going to end, here in this alley. All alone.
It had to end soon—he could feel himself tiring, his breath coming quicker as he ran, his body protesting against the demands he continued to pile upon it.
And then he saw it, before Aydin did—perhaps ten meters farther on, the alley widening out into a vacant lot…backed by a chainlink fence perhaps eight feet high.
Dead end.
Harry dropped to one knee in the gravel and drew the Sig-Sauer from within his jacket, his heart still racing with adrenaline as he struggled to catch his breath. Never taking his eyes off Aydin.
Stay alert. A dangerous animal was never more so than when you had successfully run it to ground.
He heard a string of curses break from Aydin’s lips as the boy saw the fence—only then realizing that he was cornered. Turning to face his adversary, his back to the wall.
“Don’t come near me,” he screamed, unzipping his jacket as Harry staggered to his feet—the bomb vest just visible in the dim light of the dawn. “Not another step or I blow us both up—I’m not joking, man. I’ll do it, I’ll bloody do it.”
6:48 A.M.
Thames House, London
“North Yorkshire has the Audi,” Norris said, appearing in the door of MacCallum’s office. “Located it two kilometers from the city centre.”
“And?”
“They’re trying to isolate prints—match what they can against the legitimate owners and then work from there. Also, they found a loaded assault rifle in the boot—wrapped in cloth along with three spare magazines. It’s a Kalashnikov.”
“Good God,” the section chief shook his head. “Do we have anything on where the driver or drivers could be?”
“They’ve begun conducting a sweep of the area—based on traffic cameras, the Audi can’t have been parked there more than two hours ago.”
“Keep me apprised.”
6:49 A.M.
Leeds, North Yorkshire
“No, you won’t,” Harry replied, advancing slowly as he stared at the boy through the iron sights of the Sig. Seeing the detonator clutched in Aydin’s sweaty, trembling left hand.
He was in the blast radius, he knew that. He also knew his terrorists. “If you really wanted to blow yourself up,” he continued, his tone even, almost conversational, “you would have done it back in the station. So close to your target, surrounded by dozens of the kaffir. Out in a blaze of glory—fulfilling God’s will just as Rahman told you. But you didn’t, did you?”
An anguished sob escaped the boy’s lips as he shrank back against the rough chainlink of the fence. “Stay away from me.”
“You lost your nerve, Aydin. That’s all there is to it. It’s why you didn’t press that detonator back in City Station, and it’s why you won’t do it now.”
Watch the eyes, not the hands. The eyes always gave the game away, signaled what was to come.
“I will if you come any closer—I swear to God, I will!” Fear was a weapon, but one to be wielded carefully. It wasn’t altogether unlike talking down a bridge-jumper, but a shahid had been convinced that death was desirable. All that remained was to play upon what every man did fear.
“Men do not fear death, only the thought of death”, as Seneca had put it millennia ago.
“Have you ever seen what happens when one of those vests is triggered?” Harry asked, pressing his advantage. His words slow and deliberate. “I have. It isn’t like they show you on all those martyrdom videos—a quick flash of light and it’s all over. Neat. Clean. Nothing like that. The bomb shreds you into raw, screaming meat, takes your head right off your torso like it was done with a sword. You don’t want to die that way.”
Another stifled sob as the boy looked away, the desperation only too visible in his eyes. “Give me the detonator, Aydin,” Harry said—taking his support hand away from the Sig and extending it toward him. “Just give it here, and this can all be over.”
6:51 A.M.
Thames House
London
They were being overwhelmed, MacCallum thought—casting a critical eye toward the crisis point map displayed on one wall of the Centre. Slowly but surely.
Drowning in noise.
“I need to show you something,” Norris announced, hailing him as he passed the analyst’s workstation.
He gestured to the screen of his unclass computer as MacCallum leaned in, taking in the assortment of windowed webpages. “What am I looking at?”
“We’ve been monitoring Twitter traffic out of Leeds ever since the riots began. Looking for patterns, coordination…it’s all open-source. Ten minutes ago, we started getting a bunch of tweets from the area immediately surrounding the bus station. Reporting some sort of disturbance—to be honest, none of them are overly cogent. Bleedin’ chavs.”
Not far from where the Audi was found, MacCallum thought—making the connection instantly. “Get local police on the phone, make sure they devote resources to the area. And CCTV from within the station when you can.”
“Already sent in the request—I’ll get on North Yorkshire.”
Another analyst came hurrying across the floor in that moment, making straight for MacCallum.
“We just got this in from Leeds,” he said, handing over a print-out of a surveillance camera image. “It’s Tarik Abdul Muhammad. Last night, he checked into the Queens Hotel in City Square. Along with this woman. We’ve not been able to ID her as of yet. Possibly a working woman.”
