Scotch Mist (2 page)

Beth took her father's hand consolingly after Gina's outburst. Although she joined her sisters to gang up on him over strongly felt issues, she still defended him against individual attacks. He would admit to no one, not even Nora, that he loved it. Big, tough detective going soft!

They were about fifty yards from those gathered as close to the bonfire as restrictions allowed when there was a deafening explosion. The heart burst from it, sending blazing shards of wood and red-hot chunks of fuel-soaked material flying in every direction; an incandescent fountain greater than any of the fireworks.

There was a hung moment before the evening was filled with the sound of screams and cries of pain. Tom's heartbeat accelerated as he witnessed men stamping on burning scarves and stuffed toys, women madly slapping at their singeing hair, children clinging to parents and shrieking with pain or fright.

Turning to Nora, he said tersely, ‘Get them home fast,' then ran to where the patrolling Redcaps were marshalling unhurt spectators clear of the site. There was initial panic and chaos, with police, first aid personnel and all able-bodied men present trying to control the situation.

As Tom ran along the tier he was in he saw a burning chunk of wood had landed just ahead of him. He kicked it along that row, then down the steps to the concrete path running in front of the stadium. It could do no harm there. The night was suddenly full of the smell of burning which, together with the lingering smoky halo produced by the fireworks, suggested the halls of Hades.

As Tom raced across the running track he saw that the stand-by fire crew were well on the job of dousing the area nearest to the casualties. These were being helped by men trained to remain calm and deal with the aftermath of explosions. One had escaped them, however; a child with wet cheeks and wild eyes running amok and too shocked to scream. Tom veered to catch her up in his arms and clutch her tightly as she kicked and struggled.

Experienced in calming fightened children, Tom murmured reassurances in her ear while gently stroking her hair as he continued to run towards the centre of the action. He must hand the child to a parent, a responsible woman able to comfort her, or to one of the two medical orderlies who had been on duty throughout in order to deal with any minor burns or falls. They had not been prepared for this.

Hearing the bell of an approaching fire engine, and knowing that medical backup would have been summoned, Tom's principal concern was to discover what had been placed in the bonfire, and by whom. In the present world situation terrorist bombs were being exploded in any chosen area. Security was tight, but a large number of civilians was employed daily on the base. They had all been closely vetted, but one could never be certain. Only recently, six British soldiers had been turned on and shot dead by Afghans they had been training as allies.

A young, ginger-haired man in a purple anorak ran towards Tom and reached for the child. ‘Thank God! She ran off while we were seeing to our boy,' he explained breathlessly. ‘He's been hurt. What the bloody hell was in that mound of stuff? I'll have their bleeding guts for what they've done.'

‘So will I, chum,' Tom said grittily. ‘Bank on it.'

Gradually, the minor casualties were patched up and sent on their way, or were transported to the Medical Centre for treatment. One lad with serious burns, and a woman who had been hit in the chest with a shard of timber, were rushed to the hospital in town as emergencies. The various small fires that had sprung up were being doused; all stragglers had departed.

At that stage Tom discovered that three of his SIB team had been present and helped with the injured. They now joined him and their uniformed colleagues surveying the damage. The stadium spotlights had been switched on, making the scene look even more disturbing. The grass was dotted with charred scarves, woolly hats and other possessions burned beyond saving, and with patches of vomit and faeces where children had lost control in their fear.

What remained of the bonfire still smouldered so there was no chance yet of discovering the cause of the explosion. Tom's expression matched that of George Maddox as they stood together surveying the results of what should have been a happy evening.

‘You'll have a load of parents after your blood in the morning, George.'

‘Don't I know it.' He wagged his head unhappily. ‘I had guys patrolling here from sixteen hundred, and a full force was present by the time the fireworks began. Whoever put explosive material in that pile must have done it overnight.'

‘The place has been off limits for two days, and locked during those nights. I can't see how someone carrying dangerous material wouldn't have been spotted inserting it,' Tom reasoned.

