trying to destroy it. It’s up to us to help stop them.’
‘I get that. I’m not stupid.’
‘No one’s saying you’re stupid, but you sound like you’re losing focus. We have to be committed to this. If we aren’t you know what could happen?’ Malik didn’t say anything. He looked away, unwilling to meet Chaudhry’s piercing gaze. ‘How will you feel, Harvey, if you do bail out and a few weeks down the line something bad happens and a lot of people die? How are you going to feel then, knowing that you could have stopped it?’
Malik shrugged. ‘Okay.’
‘Okay what?’
‘I hear you.’ He nodded. ‘I’m just pissed off at all the waiting. It’s doing my head in. Why won’t Khalid just tell us what we’re going to do?’
‘Maybe he doesn’t know himself. Maybe he’s taking orders from someone else. All we can do is wait. As for John, he wants to help. He’s not doing this to piss us around. It’s to keep us sharp.’
Malik threw his hands in the air. ‘Okay, fine, let’s do it.’ He stood up. ‘But how the hell do we get to Paddington?’
‘Tube.’
‘That’ll take for ever,’ said Malik, picking up his jacket. ‘Can’t we get a minicab?’
Chaudhry frowned. ‘I hadn’t thought of that. I guess so.’
‘Let’s do that, then. And John can reimburse us.’ He grinned. ‘You know what? We should just get the cab to take us to Reading. See if they can follow us. That’d serve them right.’
‘Yeah, okay. All John said was that we should go to Paddington,’ said Chaudhry. ‘I don’t see why we can’t get a cab to the station. But on the way we keep our eyes open because he’s going to ask us if we saw anyone following us.’ He stood up. ‘It’ll be fun,’ he said, punching his friend lightly on the shoulder.
They put on their coats, left the flat and walked along to Stoke Newington High Street. There was a minicab office in a side road, marked by a flashing yellow light above the door. Like most of the businesses it was run by Turks though the drivers were a smorgasbord of London’s ethnic communities — Nigerian, Indian, Iranian, Polish, Somalian — and there was barely a country not represented on the company’s roster.
The driver who took Chaudhry and Malik was an Iraqi who treated his ten-year-old manual Toyota as if it was an automatic, doing most of the journey in second gear. They chugged along at low speeds, the engine screaming whenever they went above thirty-five miles per hour. The car stank of garlic and stale vomit despite a Christmas tree-shaped air freshener hanging from the driving mirror. Arab music was blaring from the stereo and the driver was constantly drumming his fingers on the steering wheel in time to the beat.
Malik twisted round in his seat as they headed west.
‘Can you see anyone?’ asked Chaudhry.
‘There’s a woman in a hatchback who’s been behind us for a while.’
‘Where?’ said Chaudhry.
‘Behind the van,’ said Malik. ‘The grey one.’
Chaudhry saw the Volvo and he laughed. ‘There’s a kid in the back seat,’ he said.
‘So?’
‘So no one takes a kid on a surveillance job,’ said Chaudhry. He slapped Malik on the leg. ‘There’ll probably be two people in the car, both adults, and the car will be new or fairly new. A saloon, not an estate or a sports car or anything out of the ordinary. Maybe a van.’
‘And you know this how?’
‘I read,’ said Chaudhry.
‘Read what?’
‘Books. It doesn’t matter.’
‘Fiction,’ said Malik. ‘You’re talking about those Andy McNab books you’re always reading.’
‘He was in the SAS,’ said Chaudhry. ‘He knows his stuff.’
The minicab lurched to the side to avoid a bus that had stopped suddenly and the driver screamed abuse in Arabic. ‘Fucking buses,’ he said over his shoulder. ‘You see that? You see that bastard?’
‘Yeah, we saw him,’ said Chaudhry.
‘Bet he doesn’t have a licence. You know how many drivers don’t have licences in London?’
Chaudhry ignored him and looked over his shoulder again. There was a motorcycle courier about twenty feet behind their minicab. He had a tinted visor and a fluorescent vest and Chaudhry frowned as he tried to remember whether he’d seen the same man in Stoke Newington. Then the bike indicated left and turned into a side street.
‘I think we’re okay,’ said Malik. ‘He would have thought we’d be going by tube so he probably just had a couple of people waiting for us on the pavement. I reckon they were fuming when we got into the cab. Serves John right, playing games like this. And don’t forget the receipt. He’s bloody well going to cover our expenses.’
Chaudhry thought Malik was probably right: the traffic was heavy and he couldn’t see how a car could be following them, especially considering how erratic their driver was.
When the cab dropped them at the station entrance Chaudhry paid the driver and took a receipt, then stood on the pavement looking around.
‘What?’ said Malik.
‘Just checking,’ said Chaudhry. A minibus pulled up and five teenagers in sports gear piled out.
‘It’s pointless,’ said Malik. ‘He knows we’re coming here so he’s bound to have people waiting for us. Whatever we do they’re going to see us. They’re probably looking at us right now.’
They looked towards the platforms. A man in a grey suit walked by, talking into a mobile and pulling a small wheeled suitcase. Two uniformed drivers were heading for the exit, deep in conversation. Two teenage girls in school uniforms were giggling as they shared an iPod, one earpiece each. A blond-haired young man with a large rucksack was studying a map. He looked up and made eye contact with Chaudhry, then he smiled and walked over to him.
‘Bayswater?’ he said. ‘You know Bayswater?’ He had a Scandinavian accent and Chaudhry could smell alcohol on his breath.
Chaudhry pointed in the general direction of Bayswater and the young man thanked him and headed off, folding up his map.
‘Do you think he was one of them?’ asked Malik.
‘They wouldn’t talk to us,’ said Chaudhry. ‘Look, all we can do is go to Reading and tell John who we saw. It’s not as if we can shake them off, even if we spot them. Come on.’
They went over to the ticket machines and Chaudhry used his credit card to buy two return tickets to Reading. The next train was due to leave in ten minutes so they walked to the platform, boarded the train and found two window seats with a table between them.
There were already a dozen or so people in the carriage and a few more arrived before the train departed. Malik looked around, frowning.
‘Could you make it more obvious?’ asked Chaudhry, taking a Galaxy tablet from his pocket. He had stored several textbooks on the computer and he figured he’d get some revision done while on the train.
‘What do you mean?’
‘You’re staring.’
‘I’m trying to see who might be following us.’
‘So you don’t have to stare. They’ll be with us all the way to Reading if they are following us. And don’t forget that they know where we’re going; they’ll probably be waiting for us in Reading anyway. Why don’t you make yourself useful and get us something to eat?’ He pointed towards the front of the train. ‘There’s a restaurant car down there. And get me a Coke or something.’
‘John’ll pay us back, right?’
Chaudhry grinned. ‘Get a receipt.’
As Malik headed out of the carriage, Chaudhry looked around. There were two suited businessmen working on laptops at one table, and an old couple sharing a bag of crisps directly behind them. Sitting at the rear of the carriage was a grey-haired man wearing dark glasses, which Chaudhry initially thought looked suspicious until he saw the seeing-eye dog, a golden retriever, sitting under the man’s table.
He settled back in his seat and started reading an anatomy textbook.
