Dreams to Die For (22 page)

“Hello?” said Fadyar.

“I understand you need to speak with us so we can all meet up,” said a male voice, speaking in English but with a Birmingham accent.

“Yes.”

“We have been told of you, but did not expect you so soon.”

“Can you make it this evening?” enquired Fadyar.

“No problem, just say where.”

“OK. I will see you all this evening. Be ready. I will meet you at 7pm at the Corley services M6 heading towards Birmingham. I am driving a blue Peugeot 205, French plates. Introduce yourself as The Ferrymen.”

“Will do. See you then.” The male voice rang off.

Sharid Bagheri, Nasra Khan and Mawdud Mattar had arrived at the service station early, and Khan parked their Ford Mondeo so that they had a good view of the entrance. The men were all unmarried in their late twenties or early thirties whose parents had legally immigrated to the United Kingdom in the late 1960's and early 1970's. Sharid Bagheri lived with a white English partner, but Khan and Mattar lived alone. All had been born in Britain and all were therefore full UK nationals. None had been in serious trouble with the police and they all lived near to each other in and around the Handsworth district of Birmingham, where they regularly attended the local mosque. Sharid Bagheri and Nasra Khan had employment in different restaurants and Mawdud Mattar worked as supervisor in a factory manufacturing steel panels. Bagheri was the first to spot Fadyar. Noting where she stopped, Khan started the Mondeo and pulled into a bay next to the Peugeot. Bagheri got out and introduced himself as the Ferrymen.

Satisfied all was well, Fadyar and the others walked into the service station and having purchased three fruit juices and a coke, sat at a table near the far wall. Bagheri, Khan and Mattar gave Fadyar their names and more generally introduced themselves. Fadyar, speaking quietly, but not whispering, had some urgent questions she wanted answered.

“Can you all drive, have a licence and so on?” They all had.

“Good. Has anyone a UK bank account?”

Bagheri spoke first. “I have one in my own name, but we have all been provided with another account that could be used if you wish it to channel funds.”

“Even better. I will take details later. Can you all take time off work, say ten days from next week and a fortnight in September?”

Khan said that he could manage both quite easily but Mattar said the fortnight might be difficult, a week was more likely in September. Bagheri said he was already working a week's notice at the restaurant so it was likely to be easier to remain unemployed, but that his girlfriend might present a difficulty.

“Mawdud, the week in September will be OK. You will just not go back. It is doubtful if any of us will return to work after our glorious mission is accomplished. Sharid, who is this girlfriend? I need to know more.”

“She is a nice white girl I've known for over a year. She is not one of us of course, and as such cannot be involved. I realise that is a problem.”

Fadyar remained silent whilst the three looked at her to respond. She was weighing up the risks of Bagheri inventing some excuse to end the relationship, or of leaving the status quo but trying not to arouse the girl's suspicions. More than a minute passed before Fadyar was ready to speak again.

“Sharid. This is not a good beginning. You have gone against our teaching and the instructions you would have received at the camp. Let this be the last time. If I order you to ditch the girl, she may well become difficult and I cannot afford to be side-tracked. Nor am I prepared to take unnecessary risks by having her more permanently removed, at least not yet. How will she react if you go away? Will she want to come or make a fuss?”

“I am so sorry. I can use the excuse that I need to go away to find a job and that will satisfy her. She is not very bright.”

“That's obvious. She has to be pretty thick to shack up with you!” quipped Khan, easing the growing tension. Fadyar looked intently at Bagheri.

“OK then, but you must inform me if there is any hint of a problem with her. I will not have your dick compromising our operation, you understand? You are both expendable.” Fadyar was asserting her authority and it was not only Bagheri that had a shiver running down his spine. They all knew now that Fadyar would be a ruthless leader.

The conversation moved onto more minor matters. None of the group asked Fadyar about the mission knowing from their training in Pakistan that they would be given information only when needed.

“Now, where am I to stay for a few days?” asked Fadyar. “I can use a hotel but would prefer a house we can use as a base.”

