Cordon of Lies: A Sgt Major Crane Novel

by Wendy Cartmell

  That was it exactly, Foster thought, as he sat motionless on the settee. Honour and commitment came before anything else. Once a soldier became a sniper he had to be the best he possibly could be. He had to be totally committed and would never let all the lads counting on him, down. It was his job to stalk and kill high value military targets - in other words, the opposing Army’s leaders.

  That’s what had gotten up his nose with those two blond tarts he went out with. Lack of commitment. He put everything he could into those relationships. He thought they were going to leave their husbands for him. Thought that they loved him as much as he loved them. But that wasn’t the case. He couldn’t believe he had been duped twice. Fucking bitches.

  He decided to go outside for a cigarette. The thoughts of Mel and Carol had ruined the programme for him. As he sat in the garden he thought back to his time in Iraq.

  *

  The stalk had covered 2000 meters of flat ground, with nothing more for cover and concealment than the undulating sand dunes which kept shifting and moving in the wind, and the occasional patch of scrub grass that was only two feet high. Foster had crawled inches per minute and yards per hour, for two days and nights, to cover a distance that could be walked by a man at normal speed in ten minutes. The entire time Foster was moving into his assigned spot, enemy patrols were a constant threat. On the morning of his third day, without having eaten any food and having had very little water, Foster finally made it into the right spot. He found himself 800 meters from the target area. At the appropriate time, he fired his devastating shot, killing the opposing General. He then left the area, managing to escape the furious search for him. The search for the man who had seriously damaged the command and control structure of Saddam’s units operating in the area.

  *

  A coward could not have accomplished this mission; only an extremely skilled and very brave man. Foster had never thought himself a coward. What coward would risk his life behind enemy lines with nothing more than his skill and a five-shot rifle for protection? Cowards didn’t risk themselves to protect the lives of others. Cowards didn’t let stupid slappers get away with leaving them. No, those bloody women had been taught that each action had consequences. They had to live, or die, by their actions, just as he had to.

  As he threw away his cigarette, he extended that thought to the SIB. Crane and his cronies would also have to take the consequences of their actions and live or die by them. He wasn’t finished with them yet. Now, more than ever, he had to put pressure on them to ensure they left him alone. He was determined to make them fear him so much, that they would drop their investigations. Being accused of murder and incarcerated in prison was not something he intended to experience.

  Chapter 35

  The next morning saw Crane due to see Derek Anderson and he turned on the radio in his car as he drove. On a whim he decided not to go straight to Aldershot Police station, but to take a short drive to clear his head and calm down, as he was still upset and frustrated with his orders from yesterday. Unfortunately the radio did little to help.

  “Can the military be allowed to continue like this?” the local radio presenter was asking someone.

  “Well,” the disembodied voice replied, “this is clearly a very serious situation and one that needs addressing. There must certainly be an inquiry into this cover up.”

  “And who would undertake this inquiry?”

  “Well, normally the Branch, I’d say.”

  “Could you just explain to our listeners what ‘the Branch’ is?”

  “Certainly, the Special Investigations Branch of the Military Police, normally known as ‘the Branch’.”

  “So you’re saying that if the Army do undertake an investigation, it will be done by the Royal Military Police?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “But that would beg the question; can the military really investigate itself?”

  At that point Crane turned off the radio. He couldn’t take much more. He decided to do a detour along the small back road from Aldershot Garrison through to Ash and maybe stop by the fishing lakes. A walk around there would be soothing and he needed somewhere quiet to think.

  As Crane turned down the road towards Ash, he noticed a white van behind him in his rear view mirror. It was quickly gaining on him, careering down the country lane with abandon.

  “Bloody white van man,” grumbled Crane as the van loomed in his mirror. Crane thought the idiot probably wanted to overtake him, so slowed down to allow him to pass.

  But the idiot didn’t overtake him, nor did he slow down. The van careered right into the back of Crane’s car, making his head whip forwards and then backwards with the surprise of the impact.

