©2003 Ian Hobson

Private John Scargill - Scag, to his mates - waited patiently in the front passenger seat of the dark blue Ford Focus. The car belonged to David Butler, ex-British Army and a veteran of the Falklands War. As Scag's cell-phone vibrated against his chest, he pulled it from his shirt pocket and looked at the display as he pressed the receive button. 'Go ahead, Dave.'

'He's gone to the bar for last orders, but the old guy's leaving. You should see him coming out now… side door.'

'Yeah, I see him… grey hair… bit of a beer gut.'

'That's him. Tell the other's fifteen minutes, twenty at the most. I think they're fairly strict about closing time here. Watch the doors though, I'm gonna take a leak.'

'Okay, Dave, out.' Scag took the phone from his ear, pressed the down arrow until the right name was highlighted, and pressed the call button.

Inside the pub, The Old Boar Inn, Dave took another sip at what was left of his second pint of bitter before standing and heading towards the Gent's. He looked straight ahead, but out of the corner of his eye he watched his quarry, Sergeant Graham Myers, as he carried two full pint glasses back to where his remaining drinking partner was sitting. Dave made that five rounds during the ninety or so minutes that he had been watching. There were still about a dozen customers gathered around the bar and as many still sitting, but the pub was growing quieter.

Dave stepped to one side as an old man came out of the toilets, but caught the door before it closed fully. It was quiet in the toilets and the place stank of urine. Dave used the urinal then quickly washed his hands, but as he rubbed them together under the electric dryer the door swung open again. Dave kept his face to the wall, still drying his hands.

'Alright, Mate?' It was Myers, his voice just a little slurred, as he stepped up to the urinal.

'Not too bad,' Dave replied, his throat suddenly very dry. Though he had nothing to worry about. Myers had never met him, and probably wouldn’t know him from Adam. Dave quickly walked towards the door, pulled it open and walked through. His beer glass had been cleared away, he saw, and there were even fewer customers. Deciding that to stay longer might look suspicious, he left the pub and returned to his car.

'They're only half way through their pints, but the pub's emptying out now,' he told Scag, as he slid into the driver's seat.

'Are they pissed… drunk, I mean?' Scag asked.

'They should be, but they don't look it. The bastard actually followed me into the toilets and spoke to me.'

'Shit! What did he say?'

'Nothing, just "Alright, Mate?" I got out before he could say anything else.'

'Are you sure he doesn't know you?'

'Yeah, I kept well clear of him at the inquest, and I didn't have this beard then. Are Ryan and Sam ready?'

'Yeah, they're in place. What do we do if Myers and his mate don't split up.'

'Abort, as planned. But they met here, so my guess is they'll go their separate ways. You sure you don't know either of his palls?'

'Never seen 'em before. The old guy walks like a soldier though… Are you sure Myers'll go home the same way?'

'It's the shortest route, and that's the way he went when I followed him two weeks ago. If not, we'll have to improvise. When's your leave over?'

'I have another week, but Sam's due back on Tuesday.'

Scag and Dave watched as more customers left the pub, some on foot, some by car, some obviously the worse for wear; not that that stopped the ones who were driving. 'Here they come,' said Dave. 'It's a good job Myers doesn't drink and drive.'

'Yeah, well, we wouldn't want him to have any nasty accidents, would we?' It was a joke, but neither of them laughed. Scag reached for his cell-phone and it chirped as he contacted Ryan. 'They're coming out now. Shit! They're staying together. I'm going to follow on foot. Dave, you stay with the car. I'll call you when it's safe to follow.' He climbed out of the Focus, leaving the door ajar rather than slamming it, then followed, slowly, still holding the phone to his ear, and keeping to the shadows. He hoped there were no muggers around.

Half a mile away, beside a disused factory building, Corporal Samantha Hastings and ex-Private Ryan Burns waited; Samantha in the driver's seat of an old Vauxhall van, and Ryan in the passenger seat with a cell phone held to his right ear. They leaned towards each other, feigning a kiss but not actually kissing, as a car sped past. 'Are they still together?' Samantha asked Ryan.

'Yes…' Ryan had almost said ‘Yes, Corporal,' old habits dying hard, despite the pretended intimacy. 'Hold on… Scag says they've split up and the other guy’s gone towards the canal. Looks like we're on.' The two exchanged looks then checked the van's wing mirrors.

