‘This was supposed to be a peaceful protest.’
‘This is the second time you’ve fired the gun.’
‘There was to be no shooting.’
Kourash held up his hands, signalling for silence.
‘Don’t be so stupid,’ he said. He realised that his fellow hijackers hadn’t a clue what needed to be done. And would be done. ‘The oppressors need to fear and respect us if we want them to agree to, and act upon, our demands,’ he continued. ‘Otherwise we’re just sitting ducks. A target for anyone who wants to take a pot shot at us.’
‘Well,’ said one, appearing to be slightly braver than the others, ‘let’s hope that’s the end of it.’
‘No my comrades,’ said Kourash, ‘it’s just the beginning. Now go and do your jobs. Two of you go to the other carriage as lookouts and the rest of you stay here and keep your eyes on the hostages.’
As the hijackers scuttled to do Kourash’s bidding, Emma stood and asked, ‘How could you do that to Mick? He’s a fellow human being. What is wrong with you?’
By way of a reply he grabbed her arm and dragged her into the cab, the staring eyes of the remaining hijackers following them.
Once he had closed the door he asked, ‘Do you have a family, Emma?’
‘No, not really,’ she replied. ‘My mother died in childbirth and my father brought me up until he died in a car accident when I was 11.’ She sat down in the driver’s seat, the springs creaking in protest.
‘So you were orphaned and abandoned?’
‘I suppose so, if you want to put it that way. Why do you want to know? What difference does it make?’
‘Because I was orphaned and abandoned also,’ Kourash said.
‘But I thought you came to live in England with your uncle and aunt, who became your surrogate parents.’
‘Oh yes, I did, but my real parents discarded me. Pushed me away. Didn’t want me. I’ve resented them for doing that all my life.’
Kourash turned around and leaned against the instrument panel, looking directly at her.
Emma was silent for a moment then said, ‘I suppose you could look at it like that. But you could also say that your parents made the ultimate sacrifice to give you a better start in life than you would have had in Afghanistan.’
‘But Afghanistan is my home, my life, my destiny. Not England. And they took that away from me. Took my homeland away,’ Kourash felt himself becoming emotional, so turned that sorrow into anger. ‘So now I’m fighting for it.’
‘To show how dedicated you are, I suppose?’ asked Emma.
‘Yes, that’s it. What about you, don’t you feel abandoned by your parents?’
‘Of course, but it wasn’t their fault. They didn’t mean to.’
‘Aren’t you lonely and alone, though?’ Kourash desperately wanted this calm, serene young woman to feel as he did.
‘Yes, of course,’ she said slowly. ‘But I’m trying to make the best of my life without them. Trying to make them proud of me.’
‘See, I knew it! That’s the same as me. I’m trying to make my parents notice me. To make them proud of me. Proud of the way I am standing up for Afghanistan. And to make the Afghan people proud of me as well. When this is all over, Emma, will you tell them? Tell the world that I did what I did for my country? Tell them how I feel about Afghanistan?’
‘Why? Why should I tell anyone that? Divulge our conversations?’ she looked at him confused yet again by this charismatic young man.
‘Because I want to be taken seriously. To be held in some esteem. For people to understand me and understand my actions.’
When he took her hand, stood her up and enfolded her in his arms, she didn’t resist and leaned into him.
‘Very well,’ she whispered. ‘I’ll tell them for you.’
10:20 hours
K didn’t shoot Mick. Everyone okay for now. K v volatile and unstable. One wrong move could tip him over the edge.
Crane had just relayed Billy’s text message to the team. Even though Mick hadn’t been shot, it didn’t make them feel any easier. Everyone was on edge from too much caffeine and too little sleep. As he sat around the table looking at the others, Crane had a sudden urge to get away. Scraping back his chair he left the confines of the station building and walked up and down the platform, turning his lighter over and over in his pocket as he did so. He was even past the need for nicotine, which was only serving to make him jumpy every time he smoked a cigarette, which was far too often.
