False Friends (22 page)

‘Khalid wants to see us,’ Chaudhry said. ‘At the Aziziye.’

‘The mosque?’

‘The restaurant. Get ready.’

‘I hope he’s paying.’

‘If he doesn’t you can ask him for the receipt and get MI5 to pay.’ Chaudhry could see from the look on Malik’s face that he thought he was serious. ‘Don’t you bloody dare,’ laughed Chaudhry.

Twenty-five minutes later they were removing their shoes at the entrance to the restaurant. Khalid was inside, talking to a waiter. Standing with Khalid were two young Asians. Chaudhry recognised them from the mosque, though he had never spoken to them.

The waiter, dressed in a black shirt and black trousers, headed over to a stack of menus as Khalid turned and saw Chaudhry and Malik. He walked towards them and kissed them on both cheeks. He was wearing a blue and white striped dishdash and a white skul cap, holding a chain of wooden prayer beads, and smel ed of garlic and cheap cologne. He waved over his two companions. ‘This is Lateef and Faisal,’ said Khalid.

‘It’s an honour, brother,’ said Lateef, shaking hands with Chaudhry then pul ing him close into a hug. He patted him on the back with his left hand.

‘A real honour.’ He was an inch or two tal er than Chaudhry with the looks of a Bol ywood leading man; his hair was gel ed and slicked back.

Faisal was short and stocky with darker skin and cheeks mottled with old acne scars. He stepped forward and hugged Malik. ‘Salaam, brother,’

he said.

The waiter returned with the menus and took them along to their cubicle. Most diners in the restaurant ate in smal cubicles, divided up with chest-high partitions. They varied in size from smal ones that accommodated just two people to family cubicles where more than a dozen could eat in comfort, sprawled on red patterned cushions around low tables.

The waiter held open the door of the cubicle and one by one they filed in and flopped down on the cushions. Khalid sat down at the head of the table. There was an LCD TV screen behind him showing advertisements for the restaurant. Khalid pointed at the TV and nodded at the waiter. The waiter switched it off and handed out menus. Khalid waved the menus away and ordered for them al .

Unlike many of the Turkish-run Muslim restaurants in the area, the Aziziye Halal didn’t serve alcohol. The waiter brought a tray of fruit juices and water, and then disappeared to the kitchen. Khalid poured water into glasses for each of the men.

‘So, Lateef and Faisal wil soon be fol owing the glorious path that you both trod,’ said Khalid. ‘I thought it might be a good idea for you to tel them what they can expect.’

‘Was it amazing, brother? Being with the mujahideen?’ asked Lateef.

‘They were not with the mujahideen,’ said Khalid. ‘They are mujahideen. That is what happens over there. You go as men who want to take part in jihad but you return as Islamic warriors, as mujahideen.’

‘The training, was it hard?’ asked Faisal.

‘It has to be hard,’ said Malik. ‘You don’t know how weak you are until they get to work on you.’ He sipped his water. ‘I can play five-a-side al evening and never break a sweat,’ he said. ‘But after half an hour of physical training in the desert I thought I was going to die. We did obstacle courses and route marches; we walked in the hottest part of the day and we walked through the night. We ran, we crawled, we hid in trenches for hours. They teach you discipline like you wouldn’t believe. I lost about five kilos while I was there.’

Chaudhry nodded in agreement. ‘It opens your eyes to what they go through every day,’ he said. ‘Here we’re soft and weak, and without training you wouldn’t last a day out there.’

‘And they teach you to fire guns and stuff?’ asked Faisal.

‘Not just to fire them,’ said Chaudhry. ‘They show you how to strip and clean weapons, how to fix them, how to store them.’

‘AK-47s, right?’ said Lateef.

‘Al sorts,’ said Chaudhry. ‘The AK-47 is the workhorse but they taught us about the Uzi and the guns that the Americans use – the M4 carbine and the M9 pistol.’

‘They make you strip and reassemble them blindfolded,’ said Malik. ‘You think you’l never get the hang of it but eventual y you do.’

‘And what’s it like, firing an AK-47?’ asked Lateef.

‘It’s louder than you expect, and you smel the gunpowder for hours afterwards,’ said Chaudhry. ‘It doesn’t kick as much as you’d think.’

‘But the Uzi kicks,’ said Malik. ‘The Uzi kicks like a living thing. It’s like trying to hold on to a struggling cat.’

A man with a long beard moved by their cubicle, fol owed by two women covered from head to foot in black burkas, their eyes shielded behind black mesh. There was no way of knowing whether they were his wives, his sisters or his elderly aunts.