Khan offered Fadyar his flat. It had two bedrooms in which he had frequently entertained one or more of his own casual female friends overnight, or had offered a room to a male friend who, living at home with strict Muslim parents, needed somewhere overnight to take a girl. Fadyar would be largely ignored by any neighbours thinking she was just another of Khan's many conquests. Although not overjoyed at the likelihood of being regarded as Khan's latest bedtime companion, Fadyar had to admit to herself that it was probably an ideal place for her to stay as she would not arouse suspicion.

“Good, thank you. I cannot leave the car here so I suggest we go now. I will follow you and park it close to Nasra's flat until you can find me a garage. One final thing, I shall meet you all together as little as possible. I shall pass instructions via Nasra, but it does not mean he is second-in-command. I shall inform you of whom I will choose as my deputy only when we go on our mission.”

* * *

Later that evening, she and Nasra were sat around his small dining table. He confirmed that he and his two friends had each been provided with a bank account to be used only for emergencies or for a mission. The accounts were not large, but each contained about £5,000. Fadyar started writing out a list of things she wanted done. It also served as an aide memoir and check list for her.

She also carefully reflected on the three men on whose actions her life may at some point depend. They were all now joined with her on the mission and the fate of them all depended on how well they could work together. She had been harsh on them, deliberately so, at the outset, but it was obvious they were true patriots, intelligent and could be trusted. Her assignment had got off to a good start, but it had a great deal further to go.

Gordon was true to his word. Within three weeks of returning from the villa, Cindy had located a reasonably sized two bedroom detached cottage on the outskirts of Grimley, a small Worcestershire village. It boasted a fully equipped interior, was beautifully decorated and had a large double garage. The latter was essential so that when Gordon visited he could park his vehicle away from prying eyes. She was sure that Alan would do all he could to find out where she had moved to, and was determined not to make it easy for him or his poodle, Donaldson. She sent Gordon the property particulars from the estate agents, and his company completed the purchase quickly and without complication. Using the money Gordon had placed in her account, Cindy began to thoroughly indulge herself buying everything she required to completely furnish the rooms and add to the already high level of fixtures and fittings. As she expected, Alan was dismayed when she rang him at their London apartment to say that she would be leaving him at the end of April, but after the initial shock he calmed and they agreed to meet at Red Gables to discuss any remaining issues between them before she left.

Cindy had poured herself a large whisky and soda whilst waiting for him and, as she expected, Alan arrived on time. She had prepared a meal for them both and afterwards sat in the lounge on separate sofas facing each other. The conversation started amicably enough but Alan's initial pleasant demeanour changed to acrimony when she refused to say where she would be living – yet Cindy detected there was something about Alan's anger that was not quite as she had anticipated. It subsided much sooner than she believed it would. In a restrained, measured voice Alan enquired what he should do with any of Cindy's mail that got delivered.

“I have arranged with the post office to have it redirected to my friend Mary in the village. She will forward it to me. Alan, please do not embarrass yourself by asking her where I live as she will not tell you. I have also printed off from the computer some adhesive labels with Mary's name and address on them and, if you are agreeable, Mrs Crookes will forward any mail that slips through. Assuming of course you will be keeping her on here. If not, perhaps you could do it? That would be kind.”

Alan agreed. An hour later they had finished their discussion which after the early exchanges had remained totally amiable and constructive, quite different from what she feared. Cindy was quite astounded when, remarkably, it was Alan who rose first from his chair, bade her a pleasant “goodnight” and smartly walked out of the lounge, leaving her wondering what had brought about his unexpected change of attitude.

It did not take Donaldson long to find out where Cindy was moving to. Acting under Alan's instructions, he had kept a discreet watch on her movements and as, almost daily, Cindy was making the trip to Grimley to oversee the arrival of furniture or tradesmen, the task of ascertaining her future whereabouts was an easy one. Armed with the cottage address, Alan charged Donaldson to trace its ownership as it was clear from his driver's description that it was unlikely his wife could afford to purchase it outright. Alan was certain that there was a new man in Cindy's life and perhaps the cottage might disclose who it was, but he was disappointed to learn that it was in fact owned by a private investment company called ‘Lochside Fund Management'. He had tried to make enquiries of that but it was unknown to Companies House; investigations he made through Hannet-Mar's own banking systems had also produced no result. More in desperation than hope he and Donaldson accessed the internet one afternoon and typed the name into the search engine. There was little, except for a small news item in a past copy of
The Financial Times.

