‘We had to know how to use weapons and explosives.’
‘But why did you want such training?’ pressed Salih.
‘To fight for Islam,’ said Mazur.
‘But you’re British,’ said Salih.
‘We’re Muslims first,’said Tariq,‘Pakistanis second,British third. If we don’t stand and fight as Muslims, the infidels will crush us.’ His eyes were burning with the intensity of a zealot.
‘What started you on this journey?’he asked. ‘Nine Eleven?’
Mazur nodded, but Tariq shook his head. ‘I realised long ago that Muslims were in danger of being exterminated from the face of the earth,’ he said. ‘Look at what happened in Kosovo, in Palestine, in Chechnya. When I was a kid Abu Hamza came to our mosque to give a talk and collect funds. I had never heard a man who spoke like him. Afterwards he said he recognised something in me and that when I was ready I should seek him out at the Finsbury Park mosque. As soon as I was old enough I went to see him and that was when I learnt about
‘It was Nine Eleven that changed me,’ said Mazur. ‘It was the way the Americans reacted. The Saudis flew the planes into the World Trade Center, but the Americans were too cowardly to attack them. Instead they attacked the Muslims in Afghanistan and then in Iraq. What did Afghanistan have to do with the attacks on the World Trade Center? Nothing. And the Iraqis? Saddam Hussein hated al-Qaeda. Hated bin Laden.’
‘It’s true,’ agreed Tariq. ‘And then what did the Americans do? They picked up Muslims around the world and took them to Cuba to interrogate and torture them. The Americans are on a crusade, a crusade to destroy all Muslims. We have to defend ourselves, we have to meet violence with violence.’ Tariq had a movie-star smile, but there was no doubting his sincerity.
Salih understood why the two men had become such hard-line fundamentalists. It had all been part of al- Qaeda’s grand plan. Until the moment that the four planes had been hijacked in the United States, most Western countries had given little thought to the Muslim populations in their midst. Muslims and Christians were getting on just fine, but Islamic fundamentalists knew that peaceful coexistence was a threat to their religion. Religions spread best when fired by fundamentalism, and fundamentalists need someone to struggle against. It was the backlash after Nine Eleven that had fired Muslims like Tariq and Mazur and thousands more like them. The man with the beard and the Kalashnikov had known exactly what he was doing when he attacked the World Trade Center and the Pentagon. He had no interest in the men, women and children who had died. Neither did he care about the damage to the buildings. What he wanted was for the West to lash out at Muslims, and he had succeeded. The West had gone to war with Afghanistan and Iraq, and Muslims round the world had united to rise up in protest.
Salih had watched the second airliner smash into the World Trade Center live on CNN as he sat in a hotel room in Zurich. He had been paid a quarter of a million dollars to kill an Iraqi biochemist who was planning to defect to America with details of Saddam Hussein’s biological-warfare programme. Salih had watched the towers collapse and had realised then that the world had changed for ever – and changed for the worse.
Salih was a Muslim but he wasn’t a fundamentalist. He hated the Israelis but he hated them because of what they had done to his country, not because of their religion. Salih killed for money, not for his beliefs. He did it coldly and dispassionately. But men like Tariq and Mazur would kill because they were angry and because they hated non-Muslims. And because they believed that if they died for Allah, they would go to Heaven. That was what made them so dangerous.
Salih sipped his coffee. ‘I need your total obedience,’ he said. ‘Whatever I ask you to do, you must do without question.’
Mazur and Tariq looked at each other, then nodded. ‘Hakeem said we can trust you,’ said Tariq.
‘It’s not about trust,’ said Salih. ‘It’s about obedience. If I do not have that, we should part company now.’
‘We shall obey you,’ said Mazur. ‘Whatever you ask, we shall do.’
Salih stared at them for several seconds, then he nodded slowly. ‘There is a girl that has to die,’ he said quietly. ‘She betrayed two of our men in Pakistan, and because of that one of the men is dead and another is being held by the Americans.’