A prostitute. Got you, MacCallum thought, looking at the grainy image of the terrorist. Every man had his weaknesses. “Is he still there in the hotel?”
The analyst shook his head. “No visual confirmation at this point.”
“Have Darren get a team over there at once and alert CO-19,” MacCallum ordered. They couldn’t risk losing him again, not with so much at stake. “Where’s Marsh?”
“On his way to meet with the Home Secretary. He’s to brief her prior to her meeting with the PM later this morning.”
“Make sure they’re both informed—we’ll need her to sign off on any direc
t action.” He paused, struck by a sudden thought. “How far is the Queens from City Bus Station?”
“Not much over a kilometer.” The analyst shook his head, seeming baffled. “Why?”
6:52 A.M.
Leeds, North Yorkshire
There was hesitation there, a flicker of surrender. And then Harry heard a shout from the alley behind him. “Aydin!”
Mehreen. Aydin’s head jerking up at the sound of her voice.
“Stay back,” he warned her, his voice sharp as a knife’s edge—but the damage was already done, all the boy’s defiance rushing back in the space of a moment.
“Aydin, how can you do this?” she cried out, her voice torn with agony. “To your family, to your faith. I spoke with your mother yesterday, her heart would break if she knew that—”
“And what do you know of family, kaffir?” the boy hissed, his face glistening with perspiration as he leaned forward, spitting on the ground toward his aunt. “How can you call yourself a Muslim and work with…them?”
He was on a dangerous edge, Harry thought, watching him carefully. Caught between his fears and his pride—now brought to the fore in the presence of a woman.
And they were losing control of the situation.
He caught Mehreen’s eye just as she began to respond, motioning for her to remain silent. “If you are truly a follower of the Prophet,” he began, looking the boy in the face, “then you know that declaring takfir on a fellow Muslim is a prerogative reserved to the ulema. To make an accusation like this without such authority is to tread on dangerous ground.”
Aydin shook his head, the knuckles of his hand whitening around the detonator. “You’re an infidel yourself—you know nothing of my faith.”
“Not an infidel,” Harry corrected him, “but a follower of Jesus. One of the ‘people of the Book’, as your Qur’an so clearly states. Tell me…what reward awaits he who has slain the faithful?”
The wail of emergency sirens could be heard in the distance in that moment, before Aydin could respond. Had the alarm been raised back at the bus station? There was no way to know, no time to find out.
“No,” the boy breathed desperately, the word sounding more like an anguished plea than anything else. On the brink.
He lifted his tear-stained face, glancing wildly back and forth between Harry and Mehreen. “I told you I wasn’t bloody joking around—I will do this if you try to take me.”
Take the shot. Harry’s finger curled around the Sig’s trigger, taking up the slack. The eyes.
“Don’t do it,” came Ismail’s voice from behind him and Harry glanced back to see the imam standing there, breathing heavily from his exertion.
“But you said—”
“I know,” the old man said, holding up a hand as if to cut him off. “But ‘whoever saves one’…”
“‘It is as if he had saved mankind entirely’,” Harry quoted, finishing the verse. A difficult truth.
Ismail nodded. “Please, give me the chance to talk with him.”
6:54 A.M.
The Queens Hotel
Leeds
“What were you possibly thinking?” were the first words Tarik Abdul Muhammad heard as he answered his mobile.
He didn’t recognize the voice.
“Who is this?” he demanded, throwing the covers aside and rising from the bed. He knew better than to stay on the call…and yet.
“A friend, that’s all you need to know—the friend who helped you when you first came to the city.”
The railroad station. And it all came flashing back, the text messages—coming out of nowhere. Guiding him out from under the Security Service’s surveillance and to Colville.
“The woman—where is she?” the voice asked, pressing on without a pause.
They knew. “She—she’s gone. I paid her and she left.” There was a long silence and for a moment Tarik thought the line had gone dead.
“And you need to as well—don’t leave through the lobby. Five just found out you’re there. Picked you up on CCTV.”
Ya Allah. He reached for his pants, pulling them on hastily as he cradled the phone against his shoulder. “How long do I have?”
“Eight, ten minutes. No more.”
6:55 A.M.
Leeds
“I need you to lower your weapon,” Ismail said, placing a hand on Harry’s shoulder as he moved past him toward the boy. He met Harry’s eyes, clearly seeing the doubt written there, and squeezed his shoulder, adding, “Please…grant me this.”
De-escalate. It was a strategy not without merit, but one which held its own dangers.
“Give him a chance, Harry.” He looked over to see Mehreen standing there, her eyes pleading with him.
Mercy. Justice. Weighed in the balances, and found wanting. He had never warmed to the roles of judge, jury, and executioner. As many times as he had assumed them.
