had his rucksack over his shoulder. He was clutching the bag to his chest as if it was something precious.
He wanted to call out – ‘Aamir!’ – but he knew that he couldn’t draw attention to himself.
Aamir was going to the surface. He had failed. He had lost his nerve and failed .
Once again he heard the scripture that Alam Hussain had made him memorise.
O Prophet, rouse the believers to fight. If there are twenty among you, patient and persevering, they will vanquish two hundred; if there are a hundred, then they will slaughter a thousand unbelievers , for the infidels are a people devoid of understanding.
Aamir might fail.
But he would not.
He took a step away from the wall and then another, pushing his way into the crowd of people waiting to get onto the escalator. He remembered everything that the imam had said, and everything that Mohammed had said after that. He closed his eyes, ignoring the angry words as he bumped into men and women. He put his hand into his pocket and felt the trigger. He grasped the switch and felt its sharp edge press into the flesh of his thumb.
‘Allahu akbar,’ he yelled. ‘Allahu akbar. Allahu—’
Chapter Thirteen
A llahu akbar. Allahu—’
Isabella heard the chant as the doors of the carriage closed behind her. She was adjacent to the passageway that led through to the escalators, and she was looking out into it as the train slowly eased into motion. The angle changed and her attention was snagged by a poster for a new film she had been thinking of seeing.
Then came the explosion.
Isabella saw a bright white light that seemed to go on for seconds , and then she heard a dull crump . It was loud, but blunt. It was like a thud, a physical sensation that she could feel passing through her body. She saw a gout of smoke punch out of the passageway and onto the platform. At the same time, the glass screen doors shattered and the side of the carriage was peppered with tiny pieces of debris that rang out loudly. A jagged crack appeared in the window, and further down the carriage an entire pane shattered and fell onto the passengers.
The train jerked to a sudden stop.
There was silence for a moment, and then came the sound of screaming from the platform and the vestibule beyond. One of the women in the carriage had been lacerated by the falling glass, and as the other passengers saw the blood that was running down from her scalp, some of them started to scream, too.
The lights on the platform flickered and died.
Smoke drifted in through the smashed window.
The lights in the carriage winked out, too, and in an instant it became completely black.
The smoke was acrid; she heard people retching and coughing.
The carriage lights came on again. A man was stumbling along the platform. Isabella looked at him and saw that he had no face, just a mask of blood and skin that looked like masticated steak.
A male passenger yanked down the handle of the carriage’s intercom and tried to speak to the driver.
Other men and women appeared on the platform. Their faces were blackened with soot and dirt and blood, and their clothes were torn and shredded. The whites of their wide eyes stood out against the muck on their skin.
A man tried to wrestle the doors open. He managed to part them a crack and call for help. Two others pushed through the scrum and tried to force them all the way open. She was buffeted to the side, and as she put her weight on her right foot, she felt the crunching of broken glass beneath it.
The lights flickered and died for a second time. A shower of sparks drifted down from the ceiling to the floor of the platform. It was incongruously beautiful.
The screaming got louder.
‘Allahu Akbar. Allahu—’
Aamir was at the top of the escalator when he heard Hakeem’s strident chant. His call was enveloped by the crashing roar of the bomb as it exploded in the vestibule below him. It was a loud, sudden boom, closely followed by a pressure wave that
He wanted to call out – ‘Aamir!’ – but he knew that he couldn’t draw attention to himself.
Aamir was going to the surface. He had failed. He had lost his nerve and failed .
Once again he heard the scripture that Alam Hussain had made him memorise.
O Prophet, rouse the believers to fight. If there are twenty among you, patient and persevering, they will vanquish two hundred; if there are a hundred, then they will slaughter a thousand unbelievers , for the infidels are a people devoid of understanding.
Aamir might fail.
But he would not.
He took a step away from the wall and then another, pushing his way into the crowd of people waiting to get onto the escalator. He remembered everything that the imam had said, and everything that Mohammed had said after that. He closed his eyes, ignoring the angry words as he bumped into men and women. He put his hand into his pocket and felt the trigger. He grasped the switch and felt its sharp edge press into the flesh of his thumb.
‘Allahu akbar,’ he yelled. ‘Allahu akbar. Allahu—’
Chapter Thirteen
A llahu akbar. Allahu—’
Isabella heard the chant as the doors of the carriage closed behind her. She was adjacent to the passageway that led through to the escalators, and she was looking out into it as the train slowly eased into motion. The angle changed and her attention was snagged by a poster for a new film she had been thinking of seeing.
Then came the explosion.
Isabella saw a bright white light that seemed to go on for seconds , and then she heard a dull crump . It was loud, but blunt. It was like a thud, a physical sensation that she could feel passing through her body. She saw a gout of smoke punch out of the passageway and onto the platform. At the same time, the glass screen doors shattered and the side of the carriage was peppered with tiny pieces of debris that rang out loudly. A jagged crack appeared in the window, and further down the carriage an entire pane shattered and fell onto the passengers.
The train jerked to a sudden stop.
There was silence for a moment, and then came the sound of screaming from the platform and the vestibule beyond. One of the women in the carriage had been lacerated by the falling glass, and as the other passengers saw the blood that was running down from her scalp, some of them started to scream, too.
The lights on the platform flickered and died.
Smoke drifted in through the smashed window.
The lights in the carriage winked out, too, and in an instant it became completely black.
The smoke was acrid; she heard people retching and coughing.
The carriage lights came on again. A man was stumbling along the platform. Isabella looked at him and saw that he had no face, just a mask of blood and skin that looked like masticated steak.
A male passenger yanked down the handle of the carriage’s intercom and tried to speak to the driver.
Other men and women appeared on the platform. Their faces were blackened with soot and dirt and blood, and their clothes were torn and shredded. The whites of their wide eyes stood out against the muck on their skin.
A man tried to wrestle the doors open. He managed to part them a crack and call for help. Two others pushed through the scrum and tried to force them all the way open. She was buffeted to the side, and as she put her weight on her right foot, she felt the crunching of broken glass beneath it.
The lights flickered and died for a second time. A shower of sparks drifted down from the ceiling to the floor of the platform. It was incongruously beautiful.
The screaming got louder.
‘Allahu Akbar. Allahu—’
Aamir was at the top of the escalator when he heard Hakeem’s strident chant. His call was enveloped by the crashing roar of the bomb as it exploded in the vestibule below him. It was a loud, sudden boom, closely followed by a pressure wave that
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