Street Soldier (21 page)

He had never lied to Sergeant Adams. He had never tried, or wanted to. He had too much respect for the man. And the sergeant was the kind of guy who forced
you to tell the truth just by sheer will power. So how was he going to get through an interview and not get pinged?

By being ready
, he told himself.
That’s how.
He had been questioned by men in uniform before, even before the one time he got nicked. They had always had to release him. Just say ‘yes’ and ‘no’, don’t rise to the bait, don’t try to fill any silences.

So he had practice. But what had seemed like an easy job was now turning into a serious ball ache.

Adams was speaking. ‘This won’t take all day. Interviews will be held in the room across the hall, and we will start with . . .’ He paused and glanced around his soldiers.

Sean stared into the middle distance, avoiding the sergeant’s eye, trying to appear relaxed – anything to avoid being picked first.

‘Let’s have Shitey first, I think,’ Adams said.

‘Ah, bollocks,’ said Bright. ‘Now?’

‘Unless you have any other pressing appointments, Private,’ Franklin said.

Sean watched as Bright followed the sergeant and the lieutenant out of the room and across the hall. Now all he had to do was sit and wait.

Someone tapped his shoulder. He turned to find Heaton staring at him.

‘What kind of prick nicks weapons, then?’ the corporal asked.

‘One with no brains and massive balls,’ Penfold offered from behind them both.

‘Well, it’s not Shitey,’ Mitra said. ‘Can’t be. They’d have caught him by now, just by following the stink from the crime scene to his man-cave.’

Sean laughed, hoped he didn’t sound nervous. Then he said, ‘And Penfold’s out. Too fucking clumsy. They’d have been able to follow the trail of broken weapons parts.’

More laughter.

A few minutes later Bright came back and nodded at Penfold. And that was how the rest of the morning panned out. One would leave, have a chat, then come back and send in the next. No one who had been questioned was allowed to talk to anyone who hadn’t been, apart from sending them in.

At first Sean hadn’t wanted to be picked first, but he soon realized that waiting was a hell of a lot worse. He had longer to think, longer to work on his innocent face, longer to go through every possible scenario that might play out if the sergeant suspected anything.

He and Heaton could really do with a cover story for that night. They could just say they had been doing completely separate things – why not? But if Heaton said
he had been at the movies, say, with Sean . . . Oh shit, would he? Did he have the sense to leave Sean out of it? He wished he could have even thirty seconds to discuss it, but there was no privacy in that room with the dwindling numbers of the platoon.

And so, at last, he entered the interview room. It was very simply laid out – a table in the middle, Franklin and Adams on one side, an empty seat on the other. There were the usual notices on the walls, chairs round the sides, and a second door which was shut.

‘Sit,’ Adams said. It wasn’t polite and neither was it rude. It was just an order.

Sean obeyed. He spent a few moments trying to get comfortable without giving the impression that he wasn’t – because, he was sure, that would make him look like he had something to hide. Then he worried he was breathing too loudly and tried to control it – except that now he sounded out of breath. Next it was his heart he noticed, the
thump-thump, thump-thump
of it surely visible through his clothes. Surely both men could see, he thought. Yes, that was why they were making him wait so long, wasn’t it? They knew he was guilty. Oh, fucking hell . . .

‘Right, Harker,’ Franklin began. ‘Before we begin, you need to know that this conversation is completely confidential. Sergeant Adams will be taking notes and
you will be given a copy if you want one. Also, it’s not so much an interview, more a conversation. We’re just going to chat through what we know and go from there. Understand?’

Sean nodded, realizing for the first time that he had been too busy worrying about what Heaton might say to think up a cover story for himself. The lads thought he had spent the night with a girl. Oh shit, if they pressed him for details, then he was going to have to get creative on the spot, and that was how they always found the loopholes . . .

‘What do you know about what happened?’ Franklin asked.

Sean shrugged. ‘Only what you just told us, sir, which isn’t much.’

‘That’s because not much is known,’ the lieutenant agreed with a tight smile. ‘Have you got any idea how someone could swap real for fake weapons?’

‘No, sir,’ said Sean. ‘We have to sign everything in and out.’

