East of Hounslow

by Khurrum Rahman

  ‘Crossroads… Is that where I am?’

  ‘You’re not dealing anymore‚ you haven’t got a job‚ and your mother has left the country. It’s only natural for you to fill that gap with something. Let it be religion. That gives you the perfect in. So‚ yes‚ attend more often‚ try and stay behind for any lectures or classes. Move around and talk to people. You seem quite sociable‚ so that shouldn’t surprise anyone. Just keep your ears and eyes open. Try to remember any new faces and anything that sticks out.’

  ‘How do I report back to you?

  ‘I’ll write my number down on a piece of paper; it is imperative that you memorise it and lose that paper.’

  ‘Okay. Get in‚ mingle‚ look out for anything untoward. Be myself‚’ I summarised.

  ‘The only difference is that you have an increased interest in your religion.’

  ‘Like finding myself?’

  ‘Yes.’ He eyed me with curiosity. ‘Like finding yourself.’

  I sat back in my chair and contemplated what he’d said. There was a lot to take in‚ but broken down it was manageable. I could do it‚ easily. But I didn’t get it. I mean‚ what are the odds of me bumping into a fucking terrorist or whatever in the mosque and then said terrorist or whatever spilling his guts to me? It was a one-in-a-million shot.

  ‘Parker‚ I‚ um… Is this the best way forward?’ I asked‚ carefully. Already questioning. I didn’t want to be that guy that undermines‚ but neither did I want to be the guy who nods stupidly like a Churchill dog‚ either.

  ‘How do you mean?’ he asked.

  ‘I mean‚ what are the chances of running into someone… report worthy? I’ve been going there for years and I’ve never seen or heard of anything out of the ordinary. Look‚ you’ve gone to a lot of trouble to get me in but it seems like‚ with all due respect‚ you don’t quite know how to best use me… Not all mosques house terrorists‚ you know?’

  Parker blinked. His lips tight. His cheeks reddened.

  ‘Sorry‚’ I said‚ not quite knowing what I was apologising for.

  ‘No‚’ he said‚ softly. ‘Don’t be. We are facing an enemy that fights without fear or consequence‚ an enemy that could present itself in any form. Organisations like us around the world are fighting a losing battle. To a certain extent‚ we have been successful‚ particularly in this country‚ and that’s solely down to gathering intelligence. Our agents are everywhere‚ tapping phones‚ checking emails‚ dissecting inflammatory web sites and yes‚ looking at mosques. Most of the time it’s a needle in a giant haystack. But on that occasion‚ that one occasion where we can establish a connection‚ gather enough evidence to keep one step ahead‚ then we can move when necessary to stop an attack and save lives. That’s the objective. It’s not straightforward and it doesn’t always produce results but… knowledge can only be seen as power.’

  I bit my tongue at my immediate response and sipped my tea. I pulled out my phone and looked at the notes I had made earlier.

  Maybe something‚ maybe nothing.

  I put my phone on the table facing up so that Parker could see. He took his sweet time reading my notes‚ considering that there wasn’t that much to read. He read it silently and then re-read it back to me in a monotonous tone.

  ‘Number 15 Jersey Way – Two Pakis – Medium Build – Dark Hair – Hot chick – No knocking required – Bring coffee and donuts.’ Parker looked up at me‚ not quite following. It seemed my notes didn’t have enough meat. I had to quickly get better at this spying lark. ‘What is this?’ he asked.

  I explained.

  Parker listened to me‚ at first it seemed like he was humouring me‚ but when I explained my curiosity and the way that it went down‚ he seemed to be slowly but surely taking me seriously. I told him about the way they each nervously looked around on approach to number 15‚ and how there was someone on sentry behind the upstairs window‚ constantly looking through the net curtains and obviously signalling for someone to open the door for a quick entrance. All of which giving me the impression that they did not want to attract attention.

  I didn’t mention Parvez by name‚ but I alluded to him.

  ‘I know somebody who can maybe get me in‚’ I said cautiously‚ and then followed it quickly with‚ ‘But I can’t say who.’

  Parker nodded and to his credit didn’t push for a name. He scratched his face for longer than necessary.

  And then we worked out a plan.

