40 Days 40 Nights: A Sgt Major Crane Novel Page 17

  Night 33

  Crane endured Billy’s grumblings. He knew he’d stop soon and anyway to a certain extent he had to agree with him. Being dragged out to the sports centre in the evening, after just switching to days, was not what Billy considered a good idea. But Crane knew that having the team back together on days was one of his better schemes and as Edwards was desperate for results, he’d agreed.

  “What are we looking for boss?” Billy asked as they climbed out of Crane’s car.

  “Anything, nothing, oh I don’t know. It’s just that something’s off kilter and I want to find out what. So keep alert,” the tone of Crane’s voice indicating the final statement was an order.

  “Okay, boss.”

  Crane and Billy stood by the car, which was parked in the sports centre car park and looked around. At 23:00 hours the Paralympians and their helpers were all back at St Omer Barracks, the sports centre was closed and armed Royal Military Police and soldiers on guard duty had the building on their patrol lists. Flood lights illuminated the car park and front of the building, bathing Crane and Billy in harsh white sodium light.

  “Are we going inside, sir?” Billy indicated the building with his head.

  “Yes, but not through the front doors. Where are the Afghan officers tonight, Billy?”

  “In New Mons Barracks, boss. It’s a normal off duty evening for them, no formal dinner or anything like that.”

  “Right, in that case they’re close and free to roam around. Come on.”

  Crane moved away from the car park towards a clump of trees about 100 yards away. By the time they arrived, their eyes had adjusted to the night and Crane paused.

  “This is the spot where Padam saw the smudge gaining access to the sports centre through the side door there. Can you see it, Billy?”

  “Vaguely, sir.” Billy’s face screwed up with the effort of focusing his eyes on the dark side of the sports centre.

  “Well that’s the way we’re going in tonight. Come on.”

  Crane began to pick his way carefully out of the thicket and headed towards the building. On their arrival Crane produced a key, which he gently inserted into the lock. The night was so quiet they could hear the tumbling of the teeth as the key turned. Crane waited a few moments before cautiously opening the door, in case someone was waiting on the other side. He and Billy slipped in and Crane locked the door behind them.

  The air was thick and heavy, smelling of dust and chlorine. As Crane and Billy switched on their torches, dust motes swirled, trapped in the twin beams of light. Without speaking, Crane indicated Billy should go right and he would go left, sweeping around the space and meeting again in the middle on the other side.

  Crane felt the tingle of unease playing over the back of his neck, his senses alert to any disturbance in the air. Playing his torch beam around the space in front of him he then looked up and carefully examined under and around the pipe work above his head. A spaghetti junction of plastic. Pipes ran adjacent to each other, under or above each other and canted off at angles. He knew that some were inlet pipes and some outlet pipes. Others allowed for the flow of water to be re-circulated through the filters and pumped back into the pool. Any one of them an ideal place to plant a bomb. But on his half circuit of the space Crane found nothing. No smudges on pipes that shouldn’t have been there. No tell tale tape holding explosives in place. No ticking of clocks. The other thing Crane didn’t find on his arrival at the meeting point was Billy.

  Standing with his back to the wall, Crane played his beam around and above the yawning space in front of him. Nothing. So he continued on his way, hoping to find Billy delayed by a piece of evidence. When Crane found him he realised Billy had indeed been delayed. Not by something, but by somebody and left lying prone on the floor, his torch several feet from his body, illuminating the back wall.

  Crane’s first reaction was to rush to Billy’s aid, but his training stopped him and he stood still. Ears straining, eyes searching, his light insufficient to reach further than a few feet in front of him. Once he was satisfied there was no threat, Crane took the few steps that brought him to his sergeant. Still he didn’t speak, putting his fingers to Billy’s neck where he should feel a pulse. He closed his eyes in relief as he felt a strong, regular blip under his fingertip.

  At Crane’s touch Billy groaned, moving his head and then trying to get to his feet. Crane held him down, giving his young sergeant a few moments to come to, before attempting to stand. He then made sure Billy got upright in stages before supporting him on their slow journey back to the door.

