Soft Target

Would there be chocolate in heaven? Yes. All his needs would be taken care of. Malik hadn’t seen his mother and father since he returned to England, but when it was over and the media reported what had happened, they would realise where he had been and what he had done. Whether or not they understood why he had given his life for the jihad, they would know that he had earned them a place in heaven and they would thank him for all eternity.

Malik felt a tug at his coat and he flinched. Then he saw it was a little girl of five or six and smiled. Blonde curly hair, blue eyes, wearing a grey overcoat with toggles and bright pink wellington boots. ‘Can I have some?’ she asked.

‘Go away, little girl,’ he whispered.

‘I want some chocolate.’

‘Didn’t your mother tell you not to talk to strangers?’

The child nodded solemnly.

‘Well, go away.’

‘I just want some chocolate.’

A young woman rushed up to him. Her hair was the same colour as the child’s and she had the same big blue eyes. She grabbed the child’s hand. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said.

‘She wanted some chocolate,’ said Malik. ‘Is it okay if I give her a piece?’

‘I don’t like her to eat chocolate,’ she said. ‘It’s bad for her teeth.’ She looked down at her daughter. ‘What have I told you about bothering people?’

‘Really, it’s no bother,’ said Malik.

The woman’s brow creased as she looked at Malik. ‘Are you all right?’ she asked.

‘What do you mean?’

‘You look hot. Like you might be ill. I have a flu powder, the sort you can take without water.’ She fumbled in her handbag.

‘I’m not sick, but thank you,’ said Malik. ‘It’s the air down here. It’s always so stuffy.’

‘I know what you mean,’ she said. ‘I hate it but it’s the easiest way to travel around, especially when you have children. So much safer than the roads.’

‘Yes,’ said Malik, quietly. ‘So much safer.’

He felt a breeze on his cheek, heralding the arrival of the train. The lines vibrated and then he heard the train powering through the tunnel. Several passengers moved back but most stayed close to the edge, not wanting to lose their place. The little girl reached up for her mother’s hand and Malik felt a surge of relief that they were getting on to the train.

‘No, pet, it’s too crowded,’ said the woman. ‘Let’s wait for the next one.’ She smiled at Malik. ‘We’re going to see my parents. It’s my father’s birthday.’ Malik saw she had a prettily wrapped package in a carrier-bag, tied with a gold bow.

The train roared into the station and its brakes squealed. Malik kept his back to the wall as the door opened and passengers flooded out. Many stayed on, though, heading south to Waterloo, and the train was still too full for those on the platform to get on. Some tried, but the carriages were filled to capacity. Malik looked up at the electronic display. Five minutes until the next train.

The little girl waved at Malik but he turned his back on her and walked away,holding the chocolate. He passed two Canadians, their rucksacks emblazoned with red and white maple-leaf logos. They were holding hands and whispering to each other. An Indian woman was sitting with three young children, her arms around them protectively. She smiled at him and looked into his eyes. For a second Malik felt as if she could see right into his mind. He averted his eyes and hurried past.

He could barely breathe. His way was blocked by a group of students standing guard over a line of suitcases. They were talking excitedly in Italian. Malik tried to get through them, apologising. One, a teenage boy, put his hand on Malik’s back. Malik twisted away. More passengers were pushing their way on to the platform. Malik saw a gap by the wall and moved into it. There were hundreds of people on the platform with more arriving all the time, parents with children, businessmen carrying briefcases, couples holding hands.

He couldn’t see the little blonde girl now, but he knew she was there, and that she was still holding her mother’s hand. Malik’s mind was racing. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. They were the enemy. The infidel. They weren’t people – they were targets. But now he couldn’t stop seeing them as people. Men, women and children who would soon be lying broken and bleeding on the platform. Dead and dying. Those still alive crying out for their loved ones. Begging their gods to save them.

Malik’s hands were soaked with sweat and he wiped them on his raincoat. He felt the bulky packages of explosive. Three Arab women moved down the platform, clothed from head to foot in the traditional black jibab, only their eyes visible. They were all carrying bulging Marks & Spencer carrier-bags. Malik stared at them in horror. Muslim women. He looked around frantically. There were two Pakistani women to his left. It wasn’t how he’d pictured it when he’d lain on his back in the graveyard. In his dreams he’d been surrounded by men when he’d pressed the button. Evil men, who hated Islam and everything it stood for, who murdered innocent Muslims, slaughtered women and children. But as Malik stood on the station platform he realised that he was the one who’d be killing innocents. He would be as bad as the infidels he hated. And how could he live in heaven for eternity knowing he had earned his place with Allah by killing women and children? The three Muslim women stopped next to Malik. He rubbed a hand over his face. This wasn’t right, he thought. What he was doing wasn’t right.

The ARV pulled up in front of Victoria station. BTP officers had drawn up a cordon and were preventing passengers entering the station. A manager was using a megaphone to tell the crowds that the station was closed until further notice. Rose radioed in that they had arrived. They were told to wait for further instructions.

‘What’s the story?’ Rose asked the controller.

‘When we know, you’ll know,’ said the controller. ‘All we’re being told is that it’s a possible Operation Rolvenden.’

‘If it’s those Fathers for Children nutters again, I’ll shoot them myself this time,’ said Sutherland.

Suddenly Rose saw a man running at full pelt towards the station. He frowned. It was Stu Marsden.

‘What’s he doing?’ asked Sutherland.

‘Who is it?’ asked Bamber.

‘Stu, our observer,’ said Sutherland. ‘He’s on attachment with BTP today. Undercover.’

Rose climbed out of the ARV. ‘I’ll have a word with him,’ said Rose. ‘Maybe he knows what’s going on.’

Shepherd saw the crowds at Victoria station long before he reached the tube entrance. He forced his way through, holding up his warrant card and identifying himself as a policeman. There was a uniformed BTP officer at the entrance. He checked Shepherd’s ID and waved him through.

Shepherd headed for the turnstiles. A tube employee in a blue uniform and peaked cap opened a gate to let him through. He ran for the escalator. Three tube lines operated through the station: the District, Circle and Victoria lines. As he reached the top, he heard the sound of boots behind him. Shepherd looked over his shoulder. It was Rose. ‘What’s up, Sarge?’ he asked.

‘I was going to ask you the same,’ said Rose.

The two men stood looking at each other. Rose’s hand moved towards the butt of his Glock. ‘You’re going to take me down, aren’t you?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You know what I mean. Don’t fucking lie to me. You’re an undercover cop.’

Shepherd looked at Rose for several seconds without saying anything. Then he nodded.

Rose screwed up his face. ‘Shit.’

‘It’s my job,’ said Shepherd. ‘It’s what I do.’

‘You’re a cop investigating cops,’ said Rose bitterly. ‘Scum of the earth.’

‘You’re the first police officer I’ve ever gone up against,’ said Shepherd, ‘and I’m as happy about it as you are.’

‘I goddamned liked you, Stu,’ he said fiercely. ‘I thought you were my friend.’

Shepherd didn’t know what to say.

‘You know why I did it.’

‘Sure. Your daughter.’