Alan was disappointed. Out of curiosity he followed the link to articles about Gordon Truscott but they did not interest him overmuch. He switched of his computer and turned to Donaldson. “She's obviously renting it. There is no way she could have met this Truscott chap, beside which he is clearly way out of Cindy's league.” He paused then chuckled, “Anyway, he certainly wouldn't be interested in her. A man with at least £200 million or more in spare cash could afford a bit better than a thirty-six year-old married woman – no need of that when he could be spending his time on exotic islands surrounded by numerous women half her age!”

“Too bloody right. With that kind of money I know I would,” said Donaldson enviously.

As Alan Crossland was deceiving himself over Gordon Truscott, Fadyar, Nasra, Sharid and Mawdud were sat in Nasra's flat, several Ordnance Survey maps scattered on the table before them. Fadyar took a slip of paper from her pocket and looked at the reference she had written upon it: NH0701502488.

The British Grid Referencing System is based on the Ordnance Survey Great Britain 1936 (OSGB
^TM
) datum and can be used to accurately pinpoint any location in Great Britain and its outlying islands. To provide a unique map reference, Great Britain is first divided into a series of 500km squares starting at the southwest corner of the country. Each of these 500km squares is allocated a single reference letter; either S, T N, H or O. Each 500km square is then subdivided into 25 squares, 100km by 100km. Every 100km square is allocated a reference letter A to Z, omitting I, starting with A in the north-west corner of the parent 500km square. In this way, each 100km square can be referred to by a unique two letter reference, with the first letter referring to the parent 500km square, and the second letter referring to a particular 100km square within it. After the two unique grid letters, a further two sets of figures of three or more numerals (up to six can be used) are given for the east and then the north directions, further and further refining the small squared area. In this way, even a particular building can be pinpointed on a sufficiently detailed map.

Her fellow conspirators looked at her expectantly. She picked up two sharp pencils and placed one in each hand. Slowly and deliberately, her left hand started to map the east co-ordinate whilst at the same time her right hand followed the north co-ordinate until both pencil points met.

“There it is! There it is! Look, it's called Mealag Lodge. That is where we will carry out our glorious mission!” she could barely contain her excitement. Her heart pounded, the palms of her hands became suddenly damp with sweat and her brow perspired. The others stared, open-mouthed, looking at her in anguished astonishment. It was Mawdud that spoke first.

“Fadyar, are you sure, really sure? This is in the middle of nowhere, what possible value can it be to attack it?”

“That is where you are wrong, my brothers. This place will be receiving a very important visitor in September. You do not need to know who that is yet, but our mission is to capture him and hold him hostage. Only as an absolute last resort, if our mission is certain of failure, are we to kill him. Whatever, the outcome will be glorious and we will have done our duty and caused our enemies in the West immeasurable harm.”

Sharid still could not believe Fadyar had correctly identified the location.

“Fadyar, my dear sister in arms, I do not want to appear difficult especially as I know I have already angered you but there are no roads to this place. Would it not be wise to recheck the location? Are you certain there has been no mistake because this place is so remote I'm wondering if it has been abandoned long ago?”

“Sharid, you have no need to keep apologising over the girl. Your contribution to us will be vital, but I will do as you ask.”

Fadyar bent over the spread-eagled map, again using the pencils as long, slender pointers.

“There, you see, no mistake. Mealag Lodge it is. I suspected something like this when I realised from the NH part of the map reference that the location would be somewhere in the north of Scotland – that is why next week we are all going on a very busy trip, to learn how we can accomplish our task. It will clearly not be easy, but there has to be a way, there always is. All we have to do is find it.”