East of Hounslow

by Khurrum Rahman

  ‘Where are you‚ huh? What’s going on in there?’ she said‚ tapping her finger irritatingly on my head.

  ‘Nah‚ it’s cool.’

  ‘From where I am standing it’s pretty fucking far from cool.’

  ‘Look‚ it was a long flight‚ then a long drive‚ I didn’t get much sleep. I didn’t think that we’d get into all this straight away. I was knackered.’

  ‘We all were‚ Jay‚’ she hissed. ‘This is not a holiday camp‚ this is serious. The others don’t feel that you should be here. Mustafa too. It’s only because of the Imam that you have been blessed to join us in the cause. Whatever it is he saw in you‚ we need to see that too. So get yourself together and sort yourself out.’

  And before I could react with another lame excuse‚ she planted the softest kiss on my lips. I closed my eyes‚ it only lasted a second‚ but I kept them closed savouring the taste‚ saving it to memory. When I opened them‚ she was gone.

  I walked back‚ ready to throw myself in and integrate. Ready to prove that I was just as nuts as the rest of them. They were hostile‚ though.

  ‘Here‚’ I said‚ with my hand out. ‘Give me the phone‚ I’ll take some photos of you guys.’

  ‘No‚ it’s okay‚’ Irfan said‚ without making eye contact. ‘We’re done here. Besides‚ its meal time.’

  Amirah disappeared for Wudu‚ and the others were all hanging out in twos and threes‚ face to face or in tight triangles‚ making it clear that I had some serious sucking up to do. Aslam walked out with empty plates and we all sat down and waited for our meal to arrive. It was some rank chicken‚ more bone then substance‚ but we were all too hungry to bitch about it‚ so it was wolfed down gratefully. I even offered my supply of Tabasco as a peace offering.

  ‘Thanks‚ Brother‚’ Kevin said‚ as I watched in horror at his heavy-handed usage of it. ‘After Prayers we are marching.’

  ‘Yeah‚ where we marching to?’ I asked.

  ‘Nowhere in particular‚ just around the camp. There’s a lot more of it than what we see around us.’

  ‘But it’s baking‚ man.’

  ‘That’s why military training is between two and six. It’s the hottest part of the day. Survive that and you can survive anything.’

  ‘It’s like forty degrees‚’ I moaned. As hard as I tried to fit in‚ my lazy nature would always reveal itself.

  ‘Forty degrees is not hot‚ Brother Jay‚’ Salman said. ‘Hellfire is hotter. You’ll do well to remember that.’

  *

  We all put on our hiking boots‚ or as close as we had to them. Yasir and Irfan had some serious military boots. Most of the others also had appropriate footwear. I bought with me some suede Timberlands. Cost me a hundred and twenty bucks. They were bound to get ruined. In fact they were already ruined‚ standing around in the dirty red earth. But the award for the stupidest footwear went to Parvez.

  ‘You’re not seriously wearing your Crocs are you?’ For once‚ I wasn’t the weakest link.

  ‘Don’t mock me‚ these are the most comfortable shoes ever made.’

  ‘All right‚ soldiers‚’ Mustafa declared‚ as he handed out bottles of water. ‘I’ll lead‚ columns of two behind me. Parvez‚ you take the back. I want to hear lots of encouragement‚ don’t let your partner fall behind; if they do‚ you do. Keep up a medium-to-brisk pace.’

  Not only did we have to do this hellish trek‚ we had to do it with our AK47s strapped over our shoulder and across our chests. The only thing going for me was that Amirah was my walking partner‚ which would probably make the trek a touch more bearable.

  It didn’t.

  Half an hour in and I was drenched in sweat. An hour and a half in and I couldn’t stop myself from pouring the bottle of water over my head to cool down. Two hours in I was stumbling‚ and Amirah would tut and hoist me up by my arm. Every time I slowed down that fucking Parvez would nudge me in my back with his rifle. The journey was punctuated by the group raising their guns over their heads and breaking into a chant in Arabic‚ over and over the same line.

  ‘What are they saying?’ I asked.

  ‘Life is a gift. Leave no man behind‚’ Amirah answered.

  ‘What does that mean?’ I panted.

  ‘It’s the teachings of the Al-Mudarris.’

  I wanted to press her but I could barely breathe‚ let alone converse any more.

