The Colonel was clearly in a strident mood and Crane smiled to himself.
‘As if I could forget,’ the man in the grey suit said and moved outside to make his calls.
‘Fucking politicians,’ said Booth.
‘Amen to that,’ agreed Crane, forgetting about his earlier promise to himself to leave God out of it.
15:00 hours
An hour later and the hostage’s families were still pleading for the safe return of their loved ones. They had demands this time, they said. They were demanding that the government give Kourash what he wanted. They were still on every television channel, saying that they refused to be quiet any longer. Saying the authorities couldn’t stop them speaking out. They’d decided to join in the call for action - but action that would mean the hijackers would let their loved ones go; action that involved opening the gates of Bagram Detention Centre. Peaceful action, they stressed, not violent action.
Harry and Diane were over in the press field debating who was right. Was it those calling for the army to go in. or those calling for the hijacker’s demands to be met?
‘In theory, both should result in their loved ones being released,’ Diane said to Harry.
‘Well, yes, but can Kourash be believed and trusted? Would he really let everyone go? On the other hand, he could do the ultimate. Blow everyone up.’
‘I see what you mean,’ replied Diane. ‘He’s already blown up one carriage hasn’t he?’ and they both turned to look at the hulk of twisted metal that could be clearly seen on the tracks and the pieces of shrapnel that littered the ground underneath the viaduct.
‘Exactly. And how can you trust someone who fired a gun at a rescue helicopter?’
‘Mmm, but I can understand the families want someone to listen to their voices. They must feel that no one is.’
‘But it’s swaying public opinion again, so we have to rally round the troops as it were and get everyone back on the social media campaign. If Crane’s right and Kourash has put the families up to it and is manipulating these poor desperate people, then we’ll have to beat the hijackers at their own game and standing around talking won’t achieve that.’
‘Yes, sir,’ grinned Diane and gave a mock salute before ducking away and pulling out her tablet.
***
Since the hostages had made their appeals on television, Keane had not contacted Kourash, preferring to wait and see how long it would take for Kourash to snap and call him. It took just over an hour.
‘Have you seen the television, Keane?’
‘Which channel would that be?’
‘You know which channel. All the news channels. Stop trying to be clever.’
‘Oh, you mean the hostage’s families?’
‘Yes. Well?’
‘Well what?’
‘Are you listening to them? Are you going to do anything?’
‘Oh, that. Sorry, meant to tell you, we should have news by tomorrow. At the moment the Afghani government are drawing up a list of those who will be released. They’ve promised the list for 9 am UK time tomorrow.’
‘At long bloody last, I knew that would...’
Keane cut the call in the middle of Kourash’s sentence.
‘Jesus, Keane, should you be doing that? Isn’t he unstable enough as it is?’ Crane had been stood next to Keane in the shop, listening in.
‘I want to keep his mind occupied on the release for tomorrow morning. I don’t need to let him gloat. If I act disinterested, then he’s going to think he’s won. Think that I won’t discuss it because I’ve had to back down, which is good news for him. So now all he’ll be thinking about is how he’s got one over on the British Government and that his brother will be released tomorrow.’
‘You’re a fucking good liar, Keane. You had me going,’ Crane nodded his head in approval.
‘I know, Crane, but hey what can you do?’ Keane grinned for the first time in a long time and Crane saw a flash of the man he’d met three days ago. He could only hope that after some well-earned R&R, Keane would become that man again.
18:00 hours
By early evening, the rescue was on. Low clouds had come scurrying across the vast vista of the Yorkshire Dales. Drizzle cloaked the train, softening its hard edges. From the media field it was like looking through a room full of cobwebs, à la Miss Havisham. She had waited in her house, stuck in a time warp for many years. The train had only been there three days, but that was three days too long.
Crane watched as the news editors of the UK television stations and newspapers were being briefed. They were told the rescue mission would take place at 04:00 hours tomorrow morning, but troops would be making their way to designated spots overnight. So there was to be absolutely no live pictures of the train tonight. No indication of what was to come, no speculation as to when a rescue might take place. Library pictures only please.
The Prime Minister’s press secretary continued, ‘I am sure none of you want to be responsible for a massacre. A massacre of the hostages by the hijackers, should they get even a whiff of what is to come. You all know how unstable the minds of the hijackers are and therefore by default how unstable the whole situation is. Deaths have already occurred. Please do not be responsible for any more. Your co-operation is vitally important. Kourash is monitoring all the news stations and newspapers through the internet via a secure satellite link. He mustn’t even think there is something going on. Use library pictures of the train but DO NOT put that on the screen. That will flag up a change to Kourash. He is used to seeing live streaming 24-7. Let’s keep up that pretence.’
‘But that’s lying to the British public,’ a lone voice protested.
The Prime Minister’s press secretary shot the hapless man a withering look. ‘It’s a damn sight better than having the deaths of hostages on your conscience.’
‘And nothing new,’ muttered another reporter.
After that, there was no more dissent and the press conference broke up.
***
Major Blunt stood in the shadows of the Northern Rail repair shed, watching Captain Thomas brief his men.
