17

THE HUM of expectation was vibrant as a small group gathered in the private room at the back of the Half Crescent bookshop.The room was dimly lit with scented candles that diffused the sweet smell of cinnamon and apple through the air. At its rear was a raised platform with a wooden chair and a small table on which a glass of water and a copy of the Koran were placed.

As the audience’s fervour grew, a beaded doorway to the left of the stage was brushed aside and a man exuding an aura of assured menace strode into the room. He wore a black shalwar kameez and a taqiya and when he reached the platform he held his right hand up for silence in a gesture of authority. At once the hushed chatter of the group was silenced.

The man on the platform brushed the fingers down through the beard that dropped almost three inches below his jaw. He lifted the glass of water to his mouth and sipped it slowly before returning it to the table. Then he focused his eyes, dark as the night, on his captivated audience.

“Allah be praised!” The man’s right hand shot out, his index finger pointing at the group before his hand opened and swept from one side of the gathering to the other. Their attention did not waver.

Imam Tariq began. “The person who hinders Allah's rule, this man must be eliminated. We ask the devout to steel themselves and be ready for the call to arms to face the enemy down and give him death. The faithful can show no weakness in following the word of truth, the word of Allah. You, my brothers and sisters, must be strong from start to finish.

“Forget about weapons of mass destruction. Jihad is a war that must be waged in hand to hand combat, by dagger, by sword, by whatever means comes to your fingertips. It must be done face to face with the infidel so that you see the fear in his eyes, smell it coming off him. You, the faithful, should savour it as you wipe out the crusaders who have defiled the soil of our spiritual homelands all these years.

“You must penetrate the enemy with cold steel until he cries out no more and watch him bleed out like a pig before you. This is the first stage of Jihad.”

Tariq drew a deep breath and took another sip of water, still closely watching his audience.

The crowd, made up of students and professionals, were youthful, pliable and enraptured. Tariq’s chest puffed with pride as they hung on his every word.

“But we of the true faith face challenges too. Our young people are being infected with the ways of the West and the immorality of the crusaders’ religion and . . .” His voiced trailed into silence.

He picked up the Koran and slammed it down onto the table, sending the glass of water flying. His voice seemed to fill the whole room with its power. “It must be stopped, this corruption of believers by the infidels. And I want you, my true brothers and sisters, to make sure it is. “My friends, let me tell you that no drop of liquid was loved by Allah more than blood!”

The fervour gripping the gathering now exploded into verbal force. “Allah be praised!” A round of applause broke over the room but Tariq noticed that not everyone was embracing his words wholeheartedly.

At the back of the room sat a white-haired man with a distinguished air about him. The Imam recognised him as one of the elders on the Mosque council, a man who disapproved of Tariq’s preachings and the fervour he was beginning to foster in his followers and the wider Mosque. Now, however, was not the time to let the old man distract him from delivering and spreading his message. That was for another day.

“Brothers and sisters, our people are cheated and treated like cattle by the West.”

There was a tumult of indignation now generating from the gathering. “It is the truth! The infidels must pay!”

Tariq continued. “The Nation of Islam must regain its dignity. But it will not be regained without blood.”

Again Tariq’s gaze was drawn to the white haired man sitting at the back of his avid audience who, unlike the rest of the gathering, was not applauding. The two men’s eyes locked for a moment, long enough to reveal the disgust the old man felt. But there was another emotion in that gaze and Tariq was filled with satisfaction when he recognised it. Fear.The elder stood and walked through the door, back to the public part of the bookshop and Tariq knew that he must be dealt with soon.

“Now we must take action.”

The group were on their feet and their voices filled the room in praise of Allah, but Tariq raised his hands and commanded silence.

“Now my brothers and sisters, as you know, we have started our Jihad here in Glasgow by punishing the unbelievers at Braehead and Dowanhill. The time has come for you to join us and execute on crusader soil.”

Professor Farouk had reached the front of the shop and passed two imposing men flanking the doorway, when he realised he had left his spectacle case in the private room in his haste to get out of Tariq’s sickening presence. He turned back but one of the guards barred his way. He noticed the man’s left eye was ruined by the paleness of a cast.

The professor explained; “I left my glasses,” and indicated with a motion of his hands that they were in the back room. The outstretched arm was removed and Farouk slipped back into the rear of the gathering. The audience, on their feet cheering and chanting, masked his return from the Imam.

Farouk watched with growing horror as the curtain behind Tariq shook open and five men filed out, their heads swathed in black linen keffiyeh with only their eyes left clear.

The applause died down as the audience took in the scene. The five lined up in front of Tariq were each carrying a firearm which Farouk recognised as AK-47 semi-automatic rifles. They presented them to the audience and once again the chant rose. “Allahu Akbar!”4

4 “God is great!”

Farouk felt a sickening chill.

This was it then. Jihad had come again to a major city in the UK. It was being waged in Glasgow and Tariq’s preaching in the Half Moon bookshop was proof, if any more was needed, that it was he who had been behind the atrocities at Braehead and Dowanhill. Farouk knew he had to tell someone before things got any worse.

An apocalypse now beckoned.