  “What the bloody hell?”

  But Crane didn’t have time to react before he was hit again, this time on the rear near side, causing his car to veer across the road. Luckily there was no oncoming traffic and Crane just about managed to straighten the vehicle and return to his side of the road.

  Realising he was in serious trouble, Crane looked desperately for the right hand turning into the entrance of the fishing lakes. Glancing in his rear view mirror again, he saw the van bearing down on him for another go.

  A quick glance to the right hand side of the road confirmed what Crane hoped he would see. The turning into the lakes. He quickly pulled the steering wheel to the right without indicating and sped across the road and onto a muddy track.

  Crane had anticipated a modicum of surprise with this movement, hoping the van wouldn’t be able to respond quickly enough. By now Crane had realised the driver was probably Foster, but whoever he was, he had reacted in time and had followed Crane down the pitted road.

  Bouncing up and down, in and out of the ruts, Crane tried to outrun the van, but his Ford Focus was too light and not equipped with four wheel drive, so his tyres were quickly losing traction.

  That’s when the van struck again. This time on the car’s off side. Forcing Crane’s car left off of the track. Crane jostled with the steering wheel to no avail, as he bumped off the trail and into the woodland. He looked up into his rear-view mirror, to see where the van was and as a result failed to see the large oak tree. Straight ahead of him.

  The Focus hit the tree and the front end crumpled. It now looked more like an accordion than a car. Crane’s body did an impression of a crash test dummy, as he was flung forwards and then jerked backwards with the severity of the impact. A large branch from the Oak tree he’d hit tottered for a moment, hanging by a slither of bark and then fell, bouncing onto the disfigured bonnet. For a moment, all was calm, the faint hissing and steaming of the radiator redolent of a humid jungle, as the leaves peppering Crane’s car like confetti became wet and sticky.

  Crane slowly regained consciousness and saw several men racing towards the wreckage, pulling out mobile phones as they ran.

  One man came to Crane’s side of the car and banged on the glass. “You alright mate?” he shouted. Crane nodded his head and his rescuer tried to open the car door. But it was jammed shut. Shouting to his friend, the man slithered in the mud towards the back of the car, reappearing with a tyre iron in his hand. Using that like a crow bar, he finally managed to open the door.

  Crane tried to get out, but was pushed back into the car seat. “Just stay there, mate. Best wait until the ambulance arrives.”

  “Ambulance?” Crane croaked. “I don’t need an ambulance.”

  “Yes you do. I’m not taking any risks. Just stay there.”

  Crane tried to look around, but his neck hurt and he couldn’t really turn his head.

  “A white van,” he said to his rescuer, grabbing at his arm. “Where’s the white van?”

  “There’s no white van, here. Is that what hit you? Something must have done judging by the back end of your car.”

  “Yes.” Crane started to pat himself down.

  “What you after?”

  “My mobile phone. I must call the police.”

  �
��Don’t worry. It’s already been done. They’re on their way.”

  “Not good enough. I need DI Anderson. Call them back. Make sure he comes.” Crane started struggling to get out of the car again.

  “Whoa, settle down. I’ll call them back, okay,” and the man pulled out his mobile and dialled 999. “What was the name again?”

  “DI Anderson,” Crane slumped back against the seat, exhausted. “DI Anderson,” he mumbled. “Make sure he comes, tell him Crane needs him.”

  Chapter 36

  Crane walked out of the accident and emergency department of Frimley Park Hospital, sporting a large bump on his head and wearing a neck collar as treatment for the whiplash. As he approached the waiting Billy, he said, “Take me home. Then find me a new pool car and drive it round to my house.”

  “Yes, Sir,” said Billy as he opened the car door to let Crane in.

  Crane winched as he climbed in and put his seatbelt on. His chest was bruised from the strap of his own seatbelt, where it had stopped him going head first through the windshield and into the rather large oak tree his car had hit.

