East of Hounslow

by Khurrum Rahman

  ‘He’s set in his ways‚’ Amirah said. ‘He may just need some time and then—’

  She was interrupted as the Imam loudly thumped the side table with the flat of his hand. It wobbled on two legs for a while‚ before deciding to descend and softly land on the carpet‚ taking Yasir and Irfan’s reports along for the ride.

  ‘Time is something that we can ill afford. Time is not on our side; have you not learnt anything? There is a war waging out there‚ it is happening now‚ Muslims are dying now. I do not want to hear your excuses.’

  That was it for Parvez. He couldn’t just sit and listen to this anymore. He had to speak up and ask the question that was on everyone’s mind. He refused to think of the consequences as that would only serve to stop him. He had to say it. And he had to say it now.

  ‘Why Javid? Why him?’ he blurted out‚ fast and sharp. ‘What is so special about him?’

  The Imam stood up‚ appearing to his seated students about ten feet tall. He opened his mouth and the room flinched. Then something happened that never happens.

  The doorbell rang.

  Aaidah‚ his London wife‚ the one with the children‚ could be heard walking calmly down the stairs. Al-Bhukara motioned with his hands for everyone to stay calm. ‘Start the cleaning process‚’ he instructed.

  If the authorities had been looking at him‚ then Tuesdays and Thursdays‚ around two p.m‚ while his class was in full flow‚ would have been the perfect time to harass him. Yasir picked up both reports from the floor and looked aimlessly for a place to hide them. A report like that may not have been enough to press charges‚ but it would surely be enough to raise suspicion. Kevin slipped out the hard drive from the main PC‚ and from the bookcase‚ grabbed the cordless drill which was always fully charged and in place for such a situation‚ he drilled a hole into the centre of the drive‚ destroying all files and data on it. Files which included propaganda videos‚ explosive-constructing material‚ news reports on every terrorist attack over the last twenty years.

  Again‚ nothing that would place you behind bars. But… where there’s smoke‚ there is usually fire.

  The bedroom door opened and everyone froze in their tracks. A smiling face popped around the corner.

  41

  I stepped into the room‚ nervous as hell. I was aiming for cool but I was coming across as a grinning idiot. My brain was screaming at me to rein it back a bit and keep my head down and wait for further instructions from the beardy bloke who looked to be in charge. But no‚ instead I sauntered around‚ working the room like Princess Diana‚ shaking hands with Kevin while simultaneously squeezing his shoulder‚ then moving smoothly onto a bemused looking Parvez and giving him the same royal treatment. I spun on my heels and turned my attention to Amirah and gave her a wink! After completing the room with a formal introduction to my new Brothers‚ Yasir and Irfan‚ who I recognised as the Bus Stop Pakis‚ I stood facing the main man. His mouth was agape. I had the sudden urge to find my way through his beard to his chin and lift it shut for him. Instead I put forward my hand and he shook it warmly‚ sandwiching mine with both hands before respectfully lifting his hand to his heart.

  ‘Javid Qasim‚’ he said. His voice caught‚ he smiled it away. ‘I’ve been waiting for you.’

  ‘You can call me Jay.’

  I didn’t quite know what I was expecting from him. His greeting was too warm‚ too gracious‚ as though I was the one to be shown respect to. It made me feel ill at ease‚ especially as I could feel the eyes of the rest of the group on us. He must have felt it too‚ as he cleared his throat and told me to find a place to sit.

  He introduced himself as Adeel-Al-Bhukara‚ and now he had regained his composure there was an intimidating confidence about him; when he spoke‚ they listened. He seemed to demand a huge amount of respect‚ one born of fear. When the opportunity arose‚ I surreptitiously looked around the room‚ taking in every detail that may have been important‚ but it was tricky as Al-Bhukara was all over me‚ meeting my eye more often than I considered comfortable. There wasn’t that much to take in anyway‚ really. A bedroom devoid of any bedroom furniture‚ questionably decorated. Flowery carpet and walls. A small side table that lay sadly on its side. Allah and Prophet Mohammed scribed in Arabic and framed on the wall. One chair‚ reserved for Al-Bhukara‚ whilst everyone else sat uneasily on the floor‚ presumably to hammer home the point that he really was The Man! I played along‚ afforded him the same respect and fear that he seemed to demand.

