Carney's War Page 6
The temporary job only lasted a few months; an agent rang him up with a much better offer, which he jumped at, working on public sector contracts. However, his personal issues preyed on his mind. He made great attempts to visit Sam but was scared to mention anything that might cause the pain of her parents’ problems to re-surface. Sam insisted she wanted to maintain the relationship, but he couldn’t stay with her as she was now spending weekends with her mother. It was never going to work. So he decided to give her some space.
“So much for rekindling a relationship,” he thought when he drove up the A2 one Tuesday night having spent a long weekend in a bed and breakfast near to Sam’s family home. Her mother had cooked them all a nice meal and he felt that at least they were being civilized about the situation. But he blurted his feelings out loudly over the music from the radio as he entered Blackwall Tunnel. “It’s a fucking shame - we’d had such a great time when we were together.”
One evening he was checking his emails when he noticed one that had been forwarded by Dex. It was labelled “Real Justice” and was from a new political party.
“Should be worth a laugh!” thought Joe. However, after reading the first few paragraphs Joe found that it fell in line with many of his own feelings about being misled by the politicians, as well as touching on their behaviour and the growing corruption within the country. At the end was an open invitation to the debate about to take place in the Town Hall, two days later. Joe noted it on his fridge magnet diary and went to bed.
***
“But you would agree that we have at least got democracy in this country, Mr Katz. Surely that means something to you?” It was Thursday at 7.00pm at the Town Hall and the sitting MP had done his homework on Jeff Katz and the British Justice Party. He had resolved to present them purely as crackpots.
“You know the more I hear that statement,” Katz replied, “the less I believe that we do have democracy here, especially coming from the likes of yourself. What we actually have is a corporate-led establishment run essentially with a compliant police and media service. At no point in the last forty years can I say that we have had real democracy on these shores; we have been continually lied to. We even have politicians like yourself who have openly committed fraud and been allowed to keep their seats; when even the local party and local voters have been campaigning to have people just like yourself removed from public office. This is a rotten borough like so many others.”
“But let me just say…” the MP’s words were drowned out by jeers from the gallery. Katz interrupted, “I will add that the establishment has so far just stood by and watched all this. There will no doubt be some token arrests of a few corrupt MPs and Lords but several hundred others, including yourself, have got away with it. We also have a police service that are so hindered by bad practice and poor directives, many of them European, that they are now arresting innocent people who try and protect themselves and their families from violent criminals. And you represent that system; you do not represent the local constituents. That is why we don’t have real democracy.” There were loud cheers from the gallery and cries of “shame on you!”
“So what you’re saying Mr Katz is that our soldiers should never have fought for this country, that they should never have helped create this democracy?” The words of the MP were nearly suffocated by more jeering from the gallery.
“They didn’t fight and die in vain for corrupt politicians like you. Not when you should have been tried for fraud.” The MP sat back expressionless.
“And if you want to take out a libel action against me then feel free. If you’re feeling lucky that is.”
Katz took a drink of water and continued his attack. “Moreover you were part of an establishment that orchestrated an illegal war and you voted in favour of that war, knowing full well that there were serious question marks concerning its legality. So between aiding and abetting those in power, many of whom should be in a war crimes tribunal, and defrauding the British taxpayer, what kind of choice have you actually given people in this constituency?”
At that the public gallery erupted; Khalil stood cheering with all the rest. Loud cries of “Go Jeff!” erupted around him in the general din. Joe sat a few seats away and couldn’t hide his shock at the incendiary nature of the exchange. However, deep down he felt a sense of relief that someone had the guts to take the fight to the MP, and that the MP couldn’t wriggle any more. Jeff himself was red in the face and stared at the MP who now made for the exit. It was, a local journalist observed, “a very public execution.”
***
Az sat down while his brother went off to make some tea. While being in the Balkans had touched on certain things he valued above all others, including the feeling of community, since returning he hadn’t felt anything but numbness with respect to his own struggles in life. Meeting the people out there and seeing what was happening on the streets had changed his outlook.
Shakil brought the tray in and looked at his brother - he could see he was deep in thought. He decided to leave him alone and watch TV. Az had half-remembered a conversation with a man in Bosnia before they had gone to Kosovo. The same man had just sent him an email explaining that when politicians started answering questions before they had even been asked there was usually an open admission of guilt. The man had suggested that Az looked out for such public figures in the United Kingdom.
He’d gone on to say that the only actual weapons being deployed around the world were those of ‘Mass deception’: fabricated documents and propaganda. For the politicians the deaths of a million civilians meant nothing; they were just mere statistics in the cause of a just and righteous war. “What of those who tried to stop it?” Well, they were either naïve or supporters of terrorism. They were the only two categories left for corrupt political establishments.
