Firefight Read Free Page A

going to ask you again,' the interrogator's voice said.
'Does the name Faisal Ahmed mean anything to you?'
    'It means nothing,' he replied, drowsily.
    The American turned to the medic. 'Increase the dose,' he
instructed. The medic turned the valve once more and again
they waited. The warmth increased, and the wooziness.
    He heard the American's voice. 'You have information
about a terrorist strike.'
    Abdul-Qahhar shook his head.
    A pause. Lights seemed to dance around the room.
    'You have information about a terrorist strike,' the
American repeated, relentlessly.
    Again he shook his head. He felt comfortable for the first
time in hours.
    A minute passed.
    'You have information about a terrorist strike. You can
tell me about it now or you can tell me about it later. One
way or another, though, you will tell me about it.'
    And all of a sudden, Abdul-Qahhar smiled. There seemed
to be no reason to hide it any more. No reason to pretend
- to himself or anyone else - that he did not know what
they were talking about. They were not going to hurt him.
    'I'm going to ask you one more time. Does the name
Faisal Ahmed mean anything to you?'
    Of course it meant something to him. Faisal Ahmed -
the men at the mosque had barely spoken of anyone else.
    Faisal Ahmed, the warrior, they had called him.
    Slowly, Abdul-Qahhar nodded his head.
    The two men looked at each other and the American
stepped back. Abdul-Qahhar noticed how the light seemed
to reflect off his bald head. It transfixed him and he was
only woken from his brief reverie when the Englishman
spoke.
    'Good,' he said. 'Well done, Abdul-Qahhar. You're doing
the right thing. Now listen to me carefully. We know he's
planning something big. All you have to do is tell me when
and where. As soon as we have that information, you can
go home.'
    Abdul-Qahhar felt his head nodding. 'I would like to go
home,' he said drowsily.
    'Then tell me,' the Englishman insisted. 'When and where?'
    He had a pleasant face, this man. When he smiled, there
were creases on his cheek. Perhaps, once he had told them
all he knew, they would let Abdul-Qahhar sleep.
    And so he spoke in a clear voice, or as clear a voice as
he could manage, like an eager child wanting to impress a
teacher.
    'Three weeks,' he announced. 'Three weeks. London.'

ONE
    They were in the toy department. A long line of children snaked
around the whole floor, waiting patiently. His daughter Anna looked
longingly at the sign. 'Visit Father Christmas in his grotto,' it
read in bright, festive colours. 'A present for every child.'
    'Can I go and see Father Christmas, Daddy?' Anna asked.
'Please?' She tugged on his hand and looked up at him with those wide,
appealing eyes. In other children, an expression like that could be
put on, but not with Anna. She was six years old and wore her
emotions plainly on her face. She was desperate to see Father
Christmas and she so rarely asked for things. She was not brash
or confident. It meant she was picked on at school sometimes, but
she seemed to deal with it in her kind, sad little way.
    He looked at the line of children. It would take an hour to
reach Father Christmas, maybe more. A quick glance at his watch
told him they didn't have time - the train back down to Hereford
left in forty minutes, and they still had to struggle across London
through the Saturday afternoon Christmas shoppers. He glanced
at his wife, who shook her head imperceptibly.
    He bent down to look at her face to face. 'I'm sorry, sweetheart,'
he said. 'We haven't got enough time. Another day, hey?'
    Anna's lip wobbled and she gazed at the floor. He knew what
she was thinking, at least he thought he did. You always say
that, Daddy. You always say you haven't got enough time.
You always say another day.
    But she didn't say anything. Obedient. Good as gold. Like always.
    'Come on, love,' he said, doing his best to sound bright. He
took her little hand in his and together the family of three wove
their way through the crowds. Anna kept