  Propping Billy against the wall, Crane took the door key from his pocket and turned it in the lock. Pressing down on the handle he pulled the door towards him. It refused to open. He tugged the metal door, but there was still no movement. It took Crane a few moments to realise he had just locked the door. Someone else had unlocked it and in his panic forgotten to secure it again.

  The fresh air outside seemed to revive Billy and by the time they reached Crane’s car, he said he was feeling better.

  “Apart from a headache, boss” he said.

  “What the hell happened?”

  “No idea, boss. Never heard or saw a thing. Just bang and the lights went out!” Billy looked down at his dark clothing and tried ineffectually to brush the dust off.

  “Any recollections at all? Here, sit in the car. Try and remember exactly what happened.”

  Crane got into the driver’s seat and turned to face Billy. The colour was returning to his face and his pupils were becoming smaller, albeit slowly, a reaction to the overhead light in the car. Crane knew he should have Billy’s head injury checked out, but he needed to hear what had happened first.

  “I was walking along the side of the wall, looking above me at the pipes. I didn’t see anything suspicious, so decided to sweep my light in front of me. I took a few paces away from the wall and the next thing I knew something must have hit the back of my head. I didn’t see anyone, or hear anyone, sorry, boss.” Billy turned to Crane.

  “It’s alright. Just take a few more minutes.” Crane got a packet of cigarettes out of his pocket and went to light one.

  “Oh boss, not one of those smelly things…Jesus Christ that’s it! The smell, boss. There was a funny smell in the air.”

  “Well done, son,” Crane said. “What was it?”

  “That’s the thing, boss. I’ve no idea. But I’ll know it if I smell it again.”

  Day 34

  Crane was pleased to see Billy at work the next morning, after being given the all clear at the hospital the previous night. Gratefully taking the steaming mug of coffee proffered by Kim, Crane sat in the open plan office looking at his white boards. There were now six. The first two were the investigation into the deaths of Corporal Simms and Corporal McInnes. The third one, the thefts from the Aspire Defence stores. The fourth covered the investigation into the four suspicious Afghan officers, with the fifth and sixth covering the disappearance and subsequent finding of Azar Niaz and the death of Padam Gurung. Billy and Kim joined him, drinks in hand.

  “Right,” Crane said. “I think it’s about time we had another team briefing. Kim, call in Staff Sergeant Jones and Lance Corporal Dudley-Jones, so we can update the boards and see where we are.”

  “Nowhere, boss, if you ask me.”

  “Well I’m not, Billy,” Crane said. “Stop being so bloody defeatist. I know you must have a headache, but still.”

  “Sorry, boss,” Billy mumbled, rubbing the back of his head. Crane had to smile at the pathetic attempt to try and elicit sympathy. Calling to Kim to let him know what time the others would be there, Crane went towards his office to call the hospital and find out how Tina was this morning. He stopped at the shrill ring from Kim’s phone on her desk, looking at her questioningly as she answered it, just in case it was the hospital wanting him.

  It was someone wanting him, but not the hospital. As Kim replaced the receiver, he saw her eyes were wide and heard the panic in
her voice as she said, “Sir, that was a call from the sports centre. They think they’ve got a suicide bomber.”

  Crane took a couple of seconds to assimilate the information. Although he had half expected something like this, the news threw him for a moment.

  “Right, Kim, as the call came in direct, phone the following people.” He saw her quickly reach for her ever-present note pad. “Firstly the Adjutant, then Captain Edwards and finally Staff Sergeant Jones. Tell them all, but particularly Jones, that we need to lock down the garrison. Now. Oh and don’t forget Dudley-Jones, I want him over at the sports centre in case we need an interpreter.”

  “An interpreter, sir?”

  “Yes, the odds are it’s one of the Afghan officers. Call the Coldstream Guards and find out where they all are, particularly Popal Faran, Dehqan Kahn and Behnam Freed. Come on, Billy.” Crane ran for the door, where he stopped and called back to Kim. “Don’t forget the boards, make a new one for this incident and if you get time update the others.”

