40 Days 40 Nights: A Sgt Major Crane Novel Read online

  Crane’s idea of ‘doing’ involved knowing exactly where the Afghan officers were at the moment. Kim quickly looked up the information.

  “They’re in the Officers’ Mess, sir. Gathering for a formal dinner in their honour.”

  ***

  Crane made his way to the mess. The hum of chatter and clatter of knives and forks reached Crane as he entered the mess, by the back door into the kitchen. A Sergeant Major can’t enter the Officers’ Mess, unless by invitation. Each rank has their own mess as no soldier could be seen fraternising with someone of a higher or lower rank. Yet another clear example of the army’s rank structure. Crane stood at the swing doors from the kitchen into the dining room. None of the staff paid him any heed, his dark suit and ID around his neck signalling him out as SIB and no one was brave enough or reckless enough to draw attention to themselves. The head chef clocked him of course, but merely nodded.

  As the guests were all enjoying what appeared to be their main course, there was a lull in the comings and goings of the waiting staff through the swing doors. So Crane was able to stand there for some time, looking though the round glass covered holes cut into the top of the doors. The Afghan officers were easily identifiable just by their looks, let alone their different uniforms. Crane was searching for someone who fitted Padam’s description of dark skin, dark moustache and dark hair. To his dismay he found at least six of the twelve looked like that. The rest were either clean shaven or had full beards. From his vantage point he was unable to see if the clean shaven ones showed signs of paler spots on their faces, where a moustache or beard had been removed. All the officers seemed relaxed and able to understand a modicum of English, being engaged in conversation with their fellow diners. Even though he was officially off duty, Crane decided to sit outside in his car for a while, to observe the Afghans as they left the mess.

  Unfortunately a Ford Focus wasn’t the most comfortable car to sit in for prolonged surveillance and after a while Crane became restless and uncomfortable, deciding to conceal himself outside. As he hid in the shadows of some trees, he saw a group of four Afghan officers emerge from the mess. They seemed to be deep in conversation. Crane watched as the group whispered to each other. They then each hugged one man in turn, before he peeled away in the direction of the sports centre. Just as Crane made the decision to follow the lone officer, his mobile phone vibrated in his pocket. Looking at the caller ID he saw the call was from Tina.

  “Tina?” he hissed. “Are you okay?” He knew something must be wrong. They’d already agreed she would only phone tonight in an emergency.

  At first all he heard was panting, then, “Tom?” gasped Tina. “I think the baby’s coming!”

  Shit, Crane thought, but said, “Are you having contractions?”

  “No, I always bloody sound like this!”

  “Alright, Tina, calm down. I’m on my way. Have you called the hospital?”

  More panting. Then, “Yes. For God’s sake, Tom hurry up!”

  After taking one last lingering look at the fleeing Afghan Officer, Crane ran for his car.

  Day 27

  Crane arrived home, waking up most of the street with his screeching tyres as he pulled up in front of the house. He sprinted indoors, leaving the car engine running. He wanted to make sure he was ready to get away as quickly as possible, so the baby wasn’t born in the house or, dear God, on the back seat of his car. As he burst into the sitting room, tie askew and shirt tails hanging out, he found her relaxing on the settee, seemingly having recovered both her composure and control over her body. Her hair was still damp around her face from sweat, and as he folded her into his arms as best he could around her large bump, her breath against his neck was still fast and ragged.

  “Sorry, Tom,” she whispered into his shirt collar. “False alarm. A combination of Braxton Hick’s contractions and panic.”

  After Crane had made a cup of sweet tea and found a blanket to cover her with, she explained to him all about Braxton Hicks contractions. Not that she’d remembered about them in her panic. It was the maternity ward at the hospital who made the diagnosis. As Tina calmed down under the soothing voice of the midwife on the other end of the phone, she found that, as predicted, the contractions became less strong and less frequent. After sipping most of the tea she seemed to suddenly remember what she had interrupted.

  “Oh my God, the Afghans! What happened?”

