Sian and Tank/Holyhead

       Sian sat opposite Tank in her office at the customs suite. The interviews with Finnen and Mamood were going well; both men were now answering whatever questions were asked of them. A little gentle persuasion from her superior officer had speeded things up. Sian was concerned that what she had to discuss with her boss would affect her career with the Terrorist Task Force.

       “What`s so important that it can`t wait until we are finished with the interrogations, Sian? I hope you are not going to express your distaste at the way we dealt with them. You are part of this squad, Sian.” Tank was starting to rant incoherently. He wrongly believed that Sian had not approved of his interview techniques. Sian raised her hand to stop him in mid flow.

          “It`s got nothing to do with that, Sir. It`s very important. I have to discuss this with you urgently but I am not quite sure where to start,” she said.

           Tank looked at her. `She never calls me Sir`, he thought. They had a good working relationship and Tank knew that the use of the title Sir, usually meant trouble was coming.

          “What`s the problem, Sian? Just spit it out. Contrary to belief I won`t bite you!” He tried to lighten the atmosphere; he knew something was very wrong.

          “No but you might try and choke me to death, Boss! I`m only joking, please take a good look at this picture,” she placed a Polaroid photograph on the desk in front of him. Tank picked it up and studied it closely. It was a picture of Sian stood next to a male of Middle Eastern appearance. The sea was in the background; it looked like a holiday snap. It took Tank`s brain several seconds to register the relevance of this snap shot. He looked again at the man, then at Sian.

         “I can see there is a striking resemblance between this man and Yasser Ahmed but it`s not him, is it?” Tank had to ask the question just to reassure himself. The man in the picture looked very much like the terrorist Yasser Ahmed, but he was too shocked and confused to make the connection.

         “He`s my boyfriend, Tank. His name is Mustapha Ahmed. He`s been living here in Holyhead for three years now. When I went home last night he was waiting for me at my house. He was upset and in a real panic. He told me that his family had contacted him and that they wanted to come and see him today. They wanted to pick him up and take him to see his older brother. He has never spoken about having a brother before. He was scared, Tank, so we drove in my car to his caravan and we took some of his things. I still haven`t told him that we`re looking for Yasser Ahmed, and he hasn’t seen the picture that you sent through to me yesterday.” Sian paused and took a sip of mineral water from a bottle of Evian.

         “He`s never talked about his family, Tank; he told me they were all dead. That picture of Yasser Ahmed, and the way he was so scared last night, I think he is related, Tank, I think that Mustapha is his brother.” Sian exhaled. The stress of the last twenty-four hours events were now taking their toll.

       “Where is he right now?” Tank asked. He was thinking at one million miles an hour. He was remembering the information about Ahmed`s sister and younger brother. Yasser had smuggled them out of Iraq when they were younger. Out of harm`s way. Opposing members of the warring factions had threatened Yasser`s family`s safety.

       “He is at my house on Holyhead Mountain. What are you thinking? We could really use this link to get to Ahmed. I think Mustapha would help us,” Sian said.

       “I really don’t know what to think just yet, but I want him here under detention while we think it through. Get him picked up and get Faz and Chen in here. Let`s find out who your Mustapha is.” Tank stood up and reached for his cell phone.

       “Better still you and I`ll go and get him. I don’t want him to panic. You can tell me all about him on the way.”

          They left the building and climbed into her car in silence. Tank was deep in thought as Sian drove out of town and headed down Porthdafarc road. The route would take them past where Mustapha had been living, before zigzagging up the mountain toward South Stack Lighthouse. She pointed out Mustapha`s caravan to Tank as they passed.

           “Do you know who telephoned him and arranged to pick him up?” Tank asked as he looked across the sandy beach at Mustapha`s caravan, which was perched up on the cliffs overlooking the sea. Sian turned right at the end of the beach approach and the flat road changed into a steep gradient.

         “No I don’t know who called him, but I know that before he moved to Holyhead, he spent a few years in Warrington. I can only assume that`s where his family live. As I said earlier, he will not talk about his past to me. I do know that he was brought up by very religious people, and that he doesn`t share their convictions. I always get the impression from him that he wasn`t welcome at home, I`ve never heard him talk about his religion, he doesn`t even pray.” 

         The vehicle reached the crest of the hill. Sian had to use the lower gears to keep the vehicle climbing the steep road to her house. They stopped and she parked the Jeep on a gravel path. They climbed out of the vehicle and walked toward the front of the house. Tank looked across the grassy headlands that surrounded Sian`s home. In the distance he could see the white bricks of a lighthouse. The sea looked dark and angry from this distance, huge waves crashing on the rocks, the spray almost reaching as high as the lighthouse tower itself.

        “I think this is a nice place to live, Sian,” Tank said.

        “Thanks. I think so. There he is, in the window.” Sian pointed to the silhouette of Mustapha. She waved at him and smiled. He waved and smiled back at her.

        “He could be Yasser Ahmed. Looking at him from here, Sian, he is identical.” Tank was correct; he could almost be his twin.

         Mustapha opened the door and kissed Sian on the cheek as she entered the house. He turned and looked at the big man in the dark suit. It looked like his muscular shoulders would rip through the stitching of his jacket if he wasn`t careful.

         Sian spoke first. “Mustapha, this is my boss John Tankersley. You can call him John but he prefers to be called Tank. We need to ask you some questions. We have some questions about your family. Let`s go inside and sit down.” She indicated that they should follow her into the living area. The room was large and reached all the way to the rear of the house. Patio doors opened out onto a wooden deck that over looked the coastline and the lighthouse.

         Mustapha sat down in silence. He had never heard Sian talk about this big man. He was very distinctive, he would have remembered him if she had. He always remembered men with shaven heads because he found them scary, they made him nervous. Tank stood close to where Mustapha had sat and he leaned over and passed him a photograph of Yasser Ahmed. Tank didn`t speak, he just watched Mustapha`s reaction. Every movement that Mustapha made gave Tank an indication of what he was thinking about. Every twitch of the eyes told Tank a story. Mustapha looked at the photograph. He looked up at Sian and then at the big man.

        “This is my brother Yasser,” he said slowly, almost in a whisper.

        “I was told yesterday that he was in this country. They called me and told me that he wanted to see me. I knew that he would bring trouble with him for me. He always does.”

        “Mustapha, we need to talk to your brother urgently. He was responsible for the recent spate of terrorist attacks in America. If you know where he is you must tell me.” Tank tried to disguise the tension in his voice.

         “Who called you and what did they say about your brother?”  Tank pushed a little more.

         “I don`t know where he is precisely, just that he`s here in Britain. I can`t believe you think he has caused all those deaths in America. He`s a monster. He caused many deaths in my country too, that’s why we had to leave. I`ve never met the people that support him. I never know who it is that calls me. When I speak to them, there is never a name used, never a number given. They speak in code to make sure that it`s me that they`re talking to. They will not speak until I say a sentence with the word Egypt in it. I am not welcome in their circles, I don`t hold with their views. They only ring me to see that I`m safe and have enough money to live. They feel that they have a responsibility to Yasser to look after me.” Mustapha stood up and continued to ramble.

       “I don`t really know who my brother is. I remember nothing of my brother until he arranged for my sister and me to be smuggled from our home. We have lived with strangers ever since. Am I supposed to be grateful to this man? It`s because of his actions and his belief that we have been running and hiding all our lives. I hope you catch him. I hope you kill him. I don`t have a brother anymore.” Mustapha wept and threw the picture across the room.