‘I got his name,’ Keane replied to Crane’s question.
‘And?’
‘And so I scored the first point. I got him to tell me something, without giving anything away.’
‘Is that the way you think he’ll see it?’ Hardwick wanted to know.
After a pause, Keane replied, ‘I expect he’ll think he’s got one over on me, because he made me speak first. But that’s fine.’
‘Why is that fine?’ Crane asked, becoming genuinely interested in the psychological approach.
‘Because the more Kourash thinks he has the upper hand, the more confident he’ll become. Meaning that he’s more likely to miss something in the future. In the meantime, I’d like Dudley-Jones to see what he can do with the name Kourash.’
‘I’m already on it, sir,’ said Dudley-Jones, peering at his computer screen. ‘His name means ‘ancient king’. Maybe that’s why he thinks he’s a leader of men, thinks he’s their king. Kings often think they’re indestructible. His parent’s must have thought he was something special to choose that name for him. If he’s been brought up with that attitude, then...’
‘Precisely,’ said Keane, ‘good job, Dudley-Jones.’
The young man once again made his embarrassment evident.
‘Mumbo, jumbo, rubbish,’ was Crane’s opinion. He’d had enough of the soft approach bollocks already and growled, ‘What’s in a name, for God’s sake?’
‘Far more than you would think,’ replied Keane. ‘Especially when we’re talking about people from different ethnic origins to our own. In Kourash’s culture, names are chosen far more for their meaning than here in England, where they’re chosen for their popularity. Think how many George’s there are going to be now - just because the latest member of the Royal Family is called George.’
‘Still think it’s a load of rubbish,’ mumbled Crane, whose own name was Tom, shortened from Thomas, meaning the doubter.
17:00 hours
Harry Poole, senior reporter on the Daily Record newspaper, had made his way up from London to Yorkshire and after several hours of driving, had finally arrived at the first police check point. He’d actually wanted to travel up to Yorkshire by train, which would have given him more time to do research on the viaduct and the rail system during the journey. But because of the cancellations and delays caused to the network by the train siege, it hadn’t been possible.
After showing his press pass to the policeman on duty, he was directed to a large car park from where he could walk to the press coral. And that’s precisely what it was. The press were herded into a cordoned-off field, where various television crews and local and national reporters had set up shop. Harry turned at the noise of a lorry behind him and watched as mobile toilets were brought into the field, followed by a couple of outside catering vans. No doubt the smell of burgers and sausages would soon mingle with the smell of fascination and excitement emanating from the press. He was reminded of packs of hungry wolves, as the television crews and presenters vied for the best spot for their live reports. It seemed everyone wanted to have the viaduct as their backdrop and heated arguments were breaking out between rival stations. Harry knew it would only be a matter of time before crews from other countries arrived as well, particularly if it looked like the siege was going to drag on for some days, as indicated by the provision of mobile facilities.
As he threaded his way through the crowd, searching for friendly faces, he glimpsed a familiar checked shirt and jeans, topped by black curly hair. It couldn’t be, could it, he thought? Surely Diane Chambers hadn’t arrived so quickly? What did she know that he didn’t?
Approaching her from behind, he was able to listen to her strident, hissed telephone call.
‘Look, I really do need to speak to Sgt Major Crane, I know he’s here. I also know why he’s here.’
She didn’t listen to the person on the other end of the line for long before saying, ‘Oh very well, tell him I know about Billy and if he doesn’t ring me soon, I’ll print it. Tell him he’s got an hour.’
Harry stood rooted to the spot, stunned, as he watched Diane walk away. He couldn’t get his head around it. Billy was on the train? Jesus Christ. But more to the point, would Crane get the message? Harry knew Diane couldn’t be allowed to print that sort of information. But what could he do to stop her?
He ambled over to a quieter part of the field, mulling over his problem. Coming to a decision he pulled his phone out of his pocket and rang a number that had been stored in his phone directory for the past couple of years, but rarely used.