‘Exactly,’ agreed Adams. ‘The missing weapons are not traceable to anyone. In fact, no one can actually work out how this was done at all. Whoever did it really knew what they were doing.’

Sean wasn’t so sure. ‘So why are we being interviewed, sir?’

He bit his lip.
Arsehole!
Shut up!
Don’t engage!

‘I wasn’t exaggerating when I said the missing rifles were enough for a terrorist incident. It is Special Branch’s belief that this is exactly why they were stolen.’ Franklin looked at him impassively – though his face was a naked mass of emotion compared to Adams’s rock-like blankness. ‘Does that bother you, Private?’

‘Course it does,’ Sean said indignantly, and remembered to add, ‘sir. What soldier would give guns to terrorists? That’s just . . . crazy.’

‘So is stealing weapons in the first place,’ said Adams.

‘Yeah, but none of our lot would steal weapons for terrorists.’

‘So you think they would steal them for other reasons?’

‘That’s not what I said,’ Sean said, suddenly feeling cold.

‘So what are you saying?’

Sean stopped talking. He was digging himself into a hole. The sergeant was just trying to push his buttons, had probably done the same with everyone else. It was his job to be absolutely sure, after all, wasn’t it? Make sure his lads had no involvement?

‘What about your own past?’ Adams asked. ‘It’s not like a bit of theft is beyond you, is it, Harker?’

Sean’s face blazed red. That was a low blow, even if
it was absolutely true. ‘Sergeant, I would never give weapons to terrorists,’ he said tightly.

He thought back to the people he had met the last night. Rich and his types were dodgy, yes, but they weren’t radicalized teenagers.
That
was terrorists. Rich and his fellow tossers were white Brits, and proud of it. Posh gits with slightly weird political views, sure, but there was no way they were terrorists. And the point – he reminded himself yet again – was that they were
protecting
people.

Adams and Franklin looked at each other, and some signal seemed to pass between them. The sergeant slowly rose to his feet and walked over to the second door. He stood at ease next to it and gazed at Sean. Sean nervously returned the look. It reminded him of . . .

It reminded him of the very first time they had met, in his solitary cell back at Burnleigh. Adams had had the same expression in his eyes then: a confident, I’m-going-to-have-you look.

Only that time, Adams had also been smiling. He wasn’t smiling now.

Sean looked back at the table, where Adams had left his jotter. He hadn’t written down any notes at all. Not one.

‘Private Harker,’ Franklin said. Sean swung his eyes round. ‘The questions we have asked you so far are the questions we have asked everyone, so you will all have
something to chat about when you compare notes afterwards. Now we are going to ask you some questions that are just for you.’ He nodded at Adams.

The sergeant came to attention, then turned to open the door. He stepped back to allow a pair of civilians, a man and a woman, to enter the room. They looked like any pair of off-duty Ruperts – a Rupert and a Rupertess. The woman wore a light summer dress. The man—

Oh, fuck!

Sean could swear his heart stopped.

The man wore a sports jacket with an open collar. Not what he had been wearing the last time they met, but what the hell.

‘These . . . individuals,’ said Franklin, ‘are from MI5. They have asked specifically to meet you.’

He pushed back his chair and went to stand beside Adams, feet apart, arms crossed. The two civvies took the two seats opposite Sean. Adams closed the door again but remained standing.

And Sean’s stomach heaved as he looked at the man. He wanted to throw up his guts over the table. This was a million times worse than getting nicked. The last time he had seen this guy, this MI5 spook, he had seemed so . . .
harmless
.

‘Hello again, Private,’ the man said. ‘A couple of weeks ago we met in a farmyard and you gave me a
package full of illicit unfired ammunition. The package had your fingerprints and DNA all over the outside. Both of these are of course on the National Criminal Database due to your past. And I have just visually ID’d you – so I hope it’s fairly clear that any kind of denial will get you nowhere. So why not tell us about these missing rifles?’

Chapter 24

‘He’s in shock,’ said the spook woman when Sean hadn’t spoken for a few seconds.

The fact was, he couldn’t speak. His mouth was desert dry.

‘Take as much time as you need, Private.’ She looked up at Franklin. ‘There’s no need for you or the sergeant to remain.’

