Homegrown Hero

by Khurrum Rahman

  My eyes wandered over to the bank of small monitors‚ nine in total‚ in rows of three. I scanned each one and‚ there it was‚ on the middle screen. The Deerstalker’s hat.

  ‘Call the police‚’ I said.

  ‘What’s that‚ boy?’

  ‘The police.’ I frantically dug around the pockets of the parka that I had hooked‚ searching redundantly for my phone. ‘Call the fucking police‚’ I cried.

  ‘Police!’ Jim snorted. ‘Around here‚ son‚ we are the police.’ The two guards grinned and bumped fists. I moved closer to the screen‚ the static tickling my nose. I watched Deerstalker‚ his walk measured‚ eyes on the camera as though looking directly at me. He stepped onto the escalator and disappeared out of view.

  ‘Where’d he go?’ My eyes flitting to each monitor. ‘The fuck did he go?’

  ‘I’m going to have to ask you watch your language. That’s your second profanity.’

  I took a step closer to the desk‚ my hand reaching for the joystick on the control console.

  ‘Oi! You can’t touch that‚’ one of them barked‚ but I had it tight in my grip and I was moving the camera in different directions. Rough hands grabbed the scruff of the neck and pushed my face down hard onto the control console‚ the other pinned both my arms behind my back.

  ‘Please‚ I’m in danger‚ call the police.’

  ‘Keep still or we will have to use force.’

  Fucking toy cops! The side of my face was squashed against the console‚ I managed to twist it so that I had a view of the screen and there he fucking was. In menswear. On this floor! He seemed to be asking a sales assistant for directions and she seemed to be pointing towards this very room.

  Clearly‚ I could not depend on these two bumpkins to help me‚ so I lifted my leg and brought my right Air Jordan down hard. It met satisfyingly with a foot and a yelp. My arms were now free so I swung my elbow back blindly and it connected nicely with a ribcage.

  With escape on my mind I moved towards the door. The handle turned even though I hadn’t touched it. I took a step back just as Greg and Jim tackled me to the ground. I used my hands to break my fall before it broke my face. Once again my arms were pinned behind me‚ a knee in my spine for good measure‚ and a hand forcing my face down into the dirty threadbare carpet.

  The door opened.

  From my vantage point on the floor‚ I managed to look up‚ my chin painfully scraping the carpet. I cursed under my breath as he lowered his scarf and removed the deerstalker‚ and smiled at me like an old friend. Which he definitely was not.

  ‘Javid Qasim.’ He grinned. ‘Making friends‚ I see.’

  I spat out a mouthful of carpet. Raising my head‚ I looked my old MI5 colleague Teddy Lawrence straight in the eye.

  ‘Jay… Call me Jay.’

  21

  Imy

  So many times I had lain in bed‚ unable to sleep‚ fantasising about this very moment. I’d pictured it. My reaction. Felt it. Felt the adrenaline run through me until I was sweating through my clothes and onto my bed. Knowing that the time was close when I could drop the facade and play a small but significant part in the war that had taken away my family. But somewhere along the way‚ the enemies became my family. The façade became who I really was.

  I had to find a way out of this.

  Google Maps told me it was a four-and-a-half-hour journey north. I was going to make it in under four‚ touching a hundred when I could and slipping onto the hard shoulder if I had to. My mind raced as fast as my car‚ picturing myself in different scenarios‚ each with an unhappy and violent ending.

  I was a junction from my exit when my phone rang. I took the call and switched it to loud speaker.

  ‘Shaz‚’ I answered‚ my heart skipping. ‘Everything okay?’

  ‘Sweet as.’ Shaz’s voice came through clear‚ as though he was sitting next to me. I wish he had been.

  ‘You didn’t see anybody hanging around?’

  ‘Nah‚ all good in the hood. Back in the car now‚ just outside Steph’s place. Check this‚ Kumar lent me his Merc for viewings today‚ but there’s this strange knocking sound coming from the engine. Hope he doesn’t blame...’

  Shaz trailed off mid sentence.

  ‘Shaz. You there?’ I asked as his voice drifted.

  ‘Hang on.’

  ‘Shaz?’

  ‘Hold on a minute.’ Shaz kept me waiting as he muttered to himself.

  ‘Shaz! What is it?’

  ‘Don’t know. When I arrived earlier I clocked a man on a motorbike across the road from Steph’s‚ but he left as soon as I pulled into the drive. Didn’t think much of it... But –’

  ‘What?’ I wiped my palms on my jeans. ‘But what‚ Shaz?’