***
Crane looked at the piece of paper that had just been handed to him and read the words written there with increasing anger. Crushing the paper in his hand, he pulled out his mobile phone. But instead of using it, he turned it over several times, weighing up his options and deciding he had very few of them. It was a conundrum that definitely called for a cigarette.
He was just lighting one, after ambling outside, when his phone buzzed. Hoping it might be Billy he dropped his cigarette in his haste to answer his mobile.
A voice said, ‘Crane, it’s me. Looks like you’ve got a problem with Diane Chambers.’
‘Tell me about it, Harry,’ replied Crane, disappointed the call wasn’t from Billy, but on the other hand relieved. Harry could be just the solution he’d been searching for. He bent down to collect his cigarette and his thoughts. ‘Wait a minute, where are you?’ he said as he straightened up. ‘How do you know about Diane Chambers?’
‘I’m in the press field, about half a mile away from you, if my guess is right.’
‘Right on the button, as usual, Harry.’
‘That’s what I thought when I heard her leaving a message for you. Is it true? Is Billy on the train? If he is, we can’t let her print it.’
‘Don’t I know it. I was just trying to figure out what to do when you phoned. And there you were, like manna from Heaven.’
‘Alright, you old bugger, what do you want me to do?’
Crane said, ‘Well, we all know Diane Chambers has delusions of grandeur, right?’
‘Right.’ Poole elongated the word, as if doubting he wanted to hear Crane’s solution.
‘So, how about if we offer her a job with you?’
‘Jesus Christ, Crane. You can’t be serious.’
‘Deadly serious, Harry. Think about it. You’re going to need help.’ Crane walked along the platform as he spoke. ‘Someone to gather background for you on the railway, terrorists and Bagram Detention Centre, liaise with other members of the press pack, organise photos etc. And I’m sure the on-line version of your paper will need keeping up to date with events as they happen. So if Chambers was to help with that sort of stuff, it would leave you free to write the big pieces. And it would make her feel important, give her an opportunity to work with a national paper, play to her ambitions.’
‘And in return?’
‘And in return she keeps her mouth shut about Billy being on that train. We can’t let that leak and risk the hijackers finding out about him. At the moment he’s the only conduit we have giving us information.’
‘Bloody hell, he’s been in touch?’
‘Yes and you can have all the gory details afterwards for an exclusive if you help me out. We have to keep him safe. I’m sure she’ll understand if it’s explained properly.’
‘Ah, the old carrot and stick routine.’
‘Precisely.’
‘But this time, I’m the bloody carrot.’
‘Well, I suppose you could put it that way,’ Crane smiled for the first time that day. ‘Please, Harry,’ he said, suddenly serious again.
It only took Harry a moment to agree to Crane’s request. After all Crane had given him good copy from previous investigations, so it was only fair to help him out.’ Go on then, I’ll do it. I’ll go and find her and give her your message. But you owe me one for this, Crane.’
‘As ever, Harry, as ever. Thanks,’ and Crane cut the call, anxiou
s to return to the waiting room and see if there’d been any more conversations with Kourash.
18:45 hours
Night was falling and with the fading light, so hope faded for the hostages trapped in the train. It was as if the reality of their situation had finally hit them, every passing hour pummelling them with thoughts of home.
It was hard to tell who was faring worst, Charlie the young boy or Colin the bulky man. Both were by turn sulky, animated, then veering towards tears. Billy could understand that behaviour from the young lad, but Colin? He was just a waste of space as far as Billy was concerned. His bleating and sweating irritating Billy more than it would normally do. But these weren’t normal circumstances. They were shut in a small metal capsule, in close proximity to each other, which served to highlight each person’s foibles and habits.
The passengers had been allowed to relax a little more, certainly in terms of movement. It seemed their captors had acknowledged that they were in it for the long haul and were finding it too hard to keep everyone quiet and stop them moving around. Shouting was losing its effect, but not the guns. So a while ago Kourash had told the hostages his name and said that they could move around the carriage, change seats and chat between themselves if they wanted to.
