‘We would need to be sure that the builder is not the traitor,’ said Al-Jaber.
‘Of course,’ said Bin Azim. ‘But if he is cleared we will then need to take a look at every visitor that The Sheik received over the nine months since the bathroom was installed.’
‘Do you have someone in mind for this?’
‘I do, yes. A Palestinian who has handled interrogations for me before.’
‘And if the betrayer is found will this Palestinian be able to take care of things?’
‘Absolutely,’ said Bin Azim.
‘Then that’s what we shall do,’ said Al-Jaber. ‘There is a problem, though. Of those that visited The Sheik, most were being readied for jihad in countries around the world. Do we allow them to go ahead, or do we stop them?’
‘If we pull them out now questions will be asked and rumours will start. If we let it be known that we suspect we have a traitor then all trust will be shattered. Suspicions will spread like a cancer.’
‘So we tell no one? Only the Palestinian?’
Bin Azim nodded. ‘I think it is best. Only one apple is bad. The Palestinian will identify the bad apple and will remove it. But we will be watching all our operations carefully. If we so much as suspect that any have been compromised we will cauterise them immediately.’
‘I agree,’ said Al-Jaber. He looked at his watch, a diamond-encrusted gold Rolex. ‘I have to go soon; my wife wants to go shopping.’
‘Where are you heading?’ asked Bin Azim.
‘London,’ said Al-Jaber. ‘The weak pound makes their Harrods as cheap as a market bazaar. She has a shopping list that is longer than my arm.’
Bin Azim knew that Al-Jaber had four wives, but he didn’t have to ask which one was going on the shopping trip. Al-Jaber’s first wife was in her sixties and was rarely seen outside the family compound. His second and third wives had borne Al-Jaber sixteen children between them. One was in a top American hospital being treated for bowel cancer and the other was rumoured to be in a Swiss facility being treated for depression following two failed suicide attempts. Al-Jaber’s fourth wife was a third of his age, a stunning Lebanese girl. Bin Azim was one of the few non-family members who had ever seen her face. She only ever wore a full burka including a mesh veil that shielded her eyes when she went out. Even when she was overseas Al-Jaber insisted that she stayed covered. The women of Lebanon were more spirited than their Saudi sisters, but Al-Jaber’s fourth wife knew better than to argue with her husband. The marriage had been arranged — she was the granddaughter of one of Al-Jaber’s business associates — and the union had been financially beneficial to her family to the tune of tens of millions of dollars. In the grand scheme of things the burka was a small price to pay.
‘I am using the large jet, but the Gulfstream is available for whoever you decide to use,’ said Al-Jaber. ‘My people can also arrange for diplomatic status and a passport.’
‘As always, you read my mind,’ said Bin Azim.
‘Only Allah can see into our minds,’ said Al-Jaber, getting to his feet. ‘But I understand what needs to be done. And I am privileged to be able to offer the assistance that is within my gift.’
Bin Azim stood up and kissed Al-Jaber on both cheeks. Al-Jaber’s bodyguards were already moving towards the restaurant doors, and Bin Azim knew that, far below, more big men in dark suits would be standing by Al-Jaber’s bombproof white Bentley.
Chaudhry looked at his watch, then over at Malik, who was sitting on the sofa with his feet up on the coffee table, watching football on the television. ‘We’ve got to go, Harvey,’ he said.
‘This is bloody ridiculous,’ said Malik. ‘Did he say why we’re going to Reading?’
‘He wanted somewhere where nobody would know us.’
‘But Reading?’ He slapped the arm of his sofa. ‘How do we even get there?’
‘Trains run from Paddington all the time.’
‘Yeah, but getting to Paddington from Stokie is a pain.’
‘It’s for our own good. It’s a training exercise, so we’ll know what to do if we’re ever followed.’
Malik’s eyes narrowed. ‘See, that’s what’s worrying me, brother. Why would anyone be following us? They’d only do that if they suspected us, right? And if they even suspect that we’re spies then we’re dead.’
Chaudhry walked over to the sofa and stood looking down at his friend. ‘We’ve been through this,’ he said. ‘Khalid might get someone to check us out. Or the cops might follow us. No one knows what we’re doing, remember? And the cops are always looking at the mosque, you know that. Someone at the mosque passes our name on to the cops and they might take a look at us. John’s putting us through this so we’ll know what to look for.’
‘It’s a waste of time, innit?’ scowled Malik. ‘We’re not doing anything wrong. Even if they follow us what are they going to see? We go to lectures, we eat, we sleep, we shit. You play squash. I play five-a-side. It’s not like we’re mixing explosives or scoping out targets. We’re waiting, brother. That’s all we’ve been doing for months now. If anyone follows us they’ll be bored out of their skulls in a few days.’
‘Harvey, we have to do this.’
‘Brother, we don’t have to do anything. We’re not on staff, are we? Last time I looked MI5 weren’t paying us a salary. In fact they’re paying us fuck all, in spite of everything we did for them.’ He jabbed his finger at Chaudhry. ‘We killed The Sheik, you and me. We grassed him up and the Yanks blew him away and that’s down to us. But instead of being heroes we’re supposed to drag our arses all the way to Reading to prove a point?’
Chaudhry sat down next to Malik. ‘What’s up with you?’
‘It just feels like they’re yanking our chain,’ said Malik.
Chaudhry grinned. ‘Are you not feeling loved, is that it?’
‘Screw you,’ laughed Malik.
‘We’re not doing this to be loved, Harvey. We didn’t go to MI5 because we wanted a medal or because we wanted money. We went to them because it’s the right thing to do. This is our country and people like Khalid are trying to destroy it. It’s up to us to help stop them.’
‘I get that. I’m not stupid.’
‘No one’s saying you’re stupid, but you sound like you’re losing focus. We have to be committed to this. If we aren’t you know what could happen?’ Malik didn’t say anything. He looked away, unwilling to meet Chaudhry’s piercing gaze. ‘How will you feel, Harvey, if you do bail out and a few weeks down the line something bad happens and a lot of people die? How are you going to feel then, knowing that you could have stopped it?’
Malik shrugged. ‘Okay.’
‘Okay what?’
‘I hear you.’ He nodded. ‘I’m just pissed off at all the waiting. It’s doing my head in. Why won’t Khalid just tell us what we’re going to do?’
‘Maybe he doesn’t know himself. Maybe he’s taking orders from someone else. All we can do is wait. As for John, he wants to help. He’s not doing this to piss us around. It’s to keep us sharp.’
Malik threw his hands in the air. ‘Okay, fine, let’s do it.’ He stood up. ‘But how the hell do we get to Paddington?’
‘Tube.’
‘That’ll take for ever,’ said Malik, picking up his jacket. ‘Can’t we get a minicab?’
Chaudhry frowned. ‘I hadn’t thought of that. I guess so.’
‘Let’s do that, then. And John can reimburse us.’ He grinned. ‘You know what? We should just get the cab to take us to Reading. See if they can follow us. That’d serve them right.’
‘Yeah, okay. All John said was that we should go to Paddington,’ said Chaudhry. ‘I don’t see why we can’t get a cab to the station. But on the way we keep our eyes open because he’s going to ask us if we saw anyone following us.’ He stood up. ‘It’ll be fun,’ he said, punching his friend lightly on the shoulder.
They put on their coats, left the flat and walked along to Stoke Newington High Street. There was a minicab office in a side road, marked by a flashing yellow light above the door. Like most of the businesses it was run by Turks though the drivers were a smorgasbord of London’s ethnic communities — Nigerian, Indian, Iranian, Polish, Somalian — and there was barely a country not represented on the company’s roster.