Okay‚ so they had been seeing each other. No big deal. I wasn’t that naïve to think that Mum was still pottering around the house‚ pining for a good Muslim man to make an honest woman of her. I released my hands from hers. It’s wasn’t like she was dying‚ or anything that would warrant holding hands. For a second there‚ just for a minute‚ she had frightened me.
‘Yeah‚ yeah‚ Mum. You don’t have to spell it out.’ I aimed for and hit nonchalance. ‘So you’re seeing this Andrew character. I get it. So what we looking at? Marriage? Is he moving in? Gonna live in sin‚ are we?’ I said‚ with a wink. I leaned back in my chair and continued to devour my Coco Pops.
Silence for a moment. Then‚ ‘We are going to live together… In Qatar.’
I stopped eating. ‘Where?’
‘Qatar‚ it’s in the—’
‘Yeah‚ I know where Qatar is.’ I said‚ unnecessarily raising my voice. ‘When?’ I asked‚ a little softer.
‘Soon… Wednesday.’
‘Wednesday. This Wednesday? As in the day after tomorrow? That Wednesday?’ I said incredulously. Even as I was saying this my mind was in overdrive. This could be my way out. Yeah‚ Wednesday. I can be out of here before my Friday midnight deadline and not have to worry about Silas. This could work!
‘I know what you’re thinking‚ Jay.’
You have no idea what I’m thinking.
‘But Andrew has been offered a teaching job in Doha and he asked me to go with him.’
I didn’t say anything. Thinking‚ thinking‚ thinking.
‘I kept declining‚’ she continued. ‘I must have said no a hundred times. I kept wondering how it would affect you. But then I thought… I’m not such a bad Mum. I’ve done a pretty good job raising you on my own. A beautiful boy to a handsome young man.’
She kept on going. I tuned out.
My mind was made up. In the last few seconds I had planned out my next few days. I had to see Idris… and I guess I should probably see that annoying twerp Parvez. Say my farewells. Goodbye lads‚ I am off to pastures new. Hot and exotic. I’ll send you a postcard. Goodbye‚ Silas‚ I’ll definitely send you a postcard. Maybe a picture of me on a sunbed browning myself with a Margarita in hand. Oh yeah‚ the ultimate fuck you.
I tuned back into the conversation feeling elated.
‘You’ll never know how proud I am when I’m with you… But it’s time to think about myself. I know you’ll be alright‚ Jay…’ She wiped her tears. I hadn’t even realised that she had been crying. She cleared her throat. ‘I’ll leave everything documented for you‚ service providers and any important phone numbers.’
What? Where is she going with this?
‘I’m confident‚ in fact I’m certain‚ that you can run things around here.’
That’s when it hit me. Late to the party as always.
‘Am I not coming with you‚ Mum?’ I said‚ my voice only just above a whisper.
‘Oh‚ Jay‚’ Mum said‚
She stood up and walked around the table and held my head tightly to her chest. I sat frozen‚ listening to her heartbeat and it took all my effort not to cry. I closed my eyes tightly and inhaled deeply her scent‚ the realisation hitting me that from here on‚ my problems were mine alone. I got myself into this mess. I had to get myself out.
If Mum believed that I was ready to be a man then‚ fuck it‚ I was ready to be a man. I detached myself from her and emerged with a smile that told her exactly that.
14
Hounslow High Street hustled and bristled with every type of religion‚ culture and colour. Ten different languages could be heard in a two-minute walk. All walks of life from the prim to the pauper. Students‚ couples‚ doddery old dears‚ shoppers looking for their Pound Shop fix mingling with the shoplifters‚ chancers‚ dealers and thugs that kept Hounslow police station one of the busiest nicks in West London. In keeping with the rest of Hounslow‚ the police station was a nondescript‚ brown‚ square building‚ dull and dated. Scaffolding had covered the side of it for as long as anyone could remember‚ and the enquiries desk had been moved to a shoddy Portakabin plonked directly outside‚ with an ever present queue.
As per usual‚ Idris Zaidi walked past the Portakabin at the start of his shift with a disappointed shake of the head‚ and as per usual Idris Zaidi promised himself he would work on his transfer out of Hounslow. A transfer to neighbouring and upmarket Chiswick would be nice. A better class of criminal. It was that fantasy that was ringing around his head as he carelessly brushed into the oncoming Chief Superintendent Penelope Wakefield.
‘Ma’am‚’ Idris said. ‘My apologies.’
