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Authors: Stephen Leather
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voice low.
Khalid smiled tightly. ‘At least we know that The Sheik is in Paradise reaping the rewards of a holy life. And how lucky were you to be blessed by the man himself.’
‘There wil be retribution, won’t there?’ asked Chaudhry.
Khalid smiled easily, showing abnormal y large teeth that were gleaming white and almost square. ‘Not here, brothers,’ he whispered. ‘Walk with me.’
He took them along to Stoke Newington High Street and into a Turkish-run coffee shop. The Turks ran most of the restaurants and shops in the area and they guarded their territory jealously, which was why none of the major chains were represented. It was clammy and hot inside the shop and Malik and Chaudhry took off their coats. Khalid waited until a young Turkish boy had set down three espressos on their table and gone back to the cash register before leaning across the table and addressing them in a hushed voice. ‘The Americans wil pay, the British wil pay, they wil al pay,’ he said.
Chaudhry could see the irony in the fact that al three of them were British citizens, but it was clearly lost on Khalid. No matter how long he lived in the UK, Khalid would never think of himself as British. The British, like the Americans, were the enemy.
‘Do you know what happened, brother?’
‘I know that The Sheik died bravely with the name of Al ah on his lips,’ said Khalid. ‘And that the kafir that kil ed him wil burn in hel for al eternity.’
‘How did they know where he was?’ asked Malik.
‘They are saying that a courier led them to the compound, but who knows? The Americans always lie. And they have satel ites in the sky that can read a number plate. Or it could have been the Pakistani military who betrayed him.’
‘You think they knew he was there?’
‘How could they not, brother? He was not in London, where strangers are ignored. People would see who came and went. Do you think they would not ask who was living behind such high wal s?’
‘But why would they betray him?’
Khalid shrugged. ‘For money. For influence. Who knows?’
‘May they also burn in hel ,’ said Malik.
‘Inshal ah,’ agreed Khalid. God wil ing.
Chaudhry stirred two heaped spoonfuls of sugar into his coffee. ‘And what about us, brother?’ he asked. ‘How much longer must we wait?’
‘Not much longer,’ said Khalid. ‘Your impatience is understandable but you are resources that must not be squandered. You wil not be used until the time is right.’
‘And how wil we be used?’ asked Malik. ‘Can you at least tel us that?’
‘When I know, you wil know,’ said Khalid.
‘Al the training we did, and yet now it’s as if it never happened,’ said Malik. ‘I had assumed that by this time we’d . . .’ He shrugged and left the sentence unfinished.
‘Brother, I understand your frustration. But we cannot rush. We never do. That is why we are so successful. We watch, we wait, we bide our time and only when we are sure of victory do we strike. We could give you arms now and tel you to storm the American Embassy and you might kil a few kafirs and it would be a news story for a couple of days, but then life would go on and you would soon be forgotten. That’s not what we are about, brothers. What we want is another Nine-Eleven.’
Malik frowned. ‘Planes, you mean? We’re going to crash planes?’
Khalid looked around as if he feared they were being overheard, then he shook his head. ‘No, brothers. This is not about planes. Nor do we plan to make you martyrs. You are no shahid. You are warriors, warriors who wil strike again and again.’ He reached across the table and held each of them by the hand, his nails digging into their flesh. ‘What we are planning, brothers, wil change the world for ever, you have my word on that.’
‘When?’ asked Malik.
‘Al in good time,’ said Khalid. ‘We wil strike when the time is right and not before.’
It was early September when Sam Hargrove cal ed. Shepherd had
Khalid smiled tightly. ‘At least we know that The Sheik is in Paradise reaping the rewards of a holy life. And how lucky were you to be blessed by the man himself.’
‘There wil be retribution, won’t there?’ asked Chaudhry.
Khalid smiled easily, showing abnormal y large teeth that were gleaming white and almost square. ‘Not here, brothers,’ he whispered. ‘Walk with me.’
He took them along to Stoke Newington High Street and into a Turkish-run coffee shop. The Turks ran most of the restaurants and shops in the area and they guarded their territory jealously, which was why none of the major chains were represented. It was clammy and hot inside the shop and Malik and Chaudhry took off their coats. Khalid waited until a young Turkish boy had set down three espressos on their table and gone back to the cash register before leaning across the table and addressing them in a hushed voice. ‘The Americans wil pay, the British wil pay, they wil al pay,’ he said.
Chaudhry could see the irony in the fact that al three of them were British citizens, but it was clearly lost on Khalid. No matter how long he lived in the UK, Khalid would never think of himself as British. The British, like the Americans, were the enemy.
‘Do you know what happened, brother?’
‘I know that The Sheik died bravely with the name of Al ah on his lips,’ said Khalid. ‘And that the kafir that kil ed him wil burn in hel for al eternity.’
‘How did they know where he was?’ asked Malik.
‘They are saying that a courier led them to the compound, but who knows? The Americans always lie. And they have satel ites in the sky that can read a number plate. Or it could have been the Pakistani military who betrayed him.’
‘You think they knew he was there?’
‘How could they not, brother? He was not in London, where strangers are ignored. People would see who came and went. Do you think they would not ask who was living behind such high wal s?’
‘But why would they betray him?’
Khalid shrugged. ‘For money. For influence. Who knows?’
‘May they also burn in hel ,’ said Malik.
‘Inshal ah,’ agreed Khalid. God wil ing.
Chaudhry stirred two heaped spoonfuls of sugar into his coffee. ‘And what about us, brother?’ he asked. ‘How much longer must we wait?’
‘Not much longer,’ said Khalid. ‘Your impatience is understandable but you are resources that must not be squandered. You wil not be used until the time is right.’
‘And how wil we be used?’ asked Malik. ‘Can you at least tel us that?’
‘When I know, you wil know,’ said Khalid.
‘Al the training we did, and yet now it’s as if it never happened,’ said Malik. ‘I had assumed that by this time we’d . . .’ He shrugged and left the sentence unfinished.
‘Brother, I understand your frustration. But we cannot rush. We never do. That is why we are so successful. We watch, we wait, we bide our time and only when we are sure of victory do we strike. We could give you arms now and tel you to storm the American Embassy and you might kil a few kafirs and it would be a news story for a couple of days, but then life would go on and you would soon be forgotten. That’s not what we are about, brothers. What we want is another Nine-Eleven.’
Malik frowned. ‘Planes, you mean? We’re going to crash planes?’
Khalid looked around as if he feared they were being overheard, then he shook his head. ‘No, brothers. This is not about planes. Nor do we plan to make you martyrs. You are no shahid. You are warriors, warriors who wil strike again and again.’ He reached across the table and held each of them by the hand, his nails digging into their flesh. ‘What we are planning, brothers, wil change the world for ever, you have my word on that.’
‘When?’ asked Malik.
‘Al in good time,’ said Khalid. ‘We wil strike when the time is right and not before.’
It was early September when Sam Hargrove cal ed. Shepherd had
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