  Just over the two-hour mark‚ and about eight miles later‚ we stopped. I removed the rifle from around my neck and slumped to the floor. I spread my legs and my arms out and looked up into the sun which looked close enough to touch. The others stood around casually‚ taking small sips from their drinks‚ completely ignoring my melodramatics. I reached into my pocket and drained my drink and listened to the excited tones around me.

  ‘Welcome to my playground‚’ Mustafa boomed. I lifted my head and took in my surroundings. It was the assault course from hell. Amongst the obstacles there were high walls with ropes hanging off them‚ low nets entangled with barbed wire sitting over a muddy ditch‚ and high beams leading up to a ring of fucking fire.

  I bit my tongue‚ afraid I was going to say something that I would regret.

  ‘Today is your first day so I have gone lightly on you. But from tomorrow and every day that you are here‚ this is where you will be testing your will and your dedication. You will run‚ crawl‚ climb and jump until your body demands it. Craves for it.’

  60

  The first couple of weeks at camp were horrifying. I found myself becoming further isolated from the group. I watched them all complete the hellish assault course. I truly believed that each of them had been brainwashed to the extent of superior mental capacity to be able to crawl under barb wire and jump through rings of fire. The others encouraged me and Mustafa pushed me but I would only disappoint them‚ disappoint myself. I just could not do it.

  By the end of each day they were battered‚ bruised‚ bloodied and burnt.

  They were broken.

  But every morning they would be up at half four for morning prayers‚ a smile on their face and faith in their hearts‚ ready to do it all again.

  They were barely acknowledging me now‚ pissed off that I would not bleed for them‚ bleed for the cause. Amirah would sidle up to me once in a while but I could tell that she too was frustrated with me. Akhtar would speak with me but only when nobody else was around. I think I was the only one who didn’t treat him as though he was stupid.

  One night‚ during Islamic Studies‚ Salman had been given the reins and he was holding court. He had posed a question to us and what a fucking question it was.

  ‘What would be your ideal terrorist attack?’

  Voices immediately overlapped‚ as everyone in their excitement wanted to get their idea in first. As though they had been given permission to reveal their innermost sick fantasies.

  ‘Kamran‚’ Salman said. ‘Why don’t you go first and then we can work around from there.’

  ‘Thank you‚ Brother.’ Kamran address the group. ‘I work as an IT consultant‚ and sometimes I work from home but mainly I like to plug in at a Starbucks. Now‚ when I am there and I fancy a smoke‚ I just pop out for five minutes leaving my laptop on the table then pop back again. Nobody bats an eyelid. Why should they? But what if I didn’t come back? What if I had built a small explosive device‚ the size of a hard drive and attached it inside the laptop? What if…’ He smiled. ‘What if we gathered‚ I don’t know‚ say fifteen soldiers‚ fifteen laptops‚ fifteen built in explosives‚ targeting fifteen of the busiest Starbucks across London‚ at the busiest time of the day. We all set the timer for the same time and five minutes before that we walk out nonchalantly‚ cigarette in hand‚ leaving our laptops behind. A Brother can cover a lot of ground in five minutes so we’ll be well out of the picture‚ and then we wait for the blasts‚ simultaneously and in perfect sync‚ fifteen explosions lighting up the skies of London.’

  ‘That is sick‚ Bruv‚
’ Akhtar was the first to react‚ after a few seconds of measured silence. ‘We’ll smash those over-charging‚ crap-coffee-making Kafirs‚ innit?’ He put out a fist and was rewarded with a bump.

  ‘Well‚ it doesn’t have to be Starbucks‚ could be any popular coffee shop‚’ Kamran said.

  ‘Or we could mix and match‚ Bruv. We could do Burger King too or Mickey D’s. But not Nandos‚ yeah?’ Akhtar said.

  ‘The size of an explosive that can slot into a laptop would be small‚’ Kevin pondered. ‘I don’t think it will be enough to cause maximum damage.’

  ‘Coffee shops are small‚ everyone bunched in together. At a busy time there are‚ at very least‚ twenty customers‚ plus staff. So say‚ twenty-five‚’ Kamran countered. ‘Multiply that by the number of locations. We are looking at… I don’t know‚ I can’t do the maths.’

