Free Spider Shepherd 11 - White Lies by Stephen Leather Page B

‘What about you? What did you want to do? After they invaded Afghanistan and Iraq, we all wanted to do something, right?’
    ‘I thought about attacking a shopping mall,’ said Rafiq. ‘I saw what they did in Kenya, when those guys shot the place up. But I couldn’t get a gun.’
    ‘You’re from London, right?’
    Rafiq shook his head. ‘Bradford.’
    ‘You should have driven to Birmingham,’ said KC. ‘You wouldn’t have any problem picking up a gun in Birmingham, same as Glasgow. Pop into any pub and you’ll find someone to fix you up. Did you ever think about taking out a plane?’
    Rafiq nodded. ‘Sure. But these days they check you too carefully, right? You can’t even get nail-clippers on a plane.’
    ‘A friend of mine had this idea where we get twenty brothers on a plane. Then as the plane is taking off or landing they all get up and move to one side of the plane, then run to and fro. He reckoned it would definitely make it crash.’
    Rafiq laughed. ‘And kill twenty brothers at the same time.’
    ‘Yeah, he hadn’t really thought it through.’
    ‘I tell you what would work, though,’ said Rafiq. ‘They still let you on with duty-free and cigarette lighters. Two or three brothers with a couple of bottles of brandy each could set fire to a plane mid-flight with no bother. I put together a plan to do that. That’s when I got recruited to this. One of the imams got to hear about me and he hooked me up. Said that I was too valuable to become a
shahid
, that there were better ways to serve Allah.’
    ‘He’s right,’ said KC. He picked up a piece of naan, dipped it in the korma, and popped it into his mouth. ‘These MANPADS are the dog’s bollocks. We can bring down a whole plane and be away before the wreckage hits the ground. This is what jihad is about, all right.’
    Rafiq nodded. ‘I can’t wait. I wish they’d let us know where our targets are.’
    ‘I reckon we’ll be used locally. I’m a Brummie so they’ll have me at Birmingham Airport. You’ll be at Leeds, maybe.’
    ‘You’re sure it’ll be a plane?’
    ‘That’s what the MANPADS are for,’ said KC. ‘You can fire them at buildings, sure, but for the real damage you want a plane. Having said that, it’d be something to fire one at 10 Downing Street, wouldn’t it?’
    ‘Hell, yeah,’ said Rafiq. ‘I’d be up for it.
Inshallah
.’
Inshallah
. God willing. Even though he knew that pretty much every word that passed his lips was a lie.
    Charlotte Button was on her second glass of Pinot Grigio when Caroline Stockmann hurried through the door of the wine bar and over to her table, apologising profusely. ‘I was stuck on the Tube,’ said the psychiatrist, popping her briefcase under the table.
    ‘Wine?’ asked Button.
    ‘Wine? A long profanity-laced moan would be more like it.’ She grinned. ‘I’d prefer a beer.’
    A sleek blond waitress came over carrying a tray and Stockmann asked what beers they had, listened intently as the waitress rattled off a number of brands. ‘Nothing draught?’ asked Stockmann. ‘A Peroni, then. Thanks.’
    The waitress headed towards the bar and Stockmann sighed. ‘It was a body on the line,’ she said.
    ‘I’m sorry?’ said Button.
    ‘The reason the train was held up. They didn’t say suicide, though. They never do. An incident, they called it. I’ve never understood why anyone would choose to end their life by throwing themselves under a train. For one thing, half the time it doesn’t work and you end up crippled and disfigured. But does no one think about the effect it has on the driver?’ She shuddered, then smiled brightly. ‘So, how are you?’
    ‘I hope that’s not a professional question because we know each other too well for you to be giving me a psychiatric evaluation.’
    Stockmann laughed. ‘Perish the thought,’ she said.
    Button sipped her wine. ‘So how is Dan?’
    Stockmann shrugged. ‘I’ve been wondering how to answer that question,’ she