In the distance he could see the cannon-like telescopic lenses of the news photographers and television crews who were keeping the train under constant observation. For most of the unseen newspaper readers and television watchers around the world, the media offered a tiny glimpse of yet another ‘terrorist drama’. But would any of them dwell on the underlying causes of such violence? Would anyone think of the hostages involved in the tragedy? Think about what it must be doing to their tattered nerves and slim resources?
All the viewers saw was a kaleidoscope of images running past their eyes every day. Images which only scratched the surface of the incident and didn’t reflect the price the hostages must be paying. Billy was trained, young and strong. But Crane knew the civilians wouldn’t be able to cope as well as Billy. The hostages may well come out of the incident with their lives, but those lives would never be the same again. Fair enough some would emerge stronger, but others would be broken in both mind and spirit. The hijackers may imagine they’re involved in a Holy war, but what right did they have to wage war against innocents? Crane didn’t know. He could only pray that it would come to a bloodless end. And soon.
***
Ever since the gunshot had rolled around the idyllic Yorkshire Dales like a harbinger of death, there had been intense anticipation in the press paddock. Reporters gabbled into recorders and mobile phones. Presenters checked their appearance for a live television report. At last, something was happening. Eyes shone, lips were licked and glossed, hair flicked and ties straightened. Harry Poole and Diane were no different to their colleagues in their immediate reaction. At last some real news. Something to report. But then, for them, a different kind of reality set in.
‘Oh my God, do you think Billy’s alright?’ Diane hissed to Harry.
‘Diane, we’ve no bloody idea what’s going on.’
‘But...’
‘So don’t worry over what you can’t control and concentrate on what you can,’ he said. ‘We’ve a job to do, just like everyone else here. Let’s keep our minds concentrated on the here and now, not on what might have happened.’ Harry was buffeted and pulled about by people as he tried to stay close to Diane. ‘For God’s sake!’ he shouted at someone who had just cannoned into him, but the man disappeared into the melee without apology.
‘Come on,’ said Diane. ‘Let’s find out what’s going on. It looks like a spokesman is going to make an announcement,’ and they followed the rest of the herd to the Information Point.
The hapless spokesman was inundated with questions. Members of the media were all shouting at once. All demanding answers. All wondering what the hell had just happened. When no suitable response was given, the press conference turned into a free for all. Questions peppering the spokesman like buckshot.
‘Have the hijackers all been identified yet?’
‘What about the hostages?’
‘When are you going to give us background information on them?’
‘Who are the hijackers?’
‘Where are they from?’
‘Please, quiet, please,’ the man begged. Then someone handed him a piece of paper. Harry smiled as the look on the spokesman’s face suggested that the scrap of paper was his salvation.
Clearing his throat, the spokesman shouted into the microphone and waved the paper around like a trophy he’d just won, or as if he was giving a thank-you speech at the Oscars.
‘There will be a full press conference in one hour. At that time, we will share any appropriate information with you
on the current situation regarding the hostages and the hijackers.’
But as he began to thank them for their patience, he was talking to himself. As quickly as they’d arrived, the press retreated, like a wave that had crashed on the shore and expelled its energy. They were all being sucked back, anxious to return to their equipment. Protective of their prime broadcasting spots, from where they beamed their television reports across the world.
11:00 hours
‘Keane. I want the prisoners released. In two hours.’ Kourash spoke to Keane emphasising each word. He waited a beat for Keane’s reply. Two beats. Three beats. But none came. ‘Very well. I take it that’s your answer. In that case, start releasing prisoners in two hours, or I’ll blow up the train.’
‘Kourash, listen...’
‘No, Keane, I’ve listened to you long enough. Threatening to kill hostages isn’t working. It isn’t making any difference. So now I will blow up the train.’
‘Kourash, please, we’re trying. Diplomats are working night and day...’
A harsh laugh escaped from Kourash’s throat. Pushed out of his mouth by the force of his anger. ‘Stop giving me that bullshit! Release prisoners and I’ll release hostages. Do nothing and I’ll blow up the train. Your choice.’
