“I wasn’t always like this. I had a misspent youth; too many silly interests. I was a geek.”
“Some geek. So, can you just walk in and buy this stuff?”
“I don’t think so; as there must be some form of restrictions or a licence to buy it. We’ll have to check. Whether they’ve come by it legally or not, this is not a usual means of storing it.”
“So what do we do?”
“Now? Nothing; well, that’s not quite true, as I wouldn’t mind getting some sleep.”
Seventeen
Ben managed to get the van back before seven, after dropping off Shamin at their flat in Hayes, in the West London borough of Hillingdon. She had just enough time to shower and change before going to work. He was on the late shift, so he could come back and sleep before having to head off at one o’clock.
It was an area where their ethnicity would not stand out, as there was a multi-cultural population mixing very successfully. Just down the road was Southall, with a huge Asian community, of Hindus, Sikhs and Moslems.
Shamin worked as a psychologist with the Mental Health Team at Hillingdon Hospital. Everything was going to plan. The first of the ‘helpers’ was due to arrive by ferry at one of the channel ports within the next week or so, and the others by different routes from then on. There were six coming, each with a different specialism that would meld together into a good little team that would be capable of undertaking a variety of different tasks.
Ben found Britain was nothing like he imagined. Yes, the government seemed to spout the anti-anybody in the Middle-East (except the Israelis) rhetoric that bolstered his resolve, but the ordinary people were much the same as people everywhere. They weren’t the evil leeches he had expected them to be. There was a corruption within the society that he expected, but it was more a level of selfishness than anything else.
These people did not know the real meaning of want or need. The poor had cars and televisions and a roof over their heads. They had access to free medical care that most people he had grown up around could only dream. The poor squandered what funds they had on alcohol, cigarettes, drugs and gambling. Even those who received benefits wasted most of it. He failed to understand their mentality.
It was also far more expensive than he had expected. No wonder the people were so miserable, as they had to work really hard just to put food on the table. With the money they earned, they could live like royalty in some of the places he had lived.
He was also more than a little afraid of the police. On first glance, with their silly hats and absence of weapons, they seemed more like tourist attractions. But he had seen how they operated, and he was impressed by the speed with which they responded, and also the variety of specialists, including firearms, that appeared if required. It would not be good to underestimate them!
The one big fly in the ointment was Shamin’s father.
He had met him once, and there was a mutual dislike, almost to the point of hatred. Omar thought himself a traditionalist, with extreme western leanings and a capitalist’s heart. He even voted conservative in the last election!
Ben thought him almost more English than the English. He was more interested in status and success than anything else, not unlike many from Pakistan, if the truth be told.
However, he was not a devout Moslem, but followed the form for appearance’s sake. As a family, they did not have prayers, or follow the festivals. He was everything that was wrong with a British Moslem, but Ben could see that if they all went this way, radical Islam might die in Britain.
Not that Ben was a good Moslem, either. He could play-at with the best, but he knew that that is all it was. If Allah really existed, then the Moslems would not be relegated to the worst parts of the world and the state of Israel would never have been allowed to be formed.
Omar still wanted Shamin to make a ‘good’ marriage. In his eyes, that was to one specific man, but her mother wasn’t so picky. Oh, she didn’t want it to be Ben; that was for sure. She kept reminding Shamin that there were so many good doctors working at the hospital, so any one of them would do.
As Ben worked stacking shelves in Tescos, they could barely look down their noses at him. At least Shamin’s mother spoke to him, which is more than her father could bring himself to do. This simply had the effect of pushing Shamin closer to him, but it did not make for an easy and stress-free life.
Their flat was a two bedroom apartment above a parade of shops on the main Uxbridge Road. Hayes Police station was almost within sight on the opposite side further towards Southall. There were some useful shops in the parade, and room to park cars behind in the alley to the rear.
It was noisy and expensive, for what it was. Neither was a problem. Ben had been given sufficient funds to rent somewhere for six months at least. Now they were both working, most of that money was still available for other parts of their plan. The most crucial positive feature was the lock-up garage behind the shops. It was important for them to have somewhere to store purchases for a brief time, before moving them somewhere safer.
Neither of them was a chemist or bomb-maker. There was a man due to arrive soon who was both. They had to acquire the necessary components, and then locate a safe location in which this man could go to work.
Shamin worked to identify a suitable target, while Ben sought the necessary components. He found that there were strict regulations on buying what was on the list. However, such was the corruption that there was always someone willing to supply whatever you wanted, for a price, and forget about the restrictions. He managed to buy two large, forty kilo containers of Ammonium Nitrate from an agricultural suppliers near Milton Keynes. The other components were less problematic; sugar and fuel oil. However, the detonators would be a real problem, which was why they were coming in with man number four from Belgium in a week’s time; hopefully in a crate of machine parts.
Their time was both amazingly dull and exciting. On balance, it was dull. Ben found his work dull in the extreme, but he needed to work not only to keep up an appearance of being normal, but also for the money. He still needed to eat, and although Shamin was paid a lot more, he couldn’t let her be the main breadwinner; his pride wouldn’t let him.
The exciting moments were fleeting and occasional. They realised that they couldn’t keep the fertiliser in the garage, so they looked for somewhere to hide it where it would be safe.
The hut in the woods miles away from London came to their knowledge by accident. Ben had few hobbies or interests outside of what drove him. However, he had one interest that he had possessed since he was a child. He recalled his mother telling him about birds, and showing him some marvellous birds that existed in places that man couldn’t, such as the sand grouse and others. He was an amateur twitcher; although he rarely admitted it. In all his travels, he even kept a diary listing the birds he saw, when and where. It was a cheap hobby, as it had so far only cost him the price of a pencil and a notebook.
On a break one day, he stood outside the Tescos, at the rear, while a couple of the other employees smoked their cigarettes. He watched some birds fly overhead. They were starlings, but a couple of collar doves stopped and rested on the top of the roof. He watched them, marvelling at their ability to adapt to whatever surroundings they happened to be in.
“Nice pair!” said another man. Ben turned and regarded him for a moment. He wore a name badge with ‘Barry’ on it.
“Yes,” he agreed.
“There’s a colony of parakeets that lives just the other side of the M25, in Buckinghamshire. Last winter they came this far east. I had them in my garden. They raided the bird table.”
“They’re not native, surely?”