“I think we both know the answer to that question, Crane.”
“In that case, may I ask another question, sir?” Crane continued to be respectful.
“Very well.” Captain Popal looked down at the mobile phone in his hand and pressed a button, the light from the display throwing his face into relief.
“Why?”
Popal pressed a second button and then looked up at Crane. “You mean you don’t know?”
“Well, obviously I have an inkling, but I’d rather hear it from you, sir.”
“Why for Islam of course. For the glory of Allah! Surely you can see that.”
Popal pushed a third button and Crane tried to remember how many digits there were in a mobile phone number. He couldn’t conjure that piece of information up from his tired brain, so he pretended Popal was pressing the buttons to call his own number. Three so far, so 077.
“Ah, so that’s it,” Crane replied.
“Of course it is, you stupid man. What other reason can there be?”
Popal stabbed a fourth button. 0775 recited Crane in his head.
“So, tell me, Captain, how exactly would blowing up a building full of innocent athletes, disabled ones at that, be for the glory of Allah? Some of those athletes are disabled ex …”
As Crane realised one of the reasons behind the attack, it rendered him speechless. Adrenaline coursed through his body, increasing his heart rate and breathing. He wanted to run at the terrorist, knock him to the ground, beat him to a pulp, but knew he couldn’t take the risk. Not with Popal’s gun still aimed at him. So he stood there, reigning in his anger, his clenched jaw causing the sinews in his neck to stand out like piano wire.
After stabbing another digit, Popal lifted his head.
“Were you going to say ex-forces, Sergeant Major?” Popal scrutinised Crane. “I thought so.” Popal smiled his smarmy smile. “We only managed to maim them first time round with the IEDs. This time I’ll finish the job. That should send a signal to the high command of your infidel army that we will not tolerate your presence in our country.” He jabbed at another number, to make his point and then brandished the phone towards Crane.
Shit. 077516. Crane realised he was running out of both time and numbers. “But I thought we were saving your country from terrorist rule, Captain. Aren’t we?”
“You just don’t seem to get it do you?” Popal stabbed angrily at his phone. “We don’t want you there. We can sort things out ourselves. Bring the people together under the rule of Islam and Sharia law.”
Stab.
Crane added another two numbers. 07751634. Three left. The cold night air tugged at his sweat drenched shirt, bringing Crane’s body temperature down and causing him to shiver.
“And your army? Will you be able to control them as well?” he asked Popal.
“Why are you people so stupid?” Popal was shouting now. “The new leaders of our army, people like me and my brothers, will succour our soldiers, ensuring they are taught loyalty to Islam and they will become defenders of our country, rising up against the evil marauders - forcing you from our sacred land.” Spittle was flying from Popal’s lips and he wiped his hand across his mouth before pressing another button.
077516343 Crane recited in his head, pulling his jacket around him, exaggerating his shivering and slipping one hand inside it. His fingers felt his clammy shirt sticking to him and then the cold metal of his gun in its holster under his arm. Crane curled his hand around the butt and left it there as though keeping himself warm.
“A noble cause, Captain. But don’t you think killing innocent people will turn the world against you? Wouldn’t it be better to foster peace and understanding?”
“Peace and understanding? Are you mad?” Popal once again dropped his head to his phone and stabbed. “What peace and understanding did your army show us when you invaded our country. None. Allah is great. Allah is good. His teachings tell us what to do. To kill the infidels. Banish all non-believers from our lands.”
Stab.
Taking a deep breath Crane went through his phone number. 0775163433. One digit left. Shifting slightly to steady his stance, Crane slowly removed his arm from underneath his jacket. The barrel of the gun caught the dim light from the mobile phone’s display. Cold unforgiving steel pointing at Captain Popal.
“I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t let you do it. I can’t let you detonate the bomb.”
Popal stared at the weapon in Crane’s hand then lowering his head stabbed the last number. Placing his thumb over the green call button, he held out the phone towards Crane and spoke his last words, “You can’t stop me.”
Crane fired first. A head shot. The phone fell out of Popal’s hand and lay in the grass between them as the Afghan crumbled to the floor. The display still brightly lit. Crane lowered his gun, closes his eyes, mumbled “Dear God, no,” and waited for the explosion.
***
Looking at Popal’s mobile phone lying on the grass near him, Crane could see the display showing the call had been made. But there was no explosion. Not understanding, Crane pulled his own mobile from his pocket. Billy answered on the first ring.
“Boss, was that you?”
“Who else would it be, Billy?”
“Sorry, sir, we’re just worried. We heard a shot and…”
“Yes, well, that was me. I’ve just shot Captain Popal.”
“Just shot him? Why? What happened?”
“Billy, shut up and round up the team. I’m in the small thicket, directly opposite the side door of the sports centre. Oh and, Billy, what about the bomb?”
“Bomb disposal disarmed it just a few minutes ago.”
Closing his phone, Crane’s legs gave way and he sank to the ground and waited for Billy.
Night 39
Crane had spent the last twenty or so hours on the base, partly because of the lock down and partly because he couldn’t leave until he’d completed his reports and been interviewed. He had, after all, shot a man. An officer at that. Who was also a terrorist. A terrorist who, thank God, had failed.