  ‘He’s back.’

  I slowed drastically from seventy to thirty and pulled over onto the hard shoulder without indicating. An HGV blared its horn as it sped past me‚ rattling my Prius.

  ‘What does he look like?’

  ‘Can’t tell. He’s wearing a helmet. Top to toe in leathers.’

  ‘What is he doing?’

  ‘I think he’s looking at me. Why the fuck is he looking at me‚ Imy?’ Shaz’s voice was tight. ‘Should I say something?’ he said uncertainly.

  ‘No‚ just... just let me think.’ I was two hundred miles away.

  ‘He’s going. He’s gone‚’ Shaz said. I heard the growl of a high-powered bike. Shaz exhaled loudly and then laughed nervously. ‘I would have fucked him up.’

  ‘It’s probably nothing.’ I tried to convince him‚ convince myself‚ but the wheels were in motion and spinning quickly. My past hadn’t just caught up with me‚ it had caught up with the people I loved. Whatever it was I had to do‚ I had to do now.

  *

  I’d lived in Hounslow for many years‚ and watched the epic rise in integration and multiculturalism‚ but this place was the extreme opposite. I drove slowly down Parkland Avenue looking for number sixty-five‚ but it was difficult to focus as my eyes were glued to the sheer number of Muslims. In Hounslow‚ it was not uncommon to see a woman in a Burka‚ but here they were all adorned from head to toe in black. In the space of minutes‚ and on the same road‚ I drove past two mosques and four halal butchers. I looked hard for a white face‚ a black‚ a turban‚ or a skirt. It was as though I had landed in another state‚ in another country. The segregation loud and proud‚ a community which thrived on a separatist environment.

  I carried out a hasty five-point-turn on the narrow road as I realised that in my daze I had passed number sixty-five. The house on my left was number two-two-seven but I had already started to look for a spot to park as both sides of the road were rammed‚ cars parked bumper to bumper‚ so I drove at walking pace in the hope that somebody would pull out. I wasn’t paying attention to what was in front of me and I had to slam on the brakes as a child was standing in front of me in the middle of the road. He wore a black kurta with black jeans and expensive-looking white trainers. On his head was a Pashtun hat‚ purposefully tilted to one side‚ lending the kid a thuggish appearance. He couldn’t have been more than ten years old. He walked around to my side of the car and twirled his finger at me to slide the window down.

  ‘Whas your name‚ Blud?’

  ‘Excuse me?’ Who he was or what he wanted‚ I did not know‚ but I wasn’t about to give my name to him that easily.

  He did that thing with his tongue‚ slurped it or kissed it‚ making that wet‚ bubbly sound to illustrate his annoyance. ‘Your name‚ Blud! You got one‚ yeah‚ what is it?’

  ‘Why don’t you tell me your name‚ little man?’ I said. He liked that; liked being called a man. He casually rested his elbows on the car window sill.

  ‘They call me Rocket‚ yeah‚’ He smiled. ‘Cos I go bang‚ you get me.’

  ‘Rocket?’

  ‘Yeah‚ Blud‚ aks me again and I tell you the same‚’ he said‚ his Lancashire accent starting to grind on me. ‘So‚ who are ya‚
then?’

  ‘Sorry‚ Rocket. That’s none of your business.’

  ‘But I told you mine‚’ he whined‚ and for the first time he looked and sounded like a ten year old. He moved away from the car‚ dejected‚ his hard-man image taking a blow. Through the windscreen I saw a man walking towards my car. This sparked the kid back to life and he was back in my face again. ‘Who’d you think you are‚ Blud‚ driving that shit car down my manor? When I aks you a question‚ you answer it or you get jook up‚ yeah?’

  It wouldn’t have taken me much effort to just flick him away but my eyes were on this other guy. He had similar features to Rocket‚ so I assumed they were related. Not old enough to be his father‚ so I assumed brother.

  ‘Rafi‚’ he shouted as he got closer. ‘Is that him?’

  ‘Don’t know‚ he’s not telling me his name‚ is he?’ Rafi said‚ giving me his best hard-man stare. ‘He don’t look all that to me.’

  The man approached the car and nudged Rafi to one side. He kneeled down and eyed me curiously and then asked me‚ ‘What have we learnt‚ Brother?’

  To anybody else it would have sounded like an obscure question‚ but to me‚ and to those who had studied the learnings of The Teacher‚ it was an easy answer. A lesson that we were taught above all others. We were not suicide bombers‚ we were fighters. Any attack carried out by the soldiers of Ghurfat-al-Mudarris never sacrificed life. Taking your own life in the name of religion‚ of jihad‚ was haram.

