Countdown to Terror

Chapter Four

Chapter 4

 

 

The Gent paced around his conservatory eating extra-strong peppermints as he pondered what could be behind Jenny’s outburst yesterday. He stared intently into the garden, not even noticing the antics of squirrels as they scurried about finding nuts, something he normally would have found amusing. Still emotionally bruised from his divorce, he was arrogant but not conceited, and realized that he was quite excited at the prospect of spending time with Jenny – and not just for the opportunity of helping her with her dilemma.

At quarter past twelve, he picked up the phone. The salutations were a little awkward at first.

‘I wasn’t sure you would call,’ she said.

‘No problem,’ he replied. ‘Have you come up with any more ideas as to what could be going on? I mean, it did seem rather strange and farfetched as you described it yesterday, if you don’t mind me saying so.’

There was a pause before Jenny responded, ‘I know you think I’m imagining things, and he does seem much more relaxed now that we’ve come back, but I still think there is something going on. I haven’t imagined it all – the text messages and strange calls and everything.’

‘Right, OK, then, what about if we meet face to face and see if we can make more sense of it between us? Can you get up to the golf club later, say five thirty?’

‘Oh yes, sure, that would be great. I’ll see you there then.’ With that Jenny was gone, leaving the Gent still pacing and pondering.

He arrived at Forest View Golf Club at twenty-five past five to find Jenny sitting at a table by the window, wearing a smart cream Arran sweater with blue jeans and black casual shoes, nursing a gin and tonic. Raising a hand in greeting, he went up to the bar and ordered the same. There was no hint of understanding as the barman respectfully performed his task but a knowing smile touched his lips as the Gent sat down and poured his tonic into Bombay Sapphire gin over ice and lime.

The place was otherwise empty so to an observant barman the smiles from the only occupied table could have been those of lovers rather than co-conspirators. They sipped their gins and it was Jenny who broke the silence first.

‘Thank you for coming and treating me as normal. I know it must seem silly.’

‘Not at all, I’m delighted that you chose to confide in me,’ the Gent responded. ‘You’ve told me about strange calls and text messages, but not what you think they are all about. Do you have any inkling about what it is that may be getting Samir so uptight?’

Jenny looked thoughtful for a moment and then went into full flight.

‘Well, he is a bit of a playboy – knows all the right clubs and that, and could have any girl he fancied, really – but I don’t think he’s bad in any great sense, perhaps just easily led. Over the last few weeks he seems to meet with his Muslim friends more and more, and when I ask him what they talk about he just clams up. But I’ve seen some of the texts, and they say things like, “Where is it going to be? And what exactly are we going to do?” At first they just seemed to be trying to save the world, but then they are younger than him – about twenty – and he’s now twenty-four. Only four years younger than me, so you’d think he would have grown out of all that idealism by now. He did say that a few weeks ago a new visiting imam had been preaching at the mosque, and since then he has become more moody and withdrawn.’