‘Across the road‚ there’s a Garfunkel’s.’ Irfan said excitedly. ‘There has to be at least fifty diners in there‚ plus staff. Adapt and improvise. We do it‚ we do it now.’ His eyes travelled over Yasir. ‘Where’s your coat? Your guns?’
‘It’s over‚ Irfan. This is not what we planned. It’s a suicide mission. You walk in there‚ you’re coming out in a body bag. There are cops everywhere.’
Anger and disappointment flashed across Irfan’s face.
‘I’m going in without you.’
‘We are not Martyrs‚ Irfan. We are soldiers. We walk away from here and start planning our next attack. You are no good to me dead. There is no way that I am letting you go in there. Remember the words of Al-Mudarris.’
Irfan nodded.
‘Leave no man behind.’
91
12.57 p.m.
It took me the best part of thirty minutes to get through the crowd and onto the corner of Oxford Street. I could see the entrance that led up to the apartment above Tezenis and I knew if I approached it I was bound to get stopped‚ captured or shot. I rounded the corner unchallenged and stood with the crowd. The balcony above Tezenis was empty‚ but Parvez was sure to be in the apartment already. A police van had climbed the kerb and was parked just under the balcony and I thought briefly about climbing onto the roof of it so I could get closer to the balcony. But two things were against me. One was that the balcony would still have been out of reach by about seven foot‚ and secondly‚ how the hell would I climb onto the roof of a police van without getting nabbed? I discounted that thought and tried to look for a way in‚ within the means of my limited skillset.
Amongst the crowd in front of me‚ a head stood out above the rest. I pushed and squeezed through until I was by his side.
‘You have to get me in‚ Parker.’
‘Jay‚ get away from here‚’ he said‚ marching on.
‘Let me talk to him‚ I can help‚’ I said‚ matching him for pace.
‘Get away‚ Jay.’
‘Parker‚ will you fucking listen? You’re going to go up and kill him without question and without thought.’ He stopped outside the entrance to the apartment. Two men in suits‚ trying to fit in but clearly MI5‚ nodded at Parker. I grabbed his arm. ‘Please.’
He shook his head and made his way up to the apartment.
92
12.59 p.m.
Parker let himself into the apartment and into the large marble hallway. Fixing the suppressor onto his Browning he held it up in shooting position. He expected it to feel natural‚ as though an extension of his arm‚ but his hand shook. Using his foot‚ he slowly pushed the door open and stole a quick glance into the living room. Parvez was standing at the tall French doors‚ looking out towards the balcony‚ cradling an AK47 in his arms. A Glock 19 was tucked into the back of his jeans. Parker took a breath and entered the room‚ his gun trained on Parvez’s back.
‘Parvez Ahmed.’
‘It’s too late‚’ Parvez said‚ without turning around.
‘Drop your weapon and turn around slowly‚ now.’
‘It’s almost time.’
The alarm on Parvez’s digital watch went off.
93
1.00 p.m.
The alarm on my digital watch started to sound. I looked up at the balcony and through the net curtains of the French doors I saw a flash of light‚ quickly followed by another. Red dots speckled the otherwise white net curtains and my heart took a dive.
The double doors opened and Parvez staggered out onto the balcony. The AK47 was hanging freely around his neck‚ swinging side to side as he struggled to place one foot in front of the other. He winced as he reached behind and produced the Glock‚ struggling to lift it into shooting position as though it was too heavy for him.
I shouted his name and I know he didn’t hear me‚ but his eyes locked onto mine. He smiled weakly at me and found the strength to lift the gun.
Another shot rang out from behind him and the impact sent my friend tumbling over the balcony‚ landing flat out on his back on the roof of the police van‚ the back of his head smashing the rooftop lights.
That’s when a wall of screams deafened me and I found myself being knocked to the ground as panic kicked in and there was an almighty charge. I didn’t have time to understand what had just happened on the balcony‚ as I was struggling for breath. On my hands and knees in a crowd of legs‚ trying to get myself up on my feet‚ a knee smashed into my ribs‚ sending me onto my side and smashing my head against the pavement. I forced myself to keep consciousness‚ as heavy footsteps clambered over my beaten body. I curled myself up into a small ball‚ as kicks rained down on my head‚ my arms and my legs. As the knocks slowed I got back onto my hands and knees and inched onto the pavement‚ managing to hang on to a lamp post for support. Slowly‚ I lifted myself up and took in the scene in front of me.
It was hell.
