By now he was back with Tina offering her the cup of tea.
“I know you want me to leave the army,” he blurted. The blunt words not coming out as he intended, as usual. Thoughts spilling out of his mouth before he’d engaged his brain.
“What? Where the hell did that come from? Did I miss the beginning of a conversation you’ve just had with yourself?”
“Probably,” Crane admitted. “I was just thinking in the kitchen.” He looked at his wife, lying in the bed. Her long dark hair tied back, emphasising her pale face.
“I appreciate you realise it’s something we need to talk about,” she said. “But not yet and certainly not now. Remember, no pressure, no excitement and definitely no stress.”
“Is that me or you?”
Crane reached for his jacket, ducking out of the way as Tina took a swipe at him, then bent down and kissed her cheek.
“I’ll see you tonight after work. Unless something happens to you or the baby. You will get them to phone me at once won’t you?”
“Of course, Tom, now bugger off to work.”
“Yes Ma’am,” he saluted. Turning away he tried not to run out of the ward. He had a clean shirt at work and a washing kit, so he shouldn’t look too bad. Perhaps if he sat down most of the day, no one would notice his creased trousers. Lost in his thoughts, he didn’t see Tina wave goodbye.
Nor did he seem to be aware of the traffic on his way to work, until he arrived at the queue of cars waiting to enter the garrison. He’d been thinking about his conversation with Derek Anderson yesterday when he went to the station, as the Captain had insisted. Together they’d agreed the wording for an explanatory press release, about the increased security requirements, which they hoped would be included in next week’s edition of the Aldershot Mail. But personally Crane wasn’t holding his breath. He didn’t trust Diane Chambers as far as he could throw her.
Last year he had pushed her a bit too far. Offering access to him in future investigations and an exclusive interview, after the successful capture of a megalomaniac, intent on persuading fathers to kill their sons and to then commit suicide. But Crane hadn’t kept his side of the bargain. Not that he’d had any intention of keeping it in the first place. So now Diane was determined to portray the army in general, and Crane in particular, in the worst possible light. Anderson had promised to have a word with her. Maybe the threat of limited access to the police would do the trick.
Leaning out of his side window, Crane saw there were only three cars before him waiting to go through the barrier. As he watched the soldiers interviewing a driver, prowling around the vehicle, putting mirrors on long poles underneath it and walking sniffer dogs around the bodywork, he caught a glimpse of a slim young woman with short brown curly hair wearing a checked shirt. Mindful of Captain Edward’s words, he turned the car around, causing even more traffic chaos, on his way to finding another route into the garrison. Avoiding Diane Chambers was preferable even to being late. He could always say that he had been monitoring the stop and search procedures should anyone ask.
Day 19
The steps outside the Princess Theatre and the adjoining gardens in Aldershot, had long been used for civic parades and receptions, and today was no different. The fitful sun flitted from behind the clouds every now and then only to run away, as though playing its own version of hide and seek. The crowd were following its game, pulling off cardigans and coats when it shone brightly, only to don them again when it hid behind a cloud. The large banner displayed across the front of the Theatre read ‘Aldershot Welcomes Team GB’. An odd banner to use, as this was a farewell ceremony, Crane thought. But then he’d never really understood the workings of Mayor Braithwaite’s brain.
Crane was mingling with the crowd, standing out like a sore thumb, dressed completely different to the majority, with his short sleeved white shirt and tie worn under a dark suit. Everyone else was in casual summer clothes. Crane may as well have been in full military uniform, he looked that incongruous.
Someone had obviously been handing out Union Jack flags, as Crane saw several children waving them in a burst of national pride. As he watched more closely he saw they were also being used as effective weapons, to hit other children over the head with, poke up bottoms and in one instance into an unsuspecting eye. The affected child started to wail. The mother, more intent on drinking her can of larger than looking after her child, simply looked down at the bawling girl, told her to ‘fucking shut up’ and added a slap to make her point. Crane turned away, sickened.
