Hijack: A Sgt Major Crane crime thriller (A Sgt Major Crane Novel Book 6)
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Hijack
A Sgt Major Crane novel
by
Wendy Cartmell
Published by Costa Press 2014
© Wendy Cartmell 2014
Wendy Cartmell has asserted her rights under the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.
This is a work of fiction and not meant to represent faithfully military, police, or intelligence service policies and procedures regarding hijack situations. All and any mistakes in this regard are my own.
Inspired by the Dutch train siege in 1975.
Praise for Wendy Cartmell
‘A pretty extraordinary talent’ - Best Selling Crime Thrillers
‘This is genre fiction at its best, suspense that rivets and a mystery that keeps you guessing.’ - A R Symmonds on Goodreads
Table of Contents
Table of Contents
Prologue
Day One
09:55 hours
10:00 hours
11:00 hours
11:15 hours
12:00 hours
14:00 hours
15:00 hours
16:00 hours
16:00 hours
16:10 hours
17:00 hours
18:45 hours
19:00 hours
19:15 hours
19:20 hours
20:00 hours
21:00 hours
21:30 hours
23:00 hours
23:30 hours
24:00 hours
Day Two
07:00 hours
08:00 hours
09:00 hours
10:05 hours
10:10 hours
10:15 hours
10:20 hours
11:00 hours
11:15 hours
11:30 hours
13:00 hours
13:05 hours
13:15 hours
13:20 hours
13:30 hours
14:00 hours
14:30 hours
15:00 hours
15:15 hours
15:20 hours
16:00 hours
18:00 hours
19:00 hours
20:00 hours
Day Three
08:00 hours
08:30 hours
09:00 hours
09:15 hours
10:00 hours
11:00 hours
12:00 hours
14:00 hours
15:00 hours
18:00 hours
21:00 hours
21:00 hours
Day Four
04:00 hours
04:05 hours
04:10 hours
06:00 hours
Be Careful What You Pray For
Prologue
Glass Cutter
One
Two
Three
Meet the Author
‘More tears are shed over answered prayers, than unanswered ones.’
Truman Capote
Prologue
Bagram Detention Centre
Afghanistan
The young man swung from a rope tied around his hands and attached to a metal hook in the ceiling. He’d been up there for five hours. Luckily he’d died after three. His poor tortured and abused body no longer able to take the punishment meted out by the soldiers.
The naked light bulb in the cell was burning, as it had done since the boy’s arrival at the detention centre several months earlier, harshly illuminating the bare concrete walls, ceiling and floor. There had been no respite from the light. Nor from the shouting of the soldiers as they tortured other prisoners in the block.
Although he had been young and strong when grabbed from the garage by the coalition forces, where he was working on a Land Rover that refused to start, it hadn’t saved him. For some reason the soldiers seemed to think he was part of an illegal militia, not a simple motor mechanic. No matter what he’d said, how long and hard he’d screamed or whimpered and cried, they’d ignored his distress and continued with the beatings and interrogations.
Being fed on the occasional chunk of bread and jug of water pushed contemptuously into his cell, had meant his body soon turned against him, burning up fat and muscle in the absence of the fuel it needed to survive. Daily and nightly attacks from fists, batons and worse, had worn out his wasted body, until one by one his internal organs shut down.
The last to go was his heart. As it beat its final tattoo the boy’s thoughts were for his family. Did they know where he was? Would they be told he’d died? Would his brother, Kourash, thousands of miles away in England hear of his fate?
With his last breath he whispered his father’s name.....
Day One
09:55 hours
He’d known there was something wrong the minute he saw them through the window. The innocuous group of cyclists waiting to board the train at Dent railway station. It wasn’t because they were sweating, although the day was sunny but cold. It wasn’t even that they were looking nervously around, their eyes always going back to the tallest young man in the middle of their huddled group, as if seeking reassurance. Nor the fact that as soon as the train juddered to a stop at the platform they immediately split up, boarding the train in two groups. One group to each of the two carriages, instead of staying together. It wasn’t those things individually. But put them together? Well that was a cause for concern.
As this was happening, Sgt Billy Williams was on the phone to his boss, Sgt Major Crane. Billy had rung him to confirm he’d be at Aldershot Garrison later that day, reporting back to Provost Barracks, the home of the Special Investigations Branch of the Royal Military Police. Billy was taking the scenic train route, from Carlisle to Settle, on the return journey from his parent’s house in Carlisle, where he’d spent the weekend.
Billy watched with interest the young men who boarded the carriage. One boy took off the scarf he was wearing around his neck, revealing two sturdy bicycle chains with locks on. He took them from around his neck and passed one to his fellow traveller. The young man tethered his bike to the pole by the carriage entrance, as did his companion. Why would you chain your bike to the pole if you were staying in the carriage, Billy wondered. Were they that distrustful of people? Or was there an ulterior motive? Once the bikes were chained up, the two young men seemed unable to keep still. Hands wringing. Brows sweating. Teeth chewing lips. It made Billy nervous just watching them. With a suspicious frown, he looked out of the window. The train was approaching the Ribble Viaduct, a 100 ft high structure with 24 arches. A remote construction set high up on the Yorkshire Dales and now a popular tourist attraction. The viaduct had been built in the 1800’s by hundreds of Irish navvies who lived and worked on the construction site. But there were no shanty towns still standing. All trace of the workers had been wiped from the face of the barren earth and the Dales returned to their majestic, isolated, glory.
