“ZOHAIB!” screamed Younus at the top of his voice.
“I want that damn truck followed, NOW,” shouted Detective Boston. Zohaib had had hardly a minutes rest when he heard the sirens of two more police cars around the corner. He was now faced with another critical decision to make within a matter of seconds. Should he stay on the truck until it’s pulled over by the police or jump, and for the second time in the second minute since he was on the run, risk his life? The truck was starting to decelerate and at the first opportunity, without wasting a split second, he made the second jump of his life. He landed on a small patch of grass as the truck was pulling over around a corner but this time he was not as lucky as the last. On his dramatic jump, he severely injured his already sprained ankle and this caused him a lot of pain, however, he had to go on.
He was lying on the side of the road but luckily was covered by the truck. As tears poured down his face, he summoned as much strength inside of him as possible and attempted to carry on with the escape. Valiantly, he got up and began to run; yet his ankle was too severely injured and he only covered a few steps. Adrenaline was now pumping through his body like he had never felt before and his mind was also working at an alarming rate. He thought to himself, “What now? Where should I go? Think Zohaib think!” As these thoughts came to him another risky idea had come to his frightened mind. He crawled underneath the truck as fast as his bruised body would take him and grabbed hold of the pipes running underneath it. The police vigorously searched the truck for about five minutes yet found nothing. It was only five minutes, it could also be seen as three hundred seconds, but for Zohaib, it was a painful eternity.
The truck continued it’s journey, the police were now in a frantic search for Zohaib, and Zohaib was frantically holding on to the bottom of the truck. By this time it was almost four o’clock in the afternoon and due to the fact that it was mid-winter, it had become dark outside. The truck stopped at the Islamic Relief warehouse and Zohaib finally let go of the truck. His hands were red and swollen by holding on so tightly for so long. “You can come out now,” said a mysterious voice in the cold darkness of winter. Zohaib was now in a state of confusion and shock, his ankle was hurting as though an axe had sliced it, his hands were sore and he had bruises on his limbs and torso from his life-risking jumps. He was in no position to run, and no position to confront the man either, so he was left with no choice. Painfully, he rolled out from underneath the truck and lay as he saw a gloomy figure looking down on him. The unknown character sighed and as he looked at Zohaib, his eyes slowly began to close and he fell into a deep sleep.
The next morning he woke up on a pile of clothing in a dark building, and to his surprise, his wounds had been treated. He saw that the building had a few windows and was very tall. It had many clothes and had a rather peculiar smell to it and sounded as quiet as the middle of a desert. His ankle has been skilfully wrapped in a bandage and also cushioned which made him feel very comfortable and the cuts on his arms and legs had received plasters where necessary, or just a clean. Next to him he found a few slices of bread, a bottle of mineral water, and two Paracetamol tablets in an unopened packet. He was surprised to see that someone had taken such good care of him, but at the same time, he was too drained from his escape the other day that he ate his food without giving it a second thought. So relieved to have eaten for the first time in a full day that he ate too fast and soon began to choke on his food at which point he began to wash it down with the water. “Slow down, there’s plenty more,” said the same surprising voice from the previous night. Zohaib was surprised and asked, “Who are you and why did you help me?” The man smiled and so he explained the situation to Zohaib, he couldn’t believe what he was about to hear.
“My name is Zubair and I’m part of a secret organisation. We keep tabs on the police and on current events, assess the situation and see what needs to be done,” said Zubair. At this point Zohaib thought that the organisation was just a group of vigilantes who wanted power, but he was soon to find out that it was this organisation that saved his life, and would do so again in the future. “Fair enough, but why are you telling me this now? What has this got to do with my situation and what the hell is the Islamic Relief truck all about?” asked Zohaib in a less than polite manner.
“Sheesh! Brother, slow down, let me explain; we found out about the terror attack the day before yesterday and so began an independent enquiry. We have links to many so called terror groups around the globe and none of them claimed responsibility, which is rather weird considering a motive or statement for why the attack happened should have been given. Eventually we found out that it was actually done by a racist group, you could think of them as the modern KKK,” explained Zubair as Zohaib slowly ate his food, “anyways, they did this attack and so framed you for it to increase racial prejudice around the country.” Zohaib couldn’t believe his ears; he could no longer taste the food nor smell the odd smell of the clothes. All of his senses had been practically ceased to function. “But why me? It’s not like I’m incredibly devoted to my religion and have a long beard,” he whispered as he began to cry, “I’m just a 19 year old who wants to finish his education and go back to his parents.” As he sat still in shock, Zubair said, “Hey don’t let it get ya down! My guess is that they’re tryin’ to show that it’s any person that’s not like them that could be a ‘terrorist.’ We’ve already got a plan to clear you’re name, all you need to do for now, is rest.”
