A Soldier's Honour Box Set 1 (Sgt Major Crane Crime Thrillers Box Set)

by Wendy Cartmell

  In the centre of the track various factions had formed. Pole-vaulters in the middle, brandishing their unwieldy weapons, and at either end, long jump and high jump respectively. Over in the far corner, shot putters, hammer and javelin throwers practiced at a safe distance from the main pack. Crane realised they were like an organised army. Each section possessed different skills. All were ready to fight for their right to be first on the world stage.

  Crane walked around the perimeter, at a pace just short of jogging, glad to be out in the warm but blustery July day. It was day five of his forty days and nights. The twelve hour shifts, which involved racing around the garrison at everyone’s beck and call, were beginning to take their toll. Not because he was tired, just cramped and stiff from lack of exercise. And if the truth be told, a bit bored. As he walked he did some simple arm and shoulder exercises to loosen the muscles. He was an incongruous figure in his white shirt and dark trousers, amongst the blue, white and khaki.

  Instead of just passing each soldier watching the outer limits of the area, he took time to have a quiet word with them. Making sure everything was in order and they hadn’t seen anything suspicious. Happy that the track and surrounding areas had been swept for bombs earlier that morning, while the athletes were eating breakfast. Crane left the area with a backward glance; as he’d much rather stay out there in the open, than go to a meeting with Captain Edwards.

  On his arrival at Provost Barracks, after yet another slow trip along Queens Avenue, following the ever-increasing number of cars on the road, Crane found his Officer Commanding Captain Edwards ensconced in his small beige office with another soldier.

  “Ah, Crane,” Edwards said, looking and speaking down his long aquiline nose. “Come in and meet Lance Corporal Dudley-Jones from Military Intelligence.”

  Crane nodded his head in the direction of the young soldier, who jumped out of his chair, snapping off a salute.

  “Please don’t do that, Lance Corporal,” Crane said. “I may be of superior rank, but I’m not in uniform.”

  “Yes, sir, sorry, sir.”

  Crane took a seat and watched the Lance Corporal’s pinched, pointed sallow face permeate with colour as he groped behind him for his own chair and sat down. Dear God, thought Crane, a boy in a man’s uniform.

  “Shall we get down to business?” said Captain Edwards, pushing back his hair to reveal his copious forehead and then reeling off a list of the Lance’s Corporal’s credentials. None of which Crane took any notice of. Especially the parts that extolled the man’s exceptional analytical skills, first class communication and language abilities, coupled with an eagle eye for detail. Crane realised the corporate crap was straight out of the brochure for Military Intelligence recruitment and felt it had little to do with the Lance Corporal sitting next to him. As Crane tuned back in, Captain Edwards was reminding him the Intelligence Corps gathered all kinds of information from countless sources.

  “Which are, sir?” Crane leaned back and crossed his legs, trying to get comfortable in the cheap visitor’s chair.

  “Which are what?” Edwards echoed, his brow creasing and his head darting from side to side like a sparrow looking for a worm.

  “What kind of information and from what sources, sir?”

  “Well, um, I think that’s something you should discuss with the Lance Corporal after this meeting.”

  “You mean, have another meeting, after this one, sir?”

  “Yes, Crane. Why, do you have a problem with that?”

  “Only insomuch as it interferes with my job, sir. But if you’d rather I attend meetings, then I gladly will.” Crane shrugged and began swinging his crossed leg as though in time to some music only he could hear.

  Throughout this Dudley-Jones said nothing at all. Crane noticed him swivel his head as he followed the speakers, looking more and more perplexed. His eyes were wide and his mouth was pulled down on one side, reminiscent of a stroke sufferer.

  “Interferes, Sergeant Major? Why would talking to the Intelligence Corp interfere with your job?” Edwards raised his hand as if to scratch his head and then looking at it, quickly placed it back down on the desk.

  Uncrossing his legs Crane said, “Because meetings have to have a purpose, sir, and unless the Intelligence Operative here has something concrete for me to follow up on, then I feel sure you would prefer me to be on the ground.”