The men fel silent until the new arrivals had made their way to their cubicle and seated themselves.

‘Did you shoot anyone while you were out there?’ asked Lateef.

‘Brothers, this was a training camp,’ said Khalid softly. ‘You go to train to be mujahideen, not to fight. You are too valuable to risk in a desert gunfight.’

Lateef lowered his voice. ‘We heard that sometimes they kil prisoners in the camps. For practice. Is that true?’

‘I have heard that,’ said Chaudhry. ‘But it did not happen while we were there.’

‘Did you fire missiles, the sort that can bring down helicopters and planes?’

‘We didn’t fire them ourselves but we saw one being fired and we know what to do,’ said Chaudhry.

‘That must have been awesome,’ said Faisal. He looked over at Khalid. ‘They should give us surface-to-air missiles here,’ he said. ‘Can you imagine what we could do? You can see the planes landing at Heathrow from miles away.’ He mimed firing a SAM missile launcher and made a whooshing noise.

Khalid was about to admonish him when the cubicle door opened and the waiter appeared with their food. He knelt down and put dishes on the table: stuffed vine leaves, filo pastry stuffed with feta cheese, fried meatbal s served with chopped onions, salad and naan bread. When the waiter had left, Khalid leaned forward. ‘It is not about the weapons, brothers. Weapons are only the means to an end. Becoming a mujahideen is an attitude of mind. That is why you go to Pakistan. You go to become focused so that you can best serve Al ah. A true mujahideen doesn’t need a rocket or a gun to kil the infidel. But he needs the mental toughness to commit himself.’

‘They toughen you up over there, that’s for sure,’ said Chaudhry. ‘They explain a lot too. You think you know everything about what it means to be a Muslim, but until you’ve seen what they go through . . .’ He shrugged. ‘Our lives here are so easy. We forget that our brothers are being slain al over the world.’

Faisal and Lateef nodded enthusiastical y.

‘What else did you learn, brothers?’ asked Faisal.

‘They taught us how to resist interrogation,’ said Malik.

‘What do they do?’ asked Lateef. ‘Do they torture you?’

‘They rough you up a bit, but it’s more psychological intimidation,’ said Malik.

‘Did they waterboard you?’ asked Faisal.

Malik laughed. ‘No, they didn’t. It was more about showing you the tricks that the interrogators would use.’

‘Anyway, brothers, we’re in England,’ said Khalid. ‘If ever you are arrested by the police you say nothing other than that you want a lawyer. That’s al you say. The British police are not al owed to hurt you or trick you or use any pressure at al . And once you ask for a lawyer they can’t ask you any more questions until the lawyer arrives.’ He sniggered. ‘The British are their own worst enemy.’

‘And bombs, did you learn about bombs?’ asked Lateef.

Malik nodded. ‘We spent a week being taught about explosives and IEDs,’ he said. ‘They showed us how to make explosives from raw materials, how to make detonators and timers – everything. From smal bombs you can put in a can of Coke right up to car bombs that can take out a whole building.’

‘Awesome,’ said Faisal.

‘When are you guys going?’ asked Chaudhry.

‘Next week,’ said Faisal. ‘Wednesday.’

‘Both of you?’

The two men nodded. ‘We’re going to a wedding,’ said Lateef, making quote-mark gestures around ‘wedding’.

‘How long?’ asked Chaudhry.

‘Three months, maybe longer.’

‘Excel ent,’ said Chaudhry. ‘You won’t regret it.’ He looked over at Khalid. ‘Are they going to the same camp we went to?’

Khalid shook his head. ‘A new one,’ he said. ‘Closer to the border.’ He waved at the food. ‘Let us eat while we talk, brothers. One thing I can tel you is that the food over there wil not be as good as this, so enjoy it while you can.’

Sharpe was standing at the bar, halfway through a pint of lager, when Shepherd walked in. He raised his glass in salute and ordered a Jameson’s and soda from the blonde Polish barmaid. As soon as his drink arrived Shepherd took Sharpe over to a corner table, where they wouldn’t be overheard.

‘Charlie just stitched me up,’ said Shepherd as they sat down.

‘In what way?’

‘She told Hargrove that Five is going to be running Operation Excalibur.’

Sharpe’s eyebrows shot up. ‘I bet he was wel pleased to hear that.’

‘Wel , not running it, exactly. But I’m supposed to be fil ing her in on everything that happens. And she made a few suggestions as to how he should be handling things.’ He held up his hand. ‘And this is strictly between you and me. She made it clear that she doesn’t want you to know.’

‘What?’

