Waking with a start, Maya found three other people in the room: Mariam pouring tea, Khaled opposite her in an armchair, and a bearded man standing near the door. The man was holding a plastic carrier bag and looked as if he’d just come in. Maya eyed him suspiciously, but as she uncurled herself and sat up Khaled introduced him as his uncle Ali, Mariam’s husband.
‘Soraya wants to learn how to be a good Muslim,’ Khaled told him. ‘She’s studying at the centre.’
A look passed between Khaled and his aunt. Maya reached for her headscarf, arranging it as Lubna had taught her and tucking her hair underneath.
‘She has nowhere to go tonight, so she’s staying here,’ Mariam said.
Uncle Ali smiled. ‘Always taking in strays,’ he said, patting his wife affectionately. He turned to Maya. ‘I’m pleased to meet you. Will you make salah with us?’
Maya blinked and hesitated. She didn’t know what salah was, but she said, ‘Yes, of course.’
‘Then we must wash,’ Mariam said. ‘Come with me.’
When the women returned, Uncle Ali had laid four prayer mats out on the floor and he and Khaled had put on small white hats. Following their example, Maya removed her shoes, stood to attention and raised her hands to the side of her head.
‘Allahu Akbur.’
The lilting words chanted in Uncle Ali’s rich tones were hypnotic.
‘Ashaduan la ilaha illa hlah.’
The phrases were repeated, flowing softly, gaining power, soaring, then falling to a whisper. Their clothes rustled as they moved from standing to bowing, to kneeling; the age-old words resonating in the room filled Maya with peace and hope. She closed her eyes and let the words flow through her. ‘There is no God but Allah. Muhammad is the messenger of God, praise be his name.’
Her eyes opened as the other three fell forward in unison, pressing their foreheads down until they touched their prayer mats. There was something mysterious and yet so simple and unaffected about their devotion, that Maya envied them their faith and certainty.
Everything is God’s will, nothing is random, everything is an integral part of God’s eternal plan. Muslims don’t ask God for anything, because what happens is fate.
Maya remembered Lubna’s words, but she couldn’t help asking and praying fervently, ‘Please let it be God’s will that I find my mum, please God, let me find her alive and well’.
Uncle Ali’s last words faded and shivered in the corners of the room. There was a soft, fluttering silence, then Mariam rose to her feet. She stood for a moment, head bowed, before walking over to the door. ‘Now we’ll eat,’ she said, and went out of the room followed by her husband.
Maya, still kneeling, watched as Khaled began carefully rolling up the prayer mats, his hands moving in precise, familiar patterns. She shuffled to one side so that he could take hers, leaned back, then moved up onto the sofa. When the mats were stowed away he sat down, and Maya was aware of his eyes on her.
‘You’ve caused me a lot of problems,’ he said.
‘I’ve got a big problem,’ she shot back at him.
‘I know, but you should have waited. These things cannot be rushed.’
‘That’s what everybody says.’
Khaled looked down at his hands resting in his lap, then back at Maya. ‘It’s imperative that Omar trusts me, and now you’ve muddied the waters. He’s suspicious, and that makes it more difficult and dangerous for me to operate.’
Maya was unfazed. ‘My mum thought she could trust you.’
Khaled clicked his tongue impatiently. ‘My mission is to stop Omar’s plans.’
‘But you knew they were going to kidnap my mum. Why didn’t you stop them?’
‘And give myself away?’
Maya could see his point. She leaned back on the cushions, her eyes were still heavy with tiredness, but there were important questions she had to ask.
‘Where do you think Omar’s taken my mum?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘But Lubna told me you’re one of the leaders, you must know.’
‘I don’t.’ He pulled irritably at the collar of his shirt, then leaned forward clasping his hands. ‘Omar’s happy for me to run the bookshop, to be the respectable face of the Brotherhood, the teacher, but I’m not one of his soldiers.’