‘Right lads, everything is ready. I’d like to thank you for all your hard work over the last few days, training, training and training yet again. But believe me, it’ll pay off tonight. There’s just one last thing. I’ve had word from Ribblehead railway station. The hostages know you’re coming. There is an army lad on the train, so they should have been told that we’re coming in. Standard procedure is for them to lie on the floor, under the seats if possible, so keep the firing line up above the seats. Right?’
‘Yes, sir,’ they called in unison.
‘Very well. Do your best. Do your duty and bring home the hostages alive. We are the best there is. Your country needs you to send a short, sharp message to any terrorists out there thinking of pulling a similar stunt. Don’t fuck with the British. Yes?’
‘Yes!’
‘You all have your roles, you know what to do, so go and do it and God speed.’
God speed, indeed, thought Blunt. The British public would never know the identities of the SAS men who would be tomorrow morning’s heroes. Only that they were part of an elite force specially trained in rescue tactics. Once the job was done, they’d be whisked away, their faces never seen by anyone, not even those who they were rescuing. Debriefing would take place back at their base in Hereford.
A communications monitoring module had been set up in the shed, where live pictures would be beamed to Blunt via satellite, as well as to the Prime Minister, who would be watching with members of COBRA and to the centre at Ribblehead station. Once it was all over and the Prime Minister had congratulated Major Blunt and his team, they would disappear into the night. Until the next time.
***
Billy had never seen the hostages this dejected. It wasn’t just the strain of still being held captive on the train for nearly 72 hours, as if that wasn’t bad enough. For one by one Kourash had taken them into the driver’s cab, wher
e his laptop was connected to the satellite link. He’d shown them their families on television, pleading with the Government to accede to Kourash’s demands, so that their loved ones could be freed. Freed, just like the prisoners in Bagram.
It was the cruellest thing Kourash could have done to them. Hazel cried, her hands, as always, around her belly, protecting her unborn child, the sight of her dishevelled husband too much for her. Emma had lost it completely, returning from the cab, sobbing uncontrollably, needing to be helped back to her seat.
‘It’s made it so real,’ she whispered, ‘seeing my mum on television like that. I’ve never seen her so upset. I miss her so much. I want to go home, Billy. When can we go home?’
And that was the trouble. By confronting the hostages with the reality that their families were waiting on the ‘outside’ for their safe return, Kourash had bulldozed through their thin emotional shields, flaying them into submission. God only knew what it was doing to Charlie. That was Billy’s biggest fear. The lad had lost his father, was separated from his mother and had just now been confronted by the sight of her crying into the camera. Her heartache clear for all to see. It was too much for the 11-year-old and it had broken him. He was enfolded in Peggy’s arms, no longer screaming and crying, but mute, his eyes dull and unseeing. The shock made him introverted and rendered him no more capable of coherent thought than a marble statue.
Billy was the last one to be called into the driver’s cab, to be confronted by Kourash.
‘So, Billy boy,’ Kourash mocked. ‘There doesn’t seem to be anyone waiting for you to return home. No mobile phone and seemingly no family. Doesn’t that strike you as odd?’
‘No.’
‘Why no phone, Billy?’
‘I told you before, I lost it.’
‘When?’
‘Must have been somewhere on Carlisle station. After I boarded the train I realised it was missing, but there was nothing I could do about it by then.’
‘Yeah, right,’ Kourash sneered. ‘So what about your parents? Won’t they be worried about you?’
‘That would be difficult, they’re dead,’ Billy kept his face impassive.
‘No other family then? No brothers, sisters?’
‘Only child of only children, before you start asking about aunts and uncles and cousins.’
‘You know something, Billy? I don’t believe a word you’re saying.’
Billy just shrugged in reply, before being booted out of the driver’s cab. Literally.
21:00 hours
Kourash had just announced, or rather gloated, Billy decided, that the British Government had agreed to his demands and that by 9 am tomorrow morning he would have confirmation that his brother was on the list of those prisoners to be released from Bagram Detention Centre. That meant they would be able to go home in a few days’ time. He’d strutted up and down the carriage, chest puffed out, black curls swinging, AK47 strapped across his chest. Give him a beret and he would have been perfect as a Ché Guevara look-alike, Billy thought.
His announcement hadn’t done much to lift the hostage’s morale. The thought of more agonising days trapped in the confines of the carriage, a hammer blow.
‘I don’t think I’ll make it,’ Hazel whispered when Kourash had gone.
‘I don’t think Charlie will make it, either,’ said Peggy, who still had Charlie with her. She’d persuaded him to lie across a seat with his head in her lap. She was stroking his hair as he slept, thumb in mouth.
Billy made a snap decision and said, ‘It’s alright, we won’t have to wait that long.’
‘What?’ Mick said. ‘Please God, are they coming?’
‘Yes, tonight, or rather tomorrow morning.’
This whispered announcement brought more tears, but with them watery smiles.
‘So, we must carry on as normal. The hijackers mustn’t know.’
Billy stole a glance at the two men watching them. But they were more interested in jabbering to each other and eating, cramming food into their mouths with their fingers, in-between sentences. It was disgusting and Billy looked away.
