East of Hounslow. Khurrum Rahman
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thought‚ and he gave Gladstone a look that said exactly that.
‘You want to use him as an asset‚ but will he play ball? Lord knows you have enough on him to persuade him. Trousers well and truly around his ankles and with his fingers in the cookie jar‚’ Gladstone said. ‘He is impressionable and if handled correctly he can be willing. But therein lies the problem.’
‘How so?’ Parker asked‚ rubbing his temples. This was not what he wanted to hear.
‘Willing and impressionable. Two very significant words. Given the right environment he can be willed and impressed upon in the other direction. Take him or any young man for that matter and put him in a hostile situation. Training camps‚ lectures‚ Imams‚ weapons‚ jihadists. Bonds are formed‚ lessons are learnt and seeds are planted. How do we know that he won’t deviate?’
‘With all due respect‚ Dr Gladstone‚ that’s what I’m asking you. It’s your area of expertise. Do you think that he could double cross?’ Parker said‚ the hint of desperation in his voice evident and he hated himself for it. Gladstone smiled passively.
‘Look‚ Parker. I have successfully profiled rapists‚ serial killers and paedophiles and had a direct hand in their capture. But this… This is different. It’s grey. What we know about extremists is that we don’t know very much. Not really. Especially not enough to profile them. They can come from any background. A diverse bunch. Only a few months ago we have had a high-flying‚ suit-wearing‚ secretary-shagging lawyer blow himself and everything around him up outside the American Embassy in Turkey. In the last twelve months we’ve seen scholars‚ junkies‚ alcoholics‚ bin men‚ the unemployed‚ all turn. It doesn’t matter. Status does not matter. The popular‚ the loner‚ even the non-religious.’
‘Yes. Okay. I get the picture‚’ Parker said. Not rudely‚ though that’s how it sounded.
‘They do not fit a single demographic profile and they all have different views and assumed paths. Drawn in for reasons political‚ personal‚ religious or otherwise. They don’t wear a uniform and they don’t play by any particular rules. So you tell me. How do we know? How can they be profiled?’
Parker nodded thoughtfully. Gladstone was right. How do we know?
Parker took a sip of tea. Gladstone did the same.
‘It’s a judgement call‚ Parker.’
I had killed thirteen prostitutes‚ sent a missile into a cop car and accidentally shot my best friend in the head. In the process I’d made almost a half a mill and that figure was rapidly rising. But it wasn’t the kind of money that would impress Silas‚ and hiding in bed for two days straight‚ playing Grand Theft Auto‚ was not going to solve my problem.
I was fully aware of the deep shit I was in‚ but I needed time to think. And the result of all my thinking? Not a goddamn thing. I would have to resort to asking Mum. There was nothing to be ashamed of in asking a parent for help. It’s my right to ask and it’s her right to provide.
I pushed myself out of bed and I padded my way downstairs. Halfway down I heard an unfamiliar voice.
A male voice.
I pushed open the kitchen door just as said voice uttered something so fucking hilarious that it made Mum throw herself onto his lap. My presence soon put a stop to their laughter and they both smiled nervously at me as they took in my evident bedhead and my Batman onesie. Mum had the good grace to detach herself from him. She walked over to me and planted one on my cheek. I sat down opposite whoever the fuck he was and Mum slid into the seat closest to him – even though the seat next to me was available!
‘This is‚ um‚ Andrew. Andrew Bishop‚’ Mum said‚ by way of introduction. ‘Andrew‚ this is my son‚ Jay.’
He put his right hand out‚ I put my right hand out too but it didn’t make contact. Instead I reached past his hand and in a pathetic act of rebellion I grabbed his coffee and took a sip of it whilst eyeballing him from over the rim.
One-nil to me.
He took his left hand into his right and shook his own hand at some attempt at humour and it made my Mum unsuccessfully stifle a laugh.
One-one.
We sat in awkward silence for a few seconds as I finished off Andrew’s coffee‚ daring him to say something to me in my domain. I checked him out. Dark‚ wavy‚ presidential hair dropping effortlessly over his big forehead. A nose that can only be described as prominent and dark eyes which held mine without hesitation. Stripy shirt with a loose brown blazer‚ with patches on the elbow and a jaunty novelty tie that sat askew. Looking for all the world like a geography teacher.
Andrew glanced at his watch. ‘Oh‚ look at that. Must dash.’
Yeah‚ on your bike‚ mate. Dash away!
‘Andrew’‚ Mum said‚ ‘teaches at Heston Primary.’
I knew it.
I shrugged. Big and exaggerated. The kind of shrug that did not require decrypting. Andrew and Mum stood up in tandem. Mum stepped to him‚ straightened his tie and then tiptoed and kissed him on the face. On the fucking face! They smiled stupidly at each other for a second‚ and then they walked out of the kitchen and into the hallway. I heard the front door open but not close. I walked out of the kitchen and into the hallway and made myself into a sixth toe. I watched them carefully talking in hushed tones. I sniffed loudly. I cleared my throat. I forced a cough until finally he got the message and walked out.
Mum gave him a cheery wave and said ‘Good luck!’ She hesitantly shut the door after Andrew was out of sight‚ and I made my way back into the kitchen for some Coco Pops.
Mum walked in as I was slamming the kitchen cabinet shut. She slapped me on the back of the head.
‘What the fu—’
‘Excuse me?’
‘What was that for?’ I asked‚ rubbing the back of my head.
‘Calm down‚ Jay. You’ve made your point‚’ Mum said.
I finished preparing my cereal and sat at the table whilst she loaded the dishwasher. This clearly was not the right time to ask for ten large.
So instead I asked‚ ‘Good luck for what?’
Mum didn’t answer me straight away. She took off her marigolds and pulled up a chair opposite me. Her features softened‚ her earlier annoyance with me no longer visible.
‘It’s Andrew’s last day at school.’
‘How sweet. Are all the kids going to sign his shirt and flour bomb him?’ I said‚ through a mouthful.
Ignoring my sarcasm‚ Mum placed both her hands out invitingly onto the middle of the table. I looked at her curiously as I crunched loudly on my cereal. I slowly put the spoon back in the bowl and my hands reached out to hers.
‘Jay… We need to talk.’
I swallowed. Never had she said that to me before. Yeah‚ we talk but we don’t talk.
‘What is it‚ Mum?’
I could see her trying to piece together the words in her head which just added to my already increasing anxiety. Different scenarios ran through my mind‚ none of them pleasant.
‘Mum! What?’ I said‚ and it came out like a high pitched squawk. My hands had tensed and tightened around Mum’s.
‘Andrew and I. We‚ um… Well‚ we… I don’t know quite how to say this.’
Okay‚ so they had been seeing each other. No big deal. I wasn’t