‘What do we know?’ I asked. Then I realised what I had just said. We. My subconscious had come to terms with the fact that I was part of MI5‚ whilst the rest of me watched from the sidelines.
‘The Teacher is the founder and leader of a terrorist group called Ghurfat-al-Mudarris.’
‘I’ve not heard of it‚’ I shrugged. ‘Should I have?’
‘No‚ they don’t broadcast their intentions via media outlets such as Al-Jazeera‚ like other cells have done in the past. Though‚ if one was to go looking for it‚ they have a fair presence online‚ particularly heavy on social media.’
‘Alright‚ what else? Does The Teacher have a name?’
‘Not that we know. No name‚ no description. We know he moves around frequently‚ mainly in Afghanistan and occasionally in Pakistan. His moniker has often been bounced around on the airwaves; there are hundreds of websites dedicated to him. Myths‚ mostly unfounded and probably untrue. However‚ what we do believe to be true is that he started off as a suicide bomber.’
‘Hang on. How do you start off as a suicide bomber? It’s not like he can work his way up from—’
His giant hand was in front of my face‚ blocking my view of him. Indication clear: shut up for a minute and I’ll explain.
‘1996‚ Yemen. A CIA training exercise went tragically wrong. A UAV—’
‘Sorry. A what?’
‘Unmanned Aerial Vehicle.’
‘Oh‚’ I said‚ ‘A drone!’ My tone suggestive.
‘Yes. A drone.’ I could tell that he was already regretting telling me this. ‘It… It lost control. There was an accident and it struck a barn.’ He blinked at me. I sat back in my chair‚ crossed my arms and blinked right back at him. ‘The UAV was in the initial testing process‚ being flown around a wide open space‚ fields for miles.’
‘Apart from the barn?’
A pause. Pregnant. Overdue. Emergency Caesarean!
Then a slow nod to confirm.
‘The barn wasn’t empty… Was it?’ I asked. He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.
Yeah. He really did regret telling me this little heart-warmer.
‘Go on then‚’ I said. ‘You going to tell me about this Teacher fella or what?’
‘As a direct retaliation‚ two weeks later‚ an attack took place. Three man operation‚ outside the US Embassy in Madrid. All three vests went off‚ killing twenty-six. Two of the bombers died instantly but somehow he… The Teacher walked away.’
‘How is that possible?’ I asked.
‘According to eye witnesses‚ he was standing on the roof of a pharmacy‚ directly opposite the embassy. The first two bombers had already detonated‚ one inside the embassy and one at the entrance. But he had waited. As you can imagine‚ it was pandemonium‚ a crowd had gathered just outside the pharmacy. Up on that roof‚ he had with him a male hostage‚ a guard. He had removed his explosive vest and secured it around the guard. Using the guard’s body as a shield between himself and the vest‚ he reached around and detonated whilst simultaneously pushing the guard off the roof and into the crowd below.’ Parker studied me for a reaction. ‘You asked me how it was possible. Well… I cannot answer that‚ even if he had extended the cord to the detonator‚ the speed and ferocity of the detonation should have ripped through him. Burnt him alive.’
‘But he walked away?’
‘He walked away.’
Unable to find a meaningful word to say‚ I simply nodded. It seemed to satisfy him and he continued.
‘This is where the line between myth and fact are blurred‚’ he continued. ‘It has been said that he caught the eye of Osama Bin Laden.’ I had wondered when his name would pop up‚ making an already surreal situation all the more so. ‘The Teacher‚ by then‚ already had a small but fierce following. Men who believed in his methods‚ men who believed like he believed. To our knowledge he was never part of Al-Qaeda‚ but there are direct links between the two. They share the same facilities and ideologies as Al-Qaeda. However‚ The Teacher’s method of attack is vastly different‚ and it’s due to that very method that he’s managed to grow and recruit so rapidly.’
‘He doesn’t use suicide bombers‚’ I said. He nodded. Gold star for me.
‘Car bombs‚ timers‚ multiple gun attacks‚ IED’s. You name it. But not once has he sacrificed one of his own.’
Parker stood up and filled the kettle and flicked it on. We waited for it to boil in silence.