  “While you’re back at Barracks, tell Captain Edwards I’ll be in later today and would appreciate a word with him.”

  “No problem, boss. He wants a word with you anyway.”

  “No doubt he does, Billy.”

  As they drove back to Aldershot, Billy asked, “Do you think it was Foster then, boss?”

  “I don’t know of anyone else who would try and kill me, do you, Billy? At least no one else who’s roaming around Aldershot in a white van. The other buggers are all locked up in jail,” Crane joked and laughed, then stopped as the movement had set off the pain in his head and chest. “I just wish I’d got the registration number.”

  “Pretty difficult to see that from your rear view mirror, boss.”

  “Yes, I suppose you’re right. It’s just that we always expect witnesses to see number plates and memorise them. Now I know how difficult that is. No wonder very few can help. Are we nearly home yet, Billy? I’ve got a bitch of a headache,” and Crane leaned back against the car seat and closed his eyes. He didn’t really hear Billy’s reply, as he drifted off into a medicated sleep.

  *

  “So, Crane,” Edwards said, “you appear to have had a bit of an adventure today.”

  “Yes, Sir,” replied Crane. “One I would rather have done without.”

  “Mmm, but it could have been a good thing, don’t you think?”

  Crane looked at Edwards with what were turning into two black eyes. “A written-off pool car, this headache and sore neck are good things, Sir?”

  “Definitely, Crane. Because, as Foster seems to have come in out of the cold and attacked you, it means I can authorise you to try to find him.”

  “At bloody last.”

  “Sorry, Crane? Didn’t catch that?”

  “Nothing, Sir. I said thank you very much, Sir.”

  Chapter 37

  The next day, Crane’s headache hadn’t abated much, so he got Billy to drive him to see Sir Peter down in West Sussex. Sir Peter lived in one of the most beautiful parts of England; the rural area was all rolling hills, interspersed with large coppices. The easiest way to get there from Aldershot had been the M25 and then the A23 towards Brighton, so it wasn’t until they were on the A23 that Crane was able to appreciate the countryside.

  Sir Peter’s house was nestled in a small valley, the mature residence playing peek-a-boo with drivers, as they traversed the country lanes. At first all Crane could see was the slate roof, patched with moss, then an odd window or two appeared and looked down on their car, before the house once again darted behind a clump of trees.

  When they arrived at the gates, Crane was extremely glad to see the press pack had moved on, but the entrance was still being guarded by two policemen. It didn’t take long for Crane and Billy to be granted entry, as the meeting had already been set up and the police were expecting them.

  Billy stayed in the car and Lady Dunne showed Crane into her husband’s study. Sir Peter didn’t appear to be very pleased to see him, not even offering his hand or getting up when Crane walked into the room. Also, Sir Peter wasn’t alone. A second man was sitting to the right of him, alongside the over sized antique desk. The long rake of a man with bushy eyebrows and white hair to match was merely introduced as Sir Peter’s solicitor, from a prominent London law firm.

  “Right, get on with it then,” Sir Peter huffed from the depths of his large leather chair. “What do you want, Crane?”

  Before he spoke, Crane put a small recorder on Sir Peter’s desk and talking into it gave the date and time and introduced himself and the other men in the room. He then said, “I need to talk to you about Barry Foster, Sir.”

  Sir Peter glanced at his solicitor who shook his head very slightly. “No comment,” intoned Sir Peter.

  “I haven’t asked you a question yet, Sir.”

  Sir Peter mutely stared at Crane who refused to be antagonised by their stand offish behaviour.

  “I have reason to believe Barry Foster tried to kill me, yesterday,” Crane said, “by running me off the road. I need you to give me any information you might have about Foster that might help us find him.”

  “Why should I help you find him? My solicitor has advised me that it’s in my best interests to refuse to discuss either Barry Foster or the case of Carol Newton.”

