“Thank God for what?”
“Oh, right, sit down, Crane.”
As Crane complied Jones explained he received a telephone call from the Gurkha Welfare Office in Aldershot, reporting two sightings at night by an old Gurkha called Padam Gurung. He reported seeing a possible intruder, somewhere in the vicinity of the sports centre, late at night. Jones had to admit he’d forgotten all about it due to other pressures.
”What night?” Crane demanded.
Pulling a calendar towards him, Jones calculated. “The first one was thirteen nights ago.”
“Bloody hell, Staff, that’s about the same time Corporal Simms was murdered.”
“Murdered? Jesus Christ! I thought it was an accidental death.” Jones ran his hand over his bald head.
“I never did,” Crane growled. “Especially when we found a jet black hair on his body. And now it looks like we’ve got a bloody witness who can say there was someone acting suspiciously around the sports centre that night.” Crane stood and strode towards the door. “Get the bloody welfare office on the phone, find this Padam Gurung and bring him in.” Crane slammed the door behind him as he left the office, then changing his mind, put his head back around the door shouting, “And don’t forget an interpreter!”
As Crane climbed into his car, he winced as his indigestion worsened, forcing him to take two Rennies with his cigarette during the uncomfortable journey to Aldershot Police Station.
Luckily Derek Anderson was in his office when Crane arrived, enjoying his ubiquitous cup of tea and sugary cake.
“Want one?” he asked, pushing the plate towards Crane.
“No thanks, Derek, my stomach’s bad enough as it is.” Crane sat opposite Anderson and pushed the plate back towards his friend.
“Stress?” Derek asked with his mouth full.
“That and unfamiliar Spanish food. I took Tina out for a meal last night. The food seemed good at the time, but I’m not so sure this morning.”
“And the cause of the stress?” Anderson tried to brush cake crumbs from his jacket, but merely succeeded in rubbing them in.
“Need you ask?” Crane smiled. “Anyway, I need to talk to you about the on-going investigation into the thefts from the Team GB living quarters in St Omer Barracks.”
As Derek brought him up to date, Crane’s concentration kept being broken by thoughts of an old Gurkha possibly being a key witness to the murder of Corporal Simms. Plus the failing of Staff Sergeant Jones to, firstly see the relevance in the message from the Gurkha Welfare Office and secondly, not acting on it.
“So, I think it will take a few more days.”
As the silence stretched, Crane realised Anderson had finished his summing up of the operation.
“Oh, sorry, thanks, I’ll pass that on,” Crane rose to leave.
“Are you alright?”
“Yes, of course, Derek. Just things on my mind.” Crane scratched his scar. It had been itching a lot lately.
“Anything I can help with?”
Stopping at the door Crane replied, “Not at the moment, but I’m going to need your co-operation if I have to lock down the garrison.”
“What the hell? Lock down the garrison. Crane come back!” Anderson’s shouts followed Crane out into the corridor, but he ignored them.
Night 13
I am afraid of exposing myself too early. Sometimes I feel like I am being watched; at night when I am scouting out possible targets and during the day when we are undergoing training. But it’s nothing I can’t handle. During the day I am the model Afghan Army officer and during the night a Muslim playing my part in the Jihad.
The death of the soldier was a tricky one. I was unprepared - but the Prophet Mohammed kept me safe and I was able to engineer a suitable solution. The soldier fell quickly, his dead body unable to defy the force of gravity. Landing in a heap of bones and uniform, never to rise again. I was just about to scour through his belongings when I heard his colleagues call for him on his radio, so I had to leave immediately. Next time I will make sure I get what I need.
Today we were taken on a tour of some of the facilities on the garrison. On the way we passed the athletes practicing for the Olympic Games. They were parading around half naked, preening and grooming themselves in public, like peacocks. The males strutting around as though they were ready for rutting with the females who were similarly if not more skimpily attired.