  ‘Yasir‚ would you like to address the class and summarise on the subject of your report‚’ Al-Bhukara said. Yasir looked uneasily at him‚ concerned that a newcomer may not appreciate what he was about to say. ‘We are amongst friends here‚ Yasir.’

  ‘Ameen‚’ chorused the class.

  ‘Yeah‚ Ameen‚’ came my clumsily late response.

  Yasir stood up with his nose in his report.

  ‘My subject for the report is the Boston Marathon Bombings which took place on April 2013 and in particular the actions‚ planning and poor execution of Tamerlan and Dzhokhar Tsarnaev. The death toll on the day was only three‚ out of a possible target of approximately two hundred and seventy people. Impact was low due to fundamental errors on the Brothers’ part. Emailed to you all is my report‚ highlighting how and where this type of attack could be improved. You will find attached diagrams of vantage points that I would have selected‚ versus the actual vantage points. You will also see the type of explosive that was used‚ and how they could have been better built‚ concealed‚ and located for maximum impact. As always‚ please feel free to add your notes to further discuss at our next class.’

  Al-Bhukara watched me‚ looking for a reaction‚ a sign‚ something‚ that would tell him where my loyalties lay. I felt sick to my stomach‚ my toes were curled tightly and my jaw set hard. I managed to control my breathing and adapt to my surroundings. I looked up at Yasir and said. ‘Can you send me a copy of the report too‚ Brother? I would like to read it.’

  ‘Inshallah‚’ Yasir said‚ smiling warmly at me. I don’t think I had ever wanted to hurt somebody so much as I did at that moment. He took his place back on the floor close to me and it took all my will not to move away.

  Irfan stood up next‚ his report clutched in his hand‚ but Al-Bhukara put a hand up for him to sit back down. ‘We have had enough excitement for one day‚ I think. Besides‚ I have a long drive to Luton today. We will reconvene on Thursday. Amirah‚ will you please brief Javid on the correct procedure when entering this house?’

  *

  I did not remember reaching into my pocket and taking out my cigarettes but somehow one had made its way into my mouth and I was puffing away angrily at it with huge draws. Angry at what I had just heard and so fucking angry that Parvez was involved. Through the smoke I saw Amirah leave the house and stomp towards me. She didn’t look too pleased. I couldn’t care less‚ especially after witnessing this place‚ this hole of evil‚ that she had invited me to. I wanted to scream and shout at her‚ show her that I could stomp too. But I had to keep it together and make sure that I did everything in my power to shut this wicked place down.

  I eased up on the cigarette and leaned against the car‚ crossing my legs at my ankles‚ and slowly relaxed my contorted features.

  ‘Well. That was interesting‚’ I said.

  ‘Are you out your bloody mind?’

  ‘What did I do now?’

  ‘One‚ you turn up almost twenty minutes late. Two‚ you ring the doorbell. Three‚ you walk around the room‚ chatting‚ like it’s a fucking social club.’

  ‘Whoa. Hang on a minute‚ lady. I didn’t know that. You didn’t tell me about not ringing the bell. How the hell else am I supposed to make my presence known?’

  ‘What did I say to you?’ she spat‚ her anger rising a notch.

  ‘You‚ um‚ you said to me‚ that… I don’t actually know what you said to me.’

  ‘Simple instructi
on‚ Jay. You couldn’t follow one simple instruction. I said to call me if you are interested.’

  ‘I’m sorry‚ truly. I didn’t realise.’ I did realise. My intention had been to catch them on the hop so I had something to bring to the table. As it turned out I didn’t need to‚ it had fallen into my lap.

  ‘Idiot‚’ she said‚ with a little less malice‚ a little less spite.

  ‘Wanna lift somewhere?’ I said‚ grinning.

  Amirah sighed and jumped in the passenger seat of my Nova. I flicked my cigarette to the ground and got in too. I started my car and glanced sideways at her. The angry red in her face was disappearing as she took off her headscarf and let her locks loose. I couldn’t help but think – How could somebody so beautiful be involved in something so ugly?

  42

  The ride to Amirah’s place was filled with her voice. I barely spoke but I took it all in. She told me things about Al-Bhukara‚ things that I guess he‚ himself‚ wanted me to hear. They were very complimentary and painted him to be quite the freedom fighter.

