Читать книгу On Guard For Thee - Murray Snow - Страница 11

Camden Arms Pub, Brecon

25 January, 1319 Hours

“Jimmy,” Brian called out as they walked into the pub. A blast of cold air followed and James quickly shut the door. Today, they were in jeans and sweaters, and any indication of their formal wear no longer visible or wanted.

James marveled at how little had changed in eight years. A small, cozy pub, the Camden Arms may have seated forty if people were very friendly. Pale white walls, yellowed from years of cigarette, pipe, and cigar smoke, accented the dark brown tables and bar. Curtains covered small square windows, preserving the musty atmosphere. There was no mistaking the smell of the draught beer: it was as recognizable to him as gunpowder. It amazed him that a pub this small could survive as long as it had—at least fifty years that he knew of, and probably a hundred more than that.

Leeanne gave Brian a kiss on the cheek, and as James took off his coat, he felt several pairs of eyes on him. “What?” he asked as he looked around. “I showered this morning.”

“Ah, boyo. I thought I taught you better than that.” Brian shook his head. “You’re not in a big Canadian city anymore. Liam doesn’t believe in waitresses.” He drained the remnants of his glass and looked up. “Leeanne, darling. Be a good little girl and fetch us a round.”

James’s eyes opened wide and Leeanne stared in disbelief. Finally, slowly, she reached out and took Brian’s glass, and walked to the bar.

Her stare never left him, and with each second that passed, Brian grew more nervous. Leeanne smiled, but her eyes told a different story as she walked back and leaned close. “Are all you Special Air Service types this brave?” Her warm breath dancing across his skin, and his own nervousness, made him shiver.

Brian giggled. Wars, terrorists, and wading through snake-infested swamps were fine compared to Leeanne when she was angry. He nodded.

“You know I’m going to get you for that, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“And you know you’re going to lose, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

She gently stroked his cheek as her eyes flayed him. “Don’t piss me off today.”

Customers came and went throughout the televised rugby match. It was late in the first half when several soldiers stood and walked out for their duty shift. With mild, good-natured oaths to James and Leeanne, they left.

James couldn’t resist the temptation. “Oh, come on. Don’t leave mad. It’s only a game.”

Brian was just as unimpressed. The Canadians were beating the Welsh and weren’t letting up the pressure. It was shaping up to be a monumental victory for the Canadians. James, his family, and the corpses of his ancestors had been threatened with deportation, beheading, and excommunication if the score didn’t change significantly.

Not long into the fourth quarter, there was a stoppage in play. Brian drained his glass and looked across the table. “When do you leave for home, boyo?”

“Tomorrow morning. We should be in Victoria by midnight.”

Brian nodded and returned his attention to the television.

“Honey,” Leeanne said quietly, “when did the gentleman sitting over there leave?”

“Why?” James looked down and saw a bag under the table. “Probably someone’s groceries. Hey, Welsh boy,” James said to Brian, “you’re closer, see what’s in the bag. The way you guys are playing, the only thing you’ll miss is another Canadian touchdown.”

Brian opened his mouth, but stopped before any words came out. Finally, he simply said, “It’s called a ‘try.’”

He looked over and saw the bag under the small table. His instincts, honed to a fine point from years of living in Great Britain and working in Northern Ireland, shot to full alert.

He walked over to the table, and without touching the bag, he peered over the top and froze. Nobody had noticed the bag before. Now it was all anyone could see.

“Bloody hell.” He could feel the tension in the room rise dramatically. “All right then,” he said loudly, and eased back. “Everyone out!” People moved for the exits without question. Brian watched the red numbers tick closer to zero.

“What can I do?” Leeanne asked. Her fear was plain, but her voice was steady.

“Get the hell out of here, and let the brigadier know what’s happening.” She looked at James. He smiled and gave her hand a quick squeeze. She nodded and ran out.

Brian’s calmness was contagious, and James stayed close as they moved forward, one hand always on Brian’s back. “Okay then. We have just over five minutes before this thing goes off. Any suggestions?”

James eyed the bag. “Sure. Let’s let the experts deal with this thing.”

“That’s what I was thinking, boyo, but the experts are in Sennybridge.”

“Let me guess. It’s more than five minutes away.”

Brian dropped to one knee and looked in the bag. “Mercury leveling switch, four wires, two blocks of plastique.”

“And a partridge in a pear tree.”

“Semtex, I would guess,” he said, referring to the common European high explosive. “Cut the red wire leading from the timer to the primer, and the circuit is broken.”

“Then what the hell are you waiting for?” James asked incredulously.