  *

  Throughout that whole meeting I had been dying to say something to him‚ something light-hearted in what was otherwise quite a heavy meeting. Hoping that it would make me feel like part of the team. I had played around with it in my head‚ tried‚ unsuccessfully‚ to work it into conversation. But as we parted ways‚ I decided to say it.

  ‘Nice one‚ Chalk.’

  It didn’t receive the reaction that I had expected.

  ‘What did you say?’ Parker asked‚ not quite aggressively‚ but close.

  ‘What? Nothing. Just‚ Lawrence said that…’ I left it at that‚ because‚ by then‚ from the mere mention of his name‚ Parker had flicked down his visor and zoomed off.

  31

  Oh-Seven-Five-Two-Two‚ Two-Three-Seven‚ Two-Two-Six.

  Is that right? Sounds right.

  I sneaked a peek at the bit of paper that Parker had given me with his scribbled mobile number. I closed my eyes tightly‚ as I laid on my bed‚ arms behind my head‚ and ran the number through my head‚ again.

  It had been a couple of weeks‚ give or take‚ since my meeting with Parker. He hadn’t been in touch and I hadn’t expected him to‚ and I was still feeling a bit funny about the way he had reacted at the mention of Lawrence’s name. It was‚ to say the least‚ an overreaction. Strange old character‚ that Parker. Not quite sure how I felt about him being my handler. I decided it was time to make contact. I dialled his number from memory and as soon as I heard his monotone greeting‚ I tore up the bit of paper and updated him on the last couple of weeks. Starting with the first visit‚ in my new role‚ to Sutton Mosque.

  I think it was a Tuesday.

  Familiar faces‚ who I would normally see on a Friday‚ surreptitiously stole glances at me and if I happened to make eye contact‚ they would smile curiously.

  Jay? At the Masjid? On a Tuesday?

  Most part they left me alone and let me get on with it‚ which suited me fine. It was all about appearances at the beginning. The day after that‚ Wednesday‚ Kevin the Convert approached me after Maghrib Prayers‚ and shook my hand.

  ‘It’s good to see you again‚ Brother‚’ he said

  ‘Yeah‚’ I said‚ and added a shrug for good measure.

  ‘Everything alright‚ yes?’

  ‘Yeah‚ everything’s fine‚ man.’

  He didn’t press me‚ it wasn’t exactly odd seeing a Paki in a mosque‚ even a puffing‚ drug-dealing‚ drinking‚ layabout kind of Paki.

  I saw Parvez a couple of times from across the Prayer Hall‚ and he would acknowledge me with the most brilliant‚ bemused expression. We didn’t really talk; he would just say his prayers and leave.

  By Thursday‚ I was walking into the mosque and shaking hands with a fair few. Elders‚ who had normally avoided eye contact with me‚ due to my reputation‚ were now patting me on the back and some even embracing me. I took it all in my stride‚ keeping my eyes open at all times.

  Friday Prayers‚ as always‚ the place was heaving.

  From a MI5 point of view‚ I knew I had a specific role to fulfil under the guise of finding Islam‚ turning to Allah at the crossroads of my life. But‚ it came so easy to me. It didn’t feel like a guise‚ at all. It felt like the most natural thing in the world. Like I was supposed to be here.

  All I knew was that when the Azaan – call for prayers – rang out‚ I stood there‚ with my head bowed down to the Almighty‚ my hands crossed just under my chest‚ standing with a Brother to my left and a Brother to my righ
t and Brothers behind me and Brothers in front of me‚ it gave me a feeling that I had never ever experienced: total serenity‚ calm. My mind was clear and my shoulders weightless. The only thing that mattered was my direct link to Allah.

  It was divine. Truly.

  Yeah‚ I know how that sounds.

  The weekend came and went and I was in. No one thought twice about my sudden interest in the God Squad. Some of the regulars would even say to me‚ ‘See you tomorrow.’ It wasn’t a question‚ it was expected. I was one of them. I actually was one of them.

  Week two‚ I stepped it up a notch. Kevin and I became closer. Not quite friends but just two guys who would meet in the Mosque. We would sit at the back of the Prayer Hall in between prayers‚ drinking mango juice and snacking on dates. Just talking. Sometimes chit-chat‚ other times‚ deeper. I told him a bit about my situation and asked him about his.

  ‘It’s quite achievement‚’ I said. ‘Converting to Islam. Especially in this day and age.’

