Homegrown Hero: A funny and addictive thriller for fans of Informer. Khurrum Rahman
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down on the floor. His humiliation‚ far from complete‚ was furthered in the knowledge that his peers‚ his Brothers‚ could smell that he had urinated and see that‚ through the light cotton of his shalwar‚ he had defecated.
Al-Bhukara managed to lift his head towards Ghulam and mouthed water. His wish was granted as Pathaan‚ from a metal jug‚ poured water and ice cubes over his head. They watched as he managed to sum up enough energy to rise to his knees with his mouth wide open‚ and drink what he could from the waterfall. Whatever missed his mouth he collected in his hands.
Ihsan and Talal were up on their feet at the treatment of the much-respected Imam. The very same Imam who had a close friendship and unbridled trust with Abdullah Bin Jabbar‚ the honourable leader of their group‚ Ghurfat-Al-Mudarris.
‘Would you like us to leave?’ Ihsan asked.
‘Sit!’ Pathaan asserted‚ his arm outstretched and his finger pointing at them as if it could spit bullets.
‘Look at me‚’ Ghulam said.
Al-Bhukara met his eyes‚ but kept his head bowed. ‘Please‚’ he pleaded. ‘I did what I was told. I did what I believed was right.’
‘Javid Qasim was one of your students.’
‘I did what I was told‚’ Al-Bhukara repeated.
‘He was a traitor‚’ Ghulam raised his hand sharply. Al-Bhukara flinched. ‘He was Secret Service.’
Al-Bhukara lifted his chin‚ the sudden fire in his eyes matching that of Ghulam.
‘He was the son of Abdullah Bin Jabbar‚’ he hissed at the Sheikh and then the fire went out as quickly as it had arrived.
Ghulam took an involuntary step back. Ihsan and Talal glanced at one another‚ hoping that the other would tell them that they had misheard.
‘We waited patiently for the boy to become a man‚’ Al-Bhukara continued. ‘He started to move in the right circles‚ he started to take his Deen seriously. When word reached Bin Jabbar‚ he insisted that we should take him on. Fast track his education. I was but the facilitator. He was his father.’ He took a breath‚ it came out as a low whistle. ‘It was what he wanted.’
Ghulam regained his composure. ‘Abdullah Bin Jabbar... who has evaded capture for so many years‚ is now on the run. Is that what he had wanted?’
Al-Bhukara said nothing.
‘They are now aware of his description‚ his hideouts and his training facilities. I ask you again: is that what he wanted?’
A single tear slowly escaped Al-Bhukara’s eye.
‘Our cell has been compromised. Decades of hard work and planning‚ wasted. Is that what he wanted?’
Ghulam sat down on the chair‚ his outburst had tired him. He leant forward and with his finger lifted Al-Bhukara’s chin and said softly. ‘I do not care if Qasim is his bastard son. It is your role to thoroughly look at his background regardless of who he is. Good men died‚ men better than Qasim‚ and the Kafir now laugh at us‚ in their newspapers‚ on their televisions. I will not allow you to lay the blame at the feet of the great Bin Jabbar. As far as I am concerned‚ Javid Qasim was your responsibility.’
Al-Bhukara closed his eyes tightly. Sweat ran down his forehead and tears raced freely down his face. His body racked and shuddered as he clenched as hard as he could to stop himself adding to his already soiled shalwar.
Ghulam sat back in his chair and stared up at the ceiling. In his heart he understood that Al-Bhukara had no choice. When an order comes from the very top‚ no question‚ it has to be obeyed. Bin Jabbar had always run Ghurfat-al-Mudarris with heart and emotion‚ loved and adored by his vast army as he walked‚ lived and broke bread amongst them. Now he was impoverished‚ moving from barely-furnished safe houses to barren caves hidden in high mountains.
It was not how a leader should lead.
Bin Jabbar was no longer in the position to give further orders; the remainder of his days were to be lived out‚ running and hiding as the net around him tightened. Ghulam saw himself as the natural successor. Change had been forced upon them‚ but it was a change that was required. The teachings of Al-Mudarris were dated‚ his attacks planned meticulously so his men lived to fight again when thousands of men would be willing to give their lives for The Cause. His love for his people had clouded his judgement‚ blinded him to the truth that there is no higher sacrifice to Allah than the sacrifice of life.
‘Pathaan‚’ Ghulam said‚ turning to him. ‘Do we have any sleepers in the vicinity?’
‘We have one. Based in West London‚ a few kilometres from Heathrow Airport‚’ Pathaan replied. ‘In close proximity to Qasim.’
‘Is he capable?’
Pathaans blinked. A vision of a scared child‚ held tight in his arms‚ flashed behind his eyelids.
‘Qasim is the son of Abdullah bin Jabbar‚’ Ghulam continued. ‘Regardless of his treachery he deserves the respect of a clean death… By our hands.’
‘He is capable‚’ Pathaan said.
‘It is time our sleeper went active. Make contact and inform him of the fatwa.’
Al-Bhukara was still shuddering‚ his sobs coming in quick staccato beats. Ghulam’s intention was not one of forgiveness‚ there would be no second chances‚ but the knowledge that al-Bhukara had been acting directly under the orders of their leader troubled him. Could he punish a man for that?
Ghulam’s eyes landed on Ihsan and Talal who had inched closer to the door‚ wearing expressions as though they had been caught peeping through a keyhole. He remembered why he had invited them. It was to illustrate to them that a mistake like this could never happen again.
‘Pathaan‚’ he said‚ finally coming to a decision. ‘Please‚ show al-Bhukara the respect that he deserves.’
Al-Bhukara lifted his head and exhaled a sharp breath of relief. Still crying hysterically‚ he opened his mouth and searched for words suitable for the huge gratitude he’d felt towards the Sheikh. From the corner of his eye he could see Pathaan rise from his armchair. Al-Bhukara turned his head towards him‚ just in time to see him cut the distance between them in two long strides and then raise his gun‚ shooting him point blank in the side of the head.
‘Two of the greatest teams the world has ever seen‚’ Shaz said‚ knocking back the last of his drink. ‘With an abundance of attack and creativity at their disposal‚ and it ends up being a soulless‚ goalless draw.’
Shaz and I had spent the best part of the night cursing the so-called spectacle that it was billed to be. Between us we’d cleaned a litre bottle of Jameson‚ coupled with a few joints‚ and then went one-on-one in my living room with a plastic football.
A little past midnight and one broken lamp later‚ we bumped fists as Shaz‚ who still lived with his parents‚ went home. I did not envy him one bit‚ knowing what he was about to go through. The journey home after a heavy night was never straightforward. I knew this as I’d been in the very same situation on many occasions when I lived with Khala.
First‚ it used to involve a detour to Heston Services to use their facilities and scrub my face clean. Then I’d spend five pounds on strong mints‚ bottled water and eye drops. Two in each eye‚ ten minutes to take effect. Knocking back the bottled water to help sober up‚ and popping mint after mint until I arrived at my front door.
Then