The sound of microphones being checked brought his attention back to the large steps in front of him. “Testing one two three,” rolled around the gardens from strategically placed loudspeakers and was met with jeers from the crowd.
“Get on with it then, mate!” someone bawled in Crane’s ear. “We ain’t got all day you know – the pubs open soon!” The jester glowed with pride at the raucous laughter that followed his comments. God help us if this is Aldershot’s finest, Crane thought.
A commotion on the steps heralded the arrival of Mayor Braithwaite, complete with robes and gold chain. The sun also decided to make an appearance, obviously not wanting to be left out of the proceedings, resulting in large drops of sweat rolling off the Mayor’s pockmarked face onto his robes within minutes. Quickly grabbing a proffered handkerchief from his wife’s hand, he dabbed his face and began to speak.
“Citizens of Aldershot, thank you for turning out in your hundreds to wave Team GB goodbye and wish them good luck in the forthcoming Olympic Games!” Whilst the Mayor raised his own Union Jack flag and waved it in the air, Crane looked at the fifty or so people gathered around him and suppressed a smile at the Mayor’s powers of estimation.
“The team will be passing by shortly. In the meantime, please show your appreciation for the Aldershot Town Band.”
Desultory clapping was soon drowned out by the sound of brass instruments played inexpertly, yet more or less in time. A discordant sound that most people ignored, merely raising their voices to carry on their conversations over the music. Crane slipped under the police cordon and showed his ID to the nearest constable before crossing the road to the steps of the theatre. Angling sideways as he climbed, he headed for DI Anderson who was standing on the edge of the steps.
“Doesn’t this make you proud to be British?” asked Anderson by way of greeting.
Guessing it was an ironical statement, Crane merely nudged Anderson’s arm and nodded his head towards the Mayor and the figure standing beside him. Diane Chambers, clearly revelling in her role as reporter for the Aldershot Mail, was interviewing the Mayor, thrusting a small recorder under his nose.
“This should be fun, Derek,” Crane said, listening in on the interview.
“This is a proud moment for Aldershot,” the Mayor was saying.
“But do you think the price the good people of Aldershot had to pay was worth it?”
The Mayor looked perplexed and muttered, “What price?”
“The disruption. Increased security at the garrison. Harassment by the army. Long traffic jams. Need I go on?”
“Surely, a small price to help the pride of our nation on their way to victory, Diane.” The Mayor had a nervous smile playing on his lips, clearly not sure why the interview was taking such a bad turn.
“So you condone the actions of the army and the police?”
“Condone?”
Crane laughed out loud as the Mayor, frantically looked around for someone to get him out of the situation, but no one was taking any notice of him.
“Yes, Mayor Braithwaite. Condone. Or if you prefer, excuse or pardon the heavy handed actions of the army.”
“I’m… I’m sure they only did what they thought necessary...” Mayor Braithwaite was now craning his neck and spying the coaches containing the athletes he said, “I’m sorry, Diane, you’ll had to excuse me. Team GB are on their way.”
As the Mayor rushed to his wife’s side, Diane Chambers looked around for
another victim. Crane turned his back to her before she could spot him.
“Coward,” laughed Anderson.
“Too right,” agreed Crane, remaining where he was, only turning around when Anderson assured him the coast was clear.
The first bus pulled up and some passengers disembarked. Representatives from Team GB, the IOC and BOA climbed the steps, where they were greeted by the Mayor. They shook hands with assorted local dignitaries, waved to the crowd and got back into the bus. To the sound of the brass band, the buses filed past the waiting crowd, athletes waving from the windows. As the last bus left, the sun got bored and disappeared, leaving the straggling crowd shivering as they dispersed.
“Thank God that’s over,” said Crane, lighting a cigarette.
“Aren’t you going to give those up?”
“I’m supposed to when the baby comes.”
“Good luck with that then.”
“Which, the baby or giving up smoking?” Crane flicked ash onto the road.