  “Nothing much, I kept watch for a while, but didn’t see anything suspicious. So it looks like we both had false alarms tonight,” Crane had laughed.

  ***

  But he didn’t feel very jovial the next morning. His head a tangle of thoughts, as he tried to figure out what the lone Afghan officer could have been up to. Feeling claustrophobic in the office, he gave up trying to read Kim’s report and decided to go to the sports centre. The large grey building was in stark contrast to the older mellow red brick of Provost Barracks and the nearby New Mons and Clayton Barracks. Crane first took a turn around the outside of the building, missing the company and sharp eyes of Billy. He stopped at the grey metal door the mystery smudge disappeared into and out of. He closely examined every inch of the door, but couldn’t see signs of anyone trying to force the lock. Unless, of course, it had been picked. And as it was a door for maintenance personnel, it was rarely used.

  Deciding to take another look at the spot where Corporal Simms was found dead, Crane went back to the front of the building making his way through the busy complex, showing his pass several times along the way. He collected a maintenance man to unlock the doors, so he could explore underneath the swimming pool. It wasn’t possible for the two men to have much of a conversation, as the noise from the pumps, pipes, water, and muted shouts and screams from the athletes above their heads in training sessions, drowned out their voices. Try as he might, Crane learned nothing new from his walk around the cavernous space and reluctantly made his way back to the office, where he wanted to look up the details of the men on guard duty at the complex that night. At the very least he needed to check their reports and get one of the team to talk to them again to see if they had seen anyone or anything incongruous during their time on duty at the sports centre, not just around the time they lost Corporal Simms.

  He was also wondering where Padam Gurung was. No one had seen anything of him since the rounding up of the Gurkhas at Aldershot Police Station. Crane thought that after a grilling from the Royal Military Police and then the Aldershot Police, it was no wonder the man was lying low.

  Another layer of worry to add to the clutter of his thoughts was Tina. There was no way he wouldn’t have gone home last night he reassured himself. And he had been free to leave the garrison as he wasn’t on duty. But as it turned out to be a false alarm, he now wished he could have stayed and watched the Afghan Officer. But that made him feel guilty all over again. Would he really put the job before Tina? Crane hoped not. But there was always that niggling doubt. He guessed, of course, that’s what Tina realised. That one day Crane would have to choose between the army and his family. If that time came, which way would the sword fall? Either option was fraught with problems. Jump one way and he could lose his job and the other way possibly his family. By the time he arrived back at the Royal Military Police Barracks, Crane’s head was spinning.

  Night 27

  I am beyond rage. Every fibre of my being is on fire with hatred for the infidels. The kaffir. Do you know what they wanted my Muslim brothers and I to do? To attend a church service! Can you believe it? The impudence. The effrontery. The audacity of these people. They said it would foster love, tolerance, integration and understanding of other religions. I have no need for any of that.

  The Prophet decreed that you must show no sign of love or affection in your heart for a kaffir. That love, fornication and freedom are not allowed for Muslims. The only guidance I need is the Holy Qur’an. The word of God which is written to guide mankind forever. The Holy Prophet Muhammad is the perfect model of Islamic teachings, who
se example shall be forever binding on every Muslim to follow.

  We believe that, as the principles and teachings of religion reach perfection and completion in the Holy Qur’an and the example displayed by the Holy Prophet, it follows that the Qur’an is the final Book of God and that Muhammad (may peace and the blessings of Allah be upon him) is His Last Prophet, after whom no other Prophet can appear. The Qur’an requires Muslims to follow in these footsteps. To develop the highest personal attributes and moral virtues and display these qualities, even at the cost of their own individual or even national, interest.

  So I say again, there is no God but Allah, and Muhammad is the Messenger of Allah.

  Therefore, I and my Muslim brothers will not go into any other church apart from a Mosque. For all other churches are the meeting places of devils. And the angel of death will come and rip out their souls.

