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

  Crane’s hands were sore, his finger tips close to bleeding from countless passes over the gritty concrete walls of the massive structure. A finger tip search was necessary. They couldn’t risk poking the walls, resulting in an unplanned explosion.

  Crane was convinced the bomb was in here somewhere. Hidden. Possibly painted over. He wondered if the rest of the team thought him mad - as Captain Edwards had done on many occasions. But still, here they all were, carrying out his instructions, the brave lads from Bomb Disposal and the Royal Military Police. He daren’t think that the bomb might explode before they found it. That thought was pushed far back in his mind. Along with his guilty pin and worries about Tina. Will she have the baby while he’s entombed down here? Will he make it out alive to see her and his son? Please God let that be the case he silently pleaded. Crane could only hope that the evacuation of the Paralympians was going well and that everyone would get out before the bomb exploded. He was stunned when Kim told him there was a full scale night practice in the swimming pool. In preparation for the real event. So not only were all the swimmers there, but all the other disabled athletes as well, making up the audience.

  “Fuck!” Billy’s shout could be heard over the clatter of his torch as it hit the floor.

  “Billy!” Crane called, “Are you alright?”

  “Yes, sir. Over here, sir.”

  Following the direction of the voice, Crane arrived at Billy’s side to find him cradling his right hand, which was bleeding profusely.

  “Caught my hand on a nail or something, sir.”

  “Where?”

  “Just here on the palm.”

  “For God’s sake, Billy, I meant where on the wall?”

  “Oh sorry, sir. Quite high up, about here I think.”

  Billy passed his torch beam over the offending piece of wall. That no longer seemed to look like a wall, as it was sagging and bagging and threatening to fall down. An undulating grey landscape.

  “Well done, Billy, I think you’ve found it.” Crane reached for the wall at the point where Billy cut his hand, his finger tips scrabbling against the wall, finally curling around paper. Taking a deep breath, he pulled. The paper came away easily, ripping through, as though he was pulling away old wallpaper. The tear revealed the top of a sack, with wire visible from a small opening in it. The wire then disappeared back underneath the rest of the paper wall.

  “That’ll do for now, Billy. Round up the others and get Bomb Disposal. Give them directions to the bomb. Then go outside. I’ll wait here for them. Oh, and get that hand seen to.”

  The speed at which Billy retreated showed how frightened he must have been. Crane took several deep breaths, wiping his sore hands along his trousers, trying to dislodge some of the grit embedded in them. He played his torch beam over the paper wall. No wonder they hadn’t seen it. Someone had done a good job of hiding the bomb in plain sight. Right under their noses. Probably stacking the sacks flat against the wall all connected together to whatever trigger they were using. Finally, covering it all in grey painted paper. All the equipment the terrorists needed stolen from the stores on the garrison.

  The clatter behind him heralded the arrival of Bomb Disposal and Crane dutifully followed their shouted order, to get the hell out of there.

  ***

  As he emerged from the underground hell hole, Crane squinted as the bright lights hurt his eyes. He was in the main foyer of the sports centre, now crammed with athletes, helpers, wheelchairs, frames and walking sticks. RMP lads were gently urging everyone forwards through the wide glass doors that were fully open. All the flood lights had been turned on outside and vehicles were circling the car park, stopping in front of the steps to load passengers, before gliding forwards towards the safety of the wider garrison. As one vehicle slid away, it was immediately replaced by another. And so the evacuation continued. Those who could walk were being shepherded away in a different direction, to keep the narrow access roadway clear for vehicles. A fleet of ambulances waited at a safe distance, to help with any casualties. Alongside them were several fire tenders. Despite his worry, Crane couldn’t help feeling a sense of pride at the well-organised military operation.

  Looking across the car park from his position on the steps, he saw Derek Anderson having a conversation with Billy. After making a quick call on his mobile, Crane hurried over to them.

  “Glad you could make it, Derek,” Crane said as he stopped in front of Anderson.