Az sighed. He wanted an opportunity to prove himself; a crack at doing something of worth. Bosnia and Kosovo weren’t enough. There was no longer any point in trying to engage with a corrupt society and in reality there was no real democracy as all the leading parties had subverted politics to such a degree that it simply wasn’t worth even engaging. Other parties were too weak to challenge them. Only violence mattered; politicians and media pundits could discuss Iraq as much as they wanted on the TV or radio, but they were just talking shops.
“So ultimate justice relates to sorting out your own problems; is that what you are saying?” Az asked the contact on a reply email.
“Yes Az – you’re right. In just the same way those fascists were disposed of in the Balkans; not by NATO but by the local fighters and their foreign comrades.”
Az reflected on what the man had said and then sent an email to him asking him if he knew of any other contacts and opportunities.
The same evening he got a series of emails back. The man’s contacts had put him in touch with some people in the Middle East. They wanted Az to come to the Yemen. He jumped at the chance but knew that he would have to keep a low profile and not mention it to anyone. He didn’t want family and friends being involved in his decisions in any way, even indirectly. He just wanted the space to think about where he was going in the scheme of things so he prayed hoping for an answer. Perhaps it was now the time to take an active role in whatever had been planned for him and he would follow the path wherever it took him.
***
Dex brought his usual insight into the conversation, with Baz and Joe in the bar, “British people can now only do one of two things: either support the troops, thus directly supporting government policy, or not talk about it at all. If you admit to being anti-war some jumped up prick immediately accuses you of being a hippy, terrorist or a coward.”
“What about you Dex; what do you believe?” replied Joe.
“I don’t know,” Dex replied. “I am concerned that we are sending a lot of troops out there to the Middle East. Maybe we should, but I’m not sure it’s the right thing. I wasn’t sure about Kosovo either.”
After sipping his
beer Baz looked up, “I think everyone’s aware that we’ve all been conned.” After another slug of his beer Baz stroked his head and sighed. “The main victims have either been civilians in the Middle East or those on the streets of the US, the UK, Europe and elsewhere. It looks like the politicians have damaged ordinary people far more than they have solved any problems.”
Joe preferred the soldier to the philosopher; he was fed up with these observations. The stresses of recent times had taught him that you couldn’t trust the past or the future, only the present. “So why even talk about it?” he thought to himself. He bit his lip and stared across the pub.
“Maybe our wonderful melting-pot societies haven’t helped; they don’t in fact function in any real sense any more,” Dex replied. “Especially as most people are now of the opinion that all these political establishments have been hopelessly corrupted by morons telling us that we have ‘wonderful multi-cultural societies’, but by the way we have to lock up some of the people indefinitely and without charge. So the politicians tell us publicly that the Muslims aren’t a problem, and then they lock Muslims away who are not charged with anything. It’s crazy and just creates more jihadists.”
Joe just nodded and stared into the depth of the pub whilst drinking his beer. He noted that the public bar went back a lot further than he had remembered. There was even a room to one side he hadn’t seen before.
“Yeah, and if you even talk about it in the street or in the sanctity of your own home they will lock you away for potential hate crimes,” said Baz. “You’re not actually allowed to hold strong views anymore; of any kind.”
“The establishment is running scared,” said Joe. “They’ve been too liberal and are now trying to deal with value systems they don’t understand. They’ve failed.”
“That’s probably the reason the Labour government decided to bring in twenty-four hour drinking,” said Baz. “If people are pissed the whole time they don’t ask awkward questions.” They all laughed.
After a pause for more beer Dex continued: “Joe mate, philosophically speaking, people have been killing each other for spurious reasons for thousands of years anyway. So what’s the difference now?”
“Lord, we sound like a right bunch of students. What shall we do now, march on the White House?” Joe replied. They all agreed that there was in fact no answer to that statement.
***
The visiting American delegate had started speaking at the London HQ of the Justice Party. The presentation involved slides of the Middle East and specifically some of those areas that politicians had become increasingly concerned about in recent years.
“The terrorists offer money, food, shelter and education; in other words stability that governments have failed to provide, thus filling the voids in these people’s lives. Of course the terror networks are usually well-funded and often brilliantly managed by extremely capable and educated professionals. This is often lost to us in the West, pre-occupied as we are by our consumer culture and unaware of what is happening on our own doorsteps. We seem lost in a fog of commercialism and foreign conflicts have become more or less routine in their prevalence; we have almost lost interest.”
Khalil thought smugly to himself that it wasn’t just Az who had been educating himself about what was going on in the world. However, he realised that Az was probably coming at it from a slightly different angle to the American in front of him, who continued his briefing. “It was Pascal Copeau, a French World War Two resistance fighter, who once explained that terrorism seeks to bluff the enemy by raising the spectre of a threat that is far greater than that which would normally exist. We all need to understand this reality; and not overstep the mark in our responses to terrorism, as they are potentially just as bad as the acts themselves. That includes accepting large numbers of civilian deaths which are the main reason we are losing these conflicts in the Middle East…”
After the session was over Khalil didn’t wait and headed for the exit, but was prevented from leaving by Jeff Katz.
