Ahmed opened the door to his flat and nearly tripped over the pile of letters, circulars and local papers. He cursed silently whilst stooping to scoop up the paper detritus. As he mounted the stairs it struck him that the place smelled faintly musty. 'Hell' he thought 'I have only been away a few days and this is how it smells-empty!'
On walking into the sitting room he noticed the red blinking of the ansaphone. He strode over to the small desk that occupied the bay window overlooking the street below. He threw the pile of paper onto the desk and tutted at the layer of dust on the surface: the beauty of London air. Although not as toxic as Beijing it still carried more than its fair share of filth.
His next port of call: the coffee machine. He grabbed a bag of bins from the oak cupboard above the coffee machine and toaster. Within seconds the gurgling had commenced and the aroma of freshly ground beans and brewing coffee commenced replacing that empty dank smell.
He looked in the fridge and took out the small carton of milk. A riot of emotions and thoughts rattled around his head: Blunt, Flint, Norwich, Cushion, Leibnitz, the Russians the dead girl, the Patel's shop. Did he want to stay in Blunt's new unit? Did he think that Blunt's new unit had a future? What did he think of Flint? Did he really want to be taken away from the comfort zone of London?
'Shit!' he audibly exclaimed when he looked at the heavy lumps of sour milk in his mug. He emptied the remainder of the foul smelling contents out of the carton into the sink, turned the cold tap full on and flushed the white lumpen mess down the plug hole.
Another cup of black coffee poured he went over to, and sat in the armchair next to the ansaphone. He pressed the 'play' button and waited for the messages.
His mother's voice, quiet and soft, spoke to him;
'Ahmed, your mother. How are you? You haven't called home for a little while. We worry if we do not here from you. Things are not so good at the shop. Let me put you onto your father...' a pause ensued followed by his father's booming heavily accented voice, 'Son how are you? Have you started going to the mosque again yet? It would be good if you could come home and help run the shop. I bought it for you. When are you going to get married. Mr Iqbal's younger daughter would be good. You know Mr Iqbal has the wholesale business the Leeds side of Wakefield....' He heard his mother quietly interrupt in the background in Pashtun, 'Ali, leave the boy alone'...His father then continued 'You should come home more often. We could go to the mosque together. Goodbye'
His mother came on for the next message:
'Your father is sleeping. He won't say anything to you. Some of the children from the St Ignatius' call us Paki bastards and steal things from the shop. Your father he will not go to the police. It is making him ill. You know he has heart problems. Can you do something? Come home son and see us. All my love your mother'.
The last call was from his ex-girlfriend, Angela. She asked about the possibility of arranging a meeting, say over dinner. She ended by asking him to give her a call.
Ahmed leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes. The Patel shop in Norwich reminded him of his parent's shop. He wondered whether the reasons for the unease and reticence of the Patel's, and others of their background, with the police could be lain at the door of their experiences with the law enforcement officers in the Pashtun province. He remembered the bitter arguments with his father when he had informed him of his own decision to join the police force. He further recollected how he had always been at loggerheads with the old man. Over religion and the mosque...as soon as he attained a sufficient age he had refused to go to Friday night prayers. At university he had little to do with religious Asians. Already he could see that some of them were moving in a direction that could lead to some form of extremism. As in the unions these people usually had the loudest voices and drowned out and scared away those of a moderate disposition.
He decided that he would call his parents when he returned to Norwich, probably tomorrow. First though he needed to look through the mail, arrange for an Estate Agent regarding renting the flat, throw some clothes together and then call Flint. His thoughts then settled on his colleague.
At first they had bristled in each other's presence. Then they had warmed to one another. The car trip to London had further cemented a growing relationship. He felt a sexual attraction towards the woman and felt that it was reciprocated. However, he needed to know the nature of her relationship with Blunt. He strongly sensed that there was something there. However, he did not feel confident enough or feel that he knew her enough to broach the question of her relationship with their boss. Perhaps he could gently raise the matter on the return trip to Norwich. Then again not, he reasoned. They were colleagues and therein lay the obvious problems and pitfalls: things that could cost both of them their careers, not to say jobs.