“Both I reckon. Still at least this is finished,” Anderson indicated the Team GB banner. “You must be relieved.”
“Yes. Now just twenty-one days left.” Crane ground the stub of his cigarette under his foot.
“Twenty-one days?”
So Crane explained his theory that he’d been pushed into the wilderness for forty days and forty nights, looking after the Olympians and Paralympians and co-ordinating their security.
“So now I’ve got the Paralympians arriving tomorrow.” Crane finished. “I tell you, Derek, both teams had better win lots of bloody medals after all this!”
“You’ll be prouder than anyone when they do, Crane. It will all have been worthwhile.”
“I guess so.”
Crane stared across the steps towards Aldershot Garrison, which could be seen in the distance, on the other side of the dual carriageway. The wind was starting to get up and Crane’s tie fluttered in the breeze, causing him to do up his jacket to keep it in place.
“But in the meantime, I’ve got a dead soldier, no leads and a load of Afghan officers on the garrison. And on top of that there’s still the job of co-ordinating security, as well as looking after the Paralympians.”
“No problem for a man like you,” Anderson smiled, his grey wispy hair blowing in the now cold wind.
“I’m not so sure anymore, Derek.”
Crane looked at the ground and studied his shoes, shivering slightly as the wind cut through his lightweight suit.
Night 19
At last I have been given my chance – nothing can stop me now. I can sense everyone thinks the threat is over. People seem more relaxed on the garrison, laughing and joking and drinking alcohol. The security level should be downgraded soon and I will then be free to roam around, putting the finishing touches to my master plan.
Talking of roaming around the garrison, do you know what I saw today? People lying prone on the grass. Nothing wrong with that you might think? But what about when some of them were scantily clad couples practically fornicating? Practicing in public what should only be done by a married man and woman in the privacy of their own home.
One of the young women I remember in particular. She was with a group of men, boys really. I watched as she lay down on the grass, then got up again and teasingly removed her outer clothing, revealing milk white skin, her upper body covered by a scanty piece of silk. I could see the boys ogling the shape of her breasts and the sliver of skin revealed between her top and her skirt as she stretched out. I watched as she languidly hitched up her skirt revealing bare thighs and lay back once again with her arms stretched above her head. Her uncovered head. Her soft brown hair framing her face, some of it tumbling down her chest, like fingers stretching and craning towards the mound of her breasts.
Suddenly I remembered where I was and had to quickly gather my thoughts, replace my slipped mask and turn my face towards the army officer giving us instruction. But all the time, in the back of my mind, was the image of the young woman I had seen. Poisoning my thoughts and my body. A body that was threatening to expose my basest instinct. This, my friend, is why Muslim women and indeed all women should be covered in public. So they can’t taint the thoughts of good true Muslim men. See how that image threatens to divert my thoughts from the one true path? But I am strong, both mentally and physically. I will resist the temptations of your Western ways.
And so, back to my plan. Things are falling into place. I have chosen a location and now have made a mental list of things I need. Not a written list. I have been instructing my Muslim brothers in the ways of the Qur’an and now it is nearly time to reveal to them what we have to do to glorify the name of Allah.
Nearly, but not quite.
Day 20
Crane was in the meeting being held in the open plan office of Provost Barracks. It was a mixture of de-briefing and forward planning. De-briefing on the security for the Olympians and a briefing about the arrangements for the Paralympians, due to arrive that afternoon. Crane looked around and saw all the usual suspects. Captain Edwards in command, if not control. Staff Sergeant Jones resigned to twenty-one more days of rosters, plotting the movement of his own and drafted in Royal Military Police. Sergeant Billy Williams, his youthful zeal undaunted by 20 straight 12 hour shifts of night duty. Sergeant Kim Weston, as usual surrounded by files, notebook in hand, the epitome of efficiency. Lance Corporal Dudley-Jones, trying to look competent and knowledgeable by burying his head in computer print outs, and failing. They had just finished the de-briefing of the past nineteen days.