  Day 28

  Crane was returning to the garrison for a team meeting, one he hoped to get to on time, as at the moment he was stuck in the queue of cars at a barrier. The temperature was still high despite it being nearly 17:00 hours, so all the drivers had their windows open, encouraging people to lean out of their vehicles and chat. This in turn bread moans and groans at the absurdity of the situation, along the lines of those Crane heard at the police station. Horns beeped, arms waved and invectives flew from frustrated drivers either trying to get home, back to the office, or complete a delivery. One pedestrian noticed Crane’s identification badge around his neck and proceeded to lean into his car through the open window to berate him.

  Once the cars inched their way to the front of the queue, the soldiers became sitting targets. Insult after moan peppered them and Crane was impressed with the stoicism of the lads, their faces remaining impassive, refusing to rise to the bait.

  Because of the hold up, Crane entered the office at a run. He was greeted by Billy, holding out a cold bottle of water for him, while the remainder of the team settled down around the conference table. Crane stayed standing at the incident boards that he’d been working on. He had moved the four free standing white boards and put them together in a row. The first detailed the investigation into the death of Corporal Simms. The second covered the work done on the death of Corporal McInnes. The third was the thefts from the Aspire Defence stores and finally the fourth covered the information they had gathered on the Afghan officers. Dudley-Jones had already briefed Crane on the Afghans. It seemed the Lance Corporal was making some progress with his observations of the dynamics of the group and had realised a faction of four tended to stay together, centred around an officer called Captain Fahran Popal. Crane had put the four names on the board and asked Dudley-Jones to keep a closer eye on them.

  “Right. What I want,” Crane said, “is for us all to go through the information we have on each of these separate incidents, so we can update each other and make sure all salient points and connections are on the board. So let’s look at the Simms case. Kim, has anything else come in from forensics or statements that we should be aware of?”

  “Um, sir,” Dudley-Jones interrupted. “I thought the death of Corporal Simms had been deemed an accidental death.”

  “Maybe, maybe not, Dudley-Jones. For now, I want to keep it on a board. Kim, anything?”

  “No, sir, nothing. The statements taken from the lads in his battalion show Simms was well liked and a very enthusiastic soldier. It just looks like he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. No new forensics, only that one black hair.”

  “I went over the statements from those on guard duty with him that night,” Crane said “but didn’t see anything of interest. Billy, did you re-interview them?”

  “Yes, boss. Not one of them noticed anything untoward during any of the times they were on duty at the sports centre.”

  “Oh well, worth a try. Anyone else have anything to add? Right then let’s move on.”

  After going through each whiteboard, Crane said, “Now let’s do it again, but this time looking for links.” Crane ignored the groans. “Come on you lot, any sort of link will do. Billy, you first.”

  “Right, boss. How about Padam Gurung? He has links with both deaths. Seeing someone or something, first around the sports centre and then in the vicinity of the cemetery.”

  “Good,” said Crane, writing the name with a linking arrow to both boards. “Anyone else?”

  “Black hair on both bodies,” called Kim, “which links the deaths to each other.”

  “Um, how about a possible Afghan soldier seen in the vicinity of the cemetery?” Dudley-Jones called, his puce coloured face showing he was anxious, but Crane was pleased he was plucking up the courage to join in.

  “Thanks, Dudley-Jones,” Crane said putting a linking arrow between the Afghan board and the McInnes board.

  “How about linking the Afghan officers with both deaths, because of the black hair?” Sergeant Jones asked.

  “Why not?” Crane agreed, drawing yet another linking line. “By the way, Kim, any further forensic analysis on the hairs?”

  “Sorry, sir, still awaiting DNA and also ethnicity.”

  “Let me know as soon as those come through.” Crane turned back to his boards.

  “No links with the missing stores, boss.” Billy observed.

  Crane thought about that, rubbing his scar and scratching at his beard. “What stuff is actually missing, Kim? Have you got the updated list from Ms Stone yet?”

  “Yes, sir, it came in this morning. I’ve not had time to look at it as I’ve just come on duty. Here it is.”