Wakefield mumbled something incoherent until she realised who it was and her eyes widened.
‘Zaidi. My office in ten.’
‘Yes‚ ma’am‚’ Idris replied‚ and stood straight to attention‚ noticing the man who was accompanying the Chief. He was dressed in a shoddy old ill-fitting pea coat‚ with a woolly hat pulled down low. Idris acknowledged him with a tight smile. The man stared back at Idris with such intensity it felt as if he was trying to see into his soul.
*
Idris stood in front of the large‚ pine desk. Files and documents were stacked neatly in the corner. The half-eaten remnants of a breakfast bar and a sealed fruit yoghurt sat in a small Tupperware box. A computer whirred breathlessly‚ as if exhausted by the punishment it had to endure. The Chief’s eyes were on him. Idris glanced down at the empty chair next to him‚ waiting to be asked to occupy it. Her phone had the audacity to ring and‚ without taking her eyes off him‚ she answered it before the first ring had faded. She greeted the caller with a stern ‘Not now!’ and the phone was back safely in its cradle. It would be a very long time before that caller tried to ring again.
Idris was not about to play a game of who blinks first.
‘Ma’am?’
Wakefield inhaled through her nose and then expelled air through her mouth. ‘We have shown a great deal of faith in you‚ Zaidi.’
‘Yes‚ ma’am.’
‘You got a first in Law from Queen Mary University.’ It wasn’t a question‚ so he didn’t answer. ‘We saw the potential in you from very early on and we admitted you in the Fast Track Promotion and Development Programme‚ a decision which was not roundly popular amongst your peers‚ especially those senior to you. The Fast Track Programme duration is three years‚’ she squinted at him ‘You completed it in two.’
‘Yes‚ ma’am.’ What else was there to say? Idris wondered why his CV was being regurgitated at him.
‘You were out of uniform‚ sub-heading and then heading teams in a remarkably short space of time. Your record speaks for itself.’
‘Yes‚ ma’am. Thank you‚ ma’am.’ Idris felt like he’d said too much even though he had hardly said anything.
‘With your Law degree you chose to uphold the law rather than stand in a court and pick holes in it.’
Idris chose to say nothing.
‘So‚ my question to you is this: Why did you choose to become a police officer?’
Idris cleared his throat. He knew the answer to this. It wasn’t the first time he’d been asked this very question. In fact‚ he remembered smashing this very question when he’d first been interviewed for the Met.
‘I was attracted to the diversity of the role. Every new day brings a new challenge‚ which I thrive on both mentally and physically. The opportunity to help people make better choices and the opportunity to save lives. Being able to lead a—’
‘Stop. Start again. This time you tell me. I don’t want hear extracts from a handbook.’
Idris swallowed‚ his throat was dry‚ his palms sweaty. His pupils floated to the far right of his eyes as he tried to recall the real reason that made him apply for a life in the force when he had other‚ easier and certainly more lucrative options.
‘My father‚ actually‚’ Idris said‚ smiling at the memory. ‘Yes‚ my father. He would say to me time and time again: Son‚ there is too much violence and evil in this world which we cannot control. But we can control what is happening on our doorstep. It’s funny but I’ve never told anybody that before.’ Idris looked at the Chief for some sign of softness or emotion. There was none. Wakefield’s eyes were steady and steely.
‘We grew up in a bad neighbourhood. My dad wanted to be part of the force but all he could manage was a job as a security guard. A job which he took very seriously. Sometimes to a fault.’ Idris shrugged. ‘And I wanted to emulate that attitude‚ that mentality. One day I’m going to have kids and I want them to grow up in a safe environment‚ which I know is probably just a pipe dream. But I have to try‚ and it’s not just for my children‚ it’s for everyone who cannot protect themselves. I want to protect them as my father protected me. I am sick and tired of the scum that litter our streets.’
Wakefield smashed the palm of her hands on the table. The sound reverberated around the room. The neatly stacked pile of documents shuddered and dislodged‚ the top sheet decided to make a break for it and lazily arced through the air before landing itself in the bin. The shudder also disturbed the mouse and the PC monitor came to life‚ lending a harsh glow to Wakefield’s face.
‘So why is it that you have been seen on many occasions with a known drug dealer?’
There it was.
Jay.
Wakefield calmly tucked a stray hair behind her ear which had become loose during her outburst. A feminine gesture which seemed out of character.
‘What’s happened?’ Idris asked in a low‚ measured tone.