David, Charlie’s dad, had requested permission to get a pack of cards out of his rucksack. He hadn’t been allowed to get them himself, but one of the hijackers had found them and for a while, at least, Charlie had been distracted by playing card games.
However, it was now getting dark and becoming cold and Charlie had starting asking for his Mum and wanting to know when they could go home. As his sulky anger turned to tears, Peggy had moved over to comfort him. The fact that Charlie let her, Billy believed, was an indication of how scared he was. So Peggy and Charlie were cuddled up together under a blanket Peggy had remembered was in the driver’s cab. An old travelling rug, just one of the many items regularly left behind by distracted passengers.
None of the hijackers appeared to speak English, apart from Kourash, although they could be pretending not to, of course. It was difficult to say. So the next time Kourash himself came through the carriage Billy stood and blocked his passage.
For a moment, neither moved. Silently gauging each other’s reaction. Kourash’s grip tightened on his gun as he pointed it at Billy’s stomach.
‘What is it this time?’ Kourash said. ‘What do you want now? I’ve let you move about, get things to amuse the kid and handed out bottles of water. What else is there, apart from letting you go, that is, which is something that isn’t going to happen I can assure you.’
‘We think it’s only fair you tell us what’s happening. How long do you think we’re going to be kept here? What demands have you made of the authorities?’
‘Now look here, Billy,’ interrupted Colin. ‘There’s no need to antagonise the bloke,’ his voice rising an octave at the end of his sentence. ‘Sit down,’ said Colin and pawed at Billy’s jacket.
Ignoring the pathetic Colin, Billy remained where he was, hoping the determination in his gaze would make Kourash realise Billy wouldn’t move until he got some answers.
‘It’s not an unreasonable request,’ Billy said. ‘If this is going to take some days to sort out, you’re going to have to arrange for food and water to be brought to the train. So far we’ve had nothing to eat and very little to drink and if you’re not careful you’re going to have medical problems on your hands. Hazel here is pregnant and Colin already looks like he’s a prime candidate for a heart attack.’
‘Now look here,’ Colin repeated what was fast becoming his very annoying mantra, but Kourash dismissed Colin’s interruption by swinging the gun in his direction. Colin took the hint and fell silent, once again mopping his sweaty face with a hanky that was as wet as the surface he was patting.
‘Days?’ said Mick. ‘Who said anything about days?’
‘Jesus,’ David joined in. ‘Do you think we’ll really be here that long?’
‘I’ve got medical appointments to attend!’ squeaked Hazel, who up until that point had mostly kept herself occupied with knitting a baby blanket, that she had proudly shown to the others.
‘See, Kourash,’ Billy said. ‘We’ve all got lives to lead and we want to get back to them.’
‘And you?’ he asked Billy. ‘What’s your life? You look quite athletic and seem to be the group’s natural leader. Always asking questions. Always organising.’
But Billy was ready for Kourash’s probing. He’d known questions would come sooner or later. Had seen the hijackers look at him suspiciously from time to time, when they thought he couldn’t see them. Billy had tried not to stand out, but realised that was impossible. He was the tallest and most well-built of all the passengers and try as he might, there was no disguising his natural wish to take command.
‘Let me see,’ Kourash continued, ‘Police? Army? Bodyguard?’
‘That’s a laugh,’ Billy said. ‘Although I have been a bouncer at my local boozer,’ Billy replied truthfully. ‘But these days I’m a personal trainer.’
‘Really?’ Kourash regarded Billy closely. ‘I suppose that would explain the muscles.’
‘And the bossiness,’ said Billy. ‘In my line of work I’m used to people doing what I tell them to.’
Sticking as close to the truth as possible made it easier for Billy to hide the lies. Wanting to detract Kourash from questions about his background, Billy asked again, ‘So, what about food and drink?’
‘On its way. If you’ll let me pass I’m going to supervise the transfer. I take it you all like pizza? And there should be hot coffee and tea.’
