False Friends (42 page)

‘Yeah, coffee’d be good,’ said Malik. He locked the door. ‘Has John cal ed?’

‘A while back. He said he’d cal again once they’d fol owed you.’

‘There was no one fol owing me,’ said Malik, dropping down on to the sofa and reaching into the bag of nuts.

‘You shouldn’t have been looking,’ snapped Chaudhry. ‘Didn’t you listen? We had to come home and not do any checks at al . There were people doing that.’

Malik swung his feet up on to the coffee table. ‘Chil , brother,’ he said. ‘I did what John said. But I was the only one who got on the bus and no one got off with me. So I can’t see that anyone could have been fol owing me.’ He looked around. ‘Where’s the remote?’

‘Why are you so bloody cool about this?’ said Chaudhry. ‘There was someone fol owing me. Don’t you get what that means?’

‘John said it was probably nothing.’ He shel ed a nut and popped it into his mouth.

Chaudhry walked towards him, his eyes blazing. ‘Are you retarded? He said that because he doesn’t want us to worry. You know what he told me? He said there are guys with guns waiting round the corner, ready to step in if we get in trouble. Does that sound like nothing, you soft bastard?’

Malik stopped chewing, his forehead creased into deep frown lines.

‘I’m serious, mate. Guys with guns. We could be in deep shit here. Of course John doesn’t want us panicking, but that doesn’t mean we should sit around like al ’s wel with the world.’

Chaudhry’s mobile rang and both men froze. It was on the coffee table by Malik’s feet. It continued to ring – ‘Poker Face’ by Lady Gaga – so Malik picked it up, then he grinned.

‘It’s your dentist,’ he said.

Chaudhry’s face hardened. ‘That’s John.’

Malik turned the screen towards him. ‘It says it’s your dentist. Relax, wil you?’

Chaudhry took the phone from him and pressed the green button.

‘How’s the weather?’ asked Whitehil .

‘As wel as can be expected,’ said Chaudhry. ‘Harvey’s just got home.’

‘I know, that’s why I’m cal ing. There’s good news and bad news.’

‘Okay,’ said Chaudhry hesitantly.

‘The good news is that Harvey was clear. There was no one on his tail.’

‘And what’s the bad news?’

‘The two men who fol owed you are sitting outside in a van.’

Shepherd checked his rear-view mirror but Malik’s Golf was nowhere to be seen. He slowed to sixty. ‘I’ve lost eyebal ,’ he said into his radio mic.

‘Delta One, I have them,’ said the driver of the surveil ance vehicle closest to the VW. ‘We’re just coming up to junction three. Al clear.’

Delta One was in a white Transit van with the name of a building company on the side. There were another two MI5 vehicles fol owing Malik and Chaudhry. Delta Two was a middle-aged lady in a Mini and Delta Three was a young man in a suit at the wheel of a Ford Mondeo. Al were highly trained in counter-surveil ance and took it in turns to get close to the VW and check for anyone fol owing.

Shepherd was in his Volvo and had been ahead of them since they had joined the M1. Prior to getting on the motorway Malik had carried out two simple anti-surveil ance measures. He’d gone completely round a roundabout and exited without indicating, and he’d made a left turn after indicating right. Both times the VW had been closely fol owed by one of the MI5 surveil ance team.

By the time the VW had joined the M1, the surveil ance team were sure that there was no one fol owing, but they had continued to keep the car under observation while Malik changed his speed according to Shepherd’s instructions: a spel at 80 mph was fol owed by five minutes at 50 mph.

When they had reached junction two he indicated that he was going to leave the motorway but at the last moment changed lanes and continued heading north.

‘Let’s go on to junction four, just to be on the safe side,’ said Shepherd.

‘Delta One, junction four,’ echoed Delta One.

‘Delta Two, junction four.’

‘Delta Three, junction four.’

They carried on up the M1 to the fourth exit. It was starting to rain as Shepherd arrived at the Gateway Services and he switched on his wipers.

He parked wel away from the main buildings. Five minutes later Malik’s Golf arrived and parked four bays to the left of Shepherd’s Volvo. The rain was fal ing heavier, pitter-pattering on the roof of the car. Shepherd switched off the engine.

The three MI5 vehicles parked at various points around the car park. In the rear of the van there were two men in work clothes with holstered Glocks.

Shepherd climbed out of his Volvo, turned up the col ar of his jacket and hurried over to Malik’s Golf. He got in the back and wiped the rain from his face. ‘Great weather for ducks,’ he said.

‘What does that mean anyway?’ said Malik. ‘I don’t see ducks looking particularly happy when it rains.’