  Kevin nodded thoughtfully. He was a peculiar-looking guy‚ tall and wiry‚ with small eyes. He always wore a topi on his head‚ even outside of the mosque‚ as if to say to the world: I’m white‚ I converted. Is there a problem?

  ‘We all have to find a path‚ Jay. I found mine at a time when I was losing in this game called life.’ He rolled up the sleeve of his shirt and showed me his forearm. It told a faded story of drug abuse and suicide attempts. I turned away after a moment and he pulled down his sleeve.

  ‘Why Islam?’ I asked‚ genuinely curious.

  ‘It was kismet‚ as they say. See‚ I never quite understood it… Islam that is. With most religions you have a gist of what they are about‚ right? But all I knew about Islam was that it was a very angry religion. My downstairs neighbour‚ at the time‚ he was a Muslim. Hamza.’

  ‘As in Mr Hamza‚ the cleric? From here?’

  ‘Yes‚ one and the same.’ He nodded. ‘In all the years living so close to each other‚ we had never spoken‚ not even a neighbourly exchange or an acknowledgement. One night‚ he was praying at home‚ and pinkish water was dripping from his ceiling onto his prayer mat. He came up my flat to investigate. He let himself in as I was in no state to answer. He found me in my bathtub‚ drowning in my own blood and dirt.’ Kevin turned towards me and expelled air‚ as though parting with that information had tired him. ‘If the water hadn’t filled up and leaked through his ceiling…’ He stared dramatically past me over my shoulder‚ his eyes moist. ‘I would have died.’

  I nodded solemnly. I didn’t say anything. I sensed there was more to come.

  Kevin blinked away the moisture in his eyes and continued. ‘An episode like that really makes you sit up and reflect. Anyway‚ after a stint in the hospital‚ Hamza checked up on me every day. Cooked for me‚ shopped for basics‚ that sort of thing. He threw out all my booze and gear and replaced them with healthy foods and books. One thing led to another and before I knew it I attended the Masjid with him‚ just to observe‚ more out of curiosity than anything else. I wanted to know what it was about Islam that gave Hamza so much peace. I sat at the back‚ just like we are now‚ and I watched hundreds of people in perfect synchronisation‚ both physically and mentally‚ give themselves wholly to Allah. I don’t know what it was‚ I still don’t know. It was as though a serene sensation had enveloped me‚ like I was floating. It was a high that no drug or drink could give me. And at that moment I knew‚ I was certain that I wanted that‚ I needed that… That was it for me. No AA meetings or rehab. Islam saved me and I owe my life to it.’

  I wanted to say Fuck! I nearly did say it. The story warranted it‚ but I was aware that I was sat in a mosque‚ so instead I said‚ ‘Damn.’ Stretching the word out past its one syllable.

  Kevin grimaced. ‘You shouldn’t use that kind of language in a Masjid‚ Brother.’

  Better than the alternative‚ mate.

  He continued talking and I hate to say this‚ especially as he had just laid out his soul to me‚ but he did start to bore me a bit. He was talking about the five pillars and how he hoped to fulfil them. Then he went on about the importance of investments in mosques and other Islamic institutions and I was all but tuned out. I think at one point he spotted me looking at the clock.

  Then he said something that caught my attention.

  ‘You just have to look at what happened in Edmonton to realise what we are going through.’

  I switched back on.

  ‘Sorry… What did you say?’ I asked.

  ‘Edmonton‚ Canada. The terrorist attack on the school a couple of weeks back.’

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘I agree fully with the intention‚ the reason‚ but targeting a school? No‚ no‚ no‚ that is beyond barbaric. A child has no bearing in our war. A child has no influence in the decisions that their parents make‚ who they vote for and the government they put into power. All those young lives lost in a heartbeat‚ giving the world‚ the bigots and the racists even more reason to attack us.’

  Adrenaline swam through my body. What was he saying? I wanted to ask. But I couldn’t work out if it was the right move. I decided to take a risk and just come out with it‚ when I noticed him looking over my shoulder again. This time he wasn’t staring thoughtfully into the distance. He was looking at somebody.

  I turned my head and Parvez was stood behind me. He looked down at me and I acknowledged him with a nod. His timing could not have been worse.

  ‘What are you doing‚ Jay?’ he asked.