  ‘Life is a gift‚’ I said‚ softly. ‘Leave no man behind.’

  ‘Mashallah‚ Brother.’ He patted me on the shoulder. ‘Rafi‚ go tell Mr Tamir to shift his motor. We have a guest.’ Turning back to me he smiled. ‘My name is Asif. Our Father will be home soon‚ he is expecting you.’

  22

  Jay

  ‘We’ve got him‚ Sir‚’ Greg said‚ in his best Bruce Willis voice. ‘He was a little tricky but we managed to detain him.’

  ‘We’d been watching him‚ anyway‚ even before the call came in. He was acting erratically‚’ Jim added.

  Lawrence nodded‚ trying his best to conceal a smile.

  ‘Lawrence‚ do you want to get these toy cops off me?’ I said‚ face still buried in the carpet‚ knee still in my back.

  ‘So what are you‚ some kind of Special Forces?’ Jim asked.

  ‘More to the point‚ who is he? They said on the phone that it’s a matter of national security‚’ Greg said.

  ‘They like to exaggerate‚’ Lawrence said. ‘It’s not quite a matter of national security‚ but it’s good to know that we have men like you on our side.’

  They shared a shit-eating grin. I let out a squeal as they pulled my arms tighter behind my back in order to impress Lawrence‚ as though he had the power to help transform them from stupid cross-eyed security guards to Secret Service agents.

  ‘Lawrence!’

  ‘Okay‚ that’s enough. Let him up‚’ Lawrence said. ‘That’s no way to treat a hero.’

  ‘Err‚ hero?’

  I felt hands move away but I stayed down for a minute. The meat sub from earlier was threatening to make an appearance.

  *

  After sheepish apologies and twenty quid in Debenhams vouchers as compensation‚ Lawrence and I walked out of the Queensmere Centre and found a Costa Coffee on the high street.

  ‘What would you like‚ Jay? I’m buying.’

  ‘Damn right you’re buying. Cappucino… Massimo! And an almond croissant.’

  Lawrence went to the counter to order and I moved around the coffee shop‚ looking for a table which would give me sight of the front and side doors‚ so I was able to see who was coming and going. I checked myself. Silas was behind bars‚ his operation ceased. His crew on high alert‚ feeling the heat on their collar. Only Teddy Lawrence was interested in me‚ and I wouldn’t have a problem getting rid of him. So‚ fuck it‚ I sat down at the nearest table with my back to the entrance.

  I may not be worried about him‚ but I had no idea why Lawrence was back in my life. We had gone our separate ways‚ his ruthless ambition made him a name at MI5 whilst I settled for some much-needed normality and structure. I wasn’t concerned about his sudden appearance‚ but I was pretty pissed off at the way he went about it. So‚ when he placed the tray on the table‚ and sat down opposite me‚ it was the first thing I asked him.

  ‘The hell was that all about?’ I clocked the plain croissant in front of me. ‘And what the hell is this?’ I said‚ poking at the crusty looking croissant. ‘Where are the almonds?’

  ‘That’s all they had‚’ he said‚ biting into his picture-perfect pain au chocolat.

  ‘I can’t eat this‚ it looks like old stock. How long’s it been sitting out there?’

  ‘I didn’t ask‚’ he said. ‘How you been‚ Jay?’

  ‘I’m getting by. You going to tell me what just happened?’

  ‘Just wanted to say hello.’ That smug smile that I was once so familiar with‚ and irritated by‚ made its first appearance.

  ‘Lawrence‚ do not waste my time‚ I will stand up right this second and walk out of here‚ I swear to God.’ I stood up‚ just to prove how serious I was‚ but really‚ ain’t no-one walking away from a free drink. ‘There is nothing keeping me here. I’m through with MI5.’

  ‘Shall I get you a megaphone? Not sure if everyone in Slough heard you. Sit down.’

  I stood my ground for a moment and then sat down. Point made.

  ‘Why were you shadowing me‚ Lawrence? You’ve ruined my day off from work.’

  ‘Firstly‚’ he said‚ lifting a finger‚ ‘it’s not your day off‚ you pulled a sickie.’

  ‘Oh‚ wow. Am I supposed to be impressed that you know that?’ I said‚ secretly impressed that he knew that.

  ‘Secondly‚ I wasn’t shadowing you. I was trying to catch up with you‚ but you were scarpering around like a man demented.’

  ‘Bullshit! I saw you outside The Meat Spot. You could easily have caught up with me in there.’

