Circle of Fire (19 page)

‘Don't worry,' she said. ‘I've driven it before.'

A lot of traffic was coming towards her; swerving round a corner too fast, they hit the kerb with a bang. Maya cursed. The old man put a gnarled hand onto the dashboard and steadied himself.

She checked the mirror. There didn't seem to be anybody following them so she slowed down, turned down a side street and drove carefully to the bottom junction. She changed down the gears and pulled up quite smoothly to stop in front of a shop.

When she switched off the engine, the old man took out a handkerchief, wiped his forehead and blew his nose. His breath wheezed in and out, his eyes closed. Maya hoped he wasn't going to collapse.

She pressed her hands to her face and sank forward onto her elbows. The clock on the dashboard ticked, the overheated engine cracked as it cooled.

Then she heard the old man chuckle. She looked at him in surprise. What was he up to? He reached beneath his shawl, digging deep into a pocket. He grinned as he held out a mobile phone.

‘Omar,' he said, ‘will not bear the shame of a girl stealing his father and his van.'

He punched in some numbers and handed the phone to Maya. ‘He'll want to do a deal.'

She listened to the dialling tone and then Omar's voice boomed into her ear. ‘Abbu. Are you all right?'

She steeled herself to speak calmly. ‘This is Maya Brown. I have your father. If you want to see him alive, you'd better listen to me.'

Omar's voice exploded into spattering sounds. ‘Wh . . . wh . . . what? Where?'

When his voice faded she said in icy tones, ‘You left you father alone in the house. Now he's with me. I have a gun. I won't hesitate to use it. I want you to release my mother. When you're ready to do a deal, you can phone me.'

She switched the phone off and looked across at the old man. He seemed to have recovered; his cheeks were glowing, his eyes glinted mischievously. He seemed to be almost enjoying himself.

‘You must be careful,' he said. ‘Omar is not to be trusted. His honour is everything. He will fight to the death.'

In the rear-view mirror she saw a black car with tinted windows drive up slowly and stop behind the van. She flinched as the door opened, her eyes riveted to the mirror. She held her breath. Had she been followed? With only the slightest glance at the van, the man went into the shop.

With a heavy sigh of relief Maya started the engine and eased forward – she had to find a hiding place.

Driving slowly through residential streets she found her way back to the building site. The workmen had finished for the day, so she steered the van over rutted ground to the edge of the wood. Carefully manoeuvring the van, she parked it between trees so that it was partly hidden from the road. When she took her foot off the accelerator her arms and legs were trembling. It was hard to believe she'd actually driven along public roads in such a huge vehicle – and that she'd done it twice. She could have had a horrible accident or, perhaps even worse, caused one. And it wasn't over yet, not by a long way.

Sharif was silent, his head lolling to one side.

‘Are you OK?' she asked.

The old man roused himself, sat up and looked at her, his face suddenly alert. ‘Don't despair. Omar will contact us.'

‘When?'

‘When the sun goes down he'll make his decision.'

Maya wondered how she could wait so long. Closing her eyes, she leaned back. It was hot, too hot. She heard the old man cough and felt a tap on her shoulder. Gratefully she accepted the bottle of water he was holding out to her. It was tepid, but she gulped it down. When she handed it back he nodded, replaced the cap and said, ‘We haven't been formally introduced. My name is Sharif.'

Pulling the shawl from his shoulders, he folded the white fringed square carefully, laid it on the seat beside him and began to talk. He told her about his family, his early life in Pakistan.

‘I had a good life. I was professor of Literature at Lahore University. But I was young, idealistic, I believed in democracy. I joined a resistance group in the 1960s. We helped bring down Ayub Khan's military dictatorship.' He paused, looking wistful. ‘I was a freedom fighter . . . but ultimately we
failed. Then I was hounded from my post by the government.' He turned away, reached for his shawl and dabbed at his face. ‘The government in Pakistan is always at war with its people,' he added.

‘What about Omar,' Maya asked. ‘What happened? Why does he hate the West?'