  ‘Parvez‚ can we chat in a bit?’ I said‚ as always‚ trying to get rid of him.

  ‘Brother Parvez. Aslamalykum.’ Kevin stood up and shook hands with him. ‘I better be on my way‚ I must get to Tesco before prayers. They have a fantastic halal section.’

  I stood up too. I didn’t want him to go just yet. Stupid Parvez with his stupid timing!

  ‘Do you have to leave now? I was really interested in what you had to say. Don’t mind Parvez‚ he was just going.’

  ‘No I wasn’t‚’ Parvez said‚ his arms crossed defensively over his chest

  Kevin‚ put a hand on Parvez’s shoulders. ‘There is nothing I could say that Parvez doesn’t already know about. He’s one of the good guys.’ A knowing look passed between them as he said his goodbyes and left‚ leaving me alone with Parvez the Preacher. We stared at each other like two old gunslingers‚ mentally sizing each other up.

  ‘Let’s go for a walk‚ get some fresh air‚’ Parvez asked‚ without warmth. Just like a Mafia hitman would.

  ‘Why? Are you going to whack me?’ I said‚ trying to lift the mood.

  ‘I don’t know what you mean‚’ he said‚ deadpan.

  Exactly as a Mafia hitman would.

  32

  We had been walking for a few minutes in an uncomfortable silence. We passed a few mosque-goers who acknowledged us with a token ‘Salaam’. One stopped and chatted to us‚ just small talk really‚ but I could see that it was annoying the hell out of Parvez. He didn’t seem to like the fact that members of the mosque were treating me like one of their own. Which was fucking ironic considering that he had spent a helluva lot of time trying to push me into this life.

  ‘Well‚ this is nice‚ Parvez‚’ I said‚ breaking the silence. We had taken a random turn into an alleyway behind the mosque. ‘Perfect evening for a romantic stroll down a grim alley. Now‚ are you going to tell me what your problem is or am I going to have to buy you dinner first?’

  He stopped in his tracks‚ his head down‚ looking at his stupid Crocs. He muttered something. I couldn’t work out what he was saying. I sighed and leaned back against the wall.

  ‘Parvez‚ can you talk to me and not at your shoes?’ I said‚ not snapping at him – which would normally have been my first reaction. Something was obviously bothering him.

  ‘What are you doing‚ Jay?’ he said‚ leaning against the wall opposite me.

  ‘What do you mean? I’m not doing anything!
What’re you chatting about‚ Parvez?’

  ‘Why are you always at the mosque? I don’t understand.’

  ‘What is there to understand? Why are you always at the mosque?’ I said defensively and regretted it immediately. ‘Look‚ man‚ I’m just going through something at the moment‚ that’s all‚ and coming to the mosque‚ you know‚ it helps‚ gives me some peace‚ some time to think and work things through.’

  ‘What?’ Parvez asked. ‘What are you going through?’

  I remembered Parker’s advice‚ to keep as close to the truth as possible.

  ‘It’s just a combination of things‚ really.’ I said‚ rubbing my head‚ as though I was stressed out. ‘After Mum left‚ I don’t know‚ there was a big hole in my life.’

  Parvez nodded in agreement. ‘Yes‚ I know how close you were. It’s just a shame that she chose to spend her life with a Kafir rather than with her son‚’ he said‚ not maliciously‚ but still.

  I really had to dig deep down and shut down all my natural instincts‚ otherwise I swear to God I would have knocked his head clean off for talking like that about my mum.

  ‘How do you feel about that?’ Parvez asked.

  ‘Andrew’s all right and I know he will make her happy but‚ yes‚ you’re right‚ she should never have started a new life with a‚ you know… a Kafir.’

  ‘Maybe she’ll convert him.’

  Yeah‚ right.

  I decided to change tack and move away from my mother’s perceived shortcomings.

  ‘That’s not the only reason… I gave up dealing too.’

  ‘No!’ Parvez’s eyes lit up‚ a smile that had been long missing appeared. ‘Brother‚ that is the best news I have ever heard.’

  Really? The best?

  ‘I couldn’t do it any longer. I just woke up one day and decided to be a grown up.’ I laughed. He laughed louder. He moved in towards me and gave me a really nice but slightly awkward embrace. Maybe it was the best news that he had ever heard!