  Placing his arms on his legs and gazing at the Lance Corporal Crane asked, “Do you have anything?” Then answering his own question said, “No I thought not. In that case, sir,” Crane turned his attention back to Edwards, “I’ll get out and about on the garrison, personally checking security and dealing with any minor hiccups that may occur.”

  Crane stood, nodded to Captain Edwards and Lance Corporal Dudley-Jones and left the room before either man could react.

  Night 5

  Today we had instruction in military law. I could not believe it. Muslims given instructions in English military law. A law that you infidels are trying to make us adhere to. A military law that Westerners want to impose upon our Muslim army. A law that has nothing at all to do with Islam. I cannot believe the impudence of your military rulers, the effrontery they have, to think that we Muslims should bow to your laws and your ways. I do not live in England therefore I do not want English or any other law in my country, other than the one true law. Sharia law.

  You seem not to understand that the Islamic religious control of government and society is an expected and necessary part of Muslim evangelism and discipleship. Sharia means path or road. And Muslims willingly follow this road, the road that governs every facet of Muslim life. The path along which the true believer has to tread.

  Shall I tell you about Sharia law? It recognises specific crimes which have fixed punishments. For instance, theft is punished by cutting off the hand or fingers of the thief. Adultery is punishable by stoning. Drinking alcohol means eighty lashes from a whip. In public mind you. Then highway robbery and apostasy, which includes blasphemy, are punishable by the death penalty.

  But what you miserable excuses for men don’t understand is that they are not just punishments but also deterrents. These limits imposed by God are not just penalties for a proven crime, but also act as a disincentive against further crime. This means that in my society there is little or no crime and the people feel safe. Safe in their way of life. Following the one true way, the Muslim way.

  The Qur’an also demands swift justice against those who oppose Muhammad and Islam. This is how we know how to deal with you infidels, who try to take over our lands.

  The Punishment of those

  Who wage war against God

  And His Apostle, and strive

  With might and main

  For mischief through the land

  Is: execution, or crucifixion,

  Or the cutting off of hands

  And feet from opposite sides,

  Or exile from the land.

  (Qur’an 5:36)

  You Western infidels just don’t seem to understand that you are the terrorist in our midst. All you see is that we are terrorists in yours. So in that case I will live up to our reputation. At the moment you don’t realise you have terrorists in your midst. But you will. Soon. I promise you that.

  Day 6

  Tina asked, “So can you make it?”

  “Make what?” Crane stopped reading his file and went to the percolator to collect their early morning coffee.

  “The scan. This morning. Frimley Park Hospital. 11 o’clock.” His wife’s punctuation made the words sound like punches rather than statements.

  Crane took his time fiddling with the milk and sugar. He was used to having two sugars instead of three now and wanted to make sure he kept up the good habit. Perhaps he should bring it down to one? Maybe after the athletes had left would be a better idea?

  “Tom, stop procrastinating.”

  Turning to face his wife, he handed her one of the two mugs he held in his hand.

 
“It’s just that…”

  “Bloody hell!” Tina’s coffee spilled as she placed it on the kitchen table.

  “Tina, it’s not that I don’t want to come. Here let me help you.” Crane lowered his wife into a pine chair and mopped up the spill. “I’m sure you’ll bring me back a picture.”

  “I knew this is how it would be. Once you were back on full duty after your sick leave.” Tina grabbed handfuls of her hair, securing it with an elastic tie she pulled off her wrist.

  “But, Tina, how can you expect me to be allowed to leave the garrison at a time like this?”

  “That’s the problem, Tom, isn’t it? There’ll always be ‘a time like this’ for one reason or another. How about our ‘time like this’? The last opportunity to see our first baby during a scan before it’s born. Doesn’t that mean anything to you? Our family? What happens if they find anything wrong? Then I’ll have to deal with it on my own, as usual.”

  Placing her hands on the table, Tina pushed her heavy body out of the pine chair brushing away Crane’s helping hand.

  “Just go to work will you,” she snapped as she lumbered out of the room. Leaving him standing alone in the kitchen, an un-drunk cup of coffee in his hand. The word ‘family’ reverberating around the cheerfully decorated room.