We were shown a stadium where rugby and football teams play each other. Apparently frequent matches are held between various factions of your Army, Navy and Air Force. Personally, I think a stadium where males worship their bodies rather than God should be turned into a meeting place for the people, where they can watch thieves and adulterers take their punishment. A public arena for stoning and whipping. To help the people understand what happens if you ignore the teachings of the Prophet Mohammed and the laws written in the Qur’an.
But I dared not give voice to my idea. The mask - remember? It is still in place. So as I am unable to persuade with rhetoric, I will have to find another way of teaching you infidels what the punishment is for attacking the one true religion. And believe me, I will.
Night 14
Crane put the pair of night vision goggles over his eyes and scanned the surrounding countryside. Taking care to stop and examine each clump of bushes and trees. He’d been with Sergeant Billy Williams for nearly two hours, positioned near the sports centre, searching in vain for any sign of either an intruder or an old Gurkha. His growing unease about the delay in locating and bringing Padam Gurung to the Royal Military Police Barracks had necessitated tonight’s vigil. But he was also plagued with a growing unease about leaving Tina at night. What if something happened to her when he wasn’t there? But conversely, what if he didn’t find Gurung and something happened to the athletes? Either way, he’d have to learn to live with the guilt. Overlaying all of these fears was the growing need for a cigarette. He really had to stop smoking. Looking at the luminous dial of his watch he saw it was nearly 02:00 hours.
“Boss!” Billy’s whisper interrupted his reverie. “Got something. Heat source at 11 o’clock.”
Crane swung his head to the left, where he could see a dull orange patch, flickering like the flame of a Bunsen burner through the swirling green mist of the background trees. They continued to watch it for a few minutes and as the heat source remained stationary Crane decided to move.
“Right, Billy, it seems it could be a man not an animal foraging. Let’s go.”
Billy led the way through the undergrowth, towards the dim heat source. It looked like Crane’s decision to position themselves far behind the trees bordering the sports centre had been a good one. That way they could creep up behind anyone staking out the building without revealing themselves. Any potential intruder would be facing forwards, towards the target.
As they drew near, Billy halted and Crane pulled out his 9mm pistol. On Crane’s signal Billy ran and jumped on the figure, with Crane close on his heels. Billy hauled the struggling figure to his feet, smoothly turning him to face Crane’s outstretched hand.
Crane gazed at the wizened brown face inches from the end of his gun, whose eyes were so wide and wild they dominated his face. His bottom lip was trapped between clenched teeth. Slowly lowering his arm, Crane put his index finger to his lips, nodded at Billy and together they marched the old Gurkha through the grass towards the car and onwards to Provost Barracks.
Still not speaking, Crane and Billy entered an empty interview room and sat the person they presumed to be Padam Gurung at the only table, ignoring the pleading looks aimed at them. They left the room, locking the door behind them.
“Well done, Billy,” Crane spoke for the first time in over ten minutes. “Rustle up the interpreter, oh and cups of tea and sandwiches if you can. I don’t know about the old Gurkha, but I could definitely do with a brew.”
While Billy was carrying out his orders, Crane sloped off outside for a cigarette. He once again checked that hi
s mobile phone was turned on and set it from vibrate back to ring and vibrate. The last thing he wanted to do was to miss a call from Tina. He really wanted to phone her, but knew that was pointless. Waking her up was not an option.
Fifteen minutes later they were ready. The interpreter, a serving Gurkha currently based at the garrison and Billy, who had poached refreshments from a nearby mess and arranged them on a large metal tray.
The interpreter went into the room first and once he had established the person they had detained was indeed Padam Gurung, Billy and Crane joined them and doled out tea and sandwiches. It was clear the kind gesture was appreciated, as Padam enthusiastically attacked the sandwiches. But for some reason Crane couldn’t understand he kept smiling and nodding at them, repeating the word, “Tesco.”
To Crane’s amusement Billy replied, “Yes, we shop there too,” grinning and nodding his head, before realising he wasn’t being understood.
They then began the slow and painstaking process of interviewing Padam through the interpreter.
