Czech Mate

 

Recent Titles by Elizabeth Darrell from Severn House

BEYOND ALL FRONTIERS

SCARLET SHADOWS

FORGET THE GLORY

THE RICE DRAGON

SHADOWS OVER THE SUN

UNSUNG HEROES

FLIGHT TO ANYWHERE

The Max Rydal Mysteries

RUSSIAN ROULETTE

CHINESE PUZZLE

CZECH MATE

A Max Rydal Mystery

This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author's and publisher's rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

First world edition published in Great Britain 2007 by

SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD of

9–15 High Street, Sutton, Surrey SM1 1DF.

Copyright © 2007 by E. D. Books.

All rights reserved.

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

Darrell, Elizabeth

Czech mate

1. Great Britain. Army. Corps of Royal Military Police -

Fiction 2. Great Britain. Ministry of Defence - Officials

and employees - Fiction 3. Rydal, Max (Fictitious

character) - Fiction 4. Detective and mystery stories

I. Title

823.9'14[F]

ISBN-13: 978-1-78010-242-9   (ePub)

ISBN-13: 978-0-7278-6532-8   (cased)

Except where actual historical events and characters are being described for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to living persons is purely coincidental.

This ebook produced by

Palimpsest Book Production Limited,

Falkirk, Stirlingshire, Scotland.

Acknowledgements

My warm thanks to Colonel Stephen Boyd, Commandant of the Defence College of Police and Guarding, and members of his staff, in particular Major M. R. Downie, who generously gave me their professional advice and answered my many questions. Any errors on procedures are mine alone. I plead guilty in expectation of receiving a more lenient sentence!

ED

One

G
litzy, colourful department stores seething with shoppers clutching gift lists and spending lavishly. Outdoor markets tempting families and young people with festive decorations, nativity scenes, blown-glass baubles, candles, carved wood nutcrackers, gingerbread men, hot chestnuts or potato skins, and mugs of steaming punch. Coloured lanterns bobbing in the breeze around the skating-rink where the young and not-so-young circle to the music of a hurdy-gurdy. The run up to Christmas in Germany.

At the British base fifteen kilometres from the town the usual round of events was underway. Dinner parties, cocktails, discos, knockout darts and football matches; a ‘Mastermind' quiz for the more intellectual; bring-and-buy sales of home-made cakes, puddings, pies and mincemeat; bingo and tombola; fancy-dress parties for the children of the two regiments and several small detachments stationed there.

Kevin McRitchie had not wanted to attend the party. Even less had he wanted to wear fancy dress. At thirteen he regarded himself too old for this kind of stupidity, although one or two others of his age were there. His birthday five days ago had made him a teenager, and his sights were set on strobe lights, amplifiers, eager fans and alcopops. He was determined to make a breakthrough by the end of the year and approach a recording company.

He was only there at the Recreation Centre because his father had insisted that he chaperone his young sisters. The final straw had been when Shona and Julie fought like cat and dog because each had suddenly wanted to wear the Sugar Plum Fairy costume. Their father had made them toss for it and promised the loser a present to compensate. Shona was flaunting her success and Julie, in a chicken outfit, was behaving abominably. Kevin felt like shaking them both, but that would be reported and lead to a thump around the ear.

He escaped for a while to have a surreptitious cigarette. He was working up to smoking pot as soon as he got the chance. That would be really cool. The first floor toilets were empty which suited him fine. Opening a small ventilator he lit up, shivering from the draught and from the gratification of defying his father's strict rules. Snowflakes were now drifting past the window; large, serious ones. The kind that settled and stayed. If they continued all night his father would insist on family fun with the girls, which would leave him alone in the house tomorrow. Hooray!

The smoke in his throat set him coughing, which meant he did not hear the stealthy footfall behind him. The blow to his head knocked him to the floor.

At the furthest boundary, well away from the beating heart of the military establishment, a number of men and women in coveralls were trying to create order from chaos. 26 Section Special Investigation Branch, Royal Military Police, was moving into new headquarters; namely two disused stores blocks renovated and adapted to police requirements. The Redcaps had arrived to find the constructors still working on the toilets and detention rooms, and the heating system not yet up and running. Snow had begun falling, the barometer showed minus six Centigrade, and tempers were getting frayed.

Max Rydal, Officer Commanding but not a man to use rank to avoid hard work, was hefting technical equipment and boxed documents from trucks to offices with his personnel. The bitter wind made minus six seem more like minus sixteen, but there was scant relief within the building. The unheated interior exuded the damp chill of new bricks and mortar, barely dried paint and the fustiness of standard-issue carpeting that had been stored for a long period.

The convoy of trucks and assorted smaller vehicles had set out at first light and it was now late evening. Portaloos and a drinks machine had been set up for them and Max had twice sent his staff in batches for hot meals, but he knew he must now call a halt. Boxes were being dropped, people were stumbling into items left carelessly on the floor, the F-word was echoing from the stark walls. Time to go home.