Saied thrust himself up from the chair and strode over to the table by the bay window. He briefly looked out of the window before picking up the pile of papers and returning to the armchair. He failed to register the dark Jaguar parked behind his car and that it blocked his car in!
Junk mail of one description or another comprised three quarters of the pile. The remainder contained gas bills, electricity bills and a circular from his CD club. He put those three to one side together with the circulars from a couple of estate agents.
He rang the agents, informed them what he wanted and agreed to drop off a set of keys to one of them.
Once more he sprang from the chair and walked briskly into the kitchen. He opened the cupboard beneath the sink and delved inside until he had retrieved a black plastic sack.
He went to the fridge freezer and systematically threw the contents into the sack. He switched the appliance off and left the doors open. Shortly afterwards the junk mail was thrown into the sack. Saied systematically emptied his flat of everything that he now considered rubbish of one form or another.
Finally, he threw a selection of suits, shirts, slacks, jumpers underwear and socks into his large Antler suitcase. A collection of shoes and assorted toiletries completed the task.
He carried the suitcase and the black sack into the living room and made a phone call to Flint stating that he would be with her within the hour. Her pleasure at hearing his voice sent a little frisson down his spine. He mentally chastised himself.
Whilst depositing the black sack into the bin the closeness of the Jaguar to his car struck him. He looked at the gap between himself and the car in front and inwardly groaned. It could take him at least half an hour to get out because of how the prat in the Jaguar had parked. He glared at the offending vehicle whilst putting his suitcase into the boot of his own car. He kicked the Jaguar's wheels in frustration. He then noticed two shapes through the tinted windows and gulped.
He heard the nearside rear window gently swish open. A voice from within spoke,
'Inspector Saeed, Ahmed Saeed your presence please' ordered a mellifluous but also unctuous sounding voice.
A mixture of thoughts sped through his mind. 'What the hell' thought Saeed 'And how the hell do they know I am going to be promoted. Shit that voice sounds familiar'
He walked over to the Jaguar, leaned into the open window and recognized Rafique Khan!
'Join me for a moment or two' the voice purred.
As he clambered into the seat alongside Khan, Ahmed's nostrils were assailed by the intermingling of leather, cigar smoke and expensive aftershave. The latter two emanated from the older man leisurely and affectedly puffing on the remains of a fat cigar.
Khan had attained the dizzy heights of the highest ranking, and most respected, Asian in Parliament. The political pundits reckoned that if his party won the next election he would be the Secretary of State for the Ministry of Defence, or, even the Home Office. He stood five foot eight and possessed a distinct politician's paunch: a tribute to the subsidised fine dining to be found in the Houses of Parliament. He had a large head made larger by his jowly features and the thin silvery hair that fringed a shiny bald crown. On meeting Khan for the first time most people's eyes were drawn to large fleshy nose with a slight kink (the result he claimed of a rugby injury) and the thin, almost non-existent lips. This slightly oddly packaged man exuded an animal magnetism.
He thrust his hand out towards Ahmed who reciprocated so that Khan could demonstrate his firm handshake.
'Good to see you again. We did meet about two years ago on your home turf, in Walsall'
Ahmed nodded.
'You' re probably wondering why we are having this meeting?' Ahmed nodded again, 'I recommended you for the post with the new unit in Norfolk and recommended that you be promoted'
'So, I have you to thank.' a slightly sarcastic response
Khan took a long draw of his cigar, lowered his window slightly and blew the blue smoke gently in the direction of the window.
'Do I detect that you may already have some issues with our friend Blunt and after such a short time?', he commented to the back of his driver's head.
A sixth sense warned Ahmed to be careful. 'No I do not. The suddenness and the apparent lack of choice pissed me off'
'The opportunity arose to put you in there because of my position on the new security committee. If I had not moved quickly then someone else, an Anglo Saxon, would have got the job.'
