‘Don’t say you’ve forgotten me already,’ said the man with a laugh. It was Malik, she saw now, but he had shaved off his beard and he was wearing trousers and a jacket. He even had a pullover on. He’s going to be hot, thought Tahira; the forecast was for a day of sunshine and it was already warming up.
Malik came closer and shook her hand, holding it for a moment. He seemed less formal than usual, much friendlier. ‘Let’s have some tea,’ he said, taking her arm and leading her towards the café.
It was crowded with Muslim men in white shirts and skullcaps. Tahira was one of the few women there. Two men at a corner table got up to leave as they came in, so Malik and Tahira sat down there, Malik facing the door. He poured out the mint tea they had ordered, talking all the time – asking Tahira about her job in her father’s shop, telling her about his little nephew’s football team and his brother’s hopeless efforts to set up a kebab stall. He was doing his best to be charming; she might have warmed to him if she hadn’t kept in the forefront of her mind everything else she knew about him.
He stopped talking just long enough to drink his tea, then asked, ‘Are you still going to the concert?’
‘Of course. Though my cousin’s cancelled on me.’ She looked down at her watch. ‘I’ll have to go soon if I’m going to get a good place.’
She was finishing her tea when Malik said, ‘You know, I have been thinking about this group you like. Perhaps I was a bit too down on them. After all, if we live here in the West, then we have to live with the West. There is no point pretending we are in Pakistan, is there?’
Tahira nodded, but she was puzzled. Why was Malik sounding so reasonable? Where was the firebrand of their last meeting? He went on, ‘I can’t say these Chick Peas are much to my taste – bit of a girls’ band with all their fancy clothes and hair-dos and stuff. And they’re Indian as well. But I have to admit,’ and he gave a sheepish smile, ‘that their songs are quite catchy. I heard one on the radio this morning and I’ve been humming it ever since. What’s it called?’
‘“Biryani for Two”,’ said Tahira. ‘But you ought to get their CD. Some of their other songs are better.’
‘Really? Well, perhaps I should hear them live. I’m not doing anything special today – I could come with you to the concert, especially since your cousin’s let you down. If you don’t mind, that is?’
‘Of course not,’ said Tahira, but her mind was racing. It didn’t make sense – Malik had been completely contemptuous last time, when she’d said she was going to hear the all-girl band. Why had he changed now? And why had he shaved off his beard? She didn’t like to ask him, but it was a very odd thing to do for someone as religious as he professed to be. She didn’t trust this new Malik – something was going on. She needed to tell Jane right away.
‘Excuse me a minute,’ she said, getting up to go to the lavatory.
Malik stood up too. ‘I’ll pay the bill,’ he said, ‘then we can walk to the park together.’
Tahira found the women’s room at the back of the café, and locked the door firmly behind her. She turned on the tap in the washbasin to cover the sound of her voice, in case anyone was listening outside, then she hit the predial number for Jane.
There was no signal.
She went out to find Malik waiting for her by the door. ‘Ready?’ he said with a smile.
‘You go on. I just need to phone my father. I’ll catch you up,’ she said, reaching into her bag for her phone.
‘Your father’s a bit of a tyrant, if you don’t mind my saying so,’ said Malik. He was holding her elbow now. ‘Ring him later?’
‘But I promised-’ she said, and felt his fingers tighten their grip on her arm.
‘You can ring him when we get to the park. Come on, let’s go. Don’t forget, I’ve got to buy a ticket.’
As Malik and Tahira left the café, tension was rising in the Ops room. There had been some initial confusion in the A4 teams as to whether the man who’d joined Tahira was Malik or someone else, as he looked so different from normal. There’d been a discussion about why he was looking so Westernised; they’d come to the conclusion that he must suspect surveillance, so Lamb had warned the teams to hang back, as their target might be alert to them.
‘Looks like he’s going to escort her to the concert,’ said Lamb to Liz as the reports came in that the two targets were still together and walking towards the park.
Liz didn’t reply at first. A thought came to her and she asked Fontana, ‘Is the concert sold out or are they selling tickets at the gate?’
‘It wasn’t sold out yesterday,’ replied Fontana. ‘The organisers asked permission to erect ticket booths and there was concern in the crowd-control unit that there might be trouble if a lot of people were scrambling for tickets. But they let them go ahead in the end. What are you…’
Liz broke in, ‘I think that’s where Malik’s going. He’s going to the concert.’
‘What? A good Muslim boy like him? I wouldn’t have thought he’d be seen dead at a pop concert. Especially when it’s an Indian group.’