I watched as men‚ women and children pushed‚ pulled‚ elbowed and trampled their way to safety – without any clue as to where safety lay. My head throbbed and I felt blood trickle down my face. My body screamed at me in pain. I steeled myself and screamed back at it. I moved like a bull with my head down as I forced my way to the entrance of the apartment. It was no longer guarded.
Using both hands on the bannister‚ I took two steps at a time. The effort made me lightheaded. I pushed open the front door and made my way into the living room. The room was empty apart from one of Parvez’s Crocs laying sadly on its side in front of the blood-splattered net curtains on the French doors.
I pushed the doors open and stepped out onto the balcony.
Parker was there‚ looking down at the manic scenes below him.
I stood next to him.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked.
I looked down at the roof of the police van. Parvez‚ on his back‚ motionless‚ staring up at me. Glock in his dead hand and the AK47 hanging uselessly off his neck.
Was I all right?
I didn’t think that needed answering. So instead‚ finding my voice‚ my eyes fixed on Parvez‚ I said‚ ‘The Teacher. He’s my father.’
Parker nodded.
I removed my eyes from my friend and looked at Parker.
‘You knew?’ I said.
‘Sinclair‚’ he said.
I punched him in the chest with everything I had‚ but I was tired‚ and it was weak. I punched him again. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ My punches grew with strength as I started to howl and tears flooded my face. Pounding him over and over. He stepped forward and held me tightly in his arms as I screamed for him to let me go.
‘It’s okay‚’ he said‚ as snowflakes started to fall and dissolve. ‘I’ve got you‚ son.’
Epilogue
I’ve seen some things that I know will be scarred into my consciousness until my dying day. The pictures form in my brain like a reel from a movie‚ telling a story that nobody wants to hear. The devastation of the drone attacks in a small village amongst the mountains called Hisarak. The small bodies covered in white sheets. The burnt face of a man who I loved and loathed. The face of the Shaitan.
My friend‚ Parvez‚ splayed out‚ dead on the roof of a police van.
That image did the fucking rounds‚ man. It was captured and celebrated by the media and was just as recognisable as that blown up London bus a decade ago.
It had taken three months of bullshit therapy for me to realise that whatever was in my head was not leaving anytime soon. They say time is a great healer. Yeah‚ well. We’ll see about that.
I was no longer MI5‚ they told me. I laughed in their faces when they said that.
As if I ever was.
I was never a spy. I was a fucking pawn in their sick game. They knew‚ Sinclair knew that the Teacher was my father from the very start and they used me to get close to him. But the dumb fucks that they are‚ and after all the information I have given them‚ they still hadn’t managed to catch
my Dad.
I wasn’t the only one that had parted company with those leeches. Parker resigned from his post too. He was a broken man after that fateful day. His decision to not let me up to talk Parvez down ate him up. His inability to stop Parvez from getting onto the balcony‚ which led to a further shooting‚ which in turn led to a fucking stampede so brutal that it took the lives of six. He blamed himself.
Rightly fucking so.
I tried to move forward the best way that I could. I cut out any semblance of that period of my life like cancer.
Akhtar reached out to me. If it wasn’t for him‚ God knows what kind of massacre would have taken place that day. But I couldn’t‚ wouldn’t let myself reach back to him. I didn’t need a person like that in my life‚ a constant reminder of the horror my life had been.
‘We haven’t done that in ages‚’ Idris said.
‘Hmm‚’ I said‚ as my automatic wipers came to life at the first sign of rain. ‘Done what?’
‘Sat in silence.’
‘Yeah‚ I guess.’ I turned onto his road.
I had been spending a lot of time with Idris. I hadn’t wanted to but he was annoyingly insistent and manoeuvred his way back into my life. He turned up at my house at the turn of the year‚ armed with a holdall‚ and announced that he would be staying with me for a few days. I still hadn’t fully told him everything‚ and he never asked‚ but like a good friend‚ he was there when I needed him most.
‘Five-a-side tonight‚ don’t forget.’
‘I can’t tonight.’
‘I expect you to pick me up at quarter to eight‚’ he said‚ ignoring me.
‘Why am I always picking your ass up and dropping your ass home?’ I said‚ as I pulled up outside his house and killed the engine.
‘Cos you got the motor‚’ he said‚ gesticulating his hands around my car like a magician. ‘Don’t be late!’
‘Seriously‚ I can’t play tonight. I’ve got a flight to catch tomorrow.’
‘Oh shit‚ Qatar! Is that tomorrow?’ Make sure you give your mum a kiss from me.’