Maya stared into his green eyes, as though trying to see into his soul. ‘Your photo is marked,’ she said. ‘You’re one of the suicide bombers.’
He sighed. ‘A way to make Omar trust me.’
Maya understood what a dangerous game Khaled was playing. If Omar discovered his betrayal, he was a dead man walking. She had a sudden, urgent thought. ‘Will Lubna give you away?’
He smiled. ‘No, I made sure of that.’
Maya didn’t ask him how. She’d seen the way Lubna acted around him, but she was worried for her safety. ‘What if Omar finds out she set me free?’ she asked.
‘Lubna’s a valuable soldier. They won’t hurt her. She’ll be re-educated.’
Sinking back into the sofa, Maya tried to think what she should do next. It was still light outside, a summer’s night, but the street lamps were glowing yellow and time was passing, using up her chances. She turned and looked at Khaled. ‘Will you help me rescue my mum?’
He spread his hands, palms upwards. ‘First, we have to find out where she is. Then we have to act quickly, before they persuade your mother to give the name of her informant.’
‘Mum won’t tell, not unless they. . .’
Under the thick dark lashes Maya’s eyes were full of alarm.
Khaled nodded. ‘My life, your mother’s life and those of many others hang in the balance. We have to find her quickly. You have to be brave. We all have to be brave.’
Maya looked over at the rolled prayer mats, her eyes stinging with unshed tears.
Please keep Mum safe, please don’t let them torture her, she prayed. Briefly she closed her eyes, but the horrible images from her dreams came back to haunt her. She blinked and shook her head, and was relieved when the door opened and Mariam came in.
‘Go and wash,’ she said. ‘Food’s ready.’
On the table a feast was spread. Maya couldn’t imagine eating anything, but when she sat down Mariam coaxed her with delicious pastries, savoury rice and small fragrant pieces of meat, until, despite all her worries and the aching tiredness, she began to enjoy the food.
Uncle Ali poured tea for her and gently persuaded her to take more, praising his wife’s cooking. ‘Come, come, you are a guest. Try some of this. Nobody makes this like Mariam – it’s delicious.’
His hospitality was hard to refuse and Maya ate hungrily.
‘So, Soraya. . .’ Uncle Ali said.
Maya started. She’d almost forgotten her adopted name.
‘You want to learn how to be a good Muslim?’
‘Yes.’
‘First, you have to give up some of yourself, to learn humility.’ He munched slowly, leaning over the table. ‘You’ve been brought up in the West. Yes?’
Maya nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘Then it won’t be easy for you. Western society is based on money, commercialism, greed – everybody out for themselves. That’s not the Muslim way. A Muslim is one who submits to God’s guidance by obeying His laws; he learns to think of God first and himself last.’
‘I understand,’ Maya said.
‘A Muslim lives by the Divine Decree.’
‘And does that include killing and fighting?’
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Maya knew she’d made a mistake. It had been a stupid thing to say, but she was so tired. Khaled shot her a warning look, his face clouded with anger, his green eyes flashing.
It was Mariam who smoothed things over. ‘Soraya was asking me why some Muslims are militant extremists.’
Uncle Ali put down his spoon and wiped his fingers on a napkin. ‘The reasons are complex. It is partly to do with history, going all the way back to the time of the Crusades, when Christians invaded Muslim lands. Throughout time Britain has been an aggressive nation, plundering and conquering, drawing lines on a map, dividing people; causing suffering and conflict in Ireland, making thousands of Palestinians into refugees by creating Israel.’
‘But that’s all in the past,’ Maya said.
‘You think so?’ Uncle Ali said. ‘Palestinians are still being abused, denied basic human rights. And recently Britain joined the US to invade Iraq.’
‘But that was to help the Iraqi people.’
‘Perhaps, but many didn’t see it that way. They thought it was more about the control of oil.’
‘And it hasn’t helped Iraq?’
‘Not really.’