Brian shrugged. “There’s just one small problem.”

“Oh, shit!”

“There’s no red wire. All four are black.”

“You know, if this thing goes off,” James said, “it could really ruin what was turning out to be a great day.” James moved closer. “Can you do it?”

Brian was silent. “Just under four minutes left. Go behind the bar and get me a pair of cutters from the toolbox.” His eyes never moved away from the bomb, studying the device as he waited. Although James was back in under a minute, Brian’s insides tightened with each tick of the clock.

Brian took the pliers, slowly opening and closing his hand around the green handles. He traced all four wires; the only thing separating the two men from certain death was his memory and training. His lips moved as he talked himself through each step. The clock continued its merciless slide toward zero.

2:34. “Any sign of a booby trap?” James asked as the television continued to show the match.

“This bloody thing has already trapped two boobs.” Brian shook his head. “No. It looks straightforward.” He rolled his shoulders and sighed.

1:59. “You’re not paid to be stupid on this side of the pond. You better leave.”

“No chance. Would you like to do this yourself or is there enough time for me to get a refresher on demolitions? It’s been a while since I played with things that go bang in the night.”

Brian had been resting on his left knee for almost four minutes and his foot began to tingle. He wiped the sweat from his brow and gingerly switched knees.

1:22. “Here we go. If I say move, you better not be in my way or I’ll bloody well run you down.” Brian flexed his hand one more time and reached into the bag.

His sleeve brushed against the handle and his face turned bone white. He rubbed the sweat off his hand.

A shadow rushed by the curtained window and the door swung open. “What are you men doing in here?” a police constable barked from the front door.

Brian flinched.

“Get out of here. This thing’s ready to go.” The constable, remembering discretion truly was the better part of valor, left without another word.

0:47. Brian edged the pliers past the first wire and found the one that he wanted. He slowly squeezed the handles together, just enough pressure on the wire to hold it steady. Finally, his hand jerked shut.

“MOVE!” James was running before Brian finished yelling. The force of the blast lifted them off their feet and propelled them over the hood of the police car parked outside the door.

They landed heavily and rolled across the road. A shower of glass, wood, and thatched roof rained down on them, and smoke and flames billowed out of the Camden Arms.

Snow was falling and had covered the neighborhood with a new sheet of white. Brian, the first of the two to move, simply groaned. The cold of the snow-covered road worked through his sweater and helped bring him back to his senses.

James slowly rolled onto his back, wincing from multiple cuts, and looked at the sky. “Gee, Brian. That was fun. Can we do it again?” James’s mind worked through its inventory of appendages and internal organs, and concluded everything was still attached. Sounds from the growing crowd filtered through their ringing ears.

Leeanne was the first to reach them and dropped to her knees. “Oh, God. James. James, are you all right?”

He rolled his head back and forth and opened his eyes. A crowd started to gather. “You have got to be tired of seeing me like this.” Leeanne sighed and helped him into a sitting position against the car. “How’s Brian?” he asked as he flexed his arm and held his side.

“I’m fine,” he said, as two soldiers helped him up.

“No problem, he says. Cut this wire, he says. What the hell happened?”

Brian shrugged. “There seems to have been a booby trap. If you’re not hurt too badly, then quit your bellyaching.”

James stared.

Brian shrugged.

The sounds of people running and men yelling filtered out of the barracks several blocks away. Armed soldiers pulled everyone back and cordoned off the area. Sirens filled the air as ambulances and police cars flooded the once quiet neighborhood.

They looked up in time to see Bennett and Hanson pushing their way through the crowd. Four heavily armed soldiers, facing outward, formed a protective diamond around them.

Hanson knelt between the two men. “Are you hurt?” he asked paternally. James and Brian both shook their heads, wincing as they did. “Then what the hell do you think you were trying to do? You two idiots may hold the Victoria Cross, but that doesn’t make you invincible!”

James looked up. “It’s Brian’s fault. He touched it last.”

“It was a professional job, sir,” Brian said. “A five-second delay if the wires were cut.”

“Can you walk?” Bennett asked. Both men nodded. “You,” he snapped at a corporal standing five feet away. “Escort these officers to the hospital. When the doctors are finished, bring them directly to my office.” The young man nodded and handed his weapon to another in his section. “Keep that with you! If they try anything, you have my permission to shoot them.”

James and Brian moved slowly to the waiting ambulance. As they sat down on the hard benches and the back doors closed, Brian looked at the young man. “Corporal Webster,” he said casually, “you wouldn’t really shoot us would you?”