  ‘Three hundred and seventy-five potential casualties‚’ Yasir calculated instantly. ‘If carried out properly‚ I think we are looking at fatalities in the region of a hundred‚ maybe a hundred and fifty.’

  ‘I can just picture it‚’ Amirah said. ‘They’ll happily and obliviously be sitting on their high horse dissecting whatever is the latest derogatory story about Islam‚ as if they have any fucking—’

  ‘Amirah!’ Parvez chided at her use of bad language.

  ‘Let the Sister continue‚ her words are borne out of years of anger and frustration. Allah will forgive‚’ Salman said.

  ‘Yeah‚ piss off‚ Parvez.’ She sweetly smiled but didn’t continue with her vision.

  ‘And…’ Kamran grinned. ‘You know the beauty of it? It should be done on a Friday. At exactly one pm.’

  ‘Oh‚ that is genius.’ Irfan contributed.

  ‘I… I don’t get it‚’ Akhtar said. ‘Saturday is busier‚ yeah?’

  ‘It’s because‚’ I said‚ finding my voice‚ even though I was sickened to the core at what was so casually being discussed. ‘On Friday… At one‚ many Muslims are at the Mosque for Prayers. Which means…’

  ‘They won’t be at the coffee shop‚’ Akhtar finally sussed.

  ‘And those that are‚ deserve to perish‚’ Amirah added. I couldn’t believe the words that were coming from her lips. Those very same lips that had been attached to mine.

  ‘I’m just going to pop out for a cigarette‚’ I announced. It wasn’t the thing to do in the middle of a class‚ but I desperately needed to be away just for a moment.

  I leaned against the rock‚ my trusty‚ go-to rock‚ and for the first time in months I craved for a drink or a joint‚ anything to take the edge off. I couldn’t do this anymore. I never could. I had let myself into this out of some misguided notion of friendship for Parvez. But he was as fucked up as the rest of them. I wanted to walk. Leave MI5 to figure out this mess. I had given them all that I could. I was fucking exhausted‚ man.

  After I had smoked my third or fourth consecutive cigarette I walked around the rock and narrowly avoided bumping into Mustafa.

  ‘Why are you not in class?’ he asked.

  ‘Yeah‚ I’m going in now. I just came out for some fresh air‚’ I said.

  He nodded. From behind me a sack was thrown over my head. I couldn’t breathe and I fell back into the arms of whoever was behind me‚ he gripped me tightly by my arms and I thrashed out blindly with my legs. My arms were now being forced behind me and tied behind my back.

  ‘Mustafa‚ help me‚’ I cried‚ redundantly‚ as it was obviously his doing.

  ‘Stay calm‚ Jihadi Jay and stay still. Over your head is a Hessian sack‚ it will allow you to breathe normally.’

  ‘I… I don’t know what’s going on.’ I stopped scrambling and forced my body to relax.

  ‘Your Imam‚ Adeel-Al-Bhukara holds you in very high esteem.’ Mustafa’s voice sounded distant. But I could feel his presence. ‘But I feel as though his ordinarily good judgement has let him down. Your attitude‚ in particular‚ has let him and all your Brothers down.’

  ‘What? I’m trying‚ man. Let me go… Please.’

  ‘Aslam‚ take him.’

  Aslam dragged me back‚ I dug my heels in‚ but he was surprisingly strong and had little trouble in moving me against my will.

  ‘Where are you fucking taking me?’ I shouted.

  ‘You have been summoned‚ Jihadi Jay‚’ Mustafa declared. ‘Al-Mudarris would like to see you.’

  61

  I felt what seemed like a hundred pair of coarse hands grabbing me by my shirt and lurching me out of the jeep. They loosened the string of the sack and roughly ripped it from over my head. I blinked rapidly‚ grateful when the sun hit me in the face‚ but that gratitude lasted all of about a second when my eyes landed on four bearded‚ hard-faced‚ Afghani men pointing their rifles at me. They barked at me in Farsi‚ all at the same time‚ their hot breath in my face‚ their teeth crooked and stained. I didn’t respond‚ in fear of saying the wrong thing and risking their wrath‚ but that seemed to rile them further‚ their voices rising as though I had offended them by not understanding the language. I threw my hands up to indicate surrender‚ and hoped that the body language would translate. One of them slapped some money into Aslam’s hand and he jumped back in his jeep and left me in a strange land amongst strange men who looked ready to bite.