Chaudhry punched his friend lightly on the shoulder. ‘Chil ,’ he said.

‘Chil ? We’ve had to drive to the arse end of nowhere again. Why couldn’t we meet in London?’

‘Because we don’t want to risk being seen. This way we can wipe your arse and know that no one sees us.’

‘Wipe our arse?’ asked Malik. ‘What do you mean?’

‘It’s how the surveil ance boys refer to anti-surveil ance,’ said Shepherd. He grinned. ‘Don’t worry, your arses are clean.’

‘So what’s the story?’ asked Chaudhry.

Shepherd took an envelope out of his jacket. ‘The van was outside your flat for most of the evening.’ He took out a photograph and showed it to Chaudhry. It was of a white van parked in a side street. There were two Asian men sitting in the front. ‘These are the guys,’ he said. ‘They stayed there until the lights went out. Then they drove to Wil esden. They’re driving up to Scotland now. We’re tailing them to find out where they go. The good news is that they don’t seem to be pros. We didn’t see any sign of counter-surveil ance activity. We’ve run a trace on the van and it’s registered to a trading company in Glasgow.’

‘Why would they send someone from Glasgow?’ asked Malik, taking the photograph from Chaudhry.

Shepherd ignored the question. He took two more photographs from the envelope, head-and-shoulders shots that looked as if they had come from a passport application. ‘Recognise them?’ he asked Chaudhry.

Chaudhry pointed at one of the pictures. ‘That’s the guy I saw,’ he said. ‘How bad is this, John? If it was serious they wouldn’t have gone back to Scotland, would they?’

‘They’re both British-born. Brothers. Their parents are from Pakistan.’ Shepherd tapped the photograph of the older of the two men. ‘Salman Hussain,’ he said. ‘He’s not on any watch lists and he’s not on the PNC, which is why we think they’re not pros.’

‘PNC?’ repeated Malik. ‘What’s that?’

‘Police National Computer,’ said Shepherd. ‘It means he’s never been in trouble with the police.’

He held up the other photograph. ‘This is his younger brother, Asad Hussain. Also not known to the police or the security services.’

Chaudhry frowned. ‘Asad? Asad and Salman?’

‘You know them?’

Chaudhry ran a hand through his hair. ‘Bloody idiots,’ he said. ‘Stupid bloody idiots.’

‘Who are they?’ asked Shepherd.

Chaudhry sighed and slumped back in his seat. ‘My dad’s trying to marry me off to this girl, the daughter of a friend of his. Jamila Hussain. She’s a student at UCL. I’ve been out for dinner with her a few times.’ He gestured at the photographs. ‘These idiots are her brothers. They’re obviously getting al protective over her, checking out that I’m suitable.’

‘By fol owing you?’

‘Checking that I don’t have a girlfriend and that I’m not in the pub every night. Making sure that I’m a good Muslim and that I wouldn’t sul y their virginal sister.’

‘And probably making sure that you’re not white,’ said Malik. He grinned at Shepherd. ‘No offence.’

‘None taken,’ said Shepherd. He looked at Chaudhry. ‘You’re sure, Raj?’

Chaudhry nodded. ‘I haven’t met them but she mentioned them a few times. Asad and Salman. Salman’s pretty fundamentalist but his dad keeps him in check. Asad’s more easy-going but they’re both very protective about Jamila. She said she had a real problem convincing them that she’d be okay in London on her own. In their eyes it’s worse than Sodom and Gomorrah.’ He smiled apologetical y. ‘I’m sorry about that,’ he said.

‘Wasting everybody’s time.’

Shepherd put the photographs back in the envelope. ‘Hey, don’t worry about it,’ he said. ‘I’m just glad it had a happy ending. And it shows that the training we did worked just fine. You spotted the tail and we checked it out and no one’s the wiser.’

‘Are you tel ing me this has al been a waste of time?’ asked Malik.

‘Better safe than sorry,’ said Shepherd. ‘Think of it as another training exercise.’

‘And you’l pay for my petrol, right?’

Shepherd took his wal et out of his pocket. ‘No problem, Harvey.’

Malik and Chaudhry were sitting on the sofa watching TV when Malik’s mobile rang. He looked at the screen but didn’t recognise the number. He frowned over at Chaudhry. ‘Dunno who it is.’ he said. ‘Do you think it’s Khalid?’

‘Tel you what, brother, why not press the green button and you’l find out?’

Malik took the cal .

‘Harvey?’ It was a girl.

‘Yes?’

‘It’s Nadia.’