As one of the cyclists moved to stand close to the emergency stop cord, Billy said into his mobile phone, ‘Boss, I think there’s a problem with the Carlisle to Settle train.’ He was going to add - I think the shit’s just about to hit the fan - when it well and truly did. The cyclist reached for the emergency cord and yanked it.
So with the cool calm reactions ingrained in him from his military training, Billy said instead, ‘Possible hijack situation. The train’s stopping in the middle of the Ribble Viaduct. Estimate at least six hijackers, cyclists who boarded the train at Dent. Will report back when I know more.’
But his calm, quick reactions di
dn’t stop him feeling apprehensive. Fear wriggled like a worm through his veins. A purveyor of bad news. With worse to come, no doubt.
Billy had instinctively risen from his seat during the conversation and holding the seat backs, using them to keep his balance during the sharp reduction in the speed of the train, he made his way to the toilet. He was talking to Crane via the hands-free mobile phone cord that ran from his ear to his phone, which was hidden from view in the pocket of his brown leather jacket.
With the door closed, the smell of the chemical toilet was strong in the small space and he breathed through his mouth in an effort to minimise it. Cutting the call and then turning off the volume on his mobile, he looked around the tiny cubicle. All the surfaces were stainless steel and the small space seemed coffin-like and claustrophobic. The walls were pre-fabricated and moulded, with no cracks or gaps in them that he could utilise. Bugger. He needed a hiding place and he needed it now. There would only be a few moment’s grace before he was found. Then he spotted a small cupboard built into the wall underneath the sink. Squatting down and grasping the handle, Billy was relieved to find the cupboard unlocked. He popped his phone inside and plugged the cord, which was still dangling from his ear, into his iPod instead. Straightening up he pushed open the door and backed out of the toilet. Slap bang into the barrel of a revolver. A small smile played across Billy’s lips. The game was on.
10:00 hours
‘Go back into the carriage and don’t even think of doing anything stupid.’
The voice behind the gun was male, firm and sounded well educated, at least from his accent, by virtue of being pretty much devoid of one. Billy decided that for the moment he should do as he was told. Turning to his right, with the gunman still at his back, Billy faced the carriage. He looked down the length of it and saw the boy he had watched chain his bicycle to the pole. He was also holding a gun. It was also pointed at Billy. Glancing over his shoulder, Billy saw that the two hijackers were similarly dressed. They wore trousers, over which hung loose shirts, with printed black and white ethnic scarves around their neck. Both had sandals on their feet, which were bare. The boy at the end of the carriage had a straggly beard and shaven head.
‘Sit down and don’t speak.’
Again Billy did as he was told, lowering himself into the first available seat. He was then able to turn and look up at his captor. Although the hijacker’s features were those of a young man, he had dark malignant pools for eyes. Billy levelly met his gaze and in it saw something more than the thrill of the situation the man was now in charge of. It was the age old look of fervour. His eyes reflected things he had seen that he shouldn’t have, coupled with the look of one that has total belief in his cause. Whatever that cause might be. A cause Billy would hear about in due course.
‘Give me your phone,’ the man demanded.
‘I don’t have one,’ Billy said.
‘Don’t play games with me. I can see the earpiece. Now do as you’re told and give it to me.’
‘It’s an iPod, not a phone. I lost my phone so I don’t have one. Here,’ said Billy and thrust the iPod at the man who was trying to intimidate him into submission. But Sgt Billy Williams wasn’t easily intimidated and had never been known to submit to anyone. Well, anyone apart from Sgt Major Crane that was. And maybe his Officer Commanding, Captain Draper, or even the CO of his Military Police Regiment. Yes, he’d submit to anyone of those three men. But certainly not to the piece of shit pointing a gun at him. For now he would co-operate, but that was all.
Looking at the iPod as if was something extremely distasteful, the man threw it on the floor and stamped on it. ‘There,’ he said with a toss of his head that made his black curls shake underneath the bandanna that was holding it out of his eyes. ‘Whatever it is, you can’t use it anymore.’
Turning to the other passengers in the carriage he said, ‘I want your phones, laptops and tablets.’ As the passengers looked at him in stunned silence, he shouted, ‘Now, not next week. Now!’
That galvanised them and each started to pat pockets, check bags and unplug earphones. Whilst his fellow passengers were fumbling for their devices, Billy took the opportunity to study the other captives. For that was what they were now, Billy surmised. Captives, who were at the mercy of several young men and their demands.