“Hi, you probably know who I am; can I enquire your name?”
“Yes, sure, it’s Khalil.”
“You know I was so glad to see you taking an interest in our gatherings here. How about we have a chat some time about what we are all about?”
“OK” replied Khalil. “You have my email, it’s on the mailing list for Khalil Ahmed; just send me details of when you want to meet up and where and I will stick it in the calendar.”
“Yes, of course I will – or rather my wonderful ex-PA wife will. She does amazing things with computers. You should have a chat with her as well; I understand you are from an IT background?”
“Yes, I have my own IT support business.”
“Sounds fascinating; let me sort out a date and we will meet then Khalil.”
Khalil was pleasantly surprised that Jeff Katz had even remembered his name, as he had obviously taken the time to know who he was. It seemed a long way from the events of the previous Thursday evening.
***
Joe was dozing on his sofa having picked up the letter telling him to report to a TA reservist unit. When he showed up he made it clear in the interview that he wanted a posting, either to Iraq or Afghanistan. He was told that the only immediate job available was as a support driver. However, the attending officer mentioned that it would be a much better idea to get some training under his belt and deploy later with the unit or on attachment with a regular outfit doing the same job. It would be a while before he would be suitably up-to-speed technically despite his previous knowledge. And by then he might also have gone up a few ranks. “Anyway,” the officer reasoned, “the Middle East can wait.”
The next weekend in late November 2005 he went on a blind date, set up by Baz’s girlfriend Isabel. He hadn’t any real expectations but Alison was an attractive woman in her late thirties, recently divorced, and they arranged to meet again soon.
***
Khalil and Saira had been bored with the afternoon’s chat with her relatives in Hatfield, but it had passed off smoothly enough. There had been one odd question from an aunt relating to Khalil’s cousin Az, asking what he was up to these days.
“As if either of us would know,” Khalil thought to himself. It turned out that the aunt’s son had been at college with Az doing an NVQ course when Az had decided to leave the course unexpectedly.
“Actually neither of us know much about him,” Saira replied. “He’s not someone we meet very often.”
“That’s odd,” the old lady replied. “Khalil must keep in touch with his cousins.”
His immediate question was “Why?”, but he failed to ask it. It would have seemed rude so he diverted the conversation onto his own business and plans for expansion.
“Global success!” he joked with Saira on the way home in the car.
She just pursed her lips and stared at him with her head tilted in faux “girl-gang” mode. They both burst out laughing. He loved it and just wanted to get her back to the flat.
However, when they arrived he became quickly pre-occupied with emails from his new friends in the “BJ Party” as she called them. When Saira protested that it was taking up all his time he responded, “I know but darling there will be business contacts among these guys.”
She sighed and sat on the sofa, stating “Khalil you now seem to regard going to their meetings and meeting Jeff Katz as some kind of hobby. Or is it the other way around; work has become the hobby? No doubt you need the contacts, but is it really worth pursuing to the detriment of others?”
As they were getting into bed she asked the question: “Khalil is there really anyone within that group that has potential business contacts?”
“I know; I will need to find out if I am going to continue with this; I promise I will sort it out,” he explained to Saira.
“Well I just hope for our sake you do.”
***
As Az packed his gear for the trip to the Yemen he wondered excitedly where he was heading, b
ut he knew one thing: the feeling of being chained up all the time was beginning to loosen. He was gradually being released and it felt like he was walking on air at times. He said goodbye to Shakil and wanted to tell him about his newfound desire to travel and learn. However, the words just couldn’t come.
“Bruv, I am going on a bit of a journey to Yemen. Don’t worry about me – it will all be fine.”
“Yeah, but what are you going to do out there, man? Be honest with me.”
“It’s just some religious stuff; I don’t know for how long.”
“And who is paying for it?”
“It’s being funded by some guys I met in the Balkans. Don’t worry, bruv, honestly.”
***
CHAPTER FIVE
“This is the last call for Private Murdoch.” The colour sergeant shouted it across the auditorium. It was the first morning of mobilization for the group and there were several missing. Joe and Cam, a reservist from his own unit, and thirty others from various corps and regiments were starting the mobilization process for going to a conflict zone. The mobilization had come through only ten months after Joe had started with his new Intelligence Corps unit.
After initial training with them he had picked up where he had previously left off and done a crash course in forensics which meant he had a specialist skill that was badly needed in a theatre of war; Afghanistan in his case. Joe could see that training for war must have changed and adapted over the years since the 2003 invasion as this time he had been given a month’s notice. Theatre realities had been learned, techniques honed and there would be many weeks of briefings and training with subsequent dispersal to the relevant units.
From what he had heard and seen on TV the stagnant campaign in Afghanistan was based around forward and patrol bases and he knew that while they had so far been told that they would be quite mobile when deployed they would also have to get used to being static at times. However, in light of the extensive training they would get Joe assumed that they would be well prepared.