‘Nadia?’

‘You’ve forgotten me already? Oh dear.’

Malik grimaced. The girl in the library. ‘Sorry, yes, Nadia, yeah, of course. Hey. How are you?’

‘I’m fine,’ she said. ‘But my laptop’s given up the ghost. I couldn’t ask a huge favour . . .?’

‘Sure, you want me to have a look at it?’

‘Would you, Harvey? That would be great. I’ve got an essay here that’s got to be in tomorrow and the thing won’t even boot up. You couldn’t come round here now, could you?’

‘Where are you?’

‘Finsbury Park. Is that close to you?’

‘Just down the road,’ he said. ‘Text me your address and I’l come right round.’

He ended the cal and grinned at Chaudhry.

‘Not Khalid, then?’

‘Some bird I met in the library. Nadia. Fit like you wouldn’t believe me.’

‘What does she want?’

‘Why do you think she wants anything, brother?’

‘Because she’s a fit bird and she’s ringing you. I’m putting two and two together.’

‘She wants help with her laptop.’ Malik picked up a thick pul over and put it on.

‘Who’s going to take care of her dog?’

Malik frowned. ‘What dog?’

‘Her guide dog. She’s blind, right?’

Malik scowled. ‘Screw you, brother.’

Chaudhry laughed. ‘Wel , that’l be the only screwing you’l get.’

‘I’m fixing her laptop. End of.’

‘You told her to switch it off and on again?’

Malik laughed. ‘That’l be the first thing I try.’ He headed for the kitchen balcony to get his bike. ‘See you when I see you.’

‘You’l be back for Isha’a?’

‘I don’t know brother,’ Malik cal ed from the kitchen. ‘Maybe. Depends how it goes.’

‘We need to be seen at the mosque every day, brother. It’s important.’

‘I know. I was there this morning.’ He grinned. ‘But don’t wait up, yeah?’

‘You should take a biscuit for the dog,’ said Chaudhry. He was stil laughing as Malik wheeled his bike from the kitchen and out through the front door.

Malik looked up at the building where Nadia lived. She was in apartment 4G, which probably meant she was on the fourth floor, so he didn’t think there was much chance of taking his bike up with him. Outside an office he found a run of black railings with a painted metal notice warning that bikes would be removed but the office was in darkness so he figured he’d be okay. He pul ed a plastic-covered chain from his pocket and padlocked the rear wheel and frame to the railings. He went back to the main entrance and pressed her bel on the entryphone. It rang out and she answered.

‘Hel o?’

‘It’s Harvey, computer repairs a speciality.’

‘Come on in, Harvey. Take the lift to the fourth floor.’

The lock buzzed and Malik pushed the door open. The lift was smal and seemed to take for ever to reach the fourth floor. He walked along to Nadia’s door and knocked. He waited, switching his weight from foot to foot, and was just about to knock again when the door opened.

She smiled up at him. ‘My knight in shining armour,’ she said.

‘I am here to serve,’ he joked. She opened the door wide and he stepped across the threshold. She was wearing a blue sweatshirt with the word LONDON across the front in alternating red, white and blue letters, and a dark-blue skirt. She’d tied her hair back with a scrunchy and for the first time he noticed the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and around her neck. He realised that she wasn’t as young as he’d first thought. In her thirties, maybe. But stil pretty. ‘So where’s the laptop?’

She closed the door. ‘No need to rush,’ she said. ‘We can have a chat first.’

There was a smal kitchen to the right, and a door to the left that he assumed led to the bedroom. There was a two-seater sofa in green leather facing a flatscreen TV on the wal . He took off his jacket and sat down on the sofa. ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘Chatting is one of my favourite things.’

The bedroom door opened and a man walked out. He was Asian, wearing a Chelsea footbal shirt and holding a gun. Malik started to get up but the man moved quickly and pushed him back down, prodding him in the chest with the barrel of the gun.

‘What is this?’ asked Malik, his voice a frightened squeak. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Like I said, Harvey, we’re going to have a chat. You, me and my two friends.’

A second man came out of the bedroom. Another Asian. This one was holding a knife and a coil of wire.

Malik looked at Nadia fearful y. ‘I haven’t done anything,’ he said.

‘I hope that’s true,’ said Nadia.

Chaudhry’s alarm woke him at six-thirty, which gave him plenty of time to shower and eat breakfast before heading to the mosque for Fajr, the first prayers of the day. He went to the mosque for Fajr most days. Malik tended to oversleep and more often than not performed his prayers on a mat in the bedroom, positioned so that it pointed to Mecca.