1/1:Jihad-Britain

by jack everett

The shore was a barren, cold, shingle slope. Metal posts had been driven into the ground to support wire mesh fencing. The score of pathways separated the herded deportees into single lines making it difficult to turn and make a determined charge back down to the beach.

At the other end of the corridors, hundreds of prefabricated metal buildings had been erected in rows just like the army camps that had been such a familiar sight in a dozen Near and Middle East countries. Each building was furnished with a hundred inflatable rubber beds; there were blankets, soap, toilet paper. Six eastern style toilets – holes in the floor – had been provided and sheets of instructions in the form of pictographs were pinned up everywhere.

Back on board the Excelsior, Major Fearon, had chairs brought out on deck with a table, teapot, milk, sugar and cups. Shah was brought up and while still unconscious, was seated in one of the chairs.

Fearon sipped from his cup as Shah slowly regained consciousness. He felt rather than saw the man’s eyes open and fasten on him. He spoke matter of factly.

‘Good afternoon, Mullah Shah.’

There was the slight sound of indrawn breath.

‘Oh yes, Mullah, I know who you are. I know how much you hate us; I know that we – the British, that is – don’t want you near us any more. Unfortunately, neither does anyone else. That goes of course for everyone else that we’ve brought here. Tea?’

It was refused. Had he had just a little more hate in his soul or been just a little less afraid, Shah would have spat.

‘The island over there,’ Fearon nodded, ‘will grow your food and we’ve provided you with seeds and tools with instructions. The sea is full of fish and we’ve provided nets and fishing lines that can be used from the shore; instructions again. There is fresh water all over the place. We’ll fly basic food stuffs in for a few months but you had better get your followers planting seeds pretty quickly.

‘You’ve spent years telling us all that you wanted to rule yourselves; well, now you have the chance. What I’ve just told you is on information boards in all the buildings, in a variety of languages. I just thought I’d mention it to you in case you’re intent on making yourself into a leader.’

Shah looked at Fearon for some time before replying. If hate could have killed, the Major would have died a dozen times in as many seconds. ‘This is not the end sergeant…’

‘Um, Major, please, Mullah Shah. I took the trouble to give you your title.’

‘This is not the end. You will see me again; Allah will grant me the strength to do that.’

‘I’ve no doubt that you’ll try, I’ve read your file, Mullah Shah. I know how resourceful you can be but let me forewarn you. If you do escape from here – and it is a prison in all but name – the Americans want you for planning to bomb one of their embassies, the Algerians want to question you about bombing their government offices and we have no compunction about handing you over to them.’

‘I shall invoke your Human Rights Act.’ He sneered.

‘The Human Rights Act no longer exists in the UK. I’d tread very carefully if I were you.’

Obviously, Shah had not heard this news in prison; or perhaps, he had chosen to disbelieve it. ‘Where are we,’ he asked. ‘You can tell me that, at least.’

‘Happy to.’ Fearon put his elbows on the table and placed the tips of his fingers together. ‘These are the Fattic Rocks. A hundred and fifty miles away from Northern Ireland, out in the Atlantic Ocean. They are well away from shipping lanes; your closest neighbour is that way,’ he pointed eastward, ‘another clump of uninhabited rock. Like this place: no birds, no trees, no animals, no nothing. The water around here is close to freezing all year round, the currents are relentless and basking sharks swim right up to the water’s edge.’

Fearon smiled his usual smile as he lied his head off. ‘By the way, do you swim?’

‘Better than it says in your file on me.’

‘Oh, that’s good. While we’ve been talking, the last boat ashore for today just left. I’m wondering whether the sharks will get you first or the undertow, the tide moves pretty sharply up here.’

Major Fearon stood. ‘Lieutenant.’

‘Sir?’

‘Assist Mullah Shah into the sea, will you?’

Shah’s eyes showed fear, he stood and tried to walk away but a pair of grinning marines, ignoring his protests, stuffed his arms into a lifejacket and a rope was attached. A small gantry lifted him out over the sea and dropped him to within a few feet of the water. The rope was cut and he dropped the rest of the way.

‘Are there really sharks down there, Sir?’ Asked one of them.

‘Basking sharks, bet your life on it. Second biggest fish in the sea but they eat plankton, not meat. Not that I care that much really, do you?’

The two marines chuckled, the Lieutenant laughed.