‘Bitch,’ said Tariq, venomously.
‘She has to be killed, and she has to be killed with violence,’ said Salih. ‘Are you prepared to do that?’
Mazur swallowed nervously. ‘I am,’ he said, his voice a hoarse croak.
Tariq nodded enthusiastically. ‘I am too,’ he said.
‘There is one more thing,’ said Salih.
Mazur and Tariq leant forward, eager to hear more.
Shepherd woke up just after eight. He shaved, showered, pulled on a pair of jeans and a polo shirt, then went downstairs. He cooked himself eggs and bacon, made a cup of coffee and read the
He washed up, then looked out of the sitting-room window. Elaine’s driveway was empty. He sat down to watch daytime television with the sound low so that he would hear her return. At just after midday he made himself another cup of coffee and gazed out of the sitting-room window as he drank it. The driveway was still empty. When he’d finished his coffee he washed his mug, then paced round the kitchen. He hated doing nothing. At least if he was penetrating a criminal gang he could hang out with villains. He felt like a dog that had been locked in the house while his master was at work and could see why it might chew the furniture.
He’d taken a risk in searching Elaine’s house, and he’d only gone through the rooms on the ground floor before he’d called it quits. But he knew, too, that the only way to find out whether or not she had a gun was to be proactive. He opened the front door. There wasn’t a car or a pedestrian in sight. Everyone was either at work or in front of the television. Shepherd closed the door behind him and went to Elaine’s front door. He pressed the bell and heard it buzz in the hallway. He pressed it again, for longer this time, but there was no response. Her car wasn’t in the driveway but the garage door was down. Perhaps it was inside.
He stood back. All the curtains were drawn at the upstairs windows. He took the keys out of his pocket and inserted the first in the lock. As he turned it he heard a car driving up the road. He pulled out the key, palmed it, pressed the doorbell and took a pace back. He heard the car slow and pressed the bell again.
A horn beeped twice and he looked over his shoulder. It was Elaine in her white VW Golf. He waved with his left hand as he slipped the key into his back pocket. His heart was pounding. If she’d been a minute later she’d have caught him red-handed and the whole operation would have been blown.
She pulled up in the driveway and climbed out of the Golf. ‘Hi, Jamie, what’s up?’ she called.
‘You’ll never guess what happened,’ he said. ‘I’ve got your phone and your purse.’
‘You have not,’ she said.
‘A couple of cops came round this morning. They stopped a car and the guys in it did a runner, but they left behind half a dozen stolen mobile phones, your purse and my wallet.’
‘I don’t believe it,’ she said.
‘Sometimes you get lucky,’ said Shepherd. ‘Put the kettle on and I’ll bring your stuff round.’
Tariq looked down at the girl. She had been bound and gagged with strips of insulation tape. ‘She’s awake,’ he said. ‘She’s pretending to be unconscious.’
Salih walked over and stood next to him. He kicked the girl’s side and her eyes opened. She stared up at the two men in horror. ‘Good,’ said Salih. ‘We can begin.’
Mazur was sitting on the sofa, drinking a can of orange Fanta. ‘Why don’t we wear masks?’ he asked.
‘Because the people in Pakistan who want this done want it done by Muslims,’ said Salih. ‘Don’t worry, once I’ve shown them the picture I’ll delete it.’
‘It’s okay, Mazur,’ said Tariq. ‘If it wasn’t okay, Hakeem wouldn’t have asked us to do this.’
Mazur drained his can and dropped it into a black plastic bag. He stood up. ‘I’m ready,’ he said.
The girl was lying on a large sheet of clear plastic. There would be blood. A lot of blood. Salih had rented the serviced apartment for a month. It was close to Paddington station and its two main attractions were that it had a varnished hardwood floor and that it could be accessed from a lift in the underground car park.
Salih picked up his mobile phone. ‘You know what you have to do,’ he said. ‘Untie her, but keep the gag in