Billy was sitting in a row of two high backed seats, with a table separating him from the two seats opposite. Next to him, by the window, was an older man, dressed in a business suit, made from shiny grey material. He was sweating profusely and dabbing his face with a handkerchief that he had pulled from the top pocket of his jacket. Waves of the man’s fear washed over Billy.
Opposite them were two women. One was heavily pregnant, wearing dark leggings coupled with a voluminous shirt. Her long straight mousey hair was scraped back from her face. Any flush of well-being she may have had from her biological state had gone. She looked at Billy with eyes that implored him to help her. But, of course, for the moment he was as helpless as she was.
The other woman was younger, wearing large dark rimmed glasses, making her look intellectual and bookish. Her dark hair had strands of red in which glinted in the shaft of sunlight falling on her from the large carriage window. She was looking around, more with interest than fear and as her eyes lit upon Billy she gave him a small conspiratorial smile. He decided that of the three people surrounding him, she would be the most useful. Should he have the opportunity of overpowering one or more of their captors in the future.
As far as he could remember, there were just the four of them in this carriage, but he wasn’t sure how many there were in the other one. He did know for certain that the train comprised of just two carriages. As they’d stopped at the small stations since leaving Carlisle, many passengers had hopped on and off the train. Some of them tourists, marked as such by their walking boots and rucksacks and some locals juggling shopping bags, umbrellas and coats. The conductor was definitely in the other carriage, but that was all Billy was sure of. There was no point in trying to figure it out, so he decided to concentrate on his own situation.
Focusing on the hijackers, he saw there were now four men, as two others had just joined them from the neighbouring carriage. Secure in the knowledge that their colleagues had the passengers under control by virtue of guns trained on them, the two walked down the aisle, pulling rolls of dark paper out of their rucksacks. Moving up and down the carriage, they roughly pushed and pulled the hostages out of the way, whilst they placed the paper over the windows and secured it with thick, strong, tape. Immediately the carriage was plunged into an eyrie half light. The gloom serving to focus the hostages’ minds on their situation. Leaving them and Billy, in no doubt that this was a serious hijack. And that for the moment, the young men were in complete control of the situation.
Once the paper was in place covering all the windows, two of the men turned towards the door leading to the driver’s cab. A shot rang out, causing screams from some of the passengers, as the hijackers blasted out the lock. Billy leaned out into the aisle to see two men disappear into the driver’s cab. He was unable to see anything else, as he was immediately ordered to sit back in his seat. A further two hijackers pushed and shoved three more passengers from the second carriage, into the set of four seats across the aisle from Billy. Having deposited their human cargo, they then returned to the second carriage. As they slammed the door behind them, the train driver was bundled through the cab door and roughly pushed into a vacant seat. At the sight of the driver, a feeling of resignation seemed to come over the hostages, who deflated like balloons. The realisation hitting them that without a driver, the train was going nowhere. They were trapped. Billy watched any fight they may have had in them drain away, as shoulders slumped and eyes dulled.
Billy now knew there were eight passengers, all in the same carriage. Two terrorists were in the second carriage, no doubt look-outs. There were two with guns trained on them in this carriage and then a further two hijackers who had staye
d in the driver’s cab. Billy needed to get this information to Crane. He needed to let him know there were six terrorists and eight hostages. But how soon would he be allowed to use the facilities so he could retrieve his mobile? And when he was, would he be allowed any privacy?
11:00 hours
‘This is the BBC News at One,’ the sonorous voice of the radio presenter filled Sgt Major Crane’s car as he raced northward along the motorway. ‘A group of hijackers have taken control of a train travelling on the Carlisle to Settle railway. Initial reports suggest the two carriage train has stopped in the middle of the Ribble viaduct. The following statement has been received by the News Agency Reuters and simultaneously reported on various human rights websites:
Recently, 65 prisoners were released from Bagram Detention Centre by President Hamid Karzai. This was a bold move by the President of Afghanistan, aimed at correcting the wrongs done to the Afghan people by the US and UK administrations. However, the release of 65 prisoners was not enough. Not nearly enough. We therefore want the government of the United Kingdom to arrange with the President to release more prisoners. These prisoners are innocent men and women, illegally detained, indefinitely, by the British military forces. We will issue a list of the detainees to be released in due course.
In the meantime, we are holding the passengers of this train hostage. They are being held illegally and against their will. Innocent people who have nothing to do with the struggle against the Taliban in Afghanistan. Just like the guiltless prisoners entombed in Bagram.
The remainder of the news bulletin was drowned out by Crane’s expletives. It hadn’t taken more than a few minutes for him to react to Billy’s earlier phone call to Provost Barracks. Grabbing his mobile phone off his desk, Crane had run up the stairs and burst into Captain Draper’s office. Foregoing the usual, required, formalities and sliding to a halt in front of Draper’s desk, he’d succinctly relayed details of Billy’s predicament. Draper readily agreed to alert the security forces and approved Crane’s current dash up the motorway, pushing him out of the office with one hand, whilst reaching for his phone with the other.