Max sighed with weariness. Home for them all was also new and strewn with boxes and holdalls. The unmarried ones had been given rooms in accommodation blocks on the base, where they knew from experience they would be cold-shouldered, resented and regarded with hostility by those around them. The Royal Military Police was the most unloved corps in the British Army until, of course, a lost child was returned to distraught parents, a rapist was caught and punished, an abused wife was rescued from a violent husband, or an advancing armoured column in a war zone used the safe route earlier reconnoitred and cleared of hazards by the RMP. Then, the Redcaps were the heroes of the day.

No married quarters being presently available, the new arrivals were being temporarily housed on a small estate several kilometres from the main gate. The German residents did not welcome British soldiers and their families any more than the British wanted to live cheek by jowl with them. It was supposed to be a short-term arrangement, but no one believed the rumour that 26 Section would eventually have its own mess and living quarters. The latest cuts in defence spending made nonsense of that hope.

Max had had no option but to secure a room in the nearest Officers' Mess to the new headquarters. It was an arrangement he was unhappy with. Living amid the members of a large regiment was akin to being a cuckoo in someone's nest. Add the fact that he was generally regarded as a policeman, who knew little about
real
soldiering, and the cuckoo theory was greatly strengthened.

Leaving his office and locking the door behind him, Max set about sending everyone off into the snowy night with thanks for their efforts and offering them a late start in the morning. Then he crossed to his second in command, Sergeant-Major Black, who was checking the internal security before they left.

‘Any word from Klaus Krenkel on our missing truck, Tom?'

‘Zilch. It's Saturday night. All his guys are out patrolling the town, covering the trouble spots. In their view this is our baby.'

‘It is, of course, but a little cooperation wouldn't hurt when it's pretty obvious the truck has been hijacked by locals who know how to shift stuff faster than it can be traced.'

‘Sure it has. If Treeves was in cahoots with some wheeler-dealer he'd hide his payout where he could fetch it later, concoct some lie about being jumped while checking a rattle in the engine, and make bloody certain we'd find him swiftly.'

‘He'd also have gone all out to ensure he was the last in the convoy. The other drivers insist it was the luck of the draw. No, I don't believe this was an inside job. It's been obvious for some weeks we were preparing to move out lock, stock and barrel. The local sharp boys spotted that and awaited their chance. Our equipment could be on sale in Holland tomorrow.'

Tom perched on the edge of a desk, arms folded. ‘They'd have to swap vehicles before the border. That leaves a vast area to search for Treeves and the truck, possibly no longer together. Hicks and Styles drove back over the first part of our route; Stubble and Meacher took the rest. Found no sign of a truck heading off the road into the trees. You know those narrow tracks running through the forest, just wide enough for a tractor? Could conceivably get a truck far enough along one to conceal it.'

‘We'll probably have to write off the equipment, maybe the truck, but Treeves' fate has to be our priority. I doubt he's been killed, but he could die of hypothermia if they've left him badly disabled in an isolated spot.'

‘He'll make every effort to hole up somewhere to gain protection from the cold,' Tom reasoned. ‘I'll send fresh patrols out at first light, but if it snows all night any tracks will be totally obscured.'

‘I'll get a helicopter up as soon as the weather clears,' said Max with a nod. ‘If he can, Treeves will endeavour to light a fire. The pilot might not be able to spot a truck in the trees, but he'd see smoke.' He headed for the door. ‘Come on. It's so bloody cold in here, if we stay much longer I'll take apart some of these chairs and light a fire myself.'

Tom followed, taking his car keys from his pocket. ‘Nora called me ten minutes ago to say she has a hot meal waiting. How about you?'

‘Ham rolls and a cup of soup in my room. In the old days when mess staff were soldiers it was possible to book a late dinner. Now the catering is done by civilians they pack up on the dot.'

Tom entered the security code now they were outside. ‘You should find someone who'll cook for you whatever time you get in.'

‘I did,' came the brief reply.

Knowing he was treading on eggshells, Tom said, ‘After three years it's time to move on, isn't it?'

‘My prime concern is to get this place organized and operational.' Max headed for his car. ‘Buzz me if there should be news of Treeves. Goodnight, Tom.'

‘Goodnight, sir.'

Tom headed across the base to the main gate and a small house a short distance beyond it. Nora and the girls had moved in a month ago while he had been engaged in the gargantuan task of packing up a well-established headquarters and continuing to investigate several cases at a critical stage. Each time they had to move house Tom gave thanks for a wife who could make what could be a traumatic period into one of relative ease. Their daughters Maggie, Gina and Beth were growing up fast and could be a handful, but Nora still held their respect and friendship so managed to keep control.