by Nigel Seed
Jim indicated that Geordie should close the door and keep watch for uninvited guests. The door swung quietly closed making hardly a sound and locked with a heavy clunk as Geordie turned the key that was now on the inside. Ivan followed Jim and the vicar up the aisle to the polished wooden door on the right of the altar. As they passed through they found themselves in a small drab room with vestments hanging on wall hooks, wrapped in plastic garment bags. There was a wooden chair, a mirror and a large oak wall cupboard with a heavy-duty padlock securing its doors.
Jim contemplated the nervous young man in the clerical collar. Ivan shrugged his shoulders. They could see no reason why he would suddenly have become so frightened.
“The records are in there,” said the Vicar, indicating the cupboard.
“Would you like to give me the key to this padlock, vicar?”
“Not really,” said the young man, as he pulled the key ring from his trouser pocket with trembling fingers. He held the ring out to Jim who took it carefully from him.
“What’s the matter, reverend? What is so worrying about a soldier in your graveyard who has been dead for seventy years or more?”
“Oh, Lord I have to tell somebody. It’s not him. There are some people in the village here that came to my home one night just after I took over the parish. They made some threats about what they would do if I ever took any notice of that grave. They didn’t say why, but they were very clear about what they would do to my family and then to me.”
Ivan took out the camera and turned the screen towards the vicar.
“Is that one of them?”
The frightened young man did not speak, he swallowed hard and nodded briefly. Ivan looked at Jim who put his head to one side to indicate that Ivan should go back to the main door to support Geordie. The big Welshman left the room, without a word and Jim turned back to the vicar.
“Sit down, vicar,” he said, indicating the upright wooden chair by the wall. “I don’t think this will take long.”
He turned to the oak cupboard and unlocked the padlock. The doors creaked as he opened them to reveal the bound copies of the parish records. With a small village like this a few years of births, marriages and deaths would fit comfortably into each volume. It took him a few moments to find the volume that covered 1940. He looked through until he came to September of that year. Of Rifleman Harris, there was no mention. He had been buried in the churchyard with no record having been made, it seemed.
Jim put the volume back on the shelf and closed the cupboard doors. He locked it. Turning back to the vicar, he handed him the ring of keys.
“Did you find what you were looking for?”
“Yes. Well, more accurately, no.”
He was about to explain further when Geordie appeared through the doorway.
“Company, boss. Our friends are coming up the path.”
Jim turned to see an expression of abject terror on the face of the man sitting on the high backed chair. He seemed incapable of movement or rational thought.
“You stay there please, Reverend. We have some business to attend to with some of your less friendly parishioners.”
Chapter 46
Jim left the vestry room and stepped out into the church. As he walked towards the main door he saw that Ivan and Geordie had moved into the shadows on either side of the entrance. Both were close to the wall with their pistols drawn. As he approached the door it shook as a heavy knock came from the outside. He looked to left and right and both his men nodded.
He reached for the iron key in the solid oak door and turned it. Pulling the door open he found himself facing two angry looking men.
“Come on in, gents,” Jim said, stepping back from the door. “I have been wanting a word with you.”
The men pushed through the door and moved towards him. The one to the left pulled a knife from under his coat and held it low ready to strike at Jim’s stomach.
Jim looked down at the weapon and turning to the second man said “And have you got the fork to go with that?”
“Don’t you be a smartarse with me,” began the first man. He stopped as the two soldiers stepped silently forward and rested the barrels of their weapons at the base of each man’s skull.
“I don’t think you want to be insulting people in a church now, do you?” said Ivan with a more pronounced Welsh accent than usual.
The knife clattered to the stone floor. Jim smiled at the two men whose eyes were darting from side to side, to try and find a way out of the situation.
“I think you two might be more comfortable if you sat down in the back pew here,” he said, indicating the highly polished wooden seat. “Then we can have a little chat and get to know each other. Won’t that be nice?”
The two men shuffled into the pew and sat down, staring at Jim.
“Now, what I would like you to do is to put your hands under your legs, palms up wards and move really close together so your shoulders are touching. That should slow you down just enough so that if you try anything silly my two friends back there can blow your heads off. Understand? Good.”
Jim moved around and sat on the front rail of the pew in front of them with his back to the altar. He looked at them for a long moment before he spoke.
“Right then, we came in here to find some information about a grave outside this church. As soon as we asked the vicar about it he clammed up and got very scared. We found the information on our own without his help though. With a little persuasion we also found out that you two had threatened him and his family.”
The first man opened his mouth to speak, but Jim shook his head.
“I don’t really want to hear what you have to say about that just yet. I’m giving you some information at the moment. Now, if you come near the vicar or any of his family ever again, or if he or any of his family have an accident of any kind, those two heavy caliber pistols behind you will be back and your brains, such as they are, will be scattered to the four winds. Is that absolutely clear to you?”
Both men nodded quickly.