Webster smiled. “Well now, sir. You heard the brigadier,” he said lightly. “Don’t worry. I’ll make it painless.”

“Who’d want to blow up the Camden Arms?” James asked as he rubbed his head.

“Seeing as you two were there, it could have been anyone who fancied rugby.”

1845 Hours

James and Brian came to attention, both groaning as they straightened their arms to their sides. Bennett looked up from the report on his desk and handed it to General Hanson. “At ease. Sit down and try to explain what the hell happened back there.”

The full story took five minutes and mirrored the statement Brain gave to the police at the hospital. “There was no way to see the trip wire, sir. Not with the mercury switch the way it was.”

“Why didn’t you try to lessen the blast?”

“As I said, sir, the mercury switch rested on a rather unstable surface. You saw the result of that blast. Nothing would have helped.”

Bennett looked at the two and nodded. “Any thoughts as to who was responsible?” Both shook their heads. “Well,” he said, “it’s not related, but we just received word that a gentleman named Andrew Fielding was found dead earlier this morning in Montreal.”

James glanced over to his father-in-law. “He was the CEO of Weacorp.” James’s eyes narrowed as he took in this new information.

“Any connection to the faulty weapons we’ve been getting lately?”

“Hit-and-run as he crossed the street. His wife said he was going for a snack.”

“Tough luck.”

Bennett looked coldly at him. “That’s rather harsh on your part, Captain.”

James shrugged. “I’m sorry the gentleman is dead, sir, but I doubt it’s going to affect me too …” He trailed off and he was silent for several seconds.

“What is it?” Hanson asked.

James was about to speak, but stopped and shook his head instead. “Forget it.” Bennett made a “come on” gesture. “Well, what if there is a connection? Just for grins…look at it this way. What if the faulty weapons, Emerson, this Fielding guy, and the explosion are related?”

Bennett leaned back. “Assuming the first three are related, how do you explain the explosion?”

“Well, sir,” James said, “I was talking to a few people last night about the problems we’ve been having with our rifles. We compared notes and that was about it.” James felt his confidence weaken as Bennett’s withering stare penetrated his seemingly invincible armor. You’ve gone too far this time, Jimmy, he thought as he forced himself not to look away.

“Do you understand what you are suggesting besides the idea that the British military is involved?”

James nodded slowly. “I am aware of the implication, sir, but we’re talking more than just your people. If you want to get really serious, we have to include elements of the Canadian and British military, government, and supposedly respectable business leaders as well.”

Bennett looked down to his papers and closed the file. “Why don’t you two go have a drink? We’ll be along shortly. Leeanne is already there, James, but the mood she’s in, you might want to think about getting blown up again.”

James and Brian stood and came to attention before leaving. Hanson stood and placed the Fielding message on the desk. “If you’ll excuse me, William, I think I’ll join those two idiots. Someone better start keeping an eye on them before they really hurt themselves.”

“Sit down, Harold.” Bennett picked up the phone and dialed. “Bennett here, Sir. We seem to have a bit of a problem. Some people came up with a very interesting idea … Yes, Sir. A VC winner and a decrepit old General who has Intelligence experience … Yes, Sir, Hanson … Thank you, Sir.”

“Why do I think we just stepped into a heap o’ trouble?”

“Your son-in-law is a very clever young man, Harold.” He shuffled the papers on his desk, mulling over his choice of words. “Our people have been working on this idea for several months now as reports of defective weapons keep surfacing. So far, nothing has come of it. Nothing, that is, but a deep-rooted suspicion that both internal and external forces are at work.”

“I didn’t know you were having that same problem until James mentioned it.”

Bennett nodded. “We have two separate investigations on the go. One is through normal channels. The second is code word classified.”

“Why are you telling me all this?” Hanson asked carefully, realizing the importance of the security designation.

“Because, Harold, our investigations seem to parallel the problem you chaps have stumbled upon.”

“My side isn’t going to like me being dragged in.”

“Your side is being informed as we speak. Right now, the four of us have more first-hand knowledge of this situation than anybody else.”

“If that’s the case, William, then you don’t have very good investigators.”

“Actually, Captain Crawford and I control the second investigation. Scotland Yard will take the heat if anything goes awry. We’ll say nothing to the other two until tomorrow.”

“We’re leaving tomorrow morning.”

“You can leave in the afternoon.”

As they walked to the mess, Hanson mulled over the situation. The implications were insidious, and those involved were liable to face charges of conspiracy, arms trafficking, and fraud. And, he promised himself, one count of first-degree murder in the death of Corporal Franklin Emerson.