‘She said that only Hargrove and I were to know what’s going on. Hargrove briefs me and I pass the intel on to her.’

‘So why are you tel ing me if she specifical y told you not to?’

Shepherd grinned. ‘Because she was playing sil y buggers. She said that she’d rather you didn’t know, which as far as I’m concerned isn’t a direct order. If she ever finds out we had this conversation I’l just say that I misunderstood. Besides, what’s she going to do, sack me?’

‘Doubtful,’ said Sharpe. ‘Who else is going to get her tea whenever she wants it?’

‘Screw you,’ said Shepherd. ‘I wanted to fil you in because you need to know that anything you come up with from now on is going to be fed straight to Five.’

‘I appreciate the heads-up,’ said Sharpe. He sipped his lager. ‘So you’re now her man on the inside?’

Shepherd nodded. ‘I can’t believe she did that to me, Razor. How’s Hargrove going to trust me now? Why should he trust me? He knows that I’m going to be tel ing Button about every move he makes. And if he makes a mistake I’l be the one dropping him in it.’

‘He won’t be making any mistakes,’ said Sharpe. ‘He knows what he’s doing.’

‘That’s not the point,’ said Shepherd. ‘The point is that at one fel swoop she’s pretty much trashed my relationship with Hargrove. He says it’s okay, but he would say that.’

Sharpe chuckled. ‘Maybe that’s what she wanted.’

‘What?’

‘Maybe she got the hump because Hargrove wanted you on his team. He goes above her head to get you seconded to COG; she thinks that he’s trying to steal you back so she plays her own little game to make Hargrove think that you’re now her puppy dog.’

‘Piss off, Razor.’

‘Hey, don’t shoot the messenger,’ said Sharpe. ‘Button’s as smart as they come, you know that. She’s going to protect her turf.’

‘I’m not her turf,’ said Shepherd.

‘Yeah, you’re more her bitch than her turf.’

‘Now you’re real y starting to piss me off.’

‘You work for her. You moved with her from SOCA to Five; you’re part of her team. She sees Hargrove as a threat and Charlotte Button isn’t a woman you can threaten.’

‘Hel ’s bel s, Razor. Hargrove wanted me because he knows I can do the arms-dealer thing. He knows I’ve no interest in moving back to the Met.’

‘Yeah, wel , maybe he’s sort of hoping that you might.’

Shepherd’s eyes narrowed. ‘Did he say something?’

Sharpe shook his head. ‘Not in so many words.’

‘What words, then? Come on, Razor, spit it out.’

Sharpe sipped his lager slowly, then put his glass down before answering. ‘Okay, he said it would be good to get the old team back together. He reckons that the pendulum is going to start swinging the other way and that we’re going to be given the go-ahead to start taking down the big guys.’

‘So what are you saying? He asked for me so that he could persuade me to leave Five?’

‘There you go, putting words into my mouth. No, of course he didn’t come straight out and say that. But he definitely wanted you on this operation.’

Shepherd sighed. ‘Why are people so bloody devious?’ he muttered. ‘Aren’t we supposed to be on the same side?’

‘If Hargrove does want you in COG he can’t come out and ask you, can he?’

‘Why not?’

‘Because then Button wil accuse him of poaching her staff. He’s got to wait for you to ask him and this could be a way of him testing the water.’

He sipped his lager. ‘Have you thought about it? Coming back to the cops?’

Shepherd snorted dismissively. ‘And know that every move I made was being second-guessed by box-tickers and accountants? And everything I did could be splashed across the newspapers at any point? I don’t know why anyone would be a cop these days. Wouldn’t want to be in SOCA again either.’

‘Like I said, Hargrove says it’s going to change.’

‘Yeah, wel , it’s not up to him, is it? But it’s not just the job, it’s the attitude. If a cop makes a mistake he gets hung out to dry. If you’re in CO19 and you fire your weapon you’re on automatic suspension until the shooting is investigated. And effectively you’re guilty until proven innocent. You make a decision in the heat of the moment because you think it’s the right thing to do, but you’re then judged by pricks who never leave their offices unless it’s to get into the back of a chauffeur-driven car. Five is total y different, Razor. Everything I do is covered by the Official Secrets Act. No newspaper is going to splash my picture across the front page; no MP is going to cal for my head because he wants to appease his constituents. Five looks after its own.’

‘Hargrove always had our backs,’ said Sharpe.

Shepherd nodded. ‘Yeah, he’s old school. But he’s just one brick in the wal . Say this operation goes tits up. Say we end up putting a round in one of those guys. Do you think Hargrove wil be able to protect us?’