‘I don't think he ever forgave me for leaving Pakistan. Here we became outsiders. In Lahore we had a spacious bungalow, servants, a beautiful garden. What did we come to? A dismal, shabby terraced house. Then my wife died soon after we came here. I couldn't get a job. Omar hated school, was spat at in the street, called a Paki. Perhaps it was too much for him to bear.'

‘But your other son, Majid, he's not the same?'

‘No. Majid's an academic, devout, honourable. His struggles have made him stronger, determined to succeed, while Omar's hurt has turned to bitterness.'

‘But Omar's rich.'

‘Yes, but his business methods don't command respect. He has lied, cheated. Everyone knows this – he's not liked in our community.'

‘So now he thinks he'll get people to respect him by turning into a terrorist?'

‘A twisted way of thinking. It was because of
Omar that Majid was arrested.' The old man bowed his head. ‘Majid's lawyer told me. Omar was distributing Islamist leaflets at Majid's college, spreading hate to the students. When the police went to his home, they found suspicious items Omar had left in the cellar. Omar wasn't brave enough to tell them they'd got the wrong man, and Majid would not implicate his brother. So Majid is awaiting trial.'

Suddenly Sharif seemed exhausted. He closed his eyes, his body slumped and shivered with every breath. His eye sockets were dark holes, his brown skin tough and leathery, deep lines etched on either side of his nose.

The hours passed. Maya fell asleep and awoke with a jolt, annoyed at herself for letting her guard down. Anybody could have crept up on them. The old man was still sleeping; he stirred and muttered, but didn't wake. Maya climbed out of the van and went deeper into the wood, squatted down behind a tree and peed. A rustling noise set her nerves quivering but it was only a bird caught in a thicket. She straightened up and stood with her back to a tree while she re-tied the scarf round her head.

When she returned to the van, Sharif was awake.
Almost immediately his phone jangled. He picked it up and held it out to her. When she pressed the button to connect, Omar's voice came through loud and clear.

‘Abbu, are you all right?'

‘He's sleeping.'

‘Oh, it's you.'

‘Yes, it's me.'

‘You're causing a great deal of trouble.'

‘Is my mum all right?'

‘She's safe.'

‘I want to see her. I want you to let her go.'

‘Then you have to release my father.'

‘I'll make a deal.'

‘Why should I negotiate with you?'

‘Because if you don't let my mother go, I'll kill your father. He's here now by my side, sleeping. I have a gun. I could put him to sleep forever.'

The peal of laughter that came through the earpiece shocked her. It was a horrible, evil, twisted sound that made her blood run cold.

‘You're not capable of killing,' Omar taunted.

Making her voice as strong and steady as she could, Maya said, ‘His fate is in your hands.'

Omar hesitated. She heard him sniff and swallow,
then he said slowly, ‘Come to the mill yard at ten o' clock tonight.' He breathed deeply, paused and then added, ‘Your mother will be waiting in a silver Mercedes. Release my father, get in the car and you and your mother will be free to drive away.'

Maya's heart leapt. He was giving in, he was going to let her mum go.

‘Have you got that?' he asked.

‘Yes. I'll be there.'

Maya was so excited that she didn't care when he abruptly cut the connection. She looked out at the woods, her heart singing, congratulating herself on how clever she'd been. What a stroke of genius plotting to kidnap Sharif. But after a few moments her mind began to fill with doubt.

And when Sharif heard what Omar had said, he stroked his beard, thoughtfully. ‘If he's letting your mother go, then she is no longer a threat to him.'

‘But she knows about his organisation.'

‘That's true.'

Maya saw the doubt on his face. ‘He won't let her go, will he?'

‘No.'

‘Will he double-cross me?'

‘Yes. I fear he will.'

‘Then thank goodness I have plan B.'

Maya felt in her pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. She unfolded it and carefully studied the map Khaled had drawn in the restaurant. Then, turning the paper over, she picked up her phone and punched in the number written on the back.

The mill yard was full of shadows. Maya stopped the van at the entrance, checking for a welcoming party. She saw no one, but was sure she was being watched. At the back of the yard she saw a silver Mercedes.