Phil Piercey came up to them just then. ‘Must have been a joint operation. Several lads thought it would make this year's do more representative of the real thing; make a statement to the PM that unless he improves our lives all round a second attempt to blow up Parliament would succeed.'

Cutting in before Tom could blast Piercey with words, Connie said, ‘I agree it was probably the work of more than one. To produce such a result there must have been live ammo in the bonfire, which suggests an accomplice working in the Armoury. Possibly another in the workforce constructing it to stand watch while it was inserted.'

Heather Johnson gave Piercey a derisory glance. ‘If anyone was making a statement you can bet they didn't intend it to be such a massive one. I'd guess the culprits are appalled right now.'

‘They'll be more than appalled when I catch up with them,' vowed Tom. ‘Make no mistake, what happened tonight wasn't the result of a joke gone wrong. No trained soldier could so badly underestimate the power of explosive material.'

Connie looked troubled. ‘What are you suggesting, sir?'

‘That we've just witnessed a deliberate threat to human life.'

At the riverside inn favoured by Max Rydal he was enjoying a quiet dinner with Clare Goodey, the Medical Officer at the base. They lived in adjoining apartments on the outskirts of town and had become friends during the four months following Clare's arrival as replacement for the previous doctor. Their separate professional lives frequently crossed paths, and they also had personal interests in common, one being that they were both losers in affairs of the heart. Clare had just gone through an aggressive divorce, and Max had recently discovered that the woman he hoped to marry was irrevocably in love with his own father.

They were not, however, commiserating as the lovelorn are wont to do. Max had that afternoon returned from the UK where he had given evidence in the trial of four bikers who had mugged a young officer before chaining him up in a disused barn and riding off. Max had traced him four days later, seriously ill and too exhausted from freeing himself to crawl to the main road for help. He was telling Clare how the accused had spun so many wild tales the Defence had thrown in the towel, advising them to plead guilty.

‘A Legal Aid guy, no doubt,' commented Clare, stripping the meat from her barbecued ribs with strong teeth. ‘And did they?'

Max nodded. ‘With snarls and growls, against a background of loud protests from the public gallery. Half the biking fraternity were present. Unfortunately, their united hatred of the military will strengthen, and the four accused will see their punishment as a badge of macho toughness. Street cred, if you like.'

Clare grinned with greasy lips. ‘You're one of the biking fraternity now. Aiming for street cred?'

He grinned back, at ease with this woman. ‘Wait until you see me in sexy leathers with a helmet revealing just my steely eyes. You'll be scared to death.'

‘You think?' she jeered. ‘You've forgotten that I used to race my dad around the track when he was training. See me geared up and The Stig wouldn't even compete.'

Max poured more wine for them both, feeling relaxed and appreciative of Herr Blomfeld's wisdom in dividing his expansive restaurant into small units upholstered in
Volk
style which allowed for more intimate meals. It suited his personality. Max disliked large noisy groups when dining. In warm weather he was quite happy to eat in the beer garden amid locals who celebrated with song and much merriment. That seemed appropriate in a large garden strung with coloured lights, where the river flowed past beyond the lawns and lovers drifted by in boats, but when winter came it seemed to him more appropriate to cosy-up in low-lit snugs. His late love had teased him by claiming his inclination was to hibernate in winter.

He determinedly switched his thoughts to more upbeat ones of the Harley Davidson motorcycle he had splashed out on when it became clear that he would not be buying a house for himself and a new wife. Ever since his student days he had longed to emulate Steve McQueen's dash for freedom in
The Great Escape
, but an early marriage that had ended with his wife's death in a road accident had dampened the urge to be reckless. This humiliating end to his second serious love affair had revived it, so he was now regularly and robustly enjoying cross-country scrambling with a local club.

Taking up Clare's last comment, Max said, ‘The way you drove here along the autobahn suggested you were planning to resume circuit racing.'

Her blue eyes sparkled with amusement. ‘You ain't seen nothin' yet. Come out with me one weekend and I'll show you
real
speed.'

