He watched as she approached the machine, went through the procedure of placing the passport in the right position, and to stand in the correct place for the robot to take her photograph. As she walked through, she did not look at him. He breathed a sigh of relief and approached the front of the queue.
It was his turn.
He walked forward, and handed his passport to the girl at the desk. She wore a new uniform of the Border Agency. The last time he came through, they were all in civilian clothes. This was definitely more intimidating.
She scanned the passport, examined the photograph and stared at him, openly determined to find fault.
“Mr Gomez, your reason for coming to the UK?”
“Work; my company is looking at expanding into the UK.”
“What is it that you do?”
“We trade in herbs and spices not normally available in Western Europe; most of ours come from West Africa and further afield. You have a lot of Asian spices, but not necessarily from other places.”
“How long will you be here?”
“Just until I can make the contacts and see if there is a good potential market.”
She stared at him for a moment, then, with a half shrug, stamped his passport and handed it back.
“Enjoy your stay; next!”
The man called Ben Gomez did not allow himself to relax until he was down in the baggage hall. Indeed, he went to the toilet and sat in a cubicle and shook for a moment. Then, he washed his hands and face, and breathed in and out a few times.
With a smile of triumph, he left the toilet, found a trolley and joined his female companion next to the baggage carousel.
“Okay?” she asked.
“Finally,” he said, smiling for the first time.
She simply nodded and they stood in silence watching for their cases.
Benjamin Gomez’s real name wasn’t Ben Gomez. It was a Portuguese name, but Ben had no Portuguese blood, neither had he ever been anywhere near any Portuguese colony or country where the language was spoken.
He chose the name because it was common in West Africa, up to the Mediterranean, and within Europe itself, not to mention the myriad of islands that Portuguese sailors landed on and fornicated with the native girls.
Most people called Gomez were, like him, of dark Mediterranean, Arabic, or Middle Eastern appearance, and so no one would question his heritage.
He chose Ben because of the Jewish origins, and nobody looked for a Jewish, Islamic terrorist. His real name was Mohammed Mehmet Khan, but he hadn’t used that since he was fifteen. His real nationality was vague, as he was technically a Palestinian, but he had never been there either.
His parents were Palestinian activists who had gone to Lebanon in the eighties, and then to Syria, and then to Pakistan by way of Afghanistan. They had spent time in Libya and even Iraq. Ben was born in Syria, long before the civil war. In those days, Syria was actively opposed to the Zionist state of Israel and their American and other western allies.
Ben met Shamin in college in Pakistan a couple of years ago. Ben was not actually studying at the University of Karachi, but he used the facilities whilst pretending to be a student. The security measures were laughable, and he was actively working to recruit people to the cause.
He called himself Akram in those days, and he liked Shamin the first time he saw her in the library.
Ben’s parents were killed by a joint operation against an insurgent’s stronghold by Afghanistan soldiers, with support from American troops and British air support.
He had been in Syria at the time, helping set up a training unit to train Islamic militant volunteers to fight for their cause. It wasn’t as if he was a fanatical Islamist, as he wasn’t convinced there was any God at all, whether he be Allah, or the Jewish Yahweh. He had read somewhere that the Christian God was supposed to be in three parts. How did that work?
Actually, religion had nothing that Ben wanted in life. The religious fanatics were mad, in his eyes. However, they wanted to bring death to the Jews, Americans and the British, so in that they were agreed. The fanatics, however, had the resources and means to take the fight to the enemy. Not that Ben had ever considered what his ultimate aim was, simply to bring death to people like those who killed his parents. His motive was simply revenge. He had no idea as to the actual soldiers responsible, neither did he care. These people were sent by their governments, and the people selected the government, so it was on the people he would reap revenge.
He was only twenty-two at the time but looked younger, so he was a perfect choice to head off to recruit intelligent and educated people to send into these infidel nations to obtain a useful place in society and then launch a coordinated attack on the unsuspected underbelly of these monsters – the fat and unbelieving civilian population.
Pakistan was an ideal hunting ground. There was a huge Pakistani population in the UK; many were already UK citizens, and some held dual nationality. Even at the university, there were many students holding British passports, of which most were of Pakistani origins, and all were Moslems.
Shamin was one of these. Ben had learned English, but not to a good standard. Many of the educated people spoke English in Pakistan, as they did in India. For this reason, Africans and UK Pakistanis came here to study as it was a lot cheaper than in the UK or US.
She was actually studying psychology, as her father wanted her to become some type of doctor. Actually, he hoped to marry her off to a friend’s son, as the friend was a very wealthy and influential man, but he knew that Shamin was too English, and would refuse to comply. Not that she was anti-arranged marriages as such, she was actually extremely socialistic in attitude, and opposed wealth being held by individuals when there was so much poverty being experienced by so many.
By sending her to Pakistan to study, her father hoped she might embrace some of the culture and be more amenable to his plans.
He hadn’t taken Akram, or Ben, or whatever his name was, into account.
It started with a conversation about some of the gruesome news reports that hit the TV on the previous days. It became clear that Shamin might be as pretty as a picture; a slight and rather dainty-looking girl, she was anything but in her heart.
Ben actually flinched in the tirade of anti-capitalist rhetoric that came from her like steam coming from an over-pressurised boiler.
She suddenly looked more attractive from every perspective.
It was easy for him to spout similar anti-western feelings, with which she was able to identify a fellow believer immediately.
They became lovers after three days. After a week, as he shared his plans (such as they were) she became his first recruit. Her first task was to re-write his plans, as he had wanted to go to America.
“America is too far and they are totally neurotic over people like us. Britain is a soft touch. They are so terrified of upsetting anyone with a dark skin, we will be able to walk in and do whatever we want. It is totally corrupted and needs to understand the reality of life!”
The new plan was for her to complete her final year, and then return to Britain and get a legitimate job there. He was able to acquire, at some cost to his sponsors, illegal papers with which he planned to accompany her, followed, after a few weeks or months, by some other recruits, who had yet to be trained.
With the cell firmly entrenched in Britain, they would sit tight and become the epitome of good little immigrants. Then, with time on their side, they could select their target(s) and wait for the best time to strike.
These were not mindless martyrs, but committed fighters who intended to live to run away and to destroy lives another day.
They collected their bags and walked towards the arrivals concourse.
“My father will be waiting for me, so he mustn’t see you. Go to the Underground station and take the train to Earls Court. You have the map to the Balmoral Hotel, so go there and wait for me to call. It might be a couple of days, as I need to get us somewhere safe,” she said, just before they went through the last doors and into the public domain.