  After I had dropped her off‚ I texted Parker and requested that he call me. My phone rang within a minute and I pulled up in Tesco’s car park and answered.

  ‘How’s it going‚ son?’ That word and that voice‚ now all too familiar to me.

  ‘Yeah‚ it’s going alright. You?’

  ‘What have you got for me?’ he asked‚ never one for small talk.

  ‘It’s about Number 15 Jersey Way. I think I was right. There’s all kinds of crazy taking place down there.’ I waited for him to respond‚ to prompt me‚ ask me a leading question. He didn’t.

  ‘Hello‚ Parker?’

  ‘I’m still here.’

  ‘Oh‚ right… So‚ yeah‚ I’m in. I went to my first class today. It was bizarre‚ man. There were six of us plus the Imam. Check this‚ one of the students stood up‚ as cool as you like‚ and he spoke about how the Boston Marathon bombing could have been carried out with more efficiency. He said that the planning should have been better and the death toll should have been higher. He wrote a fucking report on it. He’s going to email it to me to assess. I couldn’t believe my ears. I was freaking out in there… But I kept my cool‚’ I added‚ quickly.

  ‘Okay‚ that’s good‚ Jay. You did well.’

  ‘Once I get that email through‚ I’ll send it out to you and we can shut these bastards down‚ right?’

  ‘It’s not enough‚ we need more. A report‚ no matter how inflammatory‚ will not be enough to question and charge them. If it was a document about a forthcoming attack‚ with logistics‚ dates and personnel‚ then that would be a different prospect. However‚ I suspect that these guys are too careful to put something like that up on the airwaves.’

  ‘So‚ what now? I mean‚ it’s fairly obvious something very wrong is up‚ can we at least keep tabs on them? Like‚ I don’t know‚ bug the house or something?’

  ‘We are keeping tabs on them.’

  ‘Yeah? How?’

  ‘You are.’

  ‘I am what?’

  ‘You‚ Jay‚ are keeping tabs‚ you are our eyes and ears.’

  ‘Yeah… I guess‚’ I said. I felt a little dejected and I suddenly had an overwhelming feeling of what I was involved in‚ and what I had become. I stared out into Tesco’s car park‚ watching shoppers walk in and out. Normal mundane chores seemed like a little piece of heaven. Just the thought of going back to that house and listening to that crap made me sick‚ and for the first time since this all began‚ I yearned for my old nickel-and-dime bullshit life.

  But I couldn’t go back‚ couldn’t walk away. I may have just been some token Paki drafted in by MI5 to infiltrate other Pakis‚ but I was using my initiative and making things happen. I was in‚ I had made a breakthrough‚ all of my own doing. If it were up to Parker‚ I would still be wasting my time at the mosque rooting through suspicious beards. I like to think I was surprising them; I sure as hell was surprising myself.

  It had been my idea to investigate that house and I was going to see it through.

  ‘Tell me about the Imam‚’ Parker asked.

  ‘His name is Adeel-Al-Bhukara. Um… Lives with his wife Aaidah. He has another wife in Bradford.’ I tried to remember all that Amirah had told me in the car. ‘Um… What else? Yeah‚ he has a limp‚ walks with the aid of a walking stick‚ apparently he was once battered by some white guys with baseball bats whilst trying to protect an attack on a young Muslim mother.’

  Silence on the line. Do I carry on? Is he still there or had he dozed off? Then after an extended beat Parker said. ‘Adeel-Al-Bhukara?’

  ‘Yeah… You know of him?’

  ‘I’m going to send you a photograph right now and I want you to confirm if it is the same person.’

  There was some rustling around from his end. I put my phone on loud speaker and placed it on my lap and waited for the message to appear. I looked out through the windscreen just as Idris walked out of Tesco with a girl. He was all smiles as he carried a crate of beer‚ not a care in the world. New job‚ new friends. Old friends forgotten. I watched as he said something to her and she punched him playfully on the arm‚ and he pretended to almost drop the crate. They were approaching my direction and it was just fucking inevitable that I had parked my car next to theirs. Still a few metres away from my car‚ I considered ducking down in my seat‚ but I stood my ground. There was no way he would not recognise my car‚ the faded paint work‚ the number plate‚ the car where we’d sat so many times‚ chatting about everything and nothing.