Khan saw Saeed beginning to stiffen and take a defensive posture. He continued before the younger man had chance to say anything. 'And you were not put in there because of your colour. I threw your name into the ring and you came out because you were the best man, and that was despite your SO10 cock-up''
Saeed stiffened and glared at the other man.
'But I will not deny...' Khan took a long slow pull on his cigar, rolled the smoke around his mouth and then turning to the window exhaled before continuing, 'that having one of my own so to speak in a position of reasonable authority in a new unit is a bonus. The more there are of us in such positions then the better it will be for us'
'I thought that you believed in a multicultural multiracial society?'
'And so I do' the unctuousness in Khan's voice came to the fore. 'But we can only have that when more people from the non-white, non Anglo-Saxon, communities assume positions of responsibility and prominence in the wider society. Surely, you cannot disagree with that'
'I suppose not' responded the other bridling slightly.
'However Ahmed, discussing politics was not my main aim for wanting to talk with you. The unit you have joined has the capability to become extremely important and especially from a security point of view. You can see where I am coming from?'
Ahmed nodded. He could most certainly see the direction of Khan's thoughts; a direction that held no appeal for him.
'The only problem is that the unit is led by a deadbeat that no-one wanted, that has pissed off most of what could be called the establishment and who, we are all sure, will almost certainly screw up this assignment. The other members of the team, apart from you, are a Norfolk hick sergeant, a cop busted to the beat with a predilection for sex with superiors and a disillusioned graduate.'
You are well informed as to the personnel but I cannot agree with your assessment' responded Ahmed beginning to take more of a dislike to Patel. However, he decided to hold his tongue and see where the discussion ended.
'Your loyalty is commendable.' He drew long and hard on his cigar and exhaled through the window once more. 'However, the plan is that when Blunt comes unstuck there is someone around who can pick up the pieces. You!'
The younger man remained silent.
'When that happens, I can promise you that you will get more and better resources in the way of equipment and personnel. How come it is taking so long to get the Russians charged?'
Ahmed's antenna slipped into overdrive 'You seem well informed'
The older man picked at some imaginary lint on his trouser knee before looking at Saied with a half-smile. 'Being in the new security committee I am party to a great deal of information. Between you and me it would appear that the Russians are looking to take over Aktion fur Arbeit's network. The other thing is that many of the Russian gangsters are Jewish. Now from a security and world peace standpoint we have to ascertain whether there is an Israeli connection. I do not need to tell you that the Middle East is a powder keg. And the rogue element is Israel. Who knows what will tip them towards using their nuclear weapons...and then where will we all be?'
'You can't be serious' expostulated the younger man.
'I am' the peeved response, 'however, when are you going to see your parents?'
'What the hell has that got to do with you?'
'I am very close to every one of our communities. Someone has told me that your parents are experiencing some racist difficulties. I am having it seen to. It would be good if you could go to the Norwich mosque. Let our people in the area know that one of their own is about'
'You mean like the Patel's whom we have interviewed for a second time?'
Rafique shifted in his seat, took another long and deep draw on his cigar and exhaled in the direction of Ahmed 'Precisely! Anyway, I would be grateful if you could keep me informed of what our friend Blunt's thoughts etc. are, how he is managing this affair etc., whether you think he is capable. The quicker he goes the better. Then you will be running the show.'
'You don't like Blunt do you? Why not?'
'Liking or disliking someone is immaterial. All that counts is whether they are up to the job. So, keep me in the picture'. He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a Mont Blanc pen and a business card. He used the former to write a number on the latter and held it out for Ahmed to take, 'You can reach me at any time on this number'.
'Thank you'.
'Now you better get off and pick up the beat bobby. No doubt you have both got things to do in Norwich. We will speak again soon'.
Ahmed got out of the Jaguar and watched as its engine sparked into life and the car effortlessly glided away from him. The Escort would certainly seem down-market he mused.
Confusion reigned in his mind. What the hell was going on? What was Rafique Khan after? What the hell did he have against Blunt? Should he tell Blunt about the conversation? Khan was not a man to cross. He could ruin Ahmed. Did he read an implied threat against his parents if he didn't do what Khan wanted?