  “Never one to miss a good party,” grinned Anderson. “Billy here tells me you found the bomb.”

  “Not me, Derek, it was Billy catching his hand on the wall that nailed it.”

  “Very funny, sir,” smiled Billy ruefully, cradling his bad hand as if to protect it.

  “Is your hand sorted?”

  “Yes, sir, I’ve had it cleaned and bandaged. They want me to go to hospital for stitches and a tetanus jab, but I said I’d go later. When it’s all over.”

  “Fair play, Billy. So, Derek, everything organised from your end.”

  “Of course, Crane. The local police are with your RMP on the barriers explaining about the lock down, keeping everyone out and of course, keeping the press at bay. The fire brigade are here and the ambulances. We’re all getting rather good at this aren’t we? What’s this, the second time in two weeks?”

  Crane nodded in agreement and took his cigarettes out of his pocket. But his hands shook as he tried to light one, so Anderson gently took the lighter from him and held out the flame with a steady hand. Billy suddenly found the ground behind him very interesting. After taking a few deep drags and calming himself Crane asked, “Billy, have you spoken to Kim?”

  “Yes, sir, she’s fine. Liaising with the BOA, the Commanding Officer and fielding press calls. Oh and by the way Bomb Disposal reported in. The trigger for the bomb is a mobile phone. They think they can defuse it, but it may take some time.”

  “Right, it looks like everything’s under control, so I’m off.”

  “Off?” Anderson had spoken, but both men looked equally astounded.

  “Yes, I think I know how the bomber gained access underneath the pool, so I’m going to check it out.” Crane ground out his cigarette and walked off. He tried to march, but it came out more as a stumble, so he slowed down, trying to settle his ragged breathing, the regular pacing helping to calm him.

  Arriving at the side door that served as a maintenance access, Crane tried it and found it unlocked. Again. Guessing that the bomber wouldn’t be in the building anymore, but probably used the side door to gain access earlier when he armed the bomb, Crane placed his back against it, looking outwards across the wide swathe of grass. He caught sight of a small thicket, from which a weak light briefly glowed and then dissolved. Wanting another cigarette, but not daring to give away his position, Crane pushed the nicotine craving away and struck out for the thicket.

  Day 39

  “Good morning, Sergeant Major.” The man who owned the voice stepped out of the thicket.

  “Is it?” Crane replied. The identity of the man no surprise to Crane, who hadn’t been able to get those trigger phrases out of his head, ‘keep your eye on the bigger picture, remember the higher goals’; ever since the fake suicide bomb.

  “What?”

  “Is it good or is it morning, or both, Captain?”

  “Very droll, Crane.” Captain Popal pulled his mobile phone out of his pocket and started to turn it over in his hand. In his other hand, he held a gun. Aimed at Crane. “Both, actually. Things are going very well at the moment although somewhat delayed because of your frustrating lock down. But no matter, I managed to get out of New Mons Barracks in the end. Also according to my watch, it’s just after midnight, so it must be morning.”

  “So, what exactly is going well at the moment, sir?” Crane tried not to stumble over the word ‘sir’. Not wanting to use the address, but needing to show the Afghan respect. Also, not mentioning the fact that Crane himself engineered the opportunity for Captain Pop
al to leave New Mons Barracks, despite the lock down. A quick call made to Staff Sergeant Jones after Crane found the bomb and stumbled into the foyer, had set it up. A fake message to the Afghan officers, giving them permission to leave the barracks.

  “I think we both know the answer to that question, Crane.”

  “In that case, may I ask another question, sir?” Crane continued to be respectful.

  “Very well.” Captain Popal looked down at the mobile phone in his hand and pressed a button, the light from the display throwing his face into relief.

  “Why?”

  Popal pressed a second button and then looked up at Crane. “You mean you don’t know?”

  “Well, obviously I have an inkling, but I’d rather hear it from you, sir.”

  “Why for Islam of course. For the glory of Allah! Surely you can see that.”

