Planning on a Prayer

"Have you planned anything? Or are we just going to wing it?" asked Philippa.

"I have given everything a lot of thought. For example, the rooms we are in are just a stroll from a mosque."

"So I can hear." The call to prayer was never peaceful.

Nick was deep in thought, cogs were gnashing deep in his head. His lips were trembling, his eyelids were twitching. Hla was looking from Nick to Philippa, irritation and concern plastered on her face.

"What's wrong with him?"

Philippa had seen it before.

"Don't look so worried. He is working on something. It may make your job easier," said Philippa.

Nick grabbed a pen and started scribbling on the room's fire escape notice. Figures, diagrams, and arrows cluttered the printed words on the bedroom leaflet. Only Nick understood what he scrawled.

"What the hell is all that?" Hla asked, looking over Nick's shoulder.

"He was not dreaming earlier when he watched the comings and goings of the folk opposite. He was planning. In his head, he can tell the size and shape of each space, and sometimes what they do in that area. It's not magic, he can visualise what the architect drew, it's all in his mind's eye."

"Planning what?" asked Hla.

"How to get in and out of the building, how many rooms we need to check and how to escape with our prize."

Hla was dumbstruck.

"A burglar's job would be to go in the mosque and jot all the details by pretending to be a worshipper. He has saved that job, merely by observing things from outside. So you see, he not only saves time but lessens the chance of being caught. Now we need to know what is the prize?"

"You mean he doesn't know, or can't work it out?" asked Hla with raised eyebrows.

"It better be good," said Philippa.

"Oh, it is good. Worth a fortune and easy to move," said Hla proudly.

"Come on then, what is it?"

"A prayer mat. But one that is worth far more than its weight in gold," she laughed.

"A manky prayer mat?" asked Philippa.

Nick's face split in the largest smile that Hla had seen him produce. She was guessing what he was thinking.

"He knows its value, as an antique and to Muslim worshippers. The mat we will kidnap came from the middle-east over one thousand years ago. Brought here by an Imam from Malaya."

"Presumably it is in a safe?"

"No, my dear, Muslims trust each other. They must not steal along with other 'must not do stuff.' It is on show and displayed in a glass case. No bars, no alarm, with only glass protecting it."

"So, where is the fun of stealing it?"

"You will soon see."

Nick was shaking his head. He whispered in Philippa's ear. His half-sister started smiling. She then roared like a drunken sailor.

"No," she spluttered. "You will soon see."

"What is so funny?" asked Hla.

"Find some ya bah, some finely cut pork, chunky beef, and a bottle of the cheapest vodka you can find," Nick told Philippa. "Oh, I'll need some flammable liquid, whatever you see."

"Come on Hla, we must go shopping." She ordered the older woman.

Nick remained in the room. In a dream state, he recalled everything he read about the Muslim faith.

"Tonight is Thursday, perfect," he said to himself. Thursday leading into Friday was the best time to start anything if you follow their faith. Nick would start and finish the first part of his quest.

The shoppers returned, the items purchased were prepared. Ya baa, a cheap Thai narcotic, tasteless and easily mixed with the equally tasteless, cheap vodka, when added to fruit juice. All easily obtainable from street corners. The tin of lighter fuel stood aside for later.

Philippa began chopping fruit. Green apples, pears, oranges and lemons. She then mushed them together and tasted the juice.

"Wow, that is lovely," she said, offering the others a small taste. After accepting congratulations on her effort, she mixed in the less healthy fluid.

The thin strips of pork mixed with the chunky beef and hammered into a burger patty to be grilled later.

Philippa knew what they expected of her. She was ready for her part.

"What are you two doing?" asked Hla.

"You want that religious rag? We will get it. You stay here," said Philippa.

It was now dark. The Isha nighttime prayers were about to start. Philippa swept her shawl across her face and mounted the drainpipe. She climbed up to a balcony where she hid, waiting.

Nick entered the main door. He forced himself not to laugh. All the standing and genuflections, "Great for fitness training," he thought to himself. He then was a study in the perfection of seriousness. Straight faced and devout to his God.

A few of the worshippers said some devout words to the Imam as they filed onto the street. The congregation thinned until only Nick remained. Standing alone in the centre of the temple, head bowed. The older man spoke to him in Thai, then in Malay. Nick didn't answer.

The Imam led Nick to the side, where his backpack rested. Again the religious leader attempted conversation. No reaction from Nick other than his feigned interest in the religious photographs liberally posted along the walls.

"Ah, you like our pictures?" asked the Imam.

Nick nodded and opened his bag. He pulled out his fruit juice and poured the elder a cup. They quietly sat and enjoyed the offering.

"I have something you would love. Do you want to see?"

He led Nick upstairs.

The Imam pointed to a glass frame containing the antique mat.

Nick stood open-mouthed, gawping at the display. Nick plonked himself down and sat cross-legged in front and stared in awe. The nimble older man joined him on the floor.

Nick, without taking his eyes off the prayer mat, opened his bag and offered food and more juice to the man.

Both munched into the beef burgers. The Imam washed it down with more juice. For a man who had never taken alcohol or drugs, it took a surprising time before taking effect. Eventually, his eyes glazed, he swayed slowly left and right.

Nick took his phone's camera and started filming as Philippa clambered over the brickwork and danced into the room. Her graceful movement accompanied the lifting of her skirt, flashing skimpy underwear. The Imam finished the drink without taking his eyes from the youthful vision. The ya baa kicked in. He stood and danced with the young girl. His eyes were bulging as he collapsed in a crumpled heap, sweat dripping from his forehead.

Philippa busied herself unscrewing the frame from the wall. Her half-brother turned the comatose religious leader away from Mecca and squirted lighter fuel from his head to toes. Nick looked at Philippa. She had the frame under her arm and nodded. Nick, about to light the fuel, stopped by Philippa's signal. She wandered across and flashed a blade across his throat. She drank deeply as his blood spurted. Nick's grin turned into a grimace. She licked her lips and wiped her chin clean with the back of her hand.

They then clambered out the way Philippa had entered.

The guest house was silent, empty entrance, so no need to hide their prize. Tossing the frame at Hla, they were both grinning as they entered their room, just as sirens rang out.