  Crane took the proffered piece of paper and wrote on the board: bleach, various cleaning materials, a mop and bucket, broom, large rolls of paper and some paint brushes.

  “Sorry, boss, but I still can’t make a connection with these thefts and the other boards,” Billy shook his head in frustration.

  “There must be a connection,” Crane mused, “I just can’t see it at the moment.”

  A ringing telephone interrupted him, followed by a second and then a third. As Kim and Billy rushed to grab the ones on their desks, Crane answered the main office line.

  “Crane.”

  “Ah, Crane, glad it’s you,” said Captain Edwards. “Bit of a problem at New Mons Barracks. Go over and sort it out will you?”

  “What sort of problem, sir?”

  “Missing person.”

  “In that case I’ll just send Sergeant Jones and the Royal Military Police to start with, sir.”

  “Not this time, Crane. I need you to go personally. With your team if possible.”

  “Very well, but may I ask why, sir?” For God’s sake give me a bloody clue, Crane thought. It was like pulling teeth.

  After a pause Edwards answered, “Because the missing person is one of the visiting Afghan officers.”

  Night 28

  The missing man was Captain Azar Niaz. So Crane and Billy were in New Mons Barracks finding out what they could about the last known movements of Niaz. They needed to interview Second Lieutenant Collins, the officer responsible for the exercise on nearby Ash Ranges, which was the last time Niaz was seen. Crane found Collins’ office, knocked and walked in.

  “Sorry to disturb you, sir, Sergeant Major Crane, SIB. I need to talk to you about Azar Niaz.”

  The Second Lieutenant, open mouthed and probably about to bawl Crane out for the interruption, closed his mouth and invited Crane and Billy to sit down. Crane silently thanked those who drew up the Army Regulations, giving SIB carte blanche to talk to anyone they needed to, without having to adhere to the rigid army structure of command.

  “What can you tell us about the exercise today please, sir,” Crane said as Billy took out his notebook.

  “Well, Sergeant Major, the group of twelve Afghan officers were split into three groups of four, with their objective being to find and infiltrate an enemy position, without detection. This exercise will then be expanded in several days time, with each Afghan officer being expected to lead a team of British soldiers with
a similar objective. They were doing really rather well at it...”

  “It’s of no interest to me, sir, how good they were at being officers,” Crane cut in. “Can we please focus on Azar Niaz. Who was he training with?”

  “Um, let me see,” Collins fiddled with his paperwork. “I need to look it up. Perhaps you should be talking to my Sergeant, Sergeant Tomkins. He would know straight away.”

  “That won’t be necessary, sir, if you could just find the information please?”

  “Ah, here it is. The group of four men training together were Fahran Popal, Dehqan Khan, Behnam Freed and Azar Niaz. Is that what you wanted to know?” Collins removed his glasses and looked at Crane.

  “Yes, sir, thank you for your time.” With a nod at Billy, they left the office. As they got to the door Crane turned and said, “Did you notice anything unusual about any of the Afghan officers, or about these four in particular, sir?”

  “Good gracious, no, Sergeant Major. Whatever are you suggesting? They are exemplary officers, making the Coldstream Guards extremely proud of them, not to mention their own Afghan Army. I hope you’re not casting doubts about their credentials and reputation?”

  “Of course not, sir, heaven forbid I should criticise an officer,” Crane said as he left, sure that Collins wouldn’t have recognised the sarcasm. Junior officers rarely did. Billy and Crane left the office to find Staff Sergeant Jones, who was conducting a search of Ash Ranges with his Royal Military Police and soldiers from the Coldstream Guards. The least the Guards could do, after losing one of their important visitors, was to help with the search.

  “What do you reckon, boss? Do you think he’s just lost?” Billy asked as they drove from New Mons Barracks, towards Ash Ranges.

  “Well, Billy, as I see it we have to try and determine whether Niaz is simply lost, or has disappeared on purpose. If the latter is the case, he constitutes a threat.”