Hidden Depths

Chapter 27 - Time to talk

Despite its enormous size, the back of the van was rammed full.  Four Formula One style seats lined the wall opposite the sliding door, and a fold-down bench hung from the cage that separated the Brethren from their captives.  Aarzam was strapped to the bench and had swapped Combel's motorbike helmet for one of the reflective-fronted, full-face helmets worn under the other Brethren's shemaghs.  

Rich sat down in one of the two empty bucket seats and strapped himself in as the vehicle was chucked around the winding city streets.  The bright light streaming in through the windows allowed him to see that most of the men who were restrained in the caged-off area were still groggy from the gas.   They were strapped to their seats as well, but their lolling heads indicated that they were making no effort to battle the g-forces that were indiscriminately inflicted upon all in the vehicle.  Unlike his placid companions, the one who had been subdued by Rich rather than the gas was sitting bolt upright and staring angrily through the gaps in the cage.

Closer to him, Rich noticed that the other three Brethren seemed to be holding a silent conversation.   He couldn't hear them, but body language alone was enough to tell him that Aarzam was still giving the orders, despite being strapped flat to his sick bed.  The conversation seemed to conclude with Aarzers pointing beneath Rich's chair, then straight at his head.  The boy who was sitting next to him, nodded in agreement and reached down to retrieve another full-face helmet from behind Rich's feet.  He handed it to him and mimed for him to put it on.  The first voice he heard as he swapped helmets was Aarzam's.

'Finally, right let's fog the windows, our guests don't need to know where they are.' 

The windows darkened and blocked out the light, plunging the van into complete darkness.  The inside of Rich's visor took on a light green hue as the night vision kicked in and illuminated his surroundings.  Rich saw Aarzam press a button near his ear then turn his head to address the men who were restrained in the back of the van.  The visor must have had a number of settings, as the perfect Arabic he spoke sounded digitally altered and amplified.

'I know you're scared, gentlemen, but, God willing, we'll just have a quick conversation then get you safely dropped off with the authorities.' 

Rich was surprised to hear that there was no menace in his voice.  It was as if their cooperation was a foregone conclusion rather than something that was going to need to be enforced.

'We'll never give you what you want,' came the response from the man whose wrist Rich had broken just a few minutes earlier.  'We're all committed to Jihad and would rather burn alive than betray our brothers.'

'Ah, you must be the one who so skilfully shot your two friends in the cab,' came Aarzam's amused reply. 'I'd say that was a bit of a betrayal, wouldn't you?' 

The other, groggier men peered through the darkness at the one who had spoken, the distress burning through the drugged haze in their eyes.  

'Oh, didn't you know?' said Aarzam, who was obviously enjoying himself, despite the pain his broken bones were no doubt forcing him to endure.  'This tactical genius has already killed one of your brothers outright and left the other one to bleed to death.' 

'We do not ridicule our captives!' interrupted Mr Abdullah sternly.  'Just get on with the questioning.'

'But that's for you to sort out between yourselves later,' Aarzam continued, more politely.  'We'll just need a few answers first.'

'Never!' the shamed man shouted defiantly, but the one closest to Aarzam turned and peered through the bars.  'What would you like to know?' came his contradictory reply. 

The shouter's defiance turned to dismay, causing Aarzam to offer some words of comfort.

'It's not his fault.  We are an ancient and powerful guild who have been encouraging others to share their secrets for centuries.' 

The four drugged men showed no reaction, but the other one was outraged. 

'The canister that my Brethren offered your friends earlier contained a heady cocktail of drugs that makes guests like yourselves both obliging and loquacious,' Aarzam continued. 

The panicked man started straining at his harness, desperately trying to escape his bonds.

'So to answer your question,' Aarzam said, speaking to the man closest to him. 'We would like to know what's happened to the boy who was taken hostage earlier this afternoon.'

'The posh soldier boy?' asked the prisoner.

'The very same,' Aarzam replied. 

The struggling man began shouting and screaming as loudly as he could, as if trying to drown out his comrade's response. 

Aarzam pushed the button by his ear again and looked at his closest Brethren. 'I've had enough of this one,' he said, 'let's give him a whiff.' 

The masked Brethren took out his phone and tapped away until a small cloud of green smoke puffed out of the headrest of the disruptive man's seat.  The silencing effect was almost instantaneous.  Aarzam touched his mask and turned back to speak to his more cooperative guests.  'You were saying,' he prompted.

'Our great leader is holding him in our North London Headquarters,' said the man, freely offering the information without a hint of sadness or regret.  'He is either going to convert him into a suicide bomber or kill him.' 

Rich couldn't imagine Bertie converting to Islam, let alone allowing someone to strap a bomb to him.

Aarzam made no reaction other than to continue the questioning. He asked, 'Where are your headquarters?'

'They're in the basement of a car parts warehouse in Wembley.  Our leader used to work there and discovered it was built on top of an old mine shaft.  It's thirty-five feet deep so no one in the warehouse can hear anything going on down there.  It's perfect, you could drop a bomb on the building above and we'd all be safe below.' 

The irony of the subterranean symmetry was not lost on the Brethren present, but again Aarzam just continued without comment. 

'What's the address?' he asked in his eerie digitised tone. 

The Brethren with his phone out typed the address as it was spoken. 

'That's right next to the stadium,' he said over the headsets.  'It's only down the road but there's a big concert on tonight. It could take hours to get through the traffic.'

'There's always another way,' said Mr Abdullah, 'there are fifty years' worth of Brethren still working, all of them in positions of power.' 

A screen on the sliding door flickered to life and a map of North London was displayed.  A cluster of dots flashed around their school, and a few others were distributed around the wider area.

'The Brethren of Purity are always ready to be called upon to assist.  Normally it's just to grease the wheels, but occasionally more active involvement is required.'  

A lone digital dot was flashing a few miles further west.  

'Perfect!' exclaimed Mr Abdullah.  'Bishara is in town. He's a private helicopter pilot and operates out of RAF Northolt.  I'm sure he'll be able to help.' 

The men being held captive could only just see the screen, but as they couldn't hear the conversation it had no context or interest for them.  Mr Abdullah spoke the name of the pilot and it was repeated by the now familiar suave man, who lived in their phones and loved to repeat voice dial commands.

'Wait, is that what I think it is?'  said Aarzam, pointing with his good arm at a red dot speeding down the map.

'Abdullah, you old tart, what can I do for you?' 

Mr Abdullah hung up on the pilot without a word.  'Well spotted, Aarzam!' he said.

Rich didn't know why, but this obviously indicated a change of plan.

'Another sign, as if any was needed, that Allah is with us in our jihad.' 

Mr Abdullah's unwavering belief could be heard in his voice. 

Aarzam turned his head back to the captives and said, 'Tell us how to get in.'