Kourash realised there was no point in continuing the conversation, so he replaced the receiver. He looked out of the cab window and imagined the eyes of the world on the little train. Did anyone understand what was really happening here? Understand what he was trying to do?
He hoped so. But thought not.
He wondered about Keane. What did he look like? What sort of man was he? Did he have family? Brothers? Sisters? Had he ever had an injustice done against his family? Was there a spark of understanding in him for Kourash’s cause?
He hoped so. But thought not.
And what of the hostages? He was trying to be understanding of their fear and anger. He knew they hated him for what they perceived he was doing to them. Taking their liberty. Frightening them half to death. Forcing them to stay on the train against their will. He’d told them why he was doing it. To get his brothers released from prison. From where they’d been held for months, even years, without being charged. Without being tried. Without any justice. Did they understand him at all?
He hoped so. But thought not.
He closed his eyes in prayer, willing Allah to give him the strength and determination to carry out his threats. For he must show no weakness. He also prayed that it would be over soon.
***
‘Blow up the train, Keane? Did I hear correctly?’ the Colonel asked.
Keane nodded his agreement, for a moment unable to find any words. Unable to shake the fear and responsibility he was wearing like a hair shirt. If Kourash did blow up the train it would be... would be... All. His. Fault.
‘How likely is he to carry out his threat?’ Crane asked, pulling Keane’s attention away from his well of self-pity.
‘How likely?’
‘Yes, Keane. Come on, you’re the bloody psychiatrist, or psychologist, or whatever the hell you call yourself. Whatever it is, you study the human mind and human behaviour. What is Kourash most likely to do?’
Keane took a deep breath. Decision time. ‘Honestly?’ he stalled.
‘Keane,’ Crane growled, a low rumbling warning.
‘Very well. I think it’s unlikely he will go that far.’ Now he’d started to speak Keane felt better. Hiding behind his professional judgement, he was able to detach himself from the horror that was the reality of what was happening.
‘On what do you base that opinion?’ the civil servant, Hardwick, who never said much asked.
‘His previous behaviour. Not shooting to kill Potts.’ In response to Crane’s glare he quickly continued, ‘I know Potts died, but I don’t think Kourash intended a kill shot, more of a warning shot.’
‘Anything else?’
‘Yes, the fact that he didn’t kill the train driver, Mick.’
‘But we’re not supposed to know that. We are meant to believe he did kill him.’
‘I know. And that’s how we can call his bluff. We know he couldn’t go through with actually killing a hostage, so the odds are that he won’t be able to find the guts to blow up the train, after all.’ Keane was warming to his theories now, feeling more confident. ‘Kourash believes that we believe that Mick is dead. Our trump card is the fact we know he isn’t. Therefore, we can surmise that more than likely he’ll not to blow up the train.’ There. He’d done it. Made the prediction.
‘How would he blow it up anyway?’ the Colonel wanted to know.
‘That’s the other thing that makes me believe Kourash won’t carry out his threat. I don’t think he can. We’ve no evidence that he has explosives or bombs on board.’
‘No, you’re probably right,’ Crane was scratching at his cheek again. ‘Billy hasn’t seen anything like that. And I don’t see how they could have got a bomb onto the train.’ Crane indicated the still photographs on the boards. ‘From the CCTV footage showing them getting on the train, they’ve only got a couple of rucksacks between them.’
‘So we do nothing,’ said the Colonel.
‘To be brutally honest, gentlemen,’ the normally reticent civil servant said, ‘President Karzai will not be going on television and he will not be releasing any prisoners. So it’s a moot point really. Your job, Keane, is to stop Kourash doing anything like that, through negotiation.’
‘But I’ve nothing to negotiate with!’ Keane had had enough. ‘No one is giving me anything to work with,’ he shouted. All earlier warm feelings chased away by the storm clouds of his anger. ‘There are no concessions the Government are willing to make. All I can offer is food and water and bloody religious leaders. What am I supposed to say? Be a good boy Kourash and I’ll send you up a cup of coffee. How do you take it? One sugar or two?’