  Popal pushed a third button and Crane tried to remember how many digits there were in a mobile phone number. He couldn’t conjure that piece of information up from his tired brain, so he pretended Popal was pressing the buttons to call his own number. Three so far, so 077.

  “Ah, so that’s it,” Crane replied.

  “Of course it is, you stupid man. What other reason can there be?”

  Popal stabbed a fourth button. 0775 recited Crane in his head.

  “So, tell me, Captain, how exactly would blowing up a building full of innocent athletes, disabled ones at that, be for the glory of Allah? Some of those athletes are disabled ex …”

  As Crane realised one of the reasons behind the attack, it rendered him speechless. Adrenaline coursed through his body, increasing his heart rate and breathing. He wanted to run at the terrorist, knock him to the ground, beat him to a pulp, but knew he couldn’t take the risk. Not with Popal’s gun still aimed at him. So he stood there, reigning in his anger, his clenched jaw causing the sinews in his neck to stand out like piano wire.

  After stabbing another digit, Popal lifted his head.

  “Were you going to say ex-forces, Sergeant Major?” Popal scrutinised Crane. “I thought so.” Popal smiled his smarmy smile. “We only managed to maim them first time round with the IEDs. This time I’ll finish the job. That should send a signal to the high command of your infidel army that we will not tolerate your presence in our country.” He jabbed at another number, to make his point and then brandished the phone towards Crane.

  Shit. 077516. Crane realised he was running out of both time and numbers. “But I thought we were saving your country from terrorist rule, Captain. Aren’t we?”

  “You just don’t seem to get it do you?” Popal stabbed angrily at his phone. “We don’t want you there. We can sort things out ourselves. Bring the people together under the rule of Islam and Sharia law.”

  Stab.

  Crane added another two numbers. 07751634. Three left. The cold night air tugged at his sweat drenched shirt, bringing Crane’s body temperature down and causing him to shiver.

  “And your army? Will you be able to control them as well?” he asked Popal.

  “Why are you people so stupid?” Popal was shouting now. “The new leaders of our army, people like me and my brothers, will succour our soldiers, ensuring they are taught loyalty to Islam and they will become defenders of our country, rising up against the evil marauders - forcing you from our sacred land.” Spittle was flying from Popal’s lips and he wiped his hand across his mouth before pressing another button.

  077516343 Crane recited in his head, pulling his jacket around him, exaggerating his shivering and slipping one hand inside it. His fingers felt his clammy shirt sticking to him and then the cold metal of his gun in its holster under his arm. Crane curled his hand around the butt and left it there as though keeping himself warm.

  “A noble cause, Captain. But don’t you think killing innocent people will turn the world against you? Wouldn’t it be better to foster peace and understanding?”

  “Peace and understanding? Are you mad?” Popal once again dropped his head to his phone and stabbed. “What peace and understanding did your army show us when you invaded our country. None. Allah is great. Allah is good. His teachings tell us what to do. To kill the infidels. Banish all non-believers from our lands.”

  Stab.

  Taking a deep breath Crane went through his phone number. 0775163433. One digit left. Shifting slightly to steady his stance, Crane slowly removed his arm from underneath his jacket. The barrel of the gun caught the dim light from the mobile phone’s display. Cold unforgiving steel pointing at Captain Popal.

  “I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t let you do it. I can’t let you detonate the bomb.”

  Popal stared at the weapon in Crane’s hand then lowering his head stabbed the last number. Placing his thumb over the green call button, he held out the phone towards Crane and spoke his last words, “You can’t stop me.”

  Crane fired first. A head shot. The phone fell out of Popal’s hand and lay in the grass between them as the Afghan crumbled to the floor. The display still brightly lit. Crane lowered his gun, closes his eyes, mumbled “Dear God, no,” and waited for the explosion.

  ***

  Looking at Popal’s mobile phone lying on the grass near him, Crane could see the display showing the call had been made. But there was no explosion. Not understanding, Crane pulled his own mobile from his pocket. Billy answered on the first ring.