Now all Crane wanted to do was to see Tina and then go home. But Edwards had still not given him permission to leave the base. In fact, no one had been given permission. The whole team were still on site. Listening to Edwards drone on in the team debriefing.
“Taking everything into consideration,” Captain Edwards said, “you’ve done a good job, Crane. Although I think it’s a shame the Afghan officer is dead, but at least the final one of the four, the quiet one Behnam Khan, is now in custody.”
Without his leader, the man had fallen to pieces and told them everything. How he was tasked with the job of building the bomb and then covering it over with paper and painting it grey. He explained how Popal meticulously planned the operations, before unveiling his strategy to his three fellow officers. They in turn were so frightened of him that they had no option but to carry out his orders. After all, each man had family back in Afghanistan. And everyone knew what happened if you didn’t obey orders. Your family would be hurt, or worse, disappear forever. Your home would be destroyed. Your life effectively over. So they had no choice. A sort of kill or be killed. Either option horrendous.
Once Kahn started talking, Crane had the ammunition he needed to use against the other two Afghanis still in custody. Freed said his part in the plan had been organised by Popal as well. He was to pretend he had a bomb strapped to him and stay in the foyer of the sports centre, until further orders. The mug of mint tea being the trigger, to let him know the ordeal would soon be over. The phrases Crane worried over were, of course, the signal to give himself up. Popal assured Freed the British Army would have very little to charge him with, once it was discovered the suicide vest was a fake. Dudley-Jones was especially pleased about that confession, his point about suicide bombers pressing the button immediately, having been validated.
As for Niaz, who supposedly got lost on Ash Ranges, he was also singing like the proverbial canary, insisting that Popal
killed the old Gurkha, Padam Gurung. Popal told him where to hide and even provided food and drink to keep him going until he was found. Crane didn’t have any evidence either way about which man committed the murder, so Captain Edwards wanted to give Niaz the benefit of the doubt. One officer to another. Jesus Christ. The officer’s code of honour even extending to the Afghan Army. Another indication to Crane that as his army career progressed, he should stay as an NCO and not take a commission. If he stayed in the army that was. If Tina came round to his way of thinking.
One last piece of information Crane was particularly pleased about was that Captain Popal told Kahn he had killed both Corporal Simms and Corporal McInnes. Corporal Simms because he had inadvertently seen Popal casing out the under belly of the swimming pool and McInnes for his ammunition, which was needed for the bomb. The weapon was incidental.
Edwards at last ended the debriefing. He had finished proudly stalking up and down the office like a peacock, as though he had had something to do with it all. Crane tried hard not to shake his head at the man’s arrogance and closed his eyes to shut out the display. As a result, he wasn’t really listening and was falling asleep when Edwards called his name.
“Sergeant Major!” Edwards’ abrupt shout jerked Crane awake.
“Sorry, sir, did you say something?” Crane rubbed his eyes, then his beard.
“Yes, Crane, I was trying to get your attention, to tell you I received a call about half an hour ago from the hospital. You are to report to the Maternity Ward immediately. Your wife’s in labour.”
Crane sat up in his chair. Then realised he could stand. “Yes, sir, thank you, sir,” he gabbled.
“Why don’t you let Billy drive you, Crane? You look done in. And Billy had the advantage of a few hours of sleep on the sofa. So off you go, the both of you.”
Not wanting to waste time saying anything else, Crane ran for the door, with Billy close behind. Outside the night air revived him and he stopped to light a cigarette, throwing Billy his car keys.
During the short journey, Crane tried to calm down, but his hands were shaking. After he finished smoking, he made an attempt to tidy himself, but gave up. It didn’t really matter what he looked like. He just needed to get there. He couldn’t let Tina down and miss the birth. She’d never forgive him. Come to that, he’d never forgive himself. Or the army.
Billy drove fast, but safely and deposited Crane at the door to the maternity wing. Crane told Billy to take his car back to the house in Ash and said he’d get a taxi back home later. Afterwards. After he had spent some time with his wife and son. As soon as the car stopped, Crane was out - running for the entrance.
Day 40
A nurse on duty recognised him and called, “Your wife’s in Labour Room 9, Sergeant Major. It’s all right, no need to rush. The baby’s not here yet.”
Slowing his pace and breathing deeply Crane paused outside the room. He had to be strong now, for Tina’s sake. She needed his support and anyway they still had things to sort out. A cry from inside the room had Crane panicking and he pushed open the door so hard it slammed back against the wall. Tina was lying on the bed, her face distorted with pain. As Crane watched, she grabbed the gas and air mask lying by her side and breathed deeply. Once she’d had enough, she dropped the mask and looked up, a wide smile breaking across her face.
“Oh, Tom, thank God. I was afraid they wouldn’t let you leave the garrison.”
“It’s alright, Tina, I’m here now.”
Crane moved to his wife’s side, tenderly pushing the damp hair off her face before kissing her. Then he grabbed her hand.