Zohaib just cried and soon fell asleep again. The tablets he had taken weren’t actually Paracetamol, but they were sleep tablets. He woke up in the afternoon, this time in a small room with a bed and a table. He noticed that his mobile phone was missing and he had no idea where he was. “ZUBAIR,” he screamed, “WHAT THE HELL IS GOIN’ ON?” Before he knew it two tall men who were quite built came to the door and said, “Calm down. All will be explained, this is for your own protection.” Zohaib fell silent and the men said, “Look, you’re goin’ to be in here ‘till tomorrow mornin’ so why don’t ya jus’ watch the TV or somethin’ like that?” Zohaib reluctantly nodded his head and they said, “Jus’ wait a few minutes, we’ll bring you some food and a television set yeah?” After saying this they walked off. Zohaib looked around at his surroundings. The room was plain white and had a bed with thin sheets on it; nowhere near enough to keep him warm in the freezing English winter. It smelt as though it was newly built and it was about the same size as his bedroom in his apartment. It had a desk next to the bed that had a few blank sheets of paper and a pencil next to it. The cracks in the wall seemed so noticeable and the rough carpet also seemed to be eye-catching. Every small detail seemed to stand out so much as though he had never seen such things before. It hadn’t been long when the men had returned with a curry fit be served in a restaurant and a small TV which they placed on the desk. “Don’t worry, you’re going to be alright. O yeah, I almost forgot, don’t go wondering around the building, many of the members don’t know about you and you may be beaten badly if spotted! ” Said one of the men, and so they closed the door and walked away.
“Latest news on the terror attack which resulted in so many hundreds of casualties; Fugitive Zohaib Akram is still on the lose,” said the news reporter as his passport photo appeared on the screen, “Police say he could be highly dangerous and to call them instead of approaching him at all costs.” Zohaib switched the TV off straight away, he’d heard all he had to and finished his chicken curry with pita bread.
The next day Zohaib was woken by someone he would never have expected, but was definitely happy to see. In front of his face he saw somebody else’s that made him feel as though he still has someone with him. It was Younus, his best friend and flat mate. Zohaib said in a very surprised tone, “Younus, man u don’t know how happy I am to see you!”
“Don’t worry bro, I know all about it, Zubair told me,” he replied.
“What? How do you know that guy?”
“Hey chill man, some people came over this mornin’ and told me that they knew where you were and could take me to you, that’s all. After they brought me to this place I met Zubair who filled me in on all the info. Everything from the time when I saw you last.”
“Yeah, I was pretty surprised to find out that the Islamic Relief truck was strategically placed there to help me to escape. No wonder I didn’t jump to my death, he was lookin’ out for me from minute one, I guess I should be thankful,” explained Zohaib in a glad tone for the first time in a few days. “Hey don’t worry ‘bout it,” said Zubair as he entered the room, “Look, I know you’re going to want to speak to Younus but we have to move fast if we want to clear your name.” Zohaib was beginning to feel a sense of acceptance and warmth inside and the cold and depressing room was finally beginning to feel a lot more positive.
They all ate a quick breakfast together and met in another room. This one had a projector inside and Zohaib noticed that it was connected to a laptop computer. “Everyone take a seat, it’s time for the briefin’,” said Zubair. He switched on the projector and there was a great sense of suspense in the room. Everyone was wondering what ‘the plan’ was going to be and they were soon to find out. A picture of the London Underground’s Waterloo station appeared and Zubair said, “We have received information from an inside source from the unnamed racist organisation that they are planning their next attack at Waterloo station, TODAY!” Everybody had pretty much the same reaction and after the group settled down Zohaib asked, “Where are you going with this?”
“Well, you see,” explained Zubair, “If we infiltrate the attack and you apprehend the criminals, then I think that’s your only chance to clear your name, and at the same time we’ll be savin’ countless lives.” Without a second thought Zohaib, the once fun-loving, caring, sensitive young man, accepted the life risking mission in which he may have to take a few lives himself. “What do I have to do?” he asked.
“Zohaib, there has to be another way out of this man. Think, don’t just risk your life!” said Younus. In an emotional discussion, Younus began to desperately convince Zohaib not to risk his life, to find another way. “Look, you’re my best friend, you always will be and so you should understand; if I don’t clear my name now then I’ll be a fugitive on the run for the rest of my life. It’s not my reputation that’s at stake, it’s my freedom.”