Putting her foot down on the accelerator, she eased the van forward and steered it carefully through the gates, but as she scanned the yard she lost concentration and the van lurched forwards. Slamming on the brakes, she skidded past the Merc and ploughed into a grassy bank. The steering wheel smashed into her chest and the old man half-fell off the seat, trembling and muttering.

Maya reeled back, wincing with pain. ‘Sorry,' she whispered.

Cursing her clumsiness, she turned to look back
across the yard and saw the silhouette of a person sitting in the Mercedes.

She used her mobile to call Omar. ‘Stay back. I'm walking your father to the car. Only when I see that my mum is OK will I let your father go.'

She unzipped her pocket, took out the gun and pointed it at Sharif.

‘That won't be necessary,' he said quietly.

‘It's for Omar's benefit,' Maya replied.

‘Let's go out the back way,' he said.

‘Why?'

‘They won't be expecting it.'

It wasn't easy getting him over the seat, but with a bit of help from Maya, Sharif managed it. They edged round an old sofa and shuffled forward in complete darkness to reach the back doors. The old man found the handle and pulled, but the doors wouldn't open.

‘The dent,' Maya said. ‘The doors are stuck because of the accident.'

She helped him push, and suddenly both doors swung open.

‘Stand here,' Sharif said.

Maya stood beside him. He pressed a button, and a hydraulic lift slowly lowered them into the
yard. Before he stepped forward, Sharif turned and whispered a blessing in Maya's ear. Then he began to pray, ‘
Ashaduan la ilaha illa hlah
,' and he continued a low chant as together they walked over to the Mercedes, Sharif in front, Maya's gun pressed into his back.

Over Sharif's head, Maya saw the car and the silhouette of Pam in the passenger seat. Everything else dropped away, nothing else mattered except her mum, her wonderful, lovely mum, there at last, just ahead of her. She gave Sharif a gentle push, stepped round him and plunged forward.

Her fingers were clumsy, scrabbling to open the door. The light came on. The woman at the wheel was wearing a headscarf. She turned and looked at Maya – her eyes weren't soft and grey, they were glittering and green.

Before Maya could react, somebody grabbed her from behind, strong arms circled her and hauled her from the car.

‘Where's my mum?' she shouted.

She recognised Nazim's voice. ‘Don't worry, we'll take you to her.'

Mad with anger, Maya thrashed and squirmed, just managing to wriggle away. Light blazed in her
eyes, shadows flew past her. She pointed the gun, pressed the trigger and fired into the blackness.

There was a rustling behind her, but before she could turn and shoot again a hand gripped her throat, she was hauled to her feet and then she was falling, stars shattered round her head. As she was dragged across the yard, she heard the sound of a helicopter circling overhead.

Thump!
She was slung onto a hard bench, the breath knocked out of her. A door clanged shut. She opened her eyes: everything was blurred. Eventually she made out a table, a chair and a small, high window. It was a cold room in the basement.

From outside she heard sirens, a harsh light sliced across the room, then flicked away. She rolled onto her side and pushed herself up. Her throat was dry, her head throbbing and she was overwhelmed with nausea. She retched, and just managed to stumble into a corner before she threw up. Then she sat on a chair and wiped her mouth on her sleeve.

Dragging the bench under the window, she climbed up and tried to look outside, but couldn't see anything except a haze of lights above her. She got down and tried to put a chair on top of the bench but couldn't do it; her head was swimming.
Moments passed, there was a confusion of rattling noises outside. Her head drooped, her eyes were heavy, she lay down, her energy gone.

She hardly moved when the door opened, but suddenly a hand grabbed her and pulled her upright.

‘Bitch!' Nazim screamed at her. ‘This is all your fault. You called the cops. We're surrounded. Now we'll all die. Nobody will escape.'

He pushed Maya into a corridor. A man dressed in black was standing there, pointing a heavy gun at her. She thought it was her last moment, she thought the final thing she'd see was the barrel of a gun, and somehow, strangely, she didn't care. She stood there shivering, prepared for the bang. But the next moment she was seized and thrown inside another room.

As she fell into the room, she veered into a chair and knocked it over. Putting her hands out to steady herself, she rammed up against a wall. Behind her, she heard Omar's voice.