  “I understand that, Sir Peter and I’m not here to pre-empt an inquiry or investigation into your, um, shall we say questionable decisions 10 years ago.”

  Sir Peter looked like he’d very much like to punch Crane in the face for that comment and his hands, which were placed on his desk, curled into fists.

  “Have you any idea where Foster might be at the moment?”

  “No comment.”

  “Any idea where he might be staying?”

  “No comment.”

  “Does he have close friends or family that we could contact?”

  “No comment.”

  Crane stood. “Very well, Sir Peter, I understand you don’t want to co-operate, but it is my duty to inform you that unless you help us find him, we can’t guarantee your safety.”

  “Guarantee my safety? What the hell are you talking about?”

  That had got the man’s attention and Crane smiled to himself.

  “Well, Sir, as Foster tried to kill me, in an attempt to stop my investigation, it’s not unreasonable to assume that he is becoming unstable.”

  “Unstable?”

  “Yes, Sir Peter. We believe he is getting desperate. We know he’s put pressure on another witness to the cover-up...”

  “Alleged cover-up, Crane.” Sir Peter quickly interrupted.

  “Very well, Sir, alleged cover-up, so it’s not outside the realms of possibility that he’ll come after you.”

  “You mean try to kill me?”

  “Yes, Sir Peter, that’s exactly what I mean. He’s threatening anyone who had any connection with the events of 10 years ago. I believe he killed Dave Richmond to stop him talking and he tried to kill me yesterday, so it’s my guess you’re on his list of targets.”

  Crane stood up and walked to the large patio doors and stood looking out onto Sir Peter’s immaculately manicured lawns. “Foster was a sniper I believe?” Sir Peter didn’t reply, so Crane carried on talking. “This is a beautiful view, Sir Peter. I particularly like the bushes and trees surrounding the edge of the lawn. They screen you perfectly from your neighbours. Although I don’t suppose they’re very close are they?”

  “What? Who aren’t close?

  “Your neighbours.”

  “No, not very.”

  “So these trees provide the perfect cover then.”

  It was clear to Crane that Sir Peter was beginning to understand what he was talking about, as the man closed his eyes briefly. Opening them, Sir Peter said, “You think he would hide in the thicket and take pot shots at me, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I do. At either
you, or your wife. And I’m sure you don’t want to put Lady Dunne in harm’s way, do you, Sir?”

  Dunne glanced at his solicitor, who then spoke for the first time since Crane had entered Dunne’s study.

  “Very well, Sir Peter will co-operate with you on the strict understanding that this does not mean that he is implicating himself in any current or future investigation of his recent actions or those of 10 years ago.”

  “I understand perfectly,” Crane agreed, looking at the solicitor. “We just want to find Foster and stop him killing anyone else.” Returning his gaze to Dunne, he said, “I need to know everything you know about Foster, Sir - including who you think he may be staying with, or any clues as to his current location.”

  *

  As Crane climbed back into the car, Billy asked, “Did he give you anything, boss? I’d have given anything to be in on that particular chat, you know.”

  “I understand, Billy, but he’d only let one person in to interview him. I’ve got it on tape, so you can listen to it when we get back.”

  “What did he say? Don’t make me wait until we get back to barracks. Did he give you any information on Foster?”

  Crane smiled at Billy’s eagerness and recounted the interview.

  “The old sod took some persuading, even had his solicitor present! Still, I got a bit more background on Foster. Apparently, Foster has a sister that he didn’t include on his next of kin details. As far as the Army were concerned, Foster didn’t have any living relatives. So that gives us something to go on. He may well be staying with her.”

  “Did Sir Peter have any idea where she might be, or what her name is?”

  “He didn’t have an exact location, but thought she was local, so we’ll have to get a bit clever with the Births, Deaths and Marriages. I’ll put Kim on it in a minute. But Sir Peter thinks we should look around the Farnborough area.”