‘So, is that why young Muslims feel angry?’
‘Partly. There are many reasons – social and cultural. Young Muslims have big identity issues. Tradition dictates they honour the old ways, yet the Western way of life is attractive. Then, every day on the news there are images from the Middle East – fellow Muslims living in poverty, being blown up. All these things create tension.’
Maya felt her head beginning to whirl, the food on the plates started to bob and dance. Uncle Ali’s tie became a swirling pattern of yellow and purple. She struggled to concentrate on what he was saying but his words faded and her eyes started to close.
Mariam’s voice startled her. ‘Ali, I think you’ve said enough. Soraya’s very tired.’
Maya blinked and shook her head. ‘Sorry. I didn’t get much sleep last night.’
‘I apologise,’ Uncle Ali said. ‘I’m apt to get carried away when I start talking.’ He let out a roar of laughter and despite her worries, Maya laughed too.
The rest of the meal passed in light banter between Mariam and her husband. Khaled joined in, but mostly he was quiet, and a few times Maya caught him looking off into the distance, a brooding expression on his face.
It wasn’t easy for Maya to sit out the meal. She constantly looked at the clock on the wall, aware of time passing, feeling she should be doing something. When Mariam rose to clear the table, she was glad to move and offered to help.
They carried dishes through to the kitchen and while Mariam ran hot water into the sink, she asked Maya about her life at home. The questions were difficult to answer because it seemed to Maya she had no life other than this aching mess of confusion. She couldn’t believe that Helen was back at the cottage in Derbyshire, just a couple of hours away. It was like a life she’d left years ago.
When Mariam saw that her questions were causing Maya pain, she steered her back to the sitting room where Khaled and Uncle Ali were watching TV.
‘You settle down there and I’ll make up a bed for you,’ Mariam said. ‘I won’t be long, then you can sleep.’
Film credits scrolled down the screen as Maya nestled on the end of the sofa. There was a trailer for a travel programme, then the kidnapping of Pamela Brown was headline news. The Home Secretary appeared, warning the public to be vigilant.
‘The country is on critical alert,’ he said. ‘Intelligence officers warn that terrorists are planning to bomb tourist attractions throughout Europe.’
He was replaced by a reporter telling of a breaking news story.
‘Security Forces are surrounding a farmhouse in the Buckinghamshire countryside where it’s believed terrorists are holding Pamela Brown, the top security expert who was kidnapped yesterday morning.’
Maya leaned forward, her attention riveted. Her stomach twisted into knots as the camera panned across a row of police marksmen. A close-up of the farm filled the screen.
As Uncle Ali denounced the terrorists, Maya looked across at Khaled. Had she been following a false trail? Had he deliberately double-crossed her?
She watched as the police marksmen waited. The TV camera zoomed up to the doorway.
‘It’s believed five gunmen are holed up in the farm guarding Ms Brown. A specially trained intelligence officer has been negotiating with the terrorists for Ms Brown’s release, but so far it’s thought that the terrorists’ demand for safe passage to a country of their choice has been denied. The fear is, of course, that if security forces storm the building, the terrorists will simply blow themselves up along with their captive.’
The camera panned round the farmhouse again. Maya fixed Khaled with a deadly stare. If he had lied, she swore to herself that she’d kill him.
It was a stand-off at the farm, with no action to capture, so the camera switched back to the newsroom and another dreadful story – a bomb had gone off in Bali. Reports about the victims made Maya want to cry. She looked at a photo of a young medical student who’d just finished her final exams and was on holiday celebrating with friends. Her mother brokenly described her beautiful daughter and said how proud the family was of her. ‘The first girl in our family to go to university and she was soon to be a doctor.’
How could the terrorists do it? How could they not care? How could they see young people out enjoying themselves with all their lives in front of them and blow them up?
Uncle Ali was furious, practically spitting at the television. ‘These terrorists are not Muslims. They are murderers,’ he said vehemently.