“If I do,” he said slowly, returning his focus to the imam—his voice low and terse, “I won’t be able to protect you.”
Besimi smiled, peace seeming to settle over his countenance. “I seek refuge in God from Satan the accursed…if He chooses not to protect me, neither will your skill.”
Fair enough. The old man had guts, that was undeniable, Harry thought, carefully lowering the Sig-Sauer until it rested at his side.
Fearless, even—but if something went wrong, his life wasn’t the only one on the line. All of them were going to die.
The minimum evacuation distance protocol dictated with an s-vest was thirty-four meters, a number seared into his memory from years of hard-earned knowledge.
They couldn’t have been more than ten.
“Look at me,” the imam said, speaking softly as he advanced toward Aydin. “The words this man has spoken to you, they are truth. You are very young, and I pray that God, subhanahu wa’ ta’ala, may even yet reward your zeal—but you have strayed far from His paths.”
“That’s a lie, all of it is lies,” the boy spat angrily. “You’ve taken for friends the enemies of God.”
Besimi shook his head, moving closer. Steady now, Harry thought, his body tensing involuntarily. Tread carefully.
“Is that what they have been teaching you, my son, distorting the words of the Prophet to serve their own ends?”
6:56 A.M.
M.I.-5 Regional Office
If he hadn’t known better, he might have thought the Americans had them all bugged, Darren thought—favoring Parker with a skeptical glance. Perhaps he didn’t know better.
That or the CIA operations officer was just an exceedingly light sleeper.
“We just got the red-flash from Thames House a few minutes ago—they’ve tracked the Shaikh to a hotel in City Centre,” Roth said, grimacing as he inserted his earpiece. “If we’re lucky, we’ll be able to re-establish surveillance on him there.”
“Re-establish surveillance?” Parker asked, an incredulous look playing across his face. “Your country is on fire, the level of civil unrest you’re seeing between the far right and the Muslim community is unsustainable. Someone like the Shaikh—you know he has to be stoking the flames from behind the scenes. We both know that.”
“We do,” Roth replied, briefly testing his comms unit before shrugging on his jacket. They were short on time. “But you and I, we don’t make policy. We execute it.”
The American smiled. “Ours not to reason why. Mind if I join you for the ride-along?”
6:57 A.M.
No, Aydin breathed, his heart pounding against his chest as though it threatened to break free. Hugging both arms close to his body, desperation threatening to consume him. It wasn’t supposed to end like this.
He looked up into the bearded face of the aged man, standing there now only feet away, the small kufi resting atop his white hair. The face of a man who had been a part of his life…for as long as he could remember.
But now he was one of them. “The Prophet himself,” the imam went on soberly, “peace be upon him, warned that such wo
uld come—dividing the ummah, setting brother against brother. Son, against father. They recite the Noble Qur’an, but alas, it does not pass their throat. In the day of reckoning, they will rise with the Dajjal.”
The false messiah.
The old man moved closer, placing his right hand on Aydin’s trembling shoulder. Extending his left toward the boy. “Just give me the detonator—you don’t want to die this way. Taking your own life and those of your fellow believers.”
He closed his eyes, fighting against the emotion that surged over him. It was so tempting, so seductive.
He could put all of this behind him, go back to life as it had been—go back to his family, his parents…no. Never.
The fingers of his right hand closed around the butt of the small semiautomatic within his jacket, the touch of the metal reminding him of his purpose.
Follow the green birds.
The pistol came back out in his hand, its muzzle swinging inexorably toward the old man—his finger tightening around the trigger.
A moment later, a pair of shots shattered the dawn.
6:58 A.M.
The MV Percy Phillips
Grimsby Harbor
The Queen. The success of his mission—his very life depended on falling in line with Hale’s plan, but now that it was unveiled, he couldn’t begin to suppress his reaction.
“Are you bloody serious? We swore a sodding oath, mate,” Gordon said, shaking his head as he stared across the ship’s small wardroom at the former sergeant. “Do you need me to be repeatin’ it to you? ‘I swear by Almighty God that I will be faithful and bear true allegiance to Her Majesty—”
Hale held up a hand to cut him off, but there were no traces of anger. Instead, he was smiling. “I remember it well, and I’m glad to hear it from your lips. Had your reaction been otherwise…I would have feared you were trying to play me, brother.”
It was a test. Only a test. Gordon could feel himself relax, the shock beginning to fade away. Only to return with Hale’s next words.
“It was my reaction when the plan was first proposed to me, over a year ago. But with all I have seen of the fall of this country, I have come to believe that it is necessary. Not that the Queen should lose her life, but that she be put at risk of losing it. At the hands of those who would be the death of us all.”
Embrace the Fire (Shadow Warriors Book 3) Page 44