“No, this time I want to hear you say it. I want to hear you say that you understand that actions have consequences. And I want you to assure me that you know I am just the right kind of bastard to deal with scum like you.”
“Yes, I understand. He won’t be harmed.”
“Me too. I won’t touch him or his people.”
“Good, now tell me. What’s really in that grave?”
Neither man spoke. They looked at Jim in stony silence. Jim looked up from the two on the bench to Ivan, who stood behind them. The Welshman tapped the barrel of his heavy pistol just behind the first man’s ear.
“Don’t you start being rude again. Answer when you’re asked a civil question.”
“That bloody hurt!”
“It was supposed to. I don’t like bully boys like you.”
The second man was taken by surprise when Ivan swung the pistol to the left and clipped him behind the ear as well. He lunged forward and made as if to stand up but reconsidered when he felt Geordie’s strong hand on his shoulder and the barrel of the gun returned to the back of his skull.
“Now,” said Jim, “shall we try that again? What is in that grave?”
“We don’t know. We were just told to make sure it was never disturbed.”
“Told by whom?”
“If we told you that we would be dead before the week was out and then our families would get it too.”
“Fair enough. We’ll do it the hard way then. Geordie would you go and find the tool shed for this place. Somebody must be maintaining the grounds. We need a couple of spades and probably a pick, if you can find one.”
Geordie pocketed his pistol and headed for the door. The two men turned their heads to watch him go. When they turned back they found that Jim was now holding another large, black, army issue automatic pistol.
“Just in case you thought that changed the odds, gentlemen. Tell me something. Does the word Cromwell mean anything to you? No?
Oh well, that clears up one thing for me.”
They waited silently until they heard the clatter of tools being dropped outside the church door. Geordie re-entered and looked across at the silent tableau.
“And there’s me thinking you would all be best pals by now. Ah, well. Anyhow, I’ve got the tools you asked for. Where would you like them?”
“Right, you two. Stand up slowly and move to the door.”
“Might be an idea to search them first. Don’t want anybody trying anything silly now, do we?” said Ivan.
Ivan pushed the two men to the stone wall of the church. He kicked their legs apart in turn, none too gently and then handed his weapon to Jim.
“Hands apart and high up on the wall, both of you. Now move your feet backwards so you are leaning. That’ll do. Stay like that.”
The big Welshman stepped forward and placed his foot across in front of the first man’s ankle. “I’m going to be kind to you now and tell you that if you move I will whip my foot back and you will hit the floor face first. It usually breaks the nose. If you want to try it just have a go. I’d love to demonstrate. No?”
He set to work sliding his hands down the arms, back, chest and legs of the first man. Jim moved to ensure he had a clear shot should there be any trouble. Satisfied, Ivan moved to the second man. A second later, he found the small caliber pistol stuck in the waistband of the man’s grubby trousers.
“Naughty. That’s illegal in this country.”
The man said nothing, just waited for the body search to be over. Ivan stepped back and retrieved his automatic pistol from Jim. He slipped the small pistol he had found into his jacket pocket and nodded to Jim.
“Right, gents. Outside and pick up your tools. You are going to do some digging.”
Reluctantly the men walked out of the church and picked up the tools, which were lying there. Geordie had stepped back to ensure he was out of reach should they decide to swing a spade at him.
“You know where the grave is. Off you go.”
The party of five walked around the corner of the church and across to where Rifleman Harris was alleged to be waiting under the spreading branches of the tree. The two thugs started to dig with ill-concealed malice. Making little effort, they were looking around for a chance to make a run for it. Geordie leaned against the wall nearby and spoke to Ivan who waited on the path on the other side of the grave.
“I reckon our two grave diggers here are eyeing up their chances of avoiding work, don’t you Ivan? How far do you reckon they would get?”
“With the accuracy and stopping power of a 9mm Browning High-Power Automatic and the speed of a bullet, less your reaction time of course I think they might make four to five yards. Oh sorry, I should call them meters nowadays.”
“Do you think they are doubting our will to fire, then?”
“Do you know, I think they just might be. Would that be right, gents? You are doubting the will to open fire, on scumbags like you, from men who have completed multiple tours of duty in Iraq and Afghanistan? Bad bet there lads; now stop dicking about, start swinging that pick and dig properly before I get angry.”
Jim grinned to himself as the spades started to work appreciably faster. The two men were staring to sweat. He noticed the vicar coming around the corner of the church. He seemed agitated.
“You must stop digging. You can’t disturb a grave without a court order. It’s illegal.”
“Don’t worry vicar. I am pretty sure there is no body in there. It’s a hiding place for something important we have been looking for.”
“Oh, what’s that?”
“Sorry vicar, I’m afraid I can’t tell you that. But at least your two friends here are getting the exercise they deserve.”
The vicar looked uncertain as he watched the digging. He stood next to Jim, then said, “Should your two friends have guns? It’s illegal and dangerous.”
“It certainly would be, Padre, if they weren’t highly trained soldiers carrying Army issued weapons on government business. We are quite legal, I can assure you.”