  “Sir,” Kim said in a steady voice, her earlier fear seemingly soothed by the orders she had just been given.

  Crane and Billy raced across the car park. At his car, Crane threw Billy the keys, so he could have a cigarette on the short journey to the sports centre. He always seemed to think better with a cigarette on the go. Barriers were already up when they arrived and they had to show their identification to gain access. As they parked, Crane climbed out of the car and threw away his cigarette butt.

  Crane and Billy approached the front of the sports centre. Stopping at the bottom of the steps, they gazed through the large glass doors. Standing alone in the reception area was one of the Afghan officers. Crane thought it was Behnam Freed, but wasn’t sure as the group of four officers they had been monitoring all looked the same to him, each having swept back black hair and a moustache. An abandoned coat, a plastic carrier bag, a couple of clip boards and some loose papers surrounded the man on the floor. His arms were held wide with damp stains spreading from his armpits, turning his light brown shirt a muddy colour. What at first appeared to be a bullet proof vest covered his chest. But on closer inspection, Crane could see it had been modified with pockets all around it. Each pocket held a small tube with wires coming from the top of each cylinder, which were interlinked. In Freed’s left hand was a small rectangular box, the top of which was covered with his thumb and from the bottom ran a wire that disappeared around his back. There didn’t appear to be any sports centre staff in there with him, unless they were hiding behind the reception desk itself. The only item on the counter was an abandoned telephone.

  Crane turned his attention back to the car park, walking away from the front of the building. Members of the sports centre staff were huddled in one corner of the car park. In another, disabled athletes were being helped into wheelchairs and those who could walk unaided were being unceremoniously loaded into mini-vans.

  As Staff Sergeant Jones ran up to them, breathing deeply, Crane ignored him, turning to Billy first. “Go and interview the staff, find out what happened and get the number for that telephone on the reception desk. Also check that all members of staff currently working here are accounted for. They had emergency evacuation procedures, so the marshals should have a list of staff with them.”

  As Billy rushed away, Crane said to Jones, “Go and speak to the disabled athletes, make sure your lads get their names and then release them back to St Omer Barracks. But I want them to stay there until you can interview them. All of them. Also find out if any of them are still in the sports centre. By the way, has the garrison been locked down?”

  “Yes, sir, as soon as I got the call from Kim I contacted each entrance. No one can come in, or for that matter get out, at the moment.”

  “Good, now where is Dudley-Jones?” Jones shrugged his shoulders and moved off. Crane was pulling out his mobile, when he saw the young Lance Corporal jogging up the road towards the sports centre. By the time Dudley-Jones reached Crane, Billy had returned from speaking to the staff.

  “Right, boss, here’s the telephone number for the phone in reception.” Billy handed Crane a piece of paper. “They think there are three members of staff missing. But they’re not sure if they are still in the building, or had snuck outside for a quick break. All three of them were either between classes, or waiting for an activity to finish so they could set up another one. It seems the incident occurred at a quiet time this morning with not many athletes and staff on site.”

  “Good, go back and see if anyone has mobile phone numbers for the three unaccounted for. If so, ring their phones and find out where they are.”

  “Yes, boss,” Billy acknowledged his orders and moved off again.

  “Ah, Dudley-Jones,” Crane turned to the Intelligence Operative. “Glad you could join us.”

  “Yes, sir, sorry, sir, got here as quickly as I could.” Dudley-Jones panted out his reply.

  “Right, well, I’ve got the telephone number for reception. So you and I are going to walk slowly and carefully back to the glass doors. I think it’s Freed in there with a suicide vest on. We’re going to call the number of the phone on reception and hope he answers it. If he won’t speak English I’m going to need you to talk to him.”

  “Me?” Dudley-Jones’ eyes widened in fright. “A, ah, are you s, s, sure, sir?”