“So, any problems?”
Crane looked around the table and when no one else responded to Captain Edward’s question, he said, “Well, sir, I consider the unresolved murder of Corporal Simms as a problem.”
“In what way?” Edwards steepled his hands and pressed his fingertips together.
“Well, because it’s unresolved, sir.”
Closing his eyes, Captain Edwards said, “I know that, Crane. Can you be more specific?”
“I feel this matter should be factored into our security arrangements for the coming days.” Noticing Captain Edward’s hard stare, he slowly added, “With your permission, sir.”
Predictably Edwards rose and began pacing up and down the side of the rectangular table. Stopping in front of Crane he asked, “How?”
“By keeping the increased security level.”
There was a spluttering sound from Staff Sergeant Jones at the other end of the table. Ignoring it Edwards called, “Dudley-Jones!” The young man began to rise from his seat, before realising there was no need. He sank back down and replied, “Yes, Captain?”
“Would you inform Sergeant Major Crane here, of the recommendations from the Intelligence Corps?”
“Very well, sir.” Grabbing one of his computer print outs, Dudley-Jones cleared his throat and began. “The Intelligence Corps have reviewed all recent Intelligence and as a result recommend that the security threat level be reduced.”
“On what basis?” Crane wanted to know.
“Oh, um,” Dudley-Jones ruffled pages and read, “on the basis that the previous high levels of ‘chatter’ have dwindled. They believe that if there was a threat to Team GB, it may well have moved on with them to the Olympic Stadium.” Dudley-Jones sat back.
“May well have?”
“Um, let me see…” more ruffling, “the exact wording is ‘it is highly likely that any threat would have moved on with them’.”
“Thank you, Dudley-Jones,” the Captain said. “So, Crane, as I always thought, the murder of Lance Corporal Simms, if that’s what it was, appears to have nothing to do with any Olympic athletes. And even if it had, it has moved on with them. Request denied. Now, after that unnecessary delay, let’s get on with the arrangements for the Paralympians.”
There were to be no civic receptions, no welcoming committee. The whole operation far more low key than for the able bodied athletes. In some ways Crane felt it was a shame for the Paralympia
ns not to have their efforts equally recognised, but on the other hand it was understandable. The Olympic Games were starting in less than a week and the whole entourage following Team GB had moved on to the Olympic Park. It also meant that the Paralympians could train with a greater degree of privacy than that afforded to their able bodied counterparts. Something at least to be grateful for. Crane felt there was enough pressure on everyone as it was, both the athletes and the army. Most probably the situation would change and they would start to come under intense media pressure as the starting date of the Paralympics drew nearer. Crane was just glad they’d have gone from the garrison by then, to other training camps.
By the end of the meeting, it was decided Billy and Kim would continue on nights and Staff Sergeant Jones would continue to co-ordinate with Crane. Crane would in turn co-ordinate with the BOA, Juliette Stone and Uncle Tom Cobbley and all, including Dudley-Jones. Crane couldn’t fathom out what Captain Edwards was doing. So he gave up trying to.
“Excellent,” Edwards concluded. “Thank you all, meeting closed. Dismissed.”
Everyone got up, stretched and collected paperwork before drifting away. Crane and Jones headed outside by mutual, unspoken consent.
“Jesus Christ,” Crane lit his cigarette the way a dying man would suck in oxygen.
“You alright, Crane?” Jones lit up himself, but without such intensity.
Crane exhaled loudly before speaking. “Yes, fine, just fed up with all this bloody stuff. Meetings, co-ordination, liaison. If I’d have wanted all this shit I’d had gone into Administration or Logistics, not the Special Investigations Branch.”
“Fair comment, but it’s a good learning curve you know. Different skills can come to the fore when you’re placed in stressful situations.”
Deadly Duty Box Set 1 (Sgt Major Crane Crime Thrillers Box Set) Page 31