As Keane slammed out of the station building, needing to get away, he wondered if any of them had heard his parting shot of, ‘Tossers.’
11:15 hours
Everyone was beyond jittery. They didn’t know what Kourash planned to do next, but could feel the tension emanating from him and from his fellow hijackers. Kourash had returned to the carriage and he and his men were having a huddled conversation. Not that they needed to whisper, none of the hostages could understood what was being said.
Billy didn’t know what to do to make things better for the hostages. The temperature was rising in the carriage again, as the sun rose above the Yorkshire Dales and blasted its mocking rays onto the roof of the train. Being unable to open the windows made the fetid air hotter. They had plenty of water and unlimited access to it, so the problem for most of them, with the exception of Colin, wasn’t physical. They weren’t suffering from illness or hunger, or thirst, but simply from mental strain. From being cooped up. Unable to leave. Being held against their will. It was pure torture.
Billy’s nerves were taut from watching the hijackers. From trying to work out what they would do next. From hoping his mobile phone battery would hold out so he could continue to pass information to Crane. All this procrastination was driving him mad. He decided to stop speculating and take a chance. He’d just ask.
‘Kourash,’ he called, as the men finished their hurried discussion.
‘Yes?’ the word was a sneer and accompanied by a flash of anger in Kourash’s eyes.
Jesus, thought Billy, he is wound up. Carefully he began, ‘We were just wondering if you could tell us what’s going on? Where you are in the negotiations?’
‘That is no concern of yours.’
‘Oh, come on, Kourash,’ Billy stood, not wanting to continue the conversation from his disadvantaged sitting position. ‘Have a heart. Tell us what’s going on.’
‘Very well. Your so called Government, haven’t acceded to my demands. So I’ve notched up my threat. If no prisoners are released from Bagram Detention Centre in the next two hours, then I’ll blow up the train.’
; Kourash turned on his heel and stalked back into the driver’s cab.
‘Kourash!’ Billy shouted. ‘Come back here! For God’s sake man, you can’t do that!’
But he was talking to the door that Kourash had closed behind him.
Billy realised he’d blown it. Perhaps it would have been better not to know what was going on after all. All he’d succeeded in doing was upsetting everyone further.
‘Billy,’ whispered Hazel, ‘do you think he means it?’
‘Who knows, Hazel? Personally I think he’s playing mind games,’ Billy lied. ‘After all, we’ve not seen any bombs, have we? Not seen any explosives lying around.’
‘I wouldn’t know what explosives look like, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t any. Anyway, how do you know about explosives?’
Billy glanced at their captors, who for the moment seemed to be more interested in talking amongst themselves than listening to the hostages. But Billy still needed to be careful. Although they’d not heard them speaking English, it didn’t mean they couldn’t understand it. It could just be a ploy to put the hostages at ease and be able to eavesdrop on their conversations.
As Charlie was crying again and David and Peggy were comforting him, Billy hoped their noise would mask his conversation. He moved over to sit next to Hazel and indicated Mick should lean in to hear. ‘I’m not a personal trainer. I’m military.’
That drew a gasp from Hazel and a grin from Mick.
‘I’m managing to communicate with my boss via my mobile phone that I’ve stashed in the toilet. I’m feeding him information.’
‘Do you think they’ll mount a rescue operation?’ Mick’s eyes were gleaming with anticipation.
‘I think it’s inevitable. But I don’t know when it will be, or how they’ll manage it. I just know that we have to be ready for when it does happen.’
Hazel smiled as she rubbed her child-swollen belly. ‘It looks like I’ll get a chance to meet you after all,’ she whispered to her unborn child.
‘Don’t tell anyone else, will you?’ Billy asked them both. ‘We have to be careful. We don’t want the hijackers to know.’
A Soldier's Honour Box Set 2 (Sgt Major Crane crime thrillers Box Set) Page 50
