THIRTEEN
Mohammed Ali Gee put a glass of orange juice on Norman’s table.
‘I thought I had asked you for a pint,’ said Norman
‘You should stay off the drink for a while mate’ said Mohammed.
Mohammed had a reputation for being a vicious killer. While serving in Afghanistan he brutally murdered a young family in the middle of a street in Kandahar one Sunday morning. One of the family was only 15-year-old. She suffered multiple stab wounds and died a short time after the attack.
That day Mohammed had spent the most of the day at home. He was half way through a game of football with two friends and his younger brother when he received the call from Norman
On another occasion while serving in Iraq, Mohammed while on a patrol was heading towards a local park. His team route took them down a small road when the small squad of four infantry soldiers were confronted by a gang of seven youths on bikes. The gang were dressed in hoody’s and balaclavas and when they saw the Squad they shouted, "Get them".
The Squad were brutally killed by Mohammed stood his ground. He unleashed a barrage of gunfire before he slashed each and every member of the gang.
One unlucky survivor he attacked with a metal pole and a knife. He killed the last survivor stabbing him multiple times. The knife was used with such force that the blade came off inside his body.
Mohammed took a large sip of his drink and glanced through the windows of this back street London bar towards the river front. He could sense that a storm was near. Birds were flying around in circles and the trees that littered the local park were beginning to sway back and forth like masts in the wind.
‘So who are we meeting this time?’ asked Mohammed.
Both Norman and Mohammed looked up to the TV screen as the News Programme flashed up a newsflash in red. Three British soldiers from some Infantry Regiment had been killed in Afghanistan.
Both men looked at each other. Both said nothing but their eyes were full of pain and sorrow. Both men thought back to their military days and the bond they still had with their colleagues. A bond that could never be broken come what may.
Suddenly a man approach their table
‘Mr Brooks, I’m Hussein Selah, I’ve heard all about you’.
Both Norman and Mohammed glanced up. Hussein was dressed in a brown leather jacket and blue denim jeans. He had a thin beard that covered his mouth and chin. Norman had read his file but he had never met him before.
‘Well I hope you have only heard the good bits Hussein’.
He nodded at Mohammed but both men preferred not to speak to each other in front of Norman their handler.
Hussein had served in the Republican Guard during the Gulf war. Hussein had turned to the west towards the start of the Gulf War and fled across the lines to his British captives where he was welcomed with open hands. He had quickly found a role for himself with the military. First of all as a translator and then a gather of information and local knowledge.
Unfortunately, the Republican Guard had not so understood. They murdered his family including his 16-year-old sister while walking home from a night out with friends in a small town to the West of Iraq.
Several years on and he was still no wiser as to who had killed his family or his baby sister. His family’s murder shocked his small hometown. Her semi-naked body was discovered in a lane, just 50 yards from her front door. She had been strangled with some kind of ligature that was a sexually motivated murder.
With the two men sat down Norman got straight onto business.
‘Men I have invited you both here today as I need you both to do a bit of...’
Norman hesitated on purpose trying to build up a bit of tension and urgency in the air. ‘Shall we say freelance work?’ ‘I need to put a team together to do a very important job and I want you two to form the main part of this small but important cell.’
‘I think you two would be perfect for my little team’.
‘What is the job’ said Hussein.
‘First I need two good men. Men who can work together, men who are willing to trust each other. Guys who are willing to keep an eye on each other’.
‘What type of men’ said Mohammed?
‘Men who are desperate and determined and are willing to be paid handsomely for one job.’
‘And you will not tell us what the job is’
‘Not until the team is formed and ready to go’ said Norman.
‘But at the end of it there will be half a million pounds for each survivor.’
Both men in harmony said ‘When do we start’
‘Tomorrow’ said Norman.
Ahmed Ismail sat upright in his bed. He could smell the woman’s perfume all over his bed and on the pile of clothes that lay tossed on the ground. They had had sex several times that night. She had been more than obliging in satisfying his needs. He had met her in a pub, they had chatted for several hours and drunk copious amounts of alcohol. Then one think had led to another and they had found themselves in a hotel room. It was now early morning and she was now in the bathroom getting dressed after her shower.
Suddenly the door opened and in walked Norman.
‘Who are you’ protested Ahmed.
‘Shut up and listen’
He then slammed down an envelope. In walked the women. He handed over to her £200.
‘Thanks see you around big boy’
She blew him a kiss and left the room.
‘I want you to do a little job for me. If you want to stop you wife and friends seeing these pictures then I would agree to my demands.’
Immediately Ahmed knew he had no option but to agree. If his wife left him, he would be ruined and excluded by his family.
‘Ok, what do you want me to do’?
Meet me at this address tomorrow at 10am and do not be late.
Ahmed Ismail was a former mercenary, military expert and author from Bolton. A native of Dixons City Academy and graduate of Bradford College, he began travelling the world at the age of 19 and participated in various regional conflicts and provided protection to the 14thMaharaja of Patiala where he learned Sniping, Vehicle operating skills and explosive skills. Later he went freelance and was involved in several operations in the Kashmir and Jammu areas. Later he moved back to the UK settling down with his wife and family in the West End of London. There he set up a Hauling and Dry Bulk firm that operated between China and Western Europe.
A few hours later, the fourth member of the team was brought on board.
Akbar Nassau was six foot four tall and still a lean fifteen stone despite being almost forty-three years old. He had earned medals while serving for both I Para and the SAS. He and his wife Sheba had been living in South London now for just over six year when the knock on the door came.
It had started to rain and when he opened the front door, he found Norman waiting with an outstretched umbrella holding a brown double handle holdall in his other hand. As they went down their stairs to Norman’s car Akbar knew that whatever Norman wanted him to do he would be powerless to resist. One way or the other Norman would get what he wanted. Therefore, with the walk of a condemned man, Akbar walked down with Norman towards his while Ford Focus that was waiting on the kerb below his house.
Norman opened the front door to the car.
‘You’d better get in’
Akbar had just about enough time to wave goodbye to his wife before the car turned away from the house and drove off in the direction of the motorway.