  That’s what it comes down to Crane knew, as he packed his briefcase. Family. Which one to choose? The army family or the civilian family? He cleared the kitchen of the breakfast debris, collected his suit jacket and briefcase and went out into the chill of the early morning sunshine. Stopping at the car, his brow creased and his hand fingered his scar. Could he live without the army he wondered, unlocking the door. If he left would private security be enough of a challenge or too much like his current babysitting job? Driving down the road he remembered his pension. That was a major factor in any future financial planning. Waiting to turn right at the top of the garrison, it occurred to him that he would miss the camaraderie of the army. And what about the opportunities for travel, sport and adventure? Not to mention the safe(ish) secure(ish) future career the forces offered. Arriving at St Omer Barracks, to deal with his first problem of the day, he was no nearer an answer. But as his main priority was seeing Sergeant Major Dunn about a series of petty thefts, he pushed the confusion of thoughts to the back of his mind and got on with his job.

  Crane found Dunn by spotting the bobbing white hat, which kept appearing periodically between the boxes Crane was sitting on a few days ago.

  “I don’t bloody believe it, Crane,” Dunn shouted and waved his hand seemingly in time with his wobbly hat. “There’s loads of this shit missing!”

  “Well, it’s not surprising, Dunn, leaving the stuff lying around outside.”

  Crane considered lighting a cigarette, until he got a whiff of the volcanic ash tray.

  “I know, but I’m so short of space in the kitchen stores. I suppose I’ll have to get a few of the lads to try and find somewhere to squeeze it all in.”

  “Leave it for a bit will you?”

  “Leave it? And get more stuff stolen? Are you out of your mind? God knows what Aspire will say about the increased cost as it is. I’m not about to make a bad situation worse.”

  This time the chef’s hat did fall of his head. Dunn snatched at it and crumpled it in his hand.

  “How about if I can guarantee no more stuff will be lost?” Crane asked.

  “And how the hell were you going to do that?”

  “Simple.”

  Crane decided to light a cigarette anyway and drew Dunn away from the back door of the kitchen so no one could hear them.

  “This is an opportunist crime. So you leave the stuff where it is, I’ll get the lads on the gate to inspect cars going out as well as coming in and I guarantee you’ll have your culprits and your stock back by the end of the day.”

  “This better bloody work, Crane,” the Chef grumbled, trying to smooth out the creases he had put in his hat. “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely. So say nothing, do nothing and just leave it to me.”

  Grinding his cigarette out on the floor, Crane strode off to the entrance of the barracks to implement his plan.

  The second problem Crane faced was not as easy to deal with. Juliette Stone. She kept calling his mobile demanding his presence in her office in St Omer Barracks. Immediately, if not sooner. So he supposed he better go and see her. Walking to her small office he wondered what trivia she wanted him to deal with. He found her sat behind her modern desk in a pristine office with no personal frills.

  “Thank you for coming so quickly, Sergeant Major,” she said, pushing a file across her desk at Crane as he sat opposite her. “It seems a couple of the athletes have noticed personal items missing. At first they thought they were mislaid, but after a careful search it seems they may have been stolen. Nothing of terribly high value, a gold watch and gold engagement ring, but as you can imagine, extremely embarrassing for us and upsetting for the athletes. No one likes to lose sentimental pieces of jewellery that can’t be replaced.”

  “Indeed, Miss Stone,” Crane agreed, flicking through the papers.

  “So, I thought I would lay this one in your lap as you’re responsible for security. What do you intend to do about it?” she tossed her head, her tied back ice cool blond hair flicking like a horse’s tail.

  “Well, Miss Stone,” Crane closed the file, “It’s true I’m responsible for security on the garrison at the moment, but really it’s the security of the athletes against outside attack.” Seeing the arched eyebrows, he quickly continued, “But, of course, I’ll sort this out for you.”

  “Good. How?” Her pupil’s contracted and the blue chips of iris hardened.