‘Do you know how it would look for you‚ for us‚ if word got out that one of our own has been associating with a drug dealer?’
Without taking her eyes off him‚ Wakefield opened up the top drawer to her right and picked out a brown envelope. She threw it down on the desk.
Idris picked it up and slipped out several photographs printed on 7 x 5 glossy card. There were three photos‚ all taken within a very short period. Minutes.
The first was of Idris and Jay in a Vauxhall Nova‚ Jay’s arm hanging out of the window with a dubious roll-up in his hand. The second appeared to show a third person peering through the driver’s window‚ seemingly in conversation with Jay.
The third photo showed a clear exchange of currency and a small package.
Idris calmly slid the photos back into the envelope and placed it back on the desk.
‘He’s a friend‚’ Idris said quietly and clenched his jaw waiting for the onslaught.
‘You stupid boy. The front page of every bloody tabloid‚ if this gets out. I can see it as clear as day. What do you think is going to happen to you‚ Zaidi? Hmm? Sitting in the bloody car with a criminal whilst a drug deal takes place right under your bloody nose.’
‘With all due respect‚ ma’am‚’ Idris countered. ‘He’s a low level juggler. He only deals to mates. It’s not like we’re looking at him.’ Idris’ eyes fell on the envelope. ‘Why are we looking at him?’
‘We’re not‚’ Wakefield said. A small change in her expression led Idris to believe that she had given away far more than she wanted to.
‘I haven’t done anything wrong‚ ma’am.’
‘You have a bright future ahead of you Zaidi and you are in real danger of jeopardising all that you have worked towards‚ and all the trust we have placed in you… Am I making myself clear‚ Zaidi?
Idris gritted his teeth and held his tongue.
‘I insist that you cut off ties with Javid Qasim.’
‘Ma’am?’
‘You are not to see him again.’
Idris knew how this was going to sound but he said it anyway. ‘He’s my friend.’
‘Make a choice‚ Detective Inspector.’ Wakefield said‚ emphasising his title to hammer home the point.
‘This is bullshit‚’ Idris muttered under his breath‚ purposely loud enough for the Chief to hear. Wakefield let it slide as she replaced the envelope back in the top drawer.
‘Dismissed.’
Idris stood his ground for a moment‚ his blood bubbled and threatened to spill over. He eyed the Chief momentarily before turning on his heel and walking towards the door. He placed his hand on the door handle but didn’t turn it. A question had been burning through his mind as soon as he had seen the photographs. He looked down at his hand and his knuckles had turned white. He released it and turned to face the Chief.
‘Who was that man you were talking to outside?’
‘I said you’re dismissed‚’ Wakefield said‚ her head down‚ avoiding eye contact.
Idris couldn’t let it go. ‘Is this anything to do with him?
This time Wakefield’s head snapped up and her eyes locked into his.
‘Get out of my office‚ now!’
15
Major General Stewart Sinclair sat in Boardroom 3 alongside John Robinson‚ Assistant Director of Counter Terrorism Operations. Boardroom 3 was the smallest boardroom in the Security Service building‚ however it remained a popular choice due to the breathtaking and calming views of the River Thames. On the table in front of them was a printed photo of Javid Qasim. Teddy Lawrence‚ the young officer‚ sat across the desk from them and was on his second exaggerated glance at his watch.
Kingsley Parker walked through the door‚ removed his pea coat and hung it on the back of his chair. As he sat down next to Lawrence‚ his coat slipped to the floor. Lawrence suppressed a smile. A smile which did not go unnoticed. Parker picked up the coat and looked around the room for a coat stand. Unable to locate one he folded the coat and placed it on the chair next to him.
‘Traffic bad‚ Parker?’ Lawrence asked.
Parker ignored him.
‘Right. Let’s get started‚ shall we?’ Sinclair announced. His authoritative manner was such that anything he said sounded like an announcement. Every word enunciated and boomed‚ ensuring that there could be no mistakes as to what had been said or heard. The Major General had previously been in the army and he still used his rank. ‘Parker‚ you attended two meetings‚’ Sinclair looked down at his notes. ‘With our very own Dr Thomas Gladstone and Chief Superintendent Penelope Wakefield of Hounslow Met.’ Sinclair didn’t wait for a response. ‘Would you like to brief us?’
Parker fidgeted slightly in his chair. His woolly jumper had started to itch and he had to make a concerted effort not reach around and scratch his back. He started slowly‚ tripping over words but he eventually found some rhythm as he filled them in. From his peripheral vision he could see the obvious glee emanating from Lawrence.