I was quite surprised that I wasn’t freaking the fuck out. It wasn’t every day that you discuss Al-Qaeda and Osama Bin Laden as part of your job. The first class with Al-Bhukara had me so agitated‚ so fucking angry at their casual disregard for human life‚ all for a cause that I still did not fully understand. Now‚ I felt remarkably calm‚ focused. Eager to play a part in bringing down Ghurfat-al-Mudarris.
‘How is this related to me?’ I asked‚ as the kettle stopped whistling. ‘I mean‚ I think I know what you’re saying. This Teacher character is our main target‚ right? But how does that involve me‚ exactly?’
‘Going back to Al-Bhukara.’ Parker handed me a mug of tea and sat down. ‘As I was saying to you over the phone‚ he has been on our radar since 2004. He is known to be a trusted associate to The Teacher. He has travelled to Afghanistan and Pakistan close to the times when the attacks we believe The Teacher oversaw took place.’
‘Have you not been following Al-Bhukara? He could have led you straight to him.’
‘Not that simple‚ son. We had eyes on him twice. Once in 2007 on the Afghan-Pakistani border‚ and the last sighting to date was in 2011‚ in Islamabad.’
‘Couldn’t you have detained him?’
‘We did… once. He didn’t talk and we had nothing of substance on him. We leaned on him but it was clear that he had been trained and he played the game well. We had to let him go. After that he went dark.’
‘Until I saw him yesterday.’
44
The drone attack and The Teacher were all that I could think about‚ even though Holly Willoughby was squirming on the This Morning sofa‚ wearing a tight‚ red dress‚ which in turn had men all over the country squirming on their sofas. I picked up the remote and absently channel hopped‚ not stopping on any station long enough to determine whether it deserved my attention. I had new information fed to me by Parker which I understood. But probably not in the same way he did.
I killed the noise of the television and rubbed my eyes with force‚ willing myself to go blind just for a minute. My phone buzzed and I removed my hands from my throbbing eyes.
A text message from Amirah.
Before class later‚ we would like to welcome you to the group.
Lunch today. 1pm. Ali’s Diner. I know you know where that is. ;o)
Oh‚ leave me alone. Let me just have a day lounging around in my onesie. Be normal. Do normal things. Chores‚ even. I remembered that I needed to book in a service for my Nova as it was starting to misfire. A flickering light bulb in the hallway needed changing. I had to phone the insurance company and see if my policy covered stupidity damage‚ and then replace my television.
But‚ above all‚ I had a duty.
I picked up my phone and replied.
Hey‚ Amirah. Sounds good. I’ll be there. :o)
So much for normal.
*
I pulled up outside Ali’s Diner at one on the nose. In fact I had cruised past ten minutes earlier just to scope‚ make sure there was nothing untoward. The two brothers‚ Yasir and Irfan‚ were there already‚ sat at a round table. They had in front of them two tall multi-coloured milkshakes – it was hard to guess what flavour‚ maybe a mix of chocolate and vanilla topped with hundreds and thousands. Here’s the thing with most Muslims who don’t drink alcohol: they have to get creative in order to enjoy drinking in a social environment. An orange juice or lemonade would just not suffice.
I nodded my hello at them and they both nodded back simultaneously. They were th
e only two of the group who I didn’t know very well. So we just avoided eye contact and made small talk‚ trying to get the awkwardness out of the way.
I ordered myself a cup of masala chai‚ knowing that as soon as I put my lips to it I would be comparing it negatively to the way Mum made it.
‘I emailed the report to you‚ Brother Javid.’ Yasir said. ‘Did you read it?’
Yeah I read it‚ you sick‚ twisted fuck.
‘No‚’ I smiled. ‘I will tonight... And please. You can call me Jay.’
‘There is nothing wrong with your birth name‚’ Irfan piped up.
‘Did I say there was?’ I hissed at him.
Yasir discreetly elbowed his brother in the ribs as the bell sounded and the diner’s door opened. In walked Amirah‚ with Kevin trailing close behind. The Brothers Grimm and I gave a sigh of relief at the much-needed addition. Kevin shook hands heartily all around and Amirah nodded coolly. I stood up and let her slide in‚ and quickly sat next to her before Kevin nabbed my place. He noticed what I was doing and smiled encouragingly as he took his place at the other end of the group‚ next to Irfan.
