East of Hounslow. Khurrum Rahman
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and certainly more lucrative options.
‘My father‚ actually‚’ Idris said‚ smiling at the memory. ‘Yes‚ my father. He would say to me time and time again: Son‚ there is too much violence and evil in this world which we cannot control. But we can control what is happening on our doorstep. It’s funny but I’ve never told anybody that before.’ Idris looked at the Chief for some sign of softness or emotion. There was none. Wakefield’s eyes were steady and steely.
‘We grew up in a bad neighbourhood. My dad wanted to be part of the force but all he could manage was a job as a security guard. A job which he took very seriously. Sometimes to a fault.’ Idris shrugged. ‘And I wanted to emulate that attitude‚ that mentality. One day I’m going to have kids and I want them to grow up in a safe environment‚ which I know is probably just a pipe dream. But I have to try‚ and it’s not just for my children‚ it’s for everyone who cannot protect themselves. I want to protect them as my father protected me. I am sick and tired of the scum that litter our streets.’
Wakefield smashed the palm of her hands on the table. The sound reverberated around the room. The neatly stacked pile of documents shuddered and dislodged‚ the top sheet decided to make a break for it and lazily arced through the air before landing itself in the bin. The shudder also disturbed the mouse and the PC monitor came to life‚ lending a harsh glow to Wakefield’s face.
‘So why is it that you have been seen on many occasions with a known drug dealer?’
There it was.
Jay.
Wakefield calmly tucked a stray hair behind her ear which had become loose during her outburst. A feminine gesture which seemed out of character.
‘What’s happened?’ Idris asked in a low‚ measured tone.
‘Do you know how it would look for you‚ for us‚ if word got out that one of our own has been associating with a drug dealer?’
Without taking her eyes off him‚ Wakefield opened up the top drawer to her right and picked out a brown envelope. She threw it down on the desk.
Idris picked it up and slipped out several photographs printed on 7 x 5 glossy card. There were three photos‚ all taken within a very short period. Minutes.
The first was of Idris and Jay in a Vauxhall Nova‚ Jay’s arm hanging out of the window with a dubious roll-up in his hand. The second appeared to show a third person peering through the driver’s window‚ seemingly in conversation with Jay.
The third photo showed a clear exchange of currency and a small package.
Idris calmly slid the photos back into the envelope and placed it back on the desk.
‘He’s a friend‚’ Idris said quietly and clenched his jaw waiting for the onslaught.
‘You stupid boy. The front page of every bloody tabloid‚ if this gets out. I can see it as clear as day. What do you think is going to happen to you‚ Zaidi? Hmm? Sitting in the bloody car with a criminal whilst a drug deal takes place right under your bloody nose.’
‘With all due respect‚ ma’am‚’ Idris countered. ‘He’s a low level juggler. He only deals to mates. It’s not like we’re looking at him.’ Idris’ eyes fell on the envelope. ‘Why are we looking at him?’
‘We’re not‚’ Wakefield said. A small change in her expression led Idris to believe that she had given away far more than she wanted to.
‘I haven’t done anything wrong‚ ma’am.’
‘You have a bright future ahead of you Zaidi and you are in real danger of jeopardising all that you have worked towards‚ and all the trust we have placed in you… Am I making myself clear‚ Zaidi?
Idris gritted his teeth and held his tongue.
‘I insist that you cut off ties with Javid Qasim.’
‘Ma’am?’
‘You are not to see him again.’
Idris knew how this was going to sound but he said it anyway. ‘He’s my friend.’
‘Make a choice‚ Detective Inspector.’ Wakefield said‚ emphasising his title to hammer home the point.
‘This is bullshit‚’ Idris muttered under his breath‚ purposely loud enough for the Chief to hear. Wakefield let it slide as she replaced the envelope back in the top drawer.
‘Dismissed.’
Idris stood his ground for a moment‚ his blood bubbled and threatened to spill over. He eyed the Chief momentarily before turning on his heel and walking towards the door. He placed his hand on the door handle but didn’t turn it. A question had been burning through his mind as soon as he had seen the photographs. He looked down at his hand and his knuckles had turned white. He released it and turned to face the Chief.
‘Who was that man you were talking to outside?’
‘I said you’re dismissed‚’ Wakefield said‚ her head down‚ avoiding eye contact.
Idris couldn’t let it go. ‘Is this anything to do with him?
This time Wakefield’s head snapped up and her eyes locked into his.
‘Get out of my office‚ now!’
Major General Stewart Sinclair sat in Boardroom 3 alongside John Robinson‚ Assistant Director of Counter Terrorism Operations. Boardroom 3 was the smallest boardroom in the Security Service building‚ however it remained a popular choice due to the breathtaking and calming views of the River Thames. On the table in front of them was a printed photo of Javid Qasim. Teddy Lawrence‚ the young officer‚ sat across the desk from them and was on his second exaggerated glance at his watch.
Kingsley Parker walked through the door‚ removed his pea coat and hung it on the back of his chair. As he sat down next to Lawrence‚ his coat slipped to the floor. Lawrence suppressed a smile. A smile which did not go unnoticed. Parker picked up the coat and looked around the room for a coat stand. Unable to locate one he folded the coat and placed it on the chair next to him.
‘Traffic bad‚ Parker?’ Lawrence asked.
Parker ignored him.
‘Right. Let’s get started‚ shall we?’ Sinclair announced. His authoritative manner was such that anything he said sounded like an announcement. Every word enunciated and boomed‚ ensuring that there could be no mistakes as to what had been said or heard. The Major General had previously been in the army and he still used his rank. ‘Parker‚ you attended two meetings‚’ Sinclair looked down at his notes. ‘With our very own Dr Thomas Gladstone and Chief Superintendent Penelope Wakefield of Hounslow Met.’ Sinclair didn’t wait for a response. ‘Would you like to brief us?’
Parker fidgeted slightly in his chair. His woolly jumper had started to itch and he had to make a concerted effort not reach around and scratch his back. He started slowly‚ tripping over words but he eventually found some rhythm as he filled them in. From his peripheral vision he could see the obvious glee emanating from Lawrence.
‘Well‚’ Sinclair said‚ ‘the good doctor‚ as always‚ at his elusive best. He is right‚ though. It is very much a judgement call. What’s your take on it‚ Parker?’
‘The ease in which he can adapt to his environment‚ could see him as an invaluable asset. It wouldn’t take much for him to get noticed by the radicals who attend Sutton Mosque. Already‚ he’s shown his commitment to the community with helping out at the mosque and then the subsequent revenge attack at the car park in Staines. No question‚ news of his action would have been noticed.’
‘And we’ve got him by the balls!’