“I’ve been watching the television,” she said. “It’s been all over the news channels about the bomb. But of course the reporters weren’t allowed onto the garrison. They were reporting from outside, against one of the barriers. It was awful, but I couldn’t stop watching. It was my only way of knowing what was going on, although they weren’t saying much of anything really. I just thought that if I kept watching I might see you. Just a glimpse. Anything.”
Tears filled her eyes and he squeezed her hand. “But you knew I was fine. I called as soon as I got back to barracks.”
“I know, I got your message. But I couldn’t really believe it until I’d seen you.”
“Jesus, Tina, I’m sorry you had to go through that alone.” Crane kissed his wife’s hand.
“Oh but I wasn’t alone, Tom.”
But before she could tell him who’d been keeping her company, a contraction hit.
Once she recovered she continued, “You know I told you about the hospital visitors?” Crane nodded. “Well, one of them was Derek Anderson’s wife, Jean.”
“And?”
“And she’s lovely. We, um, had a few good heart to heart chats.”
Crane’s stomach did a flip. “About?” he managed to ask.
“About being a policeman’s wife. It doesn’t seem much different to being a SIB investigator’s wife.”
Crane increased the pressure on his wife’s hand. Willing her to say the words he needed to hear. The only way he could communicate with her as he was afraid to speak.
“She helped me understand,” Tina continued, “that I had to let you go.”
“Let me go?” Crane’s voice was like a rusty saw.
“Yes, let you go and do what you had to do. Find a way to live with the worry and loneliness when you’re away. She said that maybe I shouldn’t be so dismissive of the army way of life. To think about moving back to the garrison and joining the support network of the other wives.”
Crane had to clear his throat before he spoke, “Do you think you could do that?”
But he had to wait for his answer, as Tina rode the next contraction, gulping deeply on the gas and air, Crane standing by, helpless.
“Yes, I do,” she said once she could speak again. “I’m sorry I was angry when you talked about moving back to the garrison, so I would have a community to be involved in. I was so determined to be independent, but now I realise I don’t have to be. There’s nothing wrong in asking for help when I need it. So, I’m going to embrace the army, and the military way of life, instead of pushing it away.”
“Oh God, Tina, thank you. You don’t know how much it means to me to hear you say that.” Then sheer relief made Crane laugh, “But it looks like the only pushing you’re going to be doing at the moment, is pushing that baby out!”
***
Honour Bound
Dear Reader
Thank goodness Crane found the ruthless terrorist before anyone died. But it was a close thing, don't you think?
The next case puts Kim in the spotlight as she is attacked in her own home. Crane is determined to catch the soldier responsible, even at the expense of his own sanity. For Crane must venture deeper into the darkness where evil lives, than he ever has before, to discover the identity of the soldier that kills without mercy.
Honour Bound pits Crane against a killer that leaves no trace. Literally.
Continue your journey now...
Rape
Rape is not merely violation with a sexual reference, it is much more; it is an assault by intimate physical violence, it is extreme aggressive bullying and an act of oppression. It is a crime where the victims are often found guilty by their peers and carries a lifelong stigma.
Anon
1
At 11pm on Saturday night Sgt Major Crane was on the streets of Aldershot. Flashing blue lights ripped through the night, bizarrely revolving in time to music throbbing out of the open pub doors. Young men were shouting lewd remarks across the street to clutches of girls helping each other totter home on their impossibly high heels. The local kebab shop was doing a roaring trade in food purchased on a whim and then discarded after the first bite. Greasy wrapping paper spread like confetti around the overflowing refuse bins.
Crane spotted a body sprawled half in the road and half on the kerb. The girl’s dress, if you could call it that, Crane thought was hitched up around
her hips showing flesh spilling out of a tiny thong. A pool of vomit lay close to her face. Crane averted his gaze and nodded to a young woman police officer who went to her aid. She coaxed the girl upright, removing her shoes when it became obvious she couldn’t balance on her cheap Jimmy Choo rip offs. After a quick conversation she pointed her in the direction of the traffic lights at the bottom of the road. The girl drifted away, shoes in hand, but no handbag or coat. Crane knew there was no point in calling her a taxi as drivers won’t take those likely to throw up in their car. Crane wondered if she had her house keys, but then decided that as the girl was clearly too far gone to care, why should he? He found it hard to muster sympathy for her plight. After all, as far as he was concerned, it was self-inflicted. He shook his head in dismay, at the lack of self-respect displayed by the young people around him.
Crane lit a cigarette and wandered over to DI Anderson of the local Aldershot Police. “Jesus, Derek, what a bloody mess.”
For once Crane was referring to something other than Anderson’s grey wispy hair.
“Tell me about it, Crane. This bloody lot costs us a fortune, what with extra officers on the beat and overtime. Anyway, what are you doing with a cigarette in your hand? I thought you were going to give up when the baby was born?”
“Well, you know how it is. I’ve cut down a lot though, no smoking at home, that sort of thing.”
“What does Tina say about that?”
“Nothing, as long as I don’t smoke around the baby. That’s her main concern at the moment. The baby.” Crane took a long noisy drag on his cigarette.
A Soldier's Honour Box Set 1 (Sgt Major Crane Crime Thrillers Box Set) Page 42