  They formed tightly around me as I was frog marched through the busy street. I could see the town folk glancing at me‚ but that was all‚ a glance‚ as though it was a normal occurrence. We crossed the road towards a line of fabric shops and small supermarkets. One of my captors entered one and returned with a six pack of bottled water. I was poked with a rifle in my back and we continued to walk a little further until we were standing at a large metal gate. They unlocked it and we stepped through it. It was a small car park. I counted two white Ferraris‚ half a dozen jeeps with guns attached to the bars‚ one Mercedes and‚ if I wasn’t mistaken‚ a tank.

  We moved towards the white Mercedes. It was covered in dirt and earth but didn’t look to be anything less than a year old. It had small little curtains in the back windows and a huge antenna sticking out of the back. They untied my hands and gave me some space. A bottle of water was handed to me and I drank it mercifully‚ letting the cold water drip from my mouth and down my T-shirt. I finished it in one go and was immediately handed another. They seemed more relaxed now that they were out of the public eye‚ as though my rough treatment was for appearances.

  One pulled out a passport from his back pocket. It was burgundy with the coat of arms of the United Kingdom emblazoned on the front. He opened it and went to the back page and compared the photograph to the real thing. I smiled at him to help him make the match.

  ‘Javid Qasim.’ He smiled‚ warm and unnerving.

  It wasn’t the right time to say‚ Call me Jay. So I nodded.

  He passed around the passport and they took turns to have a good look. As one does when looking at a passport photo‚ they laughed and mocked‚ patting me hard on the shoulder like an old friend. I joined in‚ laughing with them‚ keeping them on side.

  Then the butt of the rifle cracked me in the back of the head and I saw black.

  62

  I had no idea how long I had been propped up on the chair. When I did eventually wake‚ from being rudely smacked on the head‚ it appeared that I was no longer in hostile territory. Gone were the four mean goons and I was sat at the head of a very long marble table. It could have easily sat twelve‚ on either side. On it was laid platter upon platter of goodness. Chicken wings‚ lamb chops‚ an assortment of rices and a variety of naan breads. I poured myself a glass of lassi and took a greedy‚ slurpy sip. I tore my eyes away from the food and looked around the room and realised that I wasn’t in one. I was outside‚ with beautiful green rolling mountains acting as walls and the sky as a ceiling‚ so perfectly blue. The whole scene had a surreal‚ dreamlike quality. But the dull pain on the back of my head ensured that this was no dream.

  I tentatively w
alked around the table‚ eyeing up every dish‚ making sure that I made the right choice. I wasn’t sure that this was even laid out for me‚ but after my recent diet of rubbery chicken and dirty water‚ I didn’t care. I was in enough trouble as it was. Might as well be in trouble on a full stomach.

  I had to continuously swallow my saliva as my mouth was watering so much‚ waiting for my brain to make the right selection. Damn. It all looked so good. I couldn’t wait any longer‚ I was hungrier now than I had ever been in Ramadan. I abandoned the careful approach and went hell for leather‚ topping up my plate blindly with whatever I could get my hands on. There was no way of telling when I would again have a meal this luxurious. With my plate precariously topped up and straining at my wrist‚ I started to stuff wings and lamb chops into my pockets.

  ‘A man should act in accordance to his environment.’ A voice came from somewhere behind me. I froze. A chicken wing fell out of my pocket.

  Within a heartbeat of setting eyes on him‚ I lost all my appetite. I wanted desperately to tear my eyes away‚ but there was something about the way he held my focus which made it nearly impossible to. He walked closer towards me and with each step the revulsion on his face became more evident.

  ‘I was once handsome‚’ he said. ‘Just like you‚ Javid.’ He sat down at the head of the table‚ just where I had woken up‚ and motioned for me to take a seat adjacent to him. I carried my plate and my bulging pockets and did as instructed. ‘But that was a lifetime ago.’ He smiled tightly‚ doing very little to improve his features.

  The flesh on his face was seared‚ melted away‚ leaving a wrinkly‚ scabby burnt layer where the skin had once lived. His eyes were set further back than they ought to have been‚ as if trying to escape the horror that was his face. He watched me watch him with interest‚ as he took off his Pashtun hat and revealed patches of his scalp the same consistency as his face.

  He looked as though‚ once upon time‚ death had come calling.