‘So,’ he continued, ‘I can’t come round and wake you all up, it would look suspicious and we must maintain the element of surprise. So if you do manage to sleep...’
‘Fat chance,’ interrupted Mick.
‘Then as soon as you are woken by the noise, you must immediately get on the floor and roll under a seat if possible,’ Billy finished.
‘What’s it going to be like?’ Peggy wanted to know.
‘It will be very loud, very confusing and very scary. There’ll be lots of deliberate shouting, to add to the confusion. Just get on the floor and stay where you are until either I or a member of the special forces come to get you.’
‘How will I know it’s a member of the forces?’ asked Emma. ‘For all I know in the darkness and confusion, it could be Kourash coming to get me!’ Her hysteria, never far from the surface, began to bubble up again.
‘They’ll have guns,’ replied Billy, trying to calm her down.
‘So do the hijackers,’ Mick pointed out.
‘Oh yes, sorry,’ Billy smiled. ‘They’ll have full body armour on and more than likely gas masks and or night vision goggles. Does that help?’
‘Yes, thanks, Billy,’ murmured Emma. She was sitting on a seat, feet up, clasping her knees, a position she’d stayed in since seeing her mother on television. ‘I just want to go home,’ she whimpered. ‘I’ve had enough. I can’t take anymore...’
As Hazel moved seats to comfort her, Billy tried to get morale up. ‘Right we need to keep things as normal as possible. Who’s up for beating me at a game of cards?’
21:00 hours
The drum, drum, of the wheels against the tracks was the signal Captain Thomas had been waiting for. The food drop was underway. The Northern Rail pick-up truck was still in service, delivering an evening meal and other supplies to the hijackers and hostages. Now a well-practiced routine, after the debacle of the first run when Potts had been shot.
He and his men were hidden in a clump of trees just shy of the viaduct. They had successfully completed the first part of the mission, to gain this position without being seen. The second part was trickier. Under the cover of the trees they had to inch their way to the edge of the valley. Then break cover and run to the bottom of the first set of arches, where they would be once again be invisible to anyone on look-out duty at the end of the train. The fact that Kourash had blown up the second carriage helped Thomas and his men as the hijackers no longer had a clear line of sight along the track. The twisted hulk of metal, plastic and fabric was acting as a barrier and limiting their view.
Two clicks on the radio was the signal. Thomas waited until the pick-up truck was in place before he sent the two clicks. The noise of unloading the supplies and chattering voices would mask any sound they would inadvertently make. Two by two, his men followed him, traversing the slope as quickly and quietly as possible, rendezvousing at the bottom of the first arch. The huge grey granite blocks of the arch towered above them, a great hulking structure looking impossibly high and smooth.
Once all his men were in place, Thomas waited and again listened, making sure there was still distracting noise from the supply drop. Hearing the anticipated melee of voices, he sent one click, signalling that it was time for them to start moving along the arches. In teams of two men they ran forward, ducking back under the shelter of the viaduct and pausing before moving forward once again, until they were all in position on both sides of the arches, directly under the train.
The third part of the plan involved them waiting in the darkness. Dressed all in black with balaclavas on, the only part of their faces visible were eyes and mouths. Melting into the blackness and shadows of the viaduct they sat backs against the rock. It was thought it was best to sit, rather than their usual camouflage waiting position of lying down. The arches themselves would act as better cover than the rock and bare ground ever could.
&nb
sp; Once everyone was in place Captain Thomas allowed himself to relax, just a little, for there was still much work to be done.
***
Billy moved amongst the hostages, handing out the Styrofoam cups of hot soup, urging his fellow hostages to drink, as they all needed to keep their strength up. Sandwiches had also been provided, but they were proving too much for some of them. The twin feelings of fear and anticipation of the rescue, joining forces to close up throats, made swallowing lumps of bread pretty much an impossibility.
Charlie was being persuaded to drink some soup by his surrogate mother, Peggy. Helping Charlie was helping her, she’d confided to Billy earlier. Looking after him, as she looked after her children at home, had given her an anchor in the sea of unreality they’d found themselves drifting in. Billy said that was good. Two lonely people helping each other out. Charlie’s vulnerability bringing out the mothering instinct in Peggy and Peggy’s experience of motherhood helping Charlie through this, until he could be re-united with his own mother.
Emma was definitely at breaking point, Billy realised as he helped her lift the cup of nourishment to her lips. ‘Come on, Emma. Just try a little sip,’ he urged as she turned her blank stare towards him. ‘Not much longer now, love. You’ll be going home soon.’
Emma obeyed his instruction, but he wasn’t sure she was really listening to him. Rather listening to some inner voice that ebbed and flowed within her. Over the last few hours she had frequently cried and mumbled to herself, her book long since discarded. Unable to interact with her fellow passengers, she’d sat huddled in a corner, alone.
‘You okay, Mick?’ Billy turned his attention to the only other male passenger left on the train.
‘Right as rain, Billy,’ he said and he smacked his lips appreciatively at the soup. ‘Nice this,’ he said. ‘You should have some as well, lad.’
A Soldier's Honour Box Set 2 (Sgt Major Crane crime thrillers Box Set) Page 58