‘No Parvez?’ I asked.
‘Running late‚ he had to... well‚ he’s just running late‚’ Kevin replied.
‘Oh‚ okay‚’ I said‚ not pushing for an explanation. I preferred it without him there. It was hard to play a role when someone knows you the way Parvez knew me.
They ordered – two sweet mango lassis and one pistachio kulfi with extra sprinkles of pistachio. Kevin stood up and raised his glass. ‘I hope and I think I speak for all of the group when I say that we are delighted‚ just delighted to have you on board. Welcome Jay‚ may your presence help us with our achievement.’
‘Inshallah‚’ the table rang out‚ but not as enthusiastically as Kevin would have liked. He sat back down‚ smiled through a frown and addressed the lack of enthusiasm.
‘Look‚’ Kevin started. ‘We all come from different walks of life‚ yes? I know that better than anybody. And some of us here are a bit bemused in the way that Jay has been chosen.’ Irfan shifted uncomfortably in his chair. ‘It’s not the way the Imam operates.’ He turned to me. ‘You see‚ Jay. We have all‚ one way or another had to prove ourselves to the great man.’
‘So have I‚’ I said‚ defensively.
‘Yes‚ you have. We are not saying any different. We know all about your bravery against the Kafirs. But more importantly it’s your transition; you went from being a drug-dealing‚ alcohol-consuming lost soul‚ to a devout. That‚ my Brother‚ impressed‚’ he said‚ waving a finger in the air.
Parvez was standing over us. Nobody had noticed him enter‚ due to Kevin holding court.
‘Salaam‚’ Parvez said moodily‚ and considered where he should place himself before sitting down next to Kevin‚ which made him directly in my eye line. The side of his face was covered in black smudges.
‘We were just talking about—’ Kevin said.
‘I heard‚’ Parvez snipped.
‘You alright‚ Brother?’ Yasir enquired.
Amirah spoke up. ‘Whatever your problem is‚ leave it at the door. You’ve been a proper moody git recently.’
He ignored them both and concentrated on picking black muck out of his fingernails.
‘Cheer up‚ mate‚’ I said‚ as a friend. ‘What’s that black stuff all over your hands and face?’
‘It’s nothing‚’ he said churlishly‚ whilst wiping the wrong side of his face.
‘Come on‚ man. Something’s wrong. What’s up?’
‘You! You’re what’s up!’
‘Brother‚ this is not appropriate behaviour‚’ Kevin said. ‘If you have a problem with Jay‚ we would all like to hear it.’
‘He shouldn’t be here‚’ Parvez said. ‘He’s not one of us.’
‘If Imam believes he is good enough‚’ Amirah said‚ visibly bored of Parvez’s whining‚ ‘then that’s good enough for me.’
‘He is wrong this time‚’ Parvez countered. ‘I’ve known Jay a long time and I know exactly what he is like‚ what his character is. Just because he started to attend the Masjid more often‚ it doesn’t mean that he is one of us... Being Muslim is not enough. You need will and strength and I am sorry‚ but he has neither.’
There was an uncomfortable silence as Parvez and Amirah eyed each other. Kevin broke it.
‘Things change‚ people change‚’ he said‚ as if he had just coined the phrase. Yasir and Irfan‚ desperate not to get involved‚ stared at their milkshakes as if it could offer an escape route. Amirah tutted her annoyance loudly‚ just in case anybody wasn’t aware of her obvious disdain. Kevin just smiled passively‚ to no one in particular.
Parvez got up and headed for the toilet.
‘Jesus‚’ I said‚ and every eye shot towards me at my choice of words. ‘What’s his problem?’
‘I understand what he’s saying‚’ Irfan muttered from behind his milkshake. ‘No offence to you‚ Javid. Sorry‚ Jay. We have all had to go through a process before we had the honour to sit and learn from Adeel-Al-Bhukara. He didn’t request us the way he requested you. It’s just strange.’
‘What? What’s strange?’ I asked.
Irfan looked around at the others before he stopped at me. ‘How much the Imam wants you.’