Padam’s initial reaction was fear and confusion, but Crane explained that he wasn’t in any trouble. He said they were glad Padam was watching the sports centre two weeks ago and were very interested to hear what happened. But Padam was insistent they hear about both occasions when he saw the smudge and proceeded to go through both events in detail.
Crane bit back his frustration and listened carefully while Billy took notes, but his interest wasn’t piqued until, between bites of sandwich, Padam recalled the second time he saw the smudge. When it apparently disappeared and then magically reappeared. Deciding to come back to that point, Crane allowed the old man to describe what happened when the smudge ran towards him.
“I stayed as still as I could, hoping that whoever it was would mistake me for a rock or mound of earth under the trees. I held my breath so I wouldn’t move and rustle the leaves or break a twig.” Padam smiled with satisfaction and looked at Crane and Billy as if for confirmation he had done the right thing. “I remembered these things from when I was in the army,” he finished proudly.
“Well done, Padam. You did very well, but what happened next?”
“This person, he or she, ran straight to me, suddenly swerving out of my way and disappearing behind me. I stayed still for a long time, to make sure I was out of danger before finally coming out from underneath my coat and leaves. So it seems I did look like a rock after all.” Once again Padam beamed and nodded at the three men in the room in turn.
“Yes,” Crane agreed. “You did look like a rock, but what did the shadowy figure look like?”
“Just that. A shadowy figure. Dressed from head to foot in black. I think the face was covered by something, as I could dimly see eyes and a mouth, but nothing else.”
Unable to get any further information from Padam, who clearly had no idea of the height, weight or sex of the person, Crane suggested they go back outside so Padam could show them where the smudge had disappeared against the sports centre wall. Padam readily agreed, as long as he could take the uneaten sandwiches with him.
At the end of their recce, the interpreter drove the old man back to his flat in Aldershot. Crane and Billy stood outside the SIB office talking, before Billy continued his night shift and Crane went home for a few hours sleep, before returning to do the twelve hour day shift.
“So what do you think, boss?”
“I think I’m going to give Captain Edwards a headache tomorrow when I tell him I’ve got evidence that Corporal Simms was murdered and I’m locking down the garrison.”
Day 15
It was only 09:00 hours and already Crane was fed up of people shouting at him. First of all Tina, when he told her what was about to happen and then Staff Sergeant Jones when he got to the office. Captain Edwards would be next to have a go, although he didn’t know it yet, quickly followed, no doubt, by DI Anderson.
Crane stood outside the Captain’s door, took a deep breath, knocked and entered.
Edwards was pouring over Dudley-Jones’ Intel and raised his head as Crane walked in. “Morning, Crane, glad you could join us,” looking at his watch as Crane sat down.
“Sorry, sir just had to go and see Staff Sergeant Jones.”
“Really? Why was that more important than being on time for our morning briefing?”
“To give him the heads up that I’m going to have to shut down the garrison.” Crane lobbed his grenade and waited for the explosion.
Captain Edwards was just taking a mouthful of coffee as Crane spoke and spluttered most of it out of his mouth. “What did you just say? Shut down the garrison?”
Crane nodded.
“Are you mad? What the hell for?” Edwards managed to control himself this time and his voice returned to something like normal. Dudley-Jones, the Intelligence Operative, didn’t say anything. Anyway he couldn’t because he was of a lower rank. Who would think that those four simple words ‘shut down the garrison’ could cause such a furore! Crane thought they were emotive responses to his carefully considered and necessary action.
Edwards spoke again. “Come on, Crane, let’s have it. And it better be bloody good.”
“Well, let’s look at the facts, sir. A soldier has been killed on the base.” Crane continued despite Edwards trying to interrupt. “I have a witness who saw a black clad figure disappear through a back door of the sports centre and then reappear some thirty minutes later, at the very time Corporal Simms was killed. And there was a rogue black hair found on Corporal Simm’s shoulder.” Crane was stretching the truth somewhat as Padam wasn’t on the base the night that Corporal Simms was killed, it was the night after. But that particular small detail didn’t bother Crane.