“Well if you’re goin’ to go and do such a stupid thing, then as always, I’ll follow,” exclaimed Younus.
They completed the gruelling briefing that in total took about an hour to complete. They were told that the racist group were going to appear there with gas masks, place timed gas bombs and escape from the next train which would be departing for France. They would be armed with at least two 5mm guns each and possibly a sub-machine gun as well. Zohaib and Younus would go in together and be armed with a knife, a 5mm pistol, a sub machine gun and two grenades (only to be used as a last resort). Zubair would also be involved in this mission yet he preferred to carry a shotgun rather than a sub machine gun. The other two tall members of the group would be heavily armed as they were well trained in weapons combat. They would mainly be holding extra ammunition just in case the others were to run out. There were four of them up against an estimates three terrorists. The attack was to be carried out on Monday, four days after the previous devastating terror attack and was to stir more religious prejudice and kill many people if not stopped. The police weren’t informed immediately as they would shut down the underground in which case the racist organisation would know that they had a spy amongst their ranks and only live to kill another day, so they planned to call the police minutes before the attack was to take place in order for them to come and see that Zohaib had saved many innocent lives. Obviously the rest of the group would have fled with the weapons by that time or else they would also be arrested on terrorist charges.
The attack was to take place at 5.00pm sharp, the start of the rush hour when people are returning home from work. The team travelled to the Underground station in a jeep where they were dropped off and would await to be picked up again. It was 4.58pm, two minutes until the attack was to take place and quickly the rushed to the spot where the bombs were being planted. Zohaib thought of his parents who he was planning on visiting in less than a month when he had Christmas holidays. He thought, “Will I ever see them again?” They ran as fast as they could whilst the phone call to the police was being made.
They saw a white man dressed in Islamic clothing planting the bomb on the side of the tracks. The crowd screamed and ducked as they heard Zubair shoot the roof three times. “Freeze!” screamed Zohaib.
“You Paki bastard, it’s too late now, it’s over,” shouted the terrorist and began shooting at Zohaib as he fixed the bomb into place. The team took cover yet another two men appeared from behind them. They began to shoot with sub machine guns as the two large unnamed members of the team ran out of the way and dived onto the track. They returned fire whilst ducking repeatedly. The crowd was screaming like there was no tomorrow and Younus realised that he had been shot in the leg. He got over the pain much quicker than he would have thought being shot by a bullet would take and gave Zohaib cover fire as he ran alongside with Zubair to disarm the terrorist. All of a sudden, armed police arrived at the scene and screamed “EVERYONE PUT YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR OR WE’LL SHOOT TO KILL! The terrorist who was programming the timer on the gas bomb carried on firing even though the rest of the people had frozen as though they had been paused by a remote control. Without a seconds delay, the police opened fire on him with their sub-machine guns. The autopsy would later reveal that he had 32 gunshots through his body. One of the other terrorists screamed, “Aaarghhh, all of you are goin’ to die you Pakis! As he screamed this he lifted his hand in which he was holding a gun to shoot the explosives which would blow up the station and release the poisonous gas at the same time. Zohaib saw this all too soon and without a second thought, ran into the way of the bomb. The second terrorist was taken down, once again; the autopsy would later reveal that he had a total of 48 bullet holes in his body. The third one had already surrendered. “NO, ZOHAIB!” screamed Younus at the top of his voice as he ran over to Zohaib. Zohaib had been shot in his torso. Black blood was emerging from the wound and seen as though they were both doing a medical course, they could tell that the bullet had hit the liver. Zohaib had a matter of minutes to live. “No. Why?” cried Younus. As he coughed Zohaib said, “Younus, don’t worry, if there was any way I had to chose to die (large gasp for breath) it would be like this, with you, after having saved so many lives.” The police rushed to Zohaib’s side yet they understood that there was nothing that could be done. Zubair saw this mission as a failure, even though so many lives were saved, and quietly escaped through the back with his two partners. Younus cried aloud and Zohaib weakly said, “Hey, don’t worry, just tell my parents that I love them very much.
“I will,” cried Younus, “I will.”
As he took his last breaths Zohaib asked, “O yeah, I’m innocent now aren’t I?”
“You always were bro,” cried Younus, “You always were.”
The day passed away as did Zohaib. The secret racist organisation was foiled and any religious prejudice that the people had, soon faded away. Zohaib’s name was cleared in next to no time, and his status had forever changed around the world from terrorist, to hero.