I let out a dismissive sigh‚ but I knew he was right. Parvez was right. Al-Bhukara didn’t seem to be the type of man who would seek out somebody without good reason. From what I had heard he had hundreds vying for his attention. But he chose me. Insisted on it!
‘And you want to know what else is a bit strange?’ Yasir said‚ taking over from his Brother. ‘He made me read out my report out loud‚ right in front of you. That suggests a very high level of trust in you‚ to let you hear straight off the bat what we are about. That kind of privilege has to be earned with time. How did he know how you would react?’
I nodded thoughtfully. All this attention was making my head spin. I knocked back my masala chai – it was nowhere near as good as Mum’s – and stood up. I was done here. I said my goodbyes to everyone. Kevin’s face fell. I think he was expecting a hearty gathering‚ where we all promised to stand tall‚ shoulder to shoulder‚ and take on the world. He stood up too and put an arm around me.
‘Tell Parvez that…’ I said. ‘Tell him what you like‚ I couldn’t care less. I’ll see you in class.’
‘Brother Parvez is just stressed out‚ is all. The reason he was late today was because the Imam punished him.’
‘Punished him for what?’ I asked.
‘He dared to question him in class.’
‘About me?’
Kevin nodded. ‘The Imam does not like to be questioned.’
‘What was the punishment?’
‘He made him clear out his garage‚ mow his lawn and change a flat on his car.’
‘That’s harsh‚’ I said‚ wanting to say more. A lot more.
‘Harsh? No. It builds character‚ Jay. It makes a Brother stronger.’
I nodded at him‚ appeased‚ but I was fuming inside at that fucking Al-Bhukara for throwing his weight around‚ and at Parvez for actually carrying it out. I shrugged his arm off my shoulder as politely as I could and he sat back down.
I walked away‚ crossing paths with Parvez who had just walked out of the toilet. The dirt had been cleaned off his face. I stood in his way as he tried to walk past me back to the table. He looked up at me with red eyes and I stepped forward and surprised myself by embracing him tightly. It wasn’t reciprocated. His hands hung down by his side. I don’t know what it was about that fucking guy‚ but I had always felt protective over him. I clutched the back of his shirt as my embrace tightened and I whispered in his ear.
‘I won’t let you down‚ Parvez… I promise you. I won’t let you down.’
He nodded in my chest and I let him go.
45
Later... Three Months Later
Kafirs. Everywhere I
look. Polluting my air with their dirty looks and deceiving thoughts. I see them now for what they are. What they always were. Bullies‚ oppressors‚ cowards. Making life hell for my Brothers and Sisters. Sat in their homes‚ using social media to reveal their true feelings‚ behind the safety of their keyboards‚ blindly spewing hatred towards my Deen‚ my religion. And for those who are brave enough to step to us‚ they do it in packs‚ and they do it to the weak‚ the elderly‚ the young‚ the women. Or they attack us with their billions of pounds worth of high tech military hardware‚ and they dare do it in our land.
They do it because they are scared of us.
They fucking should be.
The Imam‚ the radicalised Imam Adeel-Al-Bhukara‚ was honourable in his words and in his teachings. He had taught me about life‚ about my life. The lies and the poison clear. Newsreaders‚ producers‚ journalists‚ scholars‚ experts‚ teachers‚ politicians‚ writers‚ actors‚ musicians‚ directors‚ all had a part to play. All had a share of the blame. You do and I do. Words are read and understood as gospel. For every atrocity the word MUSLIM is emblazoned on the front of every newspaper and beamed on every channel. Mo Farah wins the Gold Medal at the Olympics and that word is replaced by BRITISH.
His words made me think. At times they made me angry. It wasn’t hard to imagine how young Muslims could be so easily coerced‚ so easily brainwashed.
Al-Bhukara treated me like one his own. It was clear to the rest of the group that we shared a connection. He would invite me to dinner once a week; his wife‚ Aunty Aaidah‚ would phone me the day before and insist that I request a meal of my choice.
Those last three months had been a life lesson. I grew close to my Brothers‚ Yasir‚ Irfan and Kevin. Amirah‚ well‚ she would never say‚ but there was something happening. A look‚ a smile‚ bodies brushing for a fraction of a second.
East of Hounslow Page 18