  “Positive. Come on, lad,” and Crane walked away, leaving Dudley-Jones to scamper in his wake. Once they were in position, Crane and Dudley-Jones both lifted their arms to show Freed they were unarmed. Crane then held aloft his mobile phone and pointed to the telephone resting on top of the reception desk. Freed nodded in response and moved towards it, with his arms still wide, as though afraid to drop them and dislodge any of the wires or explosives around his chest. Crane dropped his eyes for a moment to his mobile as he dialled the number. As the phone inside began to ring, Crane lifted his eyes and he and Freed stared at each other through the glass.

  Night 34

  Crane was wired on caffeine, adrenaline and nicotine. He wanted nothing more than to go home, have a shower and change his clothes, before relaxing and pouring himself a very large drink. But he couldn’t as he had to go to the hospital to see Tina. And he couldn’t do that either, as Freed was still standing in the reception of the sports centre, with his bloody suicide bomb vest wrapped around him.

  It turned out there were some Paralympians stuck in the sports centre after all, along with the three missing staff members. It had taken hours of careful negotiation between Crane and Freed, using Captain Popal as an Interpreter/go-between, for them to be released. A few at a time. Still not fully trusting either Afghan, Crane kept Dudley-Jones close by to whisper in Crane’s ear if he felt there was a discrepancy in the translations. The young man had stopped being a cube of jelly and found some backbone. Crane thought the trouble with the Lance Corporal was lack of field experience. He’d been sitting in an office pouring over his intelligence reports for far too long.

  Billy was at the rear of the sports centre, where specialist soldiers were gathered, ready to storm the building if necessary. Bomb Disposal were waiting in the car park and Captain Edwards was still in attendance, constantly on his mobile phone, updating the upper echelons of command on their progress, or rather lack of it as he kept reminding Crane. Kim, in her role as office manager, was holding everything together back at barracks. Feeding him any information he wanted and acting as liaison between the local police and the press office. She had also rung the hospital and left a message for Tina to say that Crane was unavoidably delayed, but in no danger. A little white lie about the danger bit perhaps, but necessary, under the circumstances.

  Derek Anderson had stationed local police at the barriers into the garrison, to help explain to local residents that due to an unspecified incident, they would not be allowed access for the foreseeable future. Locals trapped inside had been allowed out, but not until they and their cars had been thoroughly searched and notes taken on each of them. In quieter moments,
Crane shuddered at the thought of the lurid headlines to come from the dripping pen of Diane Chambers. A couple of ambulances and a clutch of medics remained, stationed at a safe distance. Most had gone, taking the disabled athletes to hospital, as they were released in dribs and drabs.

  As it was now late in the evening, floodlights lit up the car park and illuminated the front of the building. Freed was starkly lit by every light possible in reception and adjacent areas. Crane could see the new lines etched on Freed’s face, exhaustion making his eyelids droop. His once slicked black hair was now falling forwards over his forehead and his chin kept dropping to his chest. Dark smudges covered his face, where stubble was breaking through the surface of his skin. Freed had not eaten for hours now, but Crane had smiled when earlier the man had pulled several bottles of water out of the plastic carrier bag near his feet, obviously prepared for the long haul.

  Crane felt they were close to the end now. But what the end would be was still anyone’s guess.

  “There’s something a bit off here, sir,” Dudley-Jones murmured, not wanting to be overheard by Captain Popal.

  Crane sauntered away from the Afghan officer, using lighting a cigarette as an excuse. “What do you mean?” Crane kept his voice low.

  “Well, I know I’ve no experience of hostage situations, but the Afghan doesn’t seem to want anything.”

  “He wants glory for Allah or some such doesn’t he?”

  “Oh yes, he’s spouting loads of rhetoric, but no specific demands. No safe passage out of here, money, food…”

  “I don’t think suicide bombers do that, do they?”

  “Buggered if I know, sir,” Dudley-Jones admitted. “But then, if he really was a suicide bomber, wouldn’t he have just blown himself away and everyone else with him to start with?”