Vaguely Maya was aware of Mariam coming into the room. ‘I’ve made the bed up in the spare room. Whenever you’re ready, Khaled will show you where it is.’ Then she turned to her husband. ‘We have to cash up,’ she said.
Uncle Ali, still muttering, followed his wife out of the room.
As soon as they’d gone, Maya fired a question at Khaled. ‘Are you sure my mum’s not in that farmhouse?’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘Security forces have been known to be wrong.’
‘I don’t want to play games. I want to know. Is my mum here in Leeds?’
‘Yes. She’s here.’
‘How do you know for sure, if you don’t know where she is?’
‘I know they brought her up to Leeds. Omar boasted at the meeting that she was his prisoner.’
‘Have you seen her?’
‘No, of course not.’
Maya’s mind was going round in circles, she didn’t know what was true any more. Eyeing him suspiciously, she asked, ‘Was it you who gave her away? Did you get Omar’s men to kidnap her?’
Khaled’s eyes widened. ‘I was trying to help her!’ he said indignantly.
‘You pledged yourself to kill.’
‘I’m not a killer. I had to volunteer. It was the only way to convince the Allied Brotherhood I was one of them. It’s the ultimate sacrifice – to die for the glory of Allah, praise be His name.’
‘Would you do it – would you plant a bomb and blow people up?’
‘Of course not. I was counting on your mum to disrupt our plans. I was giving her information, remember?’
‘Yes, I remember. Information about destruction, plots to blow up innocent people.’
‘But are they innocent?’ Khaled countered. ‘Did the British do anything when their government invaded Iraq, when they interned Muslims without trial?’
‘Whose side are you on?’ Maya challenged.
Their eyes met, full of anger and bitterness. Khaled sighed. ‘Sometimes I’m not sure,’ he said. ‘Thousands of Iraqis were killed when your country and the US invaded.’
‘England’s your country too,’ Maya said quietly.
They both fell silent, watching the TV that had flashed back onto the farmhouse surrounded by police. Maya tried to work out how the fact that the Security Forces thought her mum was inside the farmhouse changed things.
Khaled seemed to read her mind. ‘The siege at the farm gives us a bit more time,’ he said.
‘How do you mean?’
‘Omar will have a false sense of security.’
‘Yes, but he knows I’m free and searching for my mum.’
‘With respect, he’s probably less concerned about you than about the Counter Terrorism force. He’ll know that their resources are concentrated on the farm at the moment, so he won’t be expecting a rescue attempt.’
‘Haven’t you got any idea where my mum is?’
‘Not yet,’ Khaled said.
Maya sat back, thinking. An image came into her head. The advert in the newspaper for Omar’s carpet sale with the word CANCELLED stamped across it.
‘Is Omar a good businessman?’
‘I guess so. He makes a lot of money.’
‘So why do you think he put an advert in the paper for a sale at his warehouse, then cancelled it?’
Khaled shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’
Maya jumped up. ‘It’s because that’s where he’s got Mum – in his warehouse on Queen’s Street.’
Khaled looked sceptical. ‘That’s too easy and it’s too public.’
‘How far away is it?’
‘A few streets.’
‘I’m going there.’
‘That’s madness. There’s no way your mum is there. And if she was, she’d be guarded.’
‘I know. I need a gun.’
Khaled looked at her. ‘You think one girl with a gun is going to beat Omar’s men?’
‘Yes. Can you get me a gun?’
‘You can’t do this.’
‘Tell me how to get to Omar’s warehouse. Have you been there? Do you know the layout?’
Khaled hesitated. Maya moved closer, staring at him challengingly. He looked down at the floor, then met her gaze. ‘All right. I’ll tell you everything I can, but you have to promise me you’ll wait for the right moment. If you go without a plan you’ll screw everything up.’
Maya gritted her teeth and glared at him. ‘I’ll wait – but not for long.’