‘No, thanks.'

‘Chicken?'

‘No, ma'am, I just don't intend to give the
Polizei
the huge pleasure of nicking a British military policeman for breaking their law.'

Herr Blomfeld arrived at their table to ask if they wished for another carafe of wine, but Clare's mobile rang so he deferentially retired again. His disapproval of diners who chatted on their designer telephones during a meal did not extend to this pair he knew well. A doctor and a detective had to be on call wherever they were. The German merely deplored so many meals half eaten due to emergencies.

As Max watched Clare's expression he guessed they would have to leave, then his own mobile rang and he knew why. Swiftly settling their bill they went out to Clare's car, she concerned with the casualties waiting in her surgery and Max sharing Tom's anger over what had occurred. It had clearly not been a prank. There had been past occasions when squaddies had secretly inserted a firework or two in the bonfire, or a few empty aerosol cans for a laugh, but what Tom had described sounded far more serious. Too serious for George Maddox's team. SIB would have to shoulder the burden of bringing the perpetrator to book.

The base was home to battalions of the West Wiltshire Regiment and the Royal Cumberland Rifles, as well as to small specialized units of Royal Engineers, Royal Signals, the Intelligence Corps, the Army Air Corps and several others. In addition, a battalion of a unique Scottish regiment was due to march in today. That would add to the difficulty SIB would have to overcome. As a collector of old black and white war films, Max often thought of the cinematic phrase ‘a cast of thousands' whenever a case was not clear cut.

On reaching their apartments they parted, for Clare to collect her medical bag and replace her spangled top for a plain T-shirt. Max exchanged his smart jacket and tailored slacks for wool trousers and a padded waterproof anorak, before making a large flask of coffee. It promised to be a long, chilly night.

When he left his apartment Clare's car was no longer beside his own. He hoped she would not be caught speeding in her anxiety to reach the base. She was a very competent doctor who was still fighting strong resistance to a female MO. Had she been middle-aged and motherly the troops would have more easily confessed their problems to her, but she was in her late twenties, blonde and easy on the eye. The natural instinct in young, red-blooded males was to peacock before someone like Clare, not to appear in any way less than fully virile.

Max drove thoughtfully, knowing haste was not necessary in his own case. Tom, with Piercey, Connie and Heather, was already on the spot and had actually witnessed the explosion. In addition, Maddox's men had patrolled the area prior to the arrival of spectators, and they would have details of all the activity by those preparing the fireworks display.

Even as he reviewed all that, Max wondered how someone had managed to bypass police scrutiny to sabotage the bonfire with such explosive material. Maddox must be a very unhappy man right now. However, until they could establish what that material had been, no blame could reasonably be laid.

At the main gate the barrier was down, and Max was obliged to produce identification despite being well known to the guard.

‘Top security in force, sir. There's been an incident. The base is sealed until further notice.'

Privately congratulating Tom on his swift action, Max was nevertheless disturbed by the possibility that there had been some kind of enemy attack here. Had this important base been penetrated by a terrorist? Every six months troops were deployed to Afghanistan from here, but the next changeover would not take place until March next year. An attack on soldiers returning from the war zone would surely be more realistic than one on families and children enjoying fireworks. All the same, Tom had been quick to mount a red alert.

The stadium was still floodlit when Max arrived there. One look was enough to show him why Tom had reacted as he had, and Max swiftly joined those grouped near the smoking remains of the bonfire.

Noting their grim expressions, he asked, ‘How many casualties?'

Tom moved away from the others to speak more privately. Max followed him. ‘Corporal Crabbe over there has a list of who was treated on the spot – too many kiddies. Corporal Meacher went to the Medical Centre with half a dozen who received burns, and George sent Corporal Stubble in the ambulance with two needing emergency treatment; a boy with serious burns and a woman hit by a metal-tipped spar. He called in five minutes ago to report that the woman has been put on the danger list.'