  “Boss, was that you?”

  “Who else would it be, Billy?”

  “Sorry, sir, we’re just worried. We heard a shot and…”

  “Yes, well, that was me. I’ve just shot Captain Popal.”

  “Just shot him? Why? What happened?”

  “Billy, shut up and round up the team. I’m in the small thicket, directly opposite the side door of the sports centre. Oh and, Billy, what about the bomb?”

  “Bomb disposal disarmed it just a few minutes ago.”

  Closing his phone, Crane’s legs gave way and he sank to the ground and waited for Billy.

  Night 39

  Crane had spent the last twenty or so hours on the base, partly because of the lock down and partly because he couldn’t leave until he’d completed his reports and been interviewed. He had, after all, shot a man. An officer at that. Who was also a terrorist. A terrorist who, thank God, had failed.

  Now all Crane wanted to do was to see Tina and then go home. But Edwards had still not given him permission to leave the base. In fact no one had been given permission. The whole team were still on site. Listening to Edwards drone on in the team debriefing.

  “Taking everything into consideration,” Captain Edwards said, “you’ve done a good job, Crane. Although I think it’s a shame the Afghan officer is dead, but at least the final one of the four, the quiet one Behnam Khan, is now in custody.”

  Without his leader, the man had fallen to pieces and told them everything. How he was tasked with the job of building the bomb and then covering it over with paper and painting it grey. He explained how Popal meticulously planned the operations, before unveiling his strategy to his three fellow officers. They in turn were so frightened of him that they had no option but to carry out his orders. After all, each man had family back in Afghanistan. And everyone knew what happened if you didn’t obey orders. Your family would be hurt, or worse, disappear forever. Your home would be destroyed. Your life effectively over. So they had no choice. A sort of kill or be killed. Either option horrendous.

  Once Kahn started talking, Crane had the ammunition he needed to use against the other two Afghanis still in custody. Freed said his part in the plan had been organised by Popal as well. He was to pretend he had a bomb strapped to him and stay in the foyer of the sports centre, until further orders. The mug of mint tea being the trigger, to let him know the ordeal would soon be over. The phrases Crane worried over were, of course, the signal to give himself up. Popal assured Freed the British Army would had very little to charge him with, once it was discovered the suicide vest was a fake. Dudley-Jones was especially pleased a
bout that confession, his point about suicide bombers pressing the button immediately, having been validated.

  As for Niaz, who supposedly got lost on Ash Ranges, he was also singing like the proverbial canary, insisting that Popal killed the old Gurkha, Padam Gurung. Popal told him where to hide and even provided food and drink to keep him going until he was found. Crane didn’t have any evidence either way about which man committed the murder, so Captain Edwards wanted to give Niaz the benefit of the doubt. One officer to another. Jesus Christ. The officer’s code of honour even extending to the Afghan Army. Another indication to Crane that as his army career progressed, he should stay as an NCO and not take a commission. If he stayed in the army that was. If Tina came round to his way of thinking.

  One last piece of information Crane was particularly pleased about was that Captain Popal told Kahn he had killed both Corporal Simms and Corporal McInnes. Corporal Simms because he had inadvertently seen Popal casing out the under belly of the swimming pool and McInnes for his ammunition, which was needed for the bomb. The weapon was incidental.

  Edwards at last ended the debriefing. He had finished proudly stalking up and down the office like a peacock, as though he had had something to do with it all. Crane tried hard not to shake his head at the man’s arrogance and closed his eyes to shut out the display. As a result, he wasn’t really listening and was falling asleep when Edwards called his name.

  “Sergeant Major!” Edwards’ abrupt shout jerked Crane awake.

  “Sorry, sir, did you say something?” Crane rubbed his eyes, then his beard.

  “Yes, Crane, I was trying to get your attention, to tell you I received a call about half an hour ago from the hospital. You are to report to the Maternity Ward immediately. Your wife’s in labour.”