As he spoke, they clearly heard the sound of a spade striking something solid down in the grave. He stepped nearer to watch the two thugs clearing the soil away from the top of a metal box, buried only two feet below the surface. They stood up and straightened their stiff backs.
“Not time to rest yet. Get that box out of there and opened before you try and take a break,” said Ivan, in a tone that brooked no argument.
They carried on shoveling and cleared the top of the box which, it was now clear, was two separate, painted, metal cases. They heaved the first one out onto the graveside, then the other. As they went to climb out of the hole, Geordie pushed the first one back with the sole of his boot.
“Now you toss those tools over there beyond the boxes and sit you down in the bottom of that hole. I reckon you must need the rest by now.”
The two men threw the tools as instructed and sat down with their backs resting against the ends of the shallow grave. Geordie moved around to the end of the hole, where he could see them both clearly and held his pistol ready to correct any unfortunate behavior on their part.
With Geordie watching the two men in the hole, Jim and Ivan picked up a spade and a pickaxe and walked to the two dirty metal boxes. The pickaxe made short work of the four padlocks securing the two lids and the spade levered the first box open. As the lid rose they saw sheets of waxed brown paper. Ivan pulled the paper away, to reveal a row of M16 automatic rifles. He lifted one out and beneath it he found a row of Sterling sub-machine guns with automatic pistols between them. Around the side of the box were spare magazines for all three types of weapon. Ivan examined the rifle in his hands.
“Heavily greased to stop rusting and with that waxed paper over and around them they should still be fully functional.”
He turned to the second box and raised the lid. Row upon row of plastic explosive blocks with detonators and timers in plastic boxes. Jim and Ivan were still staring into the two boxes when the vicar stepped between them. His indrawn breath hissed between his teeth, as he saw what had been revealed.
“Sacrilege. To bury such things in hallowed ground. That’s just awful.”
“True enough, Padre. But now we need to know who owns them,” said Ivan, stepping to the edge of the grave and looking down. “Now then, you two, I have my own idea about who these things belong to, but you are just about to confirm my suspicions, aren’t you?”
The two men looked at each other and one then looked up at Ivan. Whatever he saw in the Welshman’s eyes seemed to convince him.
“We don’t know. We really don’t, we were contacted and told we would be paid to bury these things here and we would be well paid each month if we made sure nobody interfered with them. Well, the pay keeps coming through and with the Unemployment Benefits as well, we do alright, so we didn’t ask any questions.”
“So who handed the boxes to you and when?”
“That would be about five years ago now. Two Irish fellahs in a truck met us out by the road down to Imber village. They handed them over and just left. A surly pair they were as well. We had an arrangement with the old vicar and put them here one night. He didn’t mind the phony headstone.”
Ivan turned and looked at Jim over his shoulder “My guess would be IRA,” he said.
“Mine too, but that’s up to the police to sort out. You keep our two friends here and I’ll see if the Wiltshire Constabulary would like to claim a nice big arms bust, complete with two terrorists.”
“Oy! We ain’t terrorists!”
Geordie looked down at the two agitated men in the hole. “You are now, mates. You are now.”
Chapter 47
The Wiltshire police vans drove away down Tilshead High Street carrying the two very unhappy thugs. The Special Branch Inspector had agreed with Jim that the three soldiers had never been there. It had been the painstaking work of his team that had uncovered the terrorist arms cache and so of course, they would
take all the credit. It had been made very clear to the two prisoners that it would be extremely unwise to contradict the police version of events. The recently updated anti-terrorist laws allowed the police to hold the two men for seven days without giving them access to a lawyer, so Jim was confident he and his team would be long gone by the time they started making a fuss.
The three soldiers and the vicar watched the vans until they were out of sight around the corner of the road.
“Anybody fancy a nice cup of tea? I’ve got a kettle and some mugs in the back of the robing alcove in the vestry.”
“That’s good of you, Padre. I think that would go down really well after all that digging. Ivan, Geordie, how about you?”
Both men agreed though Geordie looked wistfully towards the pub. They followed the priest back into the church and waited while he genuflected briefly towards the altar.
“I was quite surprised when they didn’t react to the ‘Cromwell’ code word,” said Ivan. “I was convinced we were on a winner with that grave and the odd headstone.”
Jim was looking at Ivan as he spoke and so walked into the back of the vicar, who had come to a sudden stop. He turned to look at the three soldiers, his eyes wide.
“Did you say Cromwell?”
“Yes. Why does it mean something to you?”
“It certainly does. Tell me what you are doing here while, I make the tea.”
He made the tea and brought the four steaming mugs out into the church where the three men were sitting on the front pew.
“Well? What does Cromwell mean to you three?”
While the other two sipped their tea, Jim explained that they had a mission from the government to recover something that had been hidden in 1940. He couldn’t tell the vicar what it was due to the classification of their task, but, with the coincidence of the date, the vicar could see why they were investigating the strange grave.