  It was obvious that there was going to be an interaction‚ even if it was studiously ignoring each other. I noticed him slow down a beat as he clocked my car‚ and I could see in his face that he was hoping desperately that it was unoccupied. Then there he was‚ walking past my car‚ right in front of me. The girl was chatting away merrily to him‚ oblivious to history.

  Our eyes met. He offered me a canned smile and I returned it with a barely there nod. Maybe he noticed it‚ maybe he didn’t. Maybe I didn’t give a fuck.

  But I did.

  He turned away‚ but I kept my eyes fixed on him and as soppy as this is going to sound‚ my heart broke a bit. I wanted desperately to get out and tell him everything. That like him‚ I was doing something worthwhile. He would have been so fucking proud.

  They pulled away without another look and I turned my attention back to my phone.

  I could still hear Parker rustling around‚ mixed with some incoherent mumbling and a few frustrated expletives. Eventually the message came through.

  I quickly opened up the photo and there was no mistake as to who I was looking at. His body was partially covered by a huge rock and he was looking through the crosshairs of a rifle.

  ‘That’s him‚’ I said.

  ‘Can you confirm?’

  I just did!

  ‘Yes‚ I confirm‚ that is Al-Bhukara‚ the same person I sat in front of today.’

  ‘Interesting. That’s very interesting.’

  ‘Why is that interesting? How comes you have a photo of him?’

  ‘He has been on our radar since 2004.’

  ‘Shit! No fucking way! How? Why?’

  ‘In 2003‚ Al-Bhukara was partly involved in organising a bombing in Indonesia. They targeted churches across five cities. Eighteen killed.’

  My hands clammed up‚ my heartbeat increased. I was in the same room as this guy just a minute ago. ‘So why is he not in some hole in Guantanamo Bay or wherever it is you take them?

  ‘Let’s meet. It’s about time I told you about The Teacher.’

  ‘The Teacher?’

  ‘Same place as last time. Do you know how to get there?’

  ‘The garage?’

  ‘Yes. Do you know how to get there?’

  ‘Um… Yeah. I think.’

  ‘Tomorrow at ten hundred hours… Ten a.m.’

  ‘Yeah‚ I know what ten hundred hours means‚’ I said‚ annoyed at his
half-arsed explanation. But he had ended the call and I was speaking to dead air.

  Every time I spoke with Parker‚ my life changed. And now it transpired that I had been in the company of a bona-fide terrorist. He had a past‚ he had his hand in an atrocity that I remember reading about and discussing with customers over a joint. Now I was acting undercover as his student‚ under orders from MI5.

  What the fuck? I mean… What the fuck?

  It wasn’t that long ago that me and Mum were lounging around at home in tracksuits and odd socks watching reruns of Catchphrase whilst drinking masala chai. My biggest problem then was… I don’t know. I don’t think I had a problem. But this…!

  And as that thought cruised around in my head‚ the floodgates opened. It could have gone one of two ways.

  I laughed.

  First quietly to myself‚ nothing more than a reflective snigger‚ expelling air from my nose.

  MI5!

  A small snot bubble appeared and popped and that only served to make me laugh some more.

  The Teacher! What kind of dumb name is that?

  It continued to grow louder and harder‚ my mouth wide open‚ cackling like a mentalist.

  Undercover! Me?

  As it reached a crescendo I slapped the steering wheel. It must have been infectious as passers-by were watching me and laughing along.

  They had no idea…

  Eventually it died down and I wiped the tears from my eyes. I stepped out of my car and walked towards Tesco. I decided that while I was there I might as well buy some bread and milk‚ and that thought nearly set me off again.

  It was time for a touch of much-needed normality.

  43

  ‘The Teacher‚’ Parker said. ‘We don’t know much about him.’

  We were back inside the grimy garage‚ but with less grime. It had been tidied. Doors that had hung loose from the cabinets now tightened. The topless newspaper girls had been removed. The mannequin was dressed and stood modestly in the corner. I still wasn’t quite sure the purpose of it. A shiny new kettle sat next to an unopened box of teabags. The table‚ clean. The floor‚ swept. Cheap air freshener lingered. Parker had walked around the room‚ nodding to himself‚ satisfied at the changes. I think he had been a bit embarrassed by it the last time we were there‚ and as a result he seemed to have exerted some clout. And voila. Still a shithole.