  “Well, strictly speaking your employees, who to be fair are the likely suspects, are civilian staff. However, as they are on army property they also fall under the jurisdiction of the army.”

  “Let me make it clear, Sergeant Major” she cut in, “I don’t intend to have my staff interviewed and intimidated by gun toting soldiers!”

  “Of course not.” Crane briefly closed his eyes and tried not to sigh. “That’s not my intention at all, Ms Stone. I was going to suggest that I call Aldershot Police and we do a low key joint operation. I don’t want to cause any panic amongst the athletes, nor amongst your staff. But as you say, you want something done about it immediately.”

  “Very well, Sergeant Major. Please keep me informed.” She sounded like Captain Edwards and dismissed him with a wave of her hand.

  Crane left her office wondering how he was ever going to keep up this façade of diplomacy. If he’d wanted this sort of job he’d have joined the Diplomatic Corp. What had Captain Edwards called it? Oh yes, learning new skills. However, Crane was of the opinion that you can’t teach old dogs new tricks. And anyway he didn’t want to change. Saw no reason to. Added to that, Tina’s scan appointment kept poking into his thoughts like a hot pin. So he was stuck in the middle of a maelstrom of emotions that included resentment and guilt by the time he arrived at Aldershot Police station fifteen minutes later. A journey that should had taken five, hindered by the increased traffic on the roads, pissing him off even more.

  ***

  Crane tried to find a parking space outside the monolithic structure, a study in grey concrete, split into two halves. One half contained Aldershot Police Station and the other the Magistrates Court. Handy, Crane had always thought. Saved the police a lot of driving around taking offenders backwards and forwards to court. Crane eventually managed to squeeze his Ford Focus into a tight parking space, the only one available. Once Crane was upstairs, Detective Inspector Anderson greeted him as if his visit was the return of the prodigal son.

  “Crane, good to see you,” Anderson enthused, getting out of his office chair and coming round to pump Crane’s hand, attempting to brush the crumbs and other detritus from his suit jacket before enveloping Crane in a hug.

  “So you’re back on duty then?” he continued as Crane searched for somewhere to s
it in the cramped office, overflowing with books, papers and files. Crane often wondered if Anderson actually read all this shit, or just left it lying around to make himself look busy.

  “How are you? God wasn’t that awful. I was sure we were going to lose you at one point, Crane.” Anderson’s voice was gruff and he cleared his throat.

  Crane didn’t want to talk about the events of earlier in the year, when he was incarcerated in Frimley Park Hospital for far too long, so he steered the conversation back to the present.

  “I’m fine, thanks, Derek. I just need to see you about a problem we’ve got in St Omer Barracks at the moment. Petty thefts from the athlete’s living quarters and as they’re civilian staff…”

  “Oh, okay,” But instead of looking at the file Crane handed him, he looked around the office. “Where’s your shadow? Isn’t Billy with you?”

  “No. He and Kim are doing the night shift liaison.”

  “It’s just that you look a little, um, lopsided on your own, Crane, without your sergeant. I’m more used to seeing the men in black, rather than the man in black.” Anderson’s wispy grey hair flew around his head as he laughed at his own joke.

  Luckily cups of tea arrived before Anderson could move onto other famous partnerships so Crane was able to get down to business. They decided that a joint operation be set up, with Crane and Anderson overseeing the interviews as a courtesy to Aspire and the BOA, although neither man was entirely happy with having to get in involved in such low level crimes. As they put the flesh on the bones of their plan, Crane’s hot pin poked his brain again and glancing at his watch, realised Tina would be at the hospital waiting for her appointment. But there was nothing he could do about it, apart from keep his fingers crossed that all was well with mother and son, so he turned his attention back to work.

  Night 7

  Padam was once again on sentry duty, surveying the sports centre. He’d changed location and now blended into a thicket of trees, looking directly at the side of the building where he saw the smudge a few nights ago. Aware that he was now where the smudge had probably begun and ended his recce of the building the other night, Padam was buried into a pile of leaves and branches at the foot of a tree. Being at one with the earth calmed him and gave him a peace he wasn’t able to find during the day.