'No sign of him yet,' said Ryan into the phone.

'He's turning the corner now, Rye. Get ready. I'll call Dave.' Scag hung up on Ryan, and called Dave. 'Okay, Dave, get moving,' he said, as he began to run stealthily along the pavement. He stopped to peer around the corner of the building where their target had turned left only a few seconds earlier, then turned towards the sound of an approaching vehicle, surprised that Dave had responded so quickly. But as he realised that the vehicle was a taxi, he stepped around the corner and walked on, hoping that Myers would not look back in his direction, and relieved as he heard the taxi continue straight on at the junction. Ahead he could see the Vauxhall van parked on the left-hand side of the road and Sergeant Myers about an equal distance between himself and the van, his assured stride unmistakable. Scag turned as he heard another vehicle approaching, this time relieved as he saw Dave at the wheel.

Dave passed Scag, driving slowly to get the timing right. As his Ford passed Myers, he switched on the car's interior light and sounded the horn to attract his attention. Then he slowed to a stop about ten metres behind the Vauxhall van, opened the electric widow in the passenger door, and as Myers drew level, he shouted, 'Excuse me! Can you tell me where Station Road is, please?' He lowered his voice on the word 'Station'.

Myers stopped. 'Where.' he asked, taking a step towards the open car window.

'Station Road,' replied Dave, holding a crudely drawn map towards the open window with both hands.

'There's no Station Road around here, Mate.' Myers leaned forward to get a better look at the map, but suddenly the map was lowered and, as Dave activated the device in his right hand, Myers was on the receiving end of a large dose of pepper spray. He jerked backwards and a cry of distress escaped his lips as his hands went to his face, and at that moment Scag ran into him with enough momentum to bring him down, winding him as he hit the stone paving.

But Myers had spent most of his adult life in the British Army, and his soldier's instincts took over. He lashed out at his assailant, his right fist making contact with Scag's forehead. But almost immediately Dave and Ryan, who had leapt from their vehicles, joined in, and their combined weight was enough to hold Myers down. Ryan produced a roll of wide masking tape, and after a violent struggle Myers was bound hand and foot and dragged towards the rear of the van, which Samantha had reversed towards them.

The three men bundled Myers into the back, and Ryan and Scag, blood trickling from above his right eyebrow, climbed in and lay on top of him. Dave slammed the rear doors then looked around, relieved to see that there were no witnesses. 'Go!' he shouted to Sam, before returning to his own vehicle and following as the Vauxhall van sped away into the night.

***

Sergeant Myers sat bound to a chair at one end of an ancient and isolated barn. He was gagged and a sack covered his head. Several hours had passed and the effects of the pepper spray had mostly worn off, but as he struggled once more, trying to free himself, he received another kick in the left shin for his trouble. At the other end of the barn the two vehicles used in the kidnapping were parked, one beside the other, the Vauxhall's headlights switched on, eerily illuminating the interior.

'What shall I do with these?' asked Ryan, holding up the number-plates he had just removed from the Ford.

'Put them in the van,' said Dave, as he stooped to fit the first of a second set of false plates to his car, 'they'll not be missed, will they?'

'No, no problem there, Dave.' Ryan worked for a garage, and had made up the plates himself. He had also acquired the old Vauxhall van, which no longer carried any serial numbers or identifying marks of any kind.

Samantha came in from outside carrying a torch. 'Everything's quiet. It'll be light in about two hours though. Do we have enough petrol, Ryan?'

Ryan nodded a reply as he helped Dave fit the second number-plate, then the three of them joined Scag and their prisoner at the other end of the barn. They were more nervous now than they had been all night.

'Are we ready?' Scag asked. His right eye was blackened and an Elastoplast covered the cut above his eyebrow. The others nodded as he pulled the bag from Myers' head.

Myers struggled again, making what sounds he could through the balled cloth that was held in his mouth by masking tape. His eyes and face were red, and as he squinted at his kidnappers, seeing all of their faces for the first time, his fear turned to scorn. He looked at each of them in turn: The older one, the one who had tricked him by asking directions, was a stranger to him, but the other three he knew. They, he thought, were three of the scum that passed for soldiers these days. And he would make them pay for this night's work. He winced as Scag pulled the tape from his face, and then, as the cloth
was pulled from his mouth, he coughed and spat into the dust. 'You won't get away with this,' he said. 'This is kidnap…'

Myers' head was knocked sideways as Ryan swung the back of his right fist against his jaw.