‘Well‚’ Sinclair said‚ ‘the good doctor‚ as always‚ at his elusive best. He is right‚ though. It is very much a judgement call. What’s your take on it‚ Parker?’
‘The ease in which he can adapt to his environment‚ could see him as an invaluable asset. It wouldn’t take much for him to get noticed by the radicals who attend Sutton Mosque. Already‚ he’s shown his commitment to the community with helping out at the mosque and then the subsequent revenge attack at the car park in Staines. No question‚ news of his action would have been noticed.’
‘And we’ve got him by the balls!’ Lawrence chimed in.
Sinclair looked at Lawrence calmly‚ with an amused look on his face. ‘We’ll come to you in a moment‚ son. Please continue‚ Parker. How did it go with Wakefield? Will she bend?’
‘She isn’t best pleased with our proposition. Given the time frame‚ she feels that she is being rushed into a decision that she doesn’t want to make. They have invested a lot of time and resources targeting the upper-echelon drug dealers. One particular big fish‚ actually.’ Parker reached across to his coat and dug around awkwardly from pocket to pocket and eventually removed a crumpled photograph and placed it on the table next to the photograph of Javid Qasim
‘Who are we looking at?’ Sinclair asked.
‘This is Silas Drakos AKA The Drake AKA The Count. We believe he is responsible for a high percentage of the drugs that flow through West London. He is also believed to be involved in the buying and selling of some very heavy artillery.’
‘Drakos is not our problem.’ Robinson finally broke his silence and a waft of his lunch emanated. ‘Wakefield has to cooperate or we go over her head.’
Parker carefully eyeballed Robinson. Robinson was exactly the kind of guy that Parker hated. The type that he had reported to throughout his career.
‘Wakefield has expressed concern that if they were to pick up Javid Qasim‚ Silas may go to ground.’
Robinson looked at each face around the table. ‘Somebody care to tell me how a bloody drug baron is taking precedence over national security? I don’t care if he’s Pablo bloody Escobar.’ Robinson jabbed a nicotine stained finger on to the crumpled photograph. ‘Silas Drakos is not a priority!’
Silence descended. Parker put his hand on his knee before it started to hammer and counted to ten in his head. He took a breath and in a calm measured voice he said‚ ‘There is a way to appease both—’
‘Appease?’ Robinson shouted‚ as though he and that word had shared some dark history. He stood up and walked over to the water cooler. ‘Let me tell you something‚ gentlemen‚ we are currently watching eight Muslim clerics‚ in London alone‚ who are openly spreading hate and inciting violence. These clerics attract a big audience‚ and make no mistake that audience is growing by the day. It is clear as crystal what their agenda is‚ but can we kick them out? No‚ we bloody can’t. Because our government and our laws and our policies are in place to bloody appease!’
Robinson came back to the table‚ his face had reddened and he was slightly out of breath. He drank his water greedily.
‘Please‚ Parker‚’ Sinclair said‚ ignoring the outburst. ‘You were saying.’
‘We have gathered enough evidence for Javid to be convicted. That evidence falls into the hands of Wakefield. They bring him in and he gives a statement pointing to Silas.’
Sinclair rubbed his chin as he visualised how this would play out.
‘So‚ Silas is arrested and we have Qasim in our pocket‚’ Sinclair clarified. He looked across at Robinson. Robinson hesitantly acquiesced with a gentle nod. ‘Only question now is‚ will Jay play ball? We have him for dealing and assault‚ he’s looking at a short spell inside. Is there a chance that he’ll keep quiet and take the hit?’
Sinclair turned to Lawrence‚ who looked about ready to burst if he didn’t have his say soon. ‘Lawrence‚ anything you would like to add?’
Lawrence sat up straight‚ cleared his throat and held strong eye contact.
‘Yes‚ sir. We have Javid Qasim’s car in our hold. In the boot of his BMW we found a rucksack containing seven thousand pounds in cash and just under a pound of high-potency skunk weed‚ both of which we believe are the property of Silas Drakos. Regardless of who they belong to‚ the possession charge alone is going see Qasim receive a significant sentence. On top of which‚ it’s reasonable to assume that Drakos would not have been happy that his drugs and money have gone missing – and that’s putting it mildly‚ given his violent reputation. For both of these reasons I think Qasim has no choice but to sing.’
Sinclair nodded and his eyes momentarily flitted to Parker.