‘I’ll tell her you said hello‚’ I said‚ making a face.
‘When are you back?’
‘Fourteen nights and fifteen days.’
‘Why couldn’t you just say two weeks?’
I shrugged and reached into the back seat and brought forward a plastic bag. I reached in and pulled out a maroon silk shawl.
‘I got this for Mum. What do you think?
‘Yeah‚ very nice. Will you tell her it’s from both of us?’
‘No.’
He let himself out of the car. I started the engine. He knocked on the passenger side window. I slid it down.
‘What now?’ I said. I could tell from the expression on his face that he wanted to say something soppy and meaningful like after all you’ve been through‚ you deserve a holiday. But he knew better.
‘Send me a postcard.’
‘Not going to happen.’
‘I’m gonna miss you.’ He grinned.
‘Fuck off!’
‘Call me the moment you land otherwise I won’t be able to sleep.’
I slid the window up hoping to catch his head in the frame. He moved his head back and gave me the finger.
I drove off smiling.
It was nice‚ small normalities that I once took for granted‚ slowly creeping their way back into my life. The back and forth with Idris reminded me just how nice it was to be regular‚ even if it was a fleeting feeling. But that’s what my life demanded‚ more moments like that. I’d had my car serviced and valeted earlier‚ while I went shopping in Southall for a gift to take for my mum. It was bland‚ it was uneventful. It was perfect.
I pulled up in my driveway and that sense of normality was ripped away from me once again‚ and my mind went to that dark place as I looked at the For Sale sign erected outside Parvez’s house. His parents had moved out soon after his funeral. A funeral that I had not been invited to. The intense media scrutiny‚ and a regular brick through their windows‚ was too much for them to take. I knew that they had held me responsible‚ and forever would.
I closed my eyes tightly and let the cool breeze coming from my window wash over me. Tomorrow‚ I’d try for normal again.
I opened my eyes at the sound of a car door closing‚ and standing at my window was Silas.
‘Hello‚ old chum‚’ he said‚ beaming. ‘I haven’t seen you in ages.’ I caught a glint of something as his arm snaked through my window and sliced my throat from ear to ear.
I blinked rapidly as both of my hands flew to my neck‚ blood seeping through my fingers and onto my Mum’s silk shawl.
They say you see your life flash before your eyes in those precious last moments.
Not for me.
Instead‚ I wondered how I would be remembered.
As a drug dealer‚ a jihadist‚ a spy?
Or just another Muslim who died struggling to find his place in the world.
Acknowledgements
I have to start by thanking God‚ for kicking me out of the slow lane and pushing me to my limit. To my amazing wife who tried and failed to get a line in the book and share the credit. Thanks sweetheart‚ I could not have done it without you. My two beautiful boys who inspired me and continue to do so more than they will ever know.
To my Mum‚ my Dad‚ for constantly telling me how great I am. I’ll never tire of hearing that! To my Brother for taking an obscene amount of time reading the first draft and advising me.
A huge thanks to Julian Alexander - agent extraordinaire! Even at its worst‚ you saw something special in my writing. For that I will always be grateful. Also Ben Clark‚ Niamh O’Grady and all at LAW literary agency.
To Lucy Gilmour‚ at HQ/HarperCollins‚ you frightened the life out of me with the first editorial notes‚ but I realised very quickly your superior skills and as a result I have a book that I am truly proud of. Thank you Lucy‚ you will be missed. I wish you all the best in your new venture. To my brilliant editor‚ Clio Cornish‚ you have been fantastic throughout. Thank you for guiding me through the process with your distinctive vision and helping shape my book. I hope we are on the same team for many books to come. Also to Lisa Milton‚ Sophie Calder‚ Jamie Groves and the wider team for all your help and support. For those involved‚ who I have missed out or not had the pleasure to yet meet‚ you are appreciated.
I guess I should mention my friends‚ otherwise I won’t hear the end of it. Look closely‚ there are parts of all of you in this story.
Last but not even close to least‚ I must give a huge thanks to one of our finest authors‚ Stephen Leather‚ for taking the time out to read a very early piece of work that I almost chickened out of sending to you. Hitting send was the best move I have ever made and it was thanks to you that I found myself in Julian’s office and subsequently signing a book deal.
These are just a few names that have helped me achieve my dream‚ and I am truly and forever thankful.
Copyright
An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd
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First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2017
Copyright © Khurrum Rahman 2017
Khurrum Rahman asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced int
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Ebook Edition © November 2017 ISBN: 9780008229580
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