'Shut up and listen,' Samantha advised him, as she shone her torch in his face. 'We don't have long. This is a court-martial, and you are the accused… And I accuse you of rape!'

'You lying bitch… I never raped you!'

'Only because I fought you off, you bastard… But what about Private Sandra Shepherd.'

At this, Myers' eyes changed, giving him the look of a hunted animal. 'I never raped her neither.'

'That's not what she told me,' replied Samantha, with disgust.

'Look,' said Myers, 'this is no court-martial!'

'Well let's call it a murder trial then,' said Dave, gently moving Samantha to one side with a touch of his hand and then stooping to look Myers in the eyes.'

'Murder.' exclaimed Myers. 'I don't know what you are talking about… Look… I need a piss.'

'Go ahead,' said Scag. 'I'm used to the smell of your piss. You pissed on my bed once, remember? Just before the inspection you held. And the next day you beat me up and put me in hospital for a week.'

Myers swallowed hard. 'It was for your own good; to toughen you…' He was about to say more but he thought better of it as he saw Scag's fist bunch.

'I want to know the truth about Philip,' said Dave, quietly.

'Phillip.' said Myers, his voice gravelly.

'Private Philip Butler,' said Dave. 'He was my son, and I want to know why you murdered him.'

Myers tried to swallow again but his mouth was too dry. 'I didn't… It was suicide… I need water,' he managed to say. Dave nodded to Samantha, and she handed the torch to Ryan before walking over to the Ford and returning with a bottle of water. She held it to Myers' lips and let him drink.

'We'll make a deal with you,' she said, as she screwed the cap back onto the bottle. 'You tell us about the murder, and we'll turn you over to the authorities.'

'You'll turn me over. I've done nothing. You're the ones who…' This time it was Dave that lost his temper. He gave Myers a right hook and he toppled over. Ryan and Scag pulled him upright again and checked that he was still securely bound to the chair.

Dave rubbed his right knuckles with the palm of his left hand. 'Just tell me why you murdered Philip.'

Blood trickled from the corner of Myers' mouth. 'It was suicide, I told you… The army said it was suicide. The investigating officer…'

'Was lied to, by you!'

'No, I…'

'My son was about to be married. I saw him three days before he died. He was very happy. He did not commit suicide!'

'We're wasting time,' said Scag. 'Let's kill him and have done with it.'

'Okay… if he's not willing to deal,' said Samantha. 'Get the petrol, Scag.'

'What are you going to do?' Myers asked, his tone becoming frantic.

'If you won't deal, then you have to die,' announced Samantha, without emotion.

Myers watched Scag as he walked around to the back of the Vauxhall van and lifted out an obviously full, bright red, fuel canister. 'Okay! It was an accident. I was inspecting his riffle and it discharged. It was…'

'You were inspecting his riffle at three in the morning, in the dark, beside the perimeter fence?' said Dave.

'Like you inspected my riffle by cracking three of my ribs with it?' added Ryan. As Scag approached with the petrol canister, unscrewing the cap as he got nearer to Myers, Dave and Ryan and Samantha stepped back a few paces.

'Okay!' screamed Myers, smelling the petrol fumes. 'I killed him! But he was no good. He wasn't fit to be a soldier.'

'So you killed him,' said Dave. 'You judged his performance, you found him wanting, you sentenced him to death, and you executed him with a bullet to the head.'

'But…'

'But what?' Dave asked. 'But it was for his own good?' He walked over to the wall behind Myers and reached for the tape recorder that was sitting on a dusty ledge, hidden under a rag. He pressed rewind button and then the play button.

'…beside the perimeter fence? Like you inspected my riffle by cracking three of my ribs with it?

‘Okay! I killed him! But he was no good. He wasn't fit to be a…'

Dave pressed the stop button.

'Shame we can't use this,' said Dave. 'Though it might be enough to sway a jury, if we're caught.' He reached up to the ledge again, and as his companions turned their backs and looked away, he held a silenced pistol to the back of Myers' head and pulled the trigger.

***

As the four of them drove away along the deserted country lane, only Scag looked back. A mile behind them the barn was well alight, and there was an explosion as the Vauxhall's petrol tank blew.