‘It was the wrong move‚’ Parker said.
‘With all due respect‚ sir‚’ Lawrence continued‚ ‘we have invested a lot of time and manpower scoping Qasim. I saw an opportunity and I took the initiative. And as a result we now have enough on Qasim to mould him as we please. We’d still be watching him now if I hadn’t—’
‘You’ve made your point‚ Lawrence‚’ Sinclair said.
‘Well I think that shows a lot of enterprise‚’ Robinson piped up‚ happy to recognise a kindred spirit. ‘What did you say your name is?’
‘Lawrence‚ sir‚’ he said. ‘Teddy Lawrence.’
*
In the corridor outside‚ Sinclair indicated for Parker to hold back as they watched Robinson and Lawrence walk cosily away.
‘They may as well hold bloody hands‚’ Sinclair said. He turned and faced Parker. ‘It’s done. You don’t have to say it.’
‘Sir?’ Parker said.
‘Lawrence… He’s not your responsibility anymore. I’m going to ensure that he is moved somewhere better suited. His enthusiasm may impress some but moving forward we need discipline and a clear line of command.’ Parker nodded as Sinclair continued. ‘Get Wakefield on board‚ she has no reason to decline. Qasim can give her Drakos on a platter… And listen‚ I think we should have first crack at the boy. This whole Drakos subject is a by-product. Qasim has to agree terms with us first. And then – and only then – can he give a statement pointing at Silas. It has to be in that order.’
‘Yes‚ sir‚’ Parker agreed.
‘Get a couple of our guys to pick him up‚ arrange it so the boys in blue tag along too. But before he sees the inside of that police station… He’s yours.”
‘Mine‚ sir?’
‘I want you to handle him from here onwards‚ Parker.
*
Parker had already decided that he was not going to mention the rucksack or the BMW to Qasim. If he was going to have a relationship with him‚ it was imperative that it was built on trust. Revealing that they had his car and gear would be the wrong move. He was Qasim’s handler; he would handle him how he saw fit.
Parker needed to freshen up. He walked into the toilet and looked into the mirror. His tired eyes stared back at him. He reached up to his face and touched the pound-coin-shaped gap in his stubble‚ the result of alopecia brought on by stress. The cubicle door opened and Lawrence walked out. Parker dropped his hand from his face. They stood next to each other as Lawrence washed his hands.
‘No hard feelings‚ eh?’ Lawrence said‚ through the mirror. ‘I did what I had to do.’
Parker rolled and cracked his shoulders and turned on the tap.
‘You have to admit. Taking his car was the icing on the cake.’
‘You went against my order‚’ Parker said quietly as he slowly rolled up his sleeves.
‘Not really. You weren’t exactly giving out any orders to go against.’
‘Rule number one. Follow orders‚’ Parker said‚ as if rolling out an age-old mantra.
Lawrence noisily squirted soap onto his hands.
‘Still a bit sore about what happened in the meeting?’ Lawrence asked‚ smiling arrogantly. He turned off the tap and shook his hands dry‚ droplets of water splashing Parker. ‘What happened to you? Huh? Where’s this Chalk I keep hearing about? No offense‚ but you walk around looking like you don’t know what day it is.’
The speed and ferocity with which Parker gripped his right ear dropped Lawrence to one knee. The soft flesh burned and threatened to tear within Parker’s large hand. Lawrence‚ his face scrunched in pain‚ used both hands to try to pry away Parker’s grip from his ear. When that failed‚ Lawrence punched him with all the power he could muster in the ribs. From his position on one knee he had the perfect angle to cause some damage. Two punches in quick succession‚ hard and fast. Parker’s body didn’t react‚ and his grip didn’t waver. Instead it tightened and he viciously twisted Lawrence’s ear so it was almost positioned upside down.
‘Okay‚’ Lawrence screamed. ‘Fucking okay!’ Then quietly he hissed‚ ‘Please.’
Parker released his ear just as quickly as he had grabbed it. He turned to the sink and calmly washed his face. He dried off using the paper towels and walked out of the toilet without giving Lawrence a second look.
16
The minicab pulled up outside our house‚ or‚ I should say‚ my house‚ about mid-morning. I started to lug Mum’s suitcases into the boot as she rushed around the house‚ room to room‚ saying goodbye to all the furniture and all the things she held dear. I slammed the boot shut and the cabbie gave me a deathly stare. I put up an apologetic hand to him‚ just as Idris walked around the corner.