‘Yeah, pizza,’ called Charlie. ‘I can have some can’t I, dad?’
‘Yes, of course you can,’ his father replied, hugging Charlie.
Billy looked at the passengers and saw the relief on their faces and the anticipation of hot food and drink.
‘Emma,’ Kourash shouted, ‘Come with me.’
‘Why, what have I done?’ she said, looking around at the others, her eyes begging them for support.
‘Nothing,’ Kourash replied, pushing Billy out of the way and dragging Emma to her feet. Holding the gun to her head, he said, ‘It’s just that I told the authorities that if they try anything stupid, like storming the train when they bring the food, then I’ll shoot a hostage. And you will do nicely.’
19:00 hours
Everything was ready. Food, water and hot drinks had been loaded onto a small maintenance vehicle, which was standing on the tracks, outside the Ribblehead station. The instructions from Kourash had been that only civilians must deliver supplies to the train. No one armed, or in uniform allowed, or a hostage would be shot. Any funny business and a hostage would be shot. Any attempt by snipers to kill one of the hijackers during the transfer and a hostage would be shot. The repetition of the rules was beginning to get on Crane’s nerves. He got it. Do anything stupid and a hostage would be shot.
Keane had been given 24 hours by Kourash, to get approval from the British and Afghan authorities to start releasing some prisoners. Nine of those hours had already gone and Crane knew they were no nearer to agreeing to the hijacker’s demands.
Crane had been part of the heated video conference meeting, when the men in charge couldn’t even agree that they should let the British diplomats at the Embassy in Kabul contact the Afghan President. What was the point, some argued? No one was going to make the decision to agree to the demands. Britain had a ‘no negotiation with terrorists’ policy and that wasn’t about to change. Not even to save the lives of innocent members of the British public.
Mike Keane’s mission, therefore, was to get as much information on the hijackers and hostages that he could. Negotiate small acts of kindness for the hostages, such as the food that would shortly be ferried out to them. And barter as hard as he could for the release of as many as he could. Not an enviable job. Not one that Crane would want. He would be more than likely to shout and swear at the bloody hij
ackers, than accept their demands and meekly turn the other cheek.
In the meantime, the upper echelons of the military command were working out the best way and time to storm the train. Crane knew that was the only way this was going to end. But would it work? Would it be the best solution? By the time the smoke cleared from the attack, who would be left alive? His biggest fear was that Billy wouldn’t make it.
‘Crane!’ someone shouted. He took a deep breath and turned around to see Mike Keane standing on the platform. Crane walked towards him.
‘We’re ready,’ Keane said. ‘Are you sure you and Dudley-Jones want to do this?’
‘Well, I can only speak for myself and I’m ready. I couldn’t let anyone else go. I need to see with my own eyes what’s going on. And Dudley-Jones there,’ Crane indicated the young man shivering slightly in his shirt sleeves, ‘might just recognise someone, which would help with his intelligence gathering.’
‘Very well. I can’t come for obvious reasons. Can’t have Kourash recognising my voice. I have to stay distant and unidentified. A faceless negotiator trying to gain his trust is better than a negotiator turning up to talk to him face to face when he least expects it. Anyway, the others are on the maintenance vehicle, so I’ll let you go. Good luck,’ and with a nod of his head he moved back inside the station to phone and tell Kourash the food was on its way.
Crane and Dudley-Jones climbed into the back of the vehicle, which was an extended pick-up truck, with space for a driver and three passengers to sit inside and an open rear cargo area. By the front and rear tyres were small rollers clamped to the track. The Northern Rail employee who was driving was doing a fair job of not looking afraid, although Crane could see he had the steering wheel in a vice-like grip and kept swallowing. A lot. The plan was for the driver to stay in the vehicle and for the other three to jump out and carry the food and drink along the small pathway next to the track to the waiting hijackers, who would accept it at the door of the driver’s cab.
A Soldier's Honour Box Set 2 (Sgt Major Crane crime thrillers Box Set) Page 45