It was a clear dismissal. Adams didn’t budge, merely glanced at the lieutenant. Franklin’s crossed arms might have crossed a little more tightly. ‘That’s kind of you, but we’ll stay.’

Her mouth tightened. ‘It wasn’t a request.’

‘Then I have nothing to decline.’

‘I could make it an order.’

‘You could. And if it came to me via a superior officer who you could actually persuade to order me to abandon one of my men, I would have no choice but to obey.’

Oh, go on, just piss off!
Sean thought bitterly. He didn’t
want any more witnesses to his humiliation than strictly necessary. Least of all Adams.

Because he was screwed, and he knew it. If he had thought a few months in prison were bad, what would he get now?

And it was his fault. Totally, utterly his own stupid fault. He could have walked when he found out the truth, but no. He’d stayed.

You stupid, stupid idiot, Harker. You’ve done this to yourself.

The woman dismissed the point with a slight nod, and turned her attention back to Sean, one eyebrow raised a little as she waited for him to speak.

‘I . . . I . . . I don’t know anything,’ he said. He could hear how pathetic the bluster sounded, but then he remembered the one thing he had left.
Yeah
, he thought fiercely.
Pride. I’m not just a crook. I was doing this to protect people. Where were you when Clarky got slotted?

The man spook folded his fingers together and regarded Sean over the top of them. ‘If we wanted to arrest you, Private, we wouldn’t be bothering with this talk. As I said, your prints were on the
outside
of the package. That means you had nothing to do with wrapping the goods. The fingerprints inside belong to one Joshua Heaton, now a corporal in your unit, sent down when he was a teenager, five years ago, for breaking
and entering, also with a record of aggravated assault and inciting racial hatred.’

Sean fought to keep his face impassive as a chill spread down his spine. Heaton had only admitted to one of those three crimes.

‘When we met, you were driving a Daewoo Matiz with fake plates, but the colour and model match a car previously registered to one Mrs Daphne Heaton of Leyton. Corporal Heaton’s mother. Do you see how things are falling into place?’

Sean forced his breathing to steady. ‘Why aren’t you asking Corporal Heaton all this?’ he said.

The man’s gaze was unblinking. ‘Because we’re asking you.’

Still Sean kept quiet. He hadn’t lied when he told Heaton he’d never grassed, and he wasn’t going to start now.

‘You’re a loyal friend, Private Harker. Do you think Corporal Heaton will repay this loyalty? That he’ll go down without dragging you with him?’

‘Of course, he’s been a good friend to you too, hasn’t he?’ the woman said softly. ‘He’s shown you the time of your life. He’s given you tasters – just tasters – of a life you could never afford on your salary. Cool gear. Fast car. Nice digs. Did you enjoy your night with the girl?’

Shit – how long had these people been watching him?
She had exactly described what happened. Had they even had a camera in Heaton’s spare room?

‘You already know so much,’ he said bitterly, ‘you don’t need me to tell you anything.’

‘We didn’t know.’

Sean frowned, despite himself. ‘Then how—?’

‘The word is “grooming”, Private. It’s not just something paedophiles do on social media. And yours is a textbook case.’

Sean snorted. ‘That’s bollocks. OK, yeah, I stayed over at Corporal Heaton’s, and there was a girl. She was his girlfriend’s mate and I was invited along for company.’

‘His girlfriend’s mate,’ the man repeated with a faint smile. ‘So the corporal has a girlfriend. Talks about her all the time, I bet. Sees her every weekend. Never off the phone to her. Tell me, is there a single picture of her anywhere in his flat? Anywhere at all?’

It had never occurred to Sean to check, but now the man mentioned it . . . No. He couldn’t remember a photo anywhere.

‘We have access to his phone records, you know. I can confirm that the only woman he has dialled on a private number in the last month was his mother. However, a week before you and I first met, he dialled an escort agency in Andover that specializes in . . . well, escorts with added duties. We’ve checked their rates, and the
amount that appears on his credit card after that call matches what would be needed for a double hiring.’

Sean didn’t blink, but it was hitting him like a very slow thump in the guts – one that just kept on coming. Oh. My. God.

Groomed
.

The . . . bastard!

Heaton had even asked which one was Debs. Sean had assumed it was a joke . . .