  ‘Jay.’ He smirked‚ and I knew pretty much what he was going to say. ‘This suit set me back four figures. It’s bad enough that I have to wear it around Slough‚ do you really expect me to walk into a stinking meat shop?’

  ‘But you did though‚ didn’t you?’

  He nodded. ‘Window above the urinal‚ right?’

  It was my turn to smirk as he sniffed the arm of his fancy suit and grimaced.

  ‘How’d you find me‚ then?’ I asked‚ and then answered. ‘You’re tracking my phone.’

  ‘I wasn’t about to run around bloody Debenhams‚ so I arranged for security to pick you up.’

  ‘The racist fuckers proper roughed me up‚’ I said‚ smoothing down my shirt.

  ‘Get a grip‚ Jay. They were not racist.’

  ‘They thought I was a terrorist.’

  ‘Okay‚ Jay. I apologise.’

  ‘Twenty quid of vouchers!’

  ‘Jay‚ will you shut up for just a bloody minute?’

  I sat back and crossed my arms.

  ‘We need to talk.’

  ‘The answer’s no.’

  ‘Hear me out.’

  I shrugged at him‚ it was a small shrug but one which clearly said that my mind would not be changed. The last time that I had the we need to talk conversation‚ I was looking at jail time for dealing and assault. They told me that if I gave them a statement giving up Silas‚ and joined MI5 as the token Paki to spy on other Pakis‚ then they would make it all go away.

  So I did. I sang. I joined. I fucked up.

  In the process I helped save many lives‚ but I still don’t know if I made the right decision.

  ‘We still haven’t caught him‚’ Lawrence said‚ his eyes on mine.

  Him… Him… Fucking him!

  ‘The Teacher‚’ he said‚ solemnly‚ as if I didn’t know. ‘Your Father.’

  I could feel my face forming an expression and I wasn’t sure what it was.
I certainly wasn’t glad that he was still on the run‚ but a part of me was glad that he hadn’t been killed. Though‚ to be honest‚ he did deserve nothing short of an excruciatingly painful death.

  I brought the coffee up to my lips‚ hoping that it would mask my face‚ stop me from revealing my feelings. I waited for him to stop trying to read me and continue.

  ‘You did well‚ Jay‚’ he said‚ softly‚ which did not suit him. It was overly sincere to the point of bullshit. ‘Due to your efforts we have his description‚ his real name and the name of a number of locations he operates from.’

  Usually‚ I had a shrug for every occasion. Why waste your breath when a good shrug speaks volumes? But I found I couldn’t produce it‚ as though somebody was forcing my shoulders down. I didn’t open my mouth either‚ anxious that my voice might break and tears would follow. I just blinked at him and felt the first touch of moisture forming between my eyelashes.

  ‘He’s aware that we are onto him‚ and subsequently he’s gone under. It’s only a matter of time before we capture him. But sooner‚ rather than later.’

  I pictured Saddam poking his head out of a hole in the ground. I pictured Osama getting shot in his fucking underwear. I pictured my Dad and blinked it away before I could picture anything else.

  ‘If we can get him to show his face…’ Lawrence said‚ carefully. Very carefully. Leaving me room to respond. Which I did.

  ‘The answer is no.’

  ‘Jay!’ High pitched‚ frustrated. The fuck did he expect? He sat back and crossed his arms‚ mirroring me and held my gaze. I looked away. I wasn’t playing that game. I picked up the butter knife on my plate and drilled it into the middle of the croissant. It stood proudly upright before the weight of it sent it clattering down onto the plate. ‘You know better than anyone what he is capable of‚’ Lawrence continued‚ his voice returning to the pre-rehearsed soft. ‘If it wasn’t for your actions‚ hundreds of innocents would have died. Families‚ Jay‚ children. Look‚ just hear me out‚ okay. Ever since he went into hiding‚ GCHQ haven’t picked up any chatter. All the websites hero-worshipping him as a means of recruitment are systematically getting shut down‚ and not by us! They’re doing it‚ they are getting rid of any mention of him. It’s like he never existed! But his work continues. Three weeks ago in Prague‚ a man walked into a café with a goddamn razor blade‚ and sliced the first person he set eyes on across the chest‚ a woman‚ celebrating her 80th birthday. Then he jumped over the counter and went to work on the face of a female Barista‚ before some customers intervened and detained him.’ Lawrence watched for my reaction. I didn’t give him one. ‘A pizza parlour in Copenhagen‚ a popular student hangout‚ a small explosive built into a laptop goes off‚ three students died.’