Stephen Leather - False Friends

‘Why?’

‘Because we think you’re a fucking slag copper, that’s why,’ said Mickey. ‘Same as your mate.’

Fenby stared at Kettering. ‘Simon, they took you out and showed you the guns. They gave you a hand grenade to throw, you said. A fucking hand grenade. The cops don’t do that.’

‘They do if they really want to stitch you up,’ said Kettering. He took another long pull on his cigar. ‘They could be waiting for us to get the money so that they can seize that. Plus, they might be trying to see who else they can pull in. Your mates asked a hell of a lot of questions in the pub after their little demonstration. For all I know they were wired and it’s all on tape. So if you are a cop, Ian, and if you’re in on this, save yourself a lot of pain and just tell me now.’

‘Do I look like a fucking narc?’ asked Fenby.

‘Who knows what a narc looks like?’

‘How long have you known me?’

‘That’s not the point, is it? The question is, are you an undercover cop or not?’

There was a crash from the bedroom, the sound of a drawer hitting the floor.

‘If there’s anything in this flat that says who you really are, then you’re fucked,’ said Kettering.

‘Totally fucked,’ said Mickey. ‘I’m going to see to that.’

Fenby stared sullenly at the two men as he dabbed at his smashed lips.

Chaudhry was walking up the stairs, about to leave the mosque in Dynevor Road with Malik, when he saw Khalid coming down.

Khalid beamed. ‘Salaam, brothers,’ he said. ‘Is everything good?’

‘You tell us,’ said Chaudhry.

‘You sound upset, brother,’ said Khalid. He put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Wait for me in the coffee shop round the corner until I have prayed,’ he whispered. His breath was rancid and Chaudhry fought the urge to retch.

Khalid leaned close to Malik, kissed him on both cheeks and then went down the stairs.

‘What did he say?’ asked Malik.

‘He wants us to wait for him,’ said Chaudhry.

‘That’s it? We wait? Like dogs? What about the fact that we sat in all last night and he never called?’

‘Hush, brother,’ said Chaudhry. Half a dozen young Pakistanis came thudding down the stairs. One of them was wearing a coat over candy-striped pyjamas and was chewing gum. Chaudhry shook his head contemptuously.

They went out into the street. Fajr prayers had to be completed before sunrise so the road was still illuminated by street lights and there were delivery trucks parked in front of many of the businesses. Chaudhry took Malik along to the coffee shop. It was a popular place for Muslims to take their morning coffee after prayers and was always busy at that time of the day. They found a corner table and Chaudhry ordered two coffees from the Turkish girl behind the counter. She was pretty and he watched her slim figure as she busied herself at the coffee-maker. She glanced over her shoulder and caught him looking and he felt his cheeks redden.

‘You’re Raj, aren’t you?’ she said with a smile, as she put the two cups down in front of him.

‘Yeah. Do I know you?’

‘I’m the girl that keeps serving you coffee,’ she said. ‘I heard your friends call you Raj.’

‘Yeah, that’s me.’

‘I’m Sena.’ She smiled again and went on to the next customer.

Chaudhry took the coffees over to the table. ‘I think she fancies me,’ he said as he sat down.

‘Who?’

‘The girl behind the counter. Sena.’

‘You’ve got a girlfriend.’

‘Who?’

‘You know who. That bird your dad fixed you up with. What was her name?’

‘Jamila? She’s not a girlfriend.’

‘Got on like a house on fire, you said. Brains and beauty.’

‘It’s early days,’ said Chaudhry. ‘And she’s from a good Muslim family so it’s going to go very slowly.’

‘Whereas Turkish girls are easy, is that what you’re saying?’

Chaudhry laughed. ‘No, I’m just saying that she told me her name and I think that she fancies me.’ He sipped his coffee. ‘The Jamila thing is a bloody minefield,’ he said. ‘It’s like every second thing I say to her is a lie.’

‘What, you don’t fancy her?’

‘I fancy her, sure, but because of what we’re doing I’m going to have to keep lying to her. I want to tell her the truth but I can’t. I don’t want our relationship to be based on lies but it is.’

‘So put her on the back burner until this is over,’ said Malik. ‘Like you said, she’s a Muslim; she’s not going to rush into anything.’ He looked at his watch. ‘What’s taking Khalid so long?’

‘You know he likes to pray twice as long as anyone else,’ said Chaudhry. ‘It’s his thing.’

‘And treating everyone like mushrooms,’ said Malik. ‘That’s really his thing. He likes controlling people. That’s what this is about. He wants us to be at his beck and call.’

They had waited in all evening expecting Khalid to phone, but he hadn’t. At just before eight o’clock a man they didn’t recognise had turned up and asked for the backpacks and phone and taken them away. Both backpacks had been locked with small padlocks but they had been able to peep inside and it looked as if they contained only old telephone directories. Chaudhry had asked the man when Khalid would call but he had just shaken his head and said nothing.

They had almost finished their coffee when Khalid appeared in the doorway. He looked around, then waved at them to join him on the pavement.

‘Too many ears,’ he explained. ‘These days the mosque leaks like a sieve. We can trust nobody.’ He gestured with his chin. ‘Walk with me.’

He headed off along the pavement and Chaudhry and Malik joined him, Chaudhry on Khalid’s left, Malik on his right. ‘You seem tense, brothers,’ said Khalid.

‘Tense?’ repeated Malik. ‘Of course we’re tense. What were you playing at? Was it a test, is that it?’

Khalid’s eyes narrowed. ‘Are you questioning me, brother?’

‘If I was questioning you I would have done it when you told us to get into the van,’ said Malik. ‘We did everything you asked of us. And then you told us to go home. So I ask you again, brother, was it a test?’

Khalid nodded slowly. ‘Yes. You were being tested.’

‘So we’re not trusted? After everything we have been through you still don’t trust us?’

‘It’s not a matter of trust,’ said Khalid.

‘Are you sure? Because trust shouldn’t be an issue, brother. We have met The Sheik, remember? Have you, brother?’

‘No,’ said Khalid. ‘I was never granted that honour.’

‘That’s what I thought,’ said Malik. ‘We had tea with The Sheik. He told us how valuable we were to him, how we were a resource that would be used with care, that our mission would be as important as that of the martyrs of Nine-Eleven.’

‘You are angry,’ said Khalid. ‘I understand.’ They looked right and left and crossed a side street.

‘Harvey, chill, brother,’ said Chaudhry. ‘We’re just a bit concerned that nobody told us what was happening,’ he said to Khalid.

‘I understand,’ said Khalid.

‘You understand?’ Malik glared at Khalid. ‘Do not patronise me, brother. Was it your idea to test us?’

‘Harvey, mate, give him a break, will you?’ said Chaudhry.

‘We were told to run a rehearsal,’ said Khalid quietly. ‘It was a question of testing the logistics.’

‘The logistics?’ repeated Malik.

‘We needed to make sure that we could get everyone in the right place at the right time. We had to arrange vehicles and drivers. We had to check that phones worked and that we could get everyone to work to a schedule.’ Two Pakistanis walked towards them and Khalid stopped speaking until they had gone by. ‘You are very important to our organisation, brothers,’ he said. ‘We have a lot riding on you so we have to be sure that everything works. We must leave nothing to chance.’