“I’m not sure that I can totally agree with that assessment,” Captain Edwards made to rise from his chair.
Unwilling to let Edwards try his usual superior ploy Crane said, “If I could carry on, please, sir?”
As Edwards slowly sat back down Crane continued, “And of course there’s the intelligence angle.”
Edward’s face froze. “Intelligence angle?” he finally managed.
“Yes, sir. Unless I’m very much mistaken, you and Dudley-Jones here have been strongly advocating that I should take notice of all the intelligence chatter that’s been going on. Seriously consider it as a threat. So you’ll be pleased to hear I’ve also taken that into account. In fact the Intel persuaded me that locking down the garrison was my only option. I’m sure the higher echelons of command will want us to be doing our best to protect not only our soldiers but Team GB as well.” Crane finished speaking looking around in satisfaction.
In the end he agreed to increased security rather than a complete lock-down. That meant armed soldiers at every entrance to the garrison, with the right to stop and search each vehicle and person that entered. A right which Crane would make sure the lads fulfilled with enthusiasm.
After the negotiation was complete, Crane said, “Well, if there’s nothing else, sir, I think I better visit St Omer Barracks. Speak to the Olympic representatives and then the local police. Unless, of course, you’d like to do that, sir?”
Receiving no reply Crane retreated from the office before anyone noticed the grin breaking out from behind his rigid mask of respect. The last thing Crane wanted was for Edwards to realise that increased security was his goal all along. He needed to save total lock down for another day. Keeping it as his ace up his sleeve.
After telephoning Jones and confirming the increased security, authorising barricades at every entrance, he then faced the Olympic representatives and athletes. He explained that due to a higher level intelligence threat, the army felt increased security was necessary. Nothing to alarm anyone. Just a precautionary measure. And, as the athletes didn’t leave the garrison, it wouldn’t affect them at all. In fact it could make things a lot quieter for them, he reasoned. There should be less gawkers, as local people probably wouldn’t be bothered to wait in traffic jams and undergo a vehicle search just to come and w
atch the athletes train.
Driving to Aldershot Police Station, Crane was rather proud of his diplomatic skills, or was that manipulative skills? Crane didn’t really care as long as it got him the desired result.
DI Anderson was just leaving the police station when Crane arrived, so he had to walk alongside him back to the car park, pleased to be out in the fresh air after the interminable morning meetings. On the way to Anderson’s car, Crane outlined the reasons for the tighter security and vehicle searches at the garrison. Swearing Anderson to secrecy as to the real reason, of course.
“Alright, Crane,” Anderson sighed as they reached his car and he fished his car keys out of his pocket. “I understand what you had to do, but I’m not happy about it. Purely because of the crap we’ll get from angry residents. But my more immediate problem is these petty thefts from St Omer Barracks. The undercover WPC reported that a couple of the cleaners are acting suspiciously but she has no hard evidence. And on top of that the Witch of the North is ringing me daily for a report! I’d really like to get her off my back. Any suggestions?”
Crane leaned against Anderson’s car. “Well, you never know, the increased security may throw something up. We’ll just have to wait and see.”
At that point Crane’s mobile rang. Looking at the caller display he grinned at Anderson and said, “Speaking of the devil,” before answering the phone call from Juliette Stone.
He immediately held the phone away from his ear as Juliette Stone launched into a very loud tirade of complaints. The volume was such that even Anderson winced before laughing and waving to Crane as he drove away. This time Crane didn’t bother with his diplomatic skills, not that they would have done any good, as he couldn’t get a word in. The veritable Ms Stone didn’t seem to pause for breath. At the end of the diatribe he was ordered to attend her office, in person, immediately and she then put the phone down. A bemused Crane simply added her to the list of people who had shouted at him that morning and made his way back to the garrison.
40 Days 40 Nights: A Sgt Major Crane Novel Page 7
