Downing Street London
Lat = 51 degrees, 30.2 minutes North
Long = 0 degrees, 7.7 minutes West
& OSC London
Whitehall place
Lat = 51 degrees, 30.4 minutes North
Long = 0 degrees, 7.5 minutes West
Monday 29th February 1988
Strayker was at Number 10 with the Prime minister, “I heard about the attack on you last Friday evening any suspects?”
“To early Ma’am, Max retrieved the weapon but it’s unlikely it will reveal any clues, it was a professional hit.”
“That will be Max Storm whom has just been made up to Lieutenant Colonel?”
“That’s correct Ma’am, he certainly saved the day.”
“Pass on my hearty thanks to him.”
“I will Ma’am.”
She offered him a chair, “now down to business.’”
Two hours later Strayker was back at headquarters in Whitehall place, mulling over the attempt on his life.
The list of suspects was few; yes he had made enemies during his career but that was part of the dog eat dog process in the military, however nothing that he considered would attract a hit on him.
Max was probably right that it was not related to the Irish conflict especially thinking about his observations regarding the vehicle number plate; the phone ringing broke his trail of thoughts.
“Strayker here’”
“Sir; it’s Max we have a line on the weapon from last Night, it was reported stolen from a shipment of arms three weeks ago on route to; and you will not believe this; Hesters copse it is one of ours.”
Strayker was silent for a few moments.
“Sir are you still there’”
“Sorry Max; I was just recalling a memo that landed on my desk three weeks ago regarding the shipment being hijacked on route to our new base at Hesters copse, I had to submit a new requisition to replace the stolen one.”
“Sir; Do you want me to find out what the local Police have dug up’”
“Negative on that Max, I have a contact within SIB (Special Investigation Branch) I’ll chase it up with him; now take that week’s R&R you have earned; that’s an order.”
With that both men hung up, Strayker looked at his watch “I wonder if the old bugger is still in his office?” He mused to himself.
At the Royal Military Police Headquarters in Upavon, Wiltshire Provost Marshall Brigadier Jack Davenport was considering calling it a day; the first post of Provost Marshal in English history was Sir Henry Guylford in 1511 he was responsible for maintaining discipline within the English armies and he was also the ‘first and greatest gaoler of the Army’.
As he was still considering calling it a day, the phone rang; picking it up he replied ‘put him through’.
“Strayker how the hell are you old boy.”
“Less of the old Jack I still have a few years on you.”
The Provost Marshall let out a chortle, “now let me use my powers of deduction and see if I can fathom out the reason for your call.”
“Knowing you have your finger on the pulse Jack; I bet you get it in one.”
The Provost Marshall was silent for a moment, “Yes; the arms shipment hijacked let me think! Three weeks ago and you authorised it; how’s that for starters my dear Watson.”
Strayker picked up on the thread, “excellent my dear Holmes have you heard any more on this incident?”
“I know this is linked to some other crimes we are investigating and it smells of treachery within the ranks.”
“You mean this could have its origins from within our community.”
“Looks that way my friend.”
“Strayker then told Davenport about the attempt on his life less than twenty-four hours previously and that the weapon was from the hijacked consignment.”
“Jesus H Christ Strayker this is very serious very serious indeed.”
“I’m going to need your help on this Jack and fast, these buggers could show up again and I am no cat with nine lives.”
“I’m on it Strayker; I will get my top investigator on this and we will collate all the information as well as banging a few heads together; a little pain always provides the right motivation to talk, I’ll get back to you as soon as I have anything.”