Tahira did not usually wear the hijab, just a scarf loosely thrown over her hair when she went out. But today, before she went into the café, she carefully adjusted the scarf, pulling it forward to cover her hair entirely. She had swapped her heels for flat walking shoes, and her shalwar kameez covered everything else, including her ankles. It would be unusual for a lone woman to go into the café, but no one could say she was dressed improperly.
Several pairs of eyes watched as she went inside. A4 were stationed at various strategic points in the street outside and inside the café. They knew her quarry was inside; they had been watching him most of the day.
Tahira collected a small pot of mint tea from the woman behind the counter and walked with her tray towards a table by the window. Only as she crossed the room did she look up, and it was then she saw Malik in the corner, staring at her.
‘It’s Tahira, isn’t it?’ he called out. She smiled at him shyly.
‘I’m Malik, a friend of your brother’s. Are you meeting someone?’ He stood up, looking around the café. Only two other tables were occupied, by groups of much older men who were not paying them any attention.
‘I was supposed to meet my cousin here. But he’s just rung me to say he can’t make it.’ She gave a small shrug. ‘I thought I would have some tea anyway.’
‘Come and sit with me,’ said Malik, and giving her no chance to protest, he took the tray from her hands and led her to his table.
Sitting down, they looked at each, and Tahira adopted an expression of modest embarrassment.
‘Do you not remember me, Tahira?’ asked Malik.
In fact she did recognise him, but only just. She knew vaguely that she’d seen him in her brother’s company. They had certainly never been introduced; none of Amir’s friends from the New Springfield Mosque had, for her father had forbidden them to enter the family house.
‘Of course I remember you, Malik. Amir often spoke of you.’
‘Not badly I hope,’ he said, though he didn’t sound worried.
‘Of course not.’
‘Have you heard anything from Amir?’ he asked.
‘Not lately,’ she said. She knew her parents were too ashamed to have confided in anyone about their son’s whereabouts, not even extended family. And the woman from MI5 had been confident that word would not have got out about Amir’s capture and imprisonment in Paris.
‘Is he still in Pakistan?’ Malik asked, though Tahira sensed he knew the answer to his question.
‘We don’t know where he is. Our family out there said he went travelling. That’s the last we heard.’ She faltered. ‘I just hope he’s all right. We are very worried about him.’
Malik shot a comforting hand across the table, though he stopped short of touching her. ‘Don’t worry, Tahira. He’s fine, I’m sure of it. Your brother knows how to look after himself.’
‘You think so?’ she asked, trying to sound hopeful and pathetic.
‘Yes, I’m sure. It’s not as if he’s in enemy territory out there. Now in America, who knows what could have happened to him. They lock you up over there, you know, just for practising Islam. Half the inmates in Guantanamo didn’t even know how to spell Al Qaeda, much less belong to it. Their only crime was being Muslim.’
‘Really?’
‘Absolutely. The Jewish lobby sees to that. Look at the media there – the television stations, the newspapers. All owned by Jews. And they control the views people have all over the West. When was the last time you saw anything favourable about Islam on TV or in the Western newspapers, tell me that? They’ll praise Dubai all right, run features about its new hotels, and the way it lures white English people to spend their money on gambling and drinking and all sorts of decadence. But nothing about the real faith that is Islam.’
Tahira nodded submissively, knowing that he didn’t want anything but agreement from her. Malik went on, ‘You can be sure that Amir wasn’t going there. He is a messenger of true Islam, your brother, and he would only visit those places where Allah is respected. I am sure of that.’ He waved one hand dismissively, and Tahira sensed he didn’t really want to talk about her brother. What he really wanted to talk about was himself.
‘You know, I have always been interested in you.’
She stiffened slightly – it was important for her to seem demure. Malik quickly added, ‘Not improperly, Tahira. I mean, your brother always spoke of you in such a way that I thought you must be a very good person.’
‘We are very close,’ she said. ‘But,’ she paused, ‘we are so worried about him. Do you think the imam at the mosque might know where he has gone? I thought perhaps I could ask him. Would that be a good thing to do?’
‘Abdi Bakri?’ Malik stared at her, his eyes suddenly suspicious. ‘I don’t think that would be a good idea at all.’
‘Why not? Amir always spoke respectfully of him.’
‘I am sure the imam thought he was a good and loyal student.’ Malik paused for a moment. ‘Someone else has been asking the imam about Amir. Someone who said he was his cousin.’
‘Really?’ She was as genuinely surprised as she sounded. ‘Who was that?’
‘A bloke called Salim. I know him pretty well but he never said before that he was related to your family. Is he?’ Malik sounded casual, but his eyes were hard now and searching.
‘It’s possible. Even my father sometimes has trouble keeping up with all the relatives we have over here. Especially on my mother’s side.’
‘But you don’t know Salim yourself?’
‘No,’ she said.
He seemed satisfied by this. ‘I thought not, somehow. Anyway, it’s better not to ask the imam yourself. Let me make some enquiries.’
When she nodded her agreement to this, his face lightened momentarily then grew serious again, though this time there was nothing hard about his eyes. ‘Tahira, I am going away soon.’ When her eyes widened he looked pleased. ‘To Pakistan. It is something of a… mission, you could say.’
‘It sounds serious.’
‘It is, and possibly quite dangerous. I must ask you to tell no one I spoke of it.’
‘Of course not, Malik. When will you go?’
‘Quite soon, and it may be some time before I come back.’ He hesitated, and Tahira wondered if he expected to come back at all.
‘I will miss you,’ she volunteered, then realised how absurd this might sound – this was the first time they’d met. She blushed. ‘I mean, it is very nice speaking with you. I have so often heard Amir talk about you that I feel as if we have known each other for a long time.’
‘I know exactly what you mean,’ he said approvingly. ‘Perhaps before I go, we could meet again? I have enjoyed this talk.’
‘I would like that very much,’ Tahira replied with a smile. It was after all just what she’d been aiming for.