Upavon Wiltshire
Lat = 51 degrees, 17.7 minutes North
Long = 1 degrees, 48.5 minutes West
Friday 18th March 1988
Two helicopters were approaching Upavon, however the second one was shadowing a mile behind the lead one with Eagle five captain Bishop on board with his OSC team; the pilot spoke to Bishop, “Eagle two is descending and should be on the ground in ninety seconds,” Bishop replied, “anyone following us?”
“No sir, radar is showing negative immediate traffic.”
“Okay; I want you to put us down two-hundred yards away from Eagle Two’s bird and keep the engine running.”
Strayker had waited for the rotors to cease their revolutions before exiting, as he stepped out he was met by a corporal, whom saluted him, “sir; follow me the provost marshal is expecting you.”
“Lead on corporal.”
They walked over to a car and the corporal opened the rear nearside door for Strayker who climbed in.
Two minutes later he was sitting with Brigadier Jack Davenport.
The brigadier leaned forward, “Mick I heard of the recent Attack on you, by god you were lucky not to have been killed.”
“I have Max Storm to thank for that Jack, his suggestion to carry some extra arsenal certainly paid off.”
“Is that Jack Storm’s son you’re talking about?”
“That’s the one Jack.”
“A chip of the old block by the sounds of it Mick.”
“He has many of his father’s qualities Jack; along with a healthy intellect.”
“I must meet this saviour of my dear friend.”
“Well after we sort this mess out I am sure that can be arranged.”
“Talking of that I have some healthy news for you on that subject.”
With that the provost marshal explained to Strayker that the weapon used on the first attack near Ross on Wye had been examined by his scenes of crime unit and a partial latent print had been recovered, upon forensic tests four good quality cluster points had been confirmed and then run against the military database along with Interpol.
Four possible matches were flagged up; one was deceased another was incarceration out of the remaining two one was very high probability match.
The provost marshal handed Strayker a buff brown file from his desktop.
Emblazoned on the front of the folder was the Ministry Of Defence emblem titled classified information.
Strayker opened it and was faced with a typical army mug shot with an army serial number below it the photo had a name; Private Jerry Clarke.
Strayker turned the photo over and quickly scanned Clarke’s résumés, the final paragraph contained details of Clarke’s discharge eleven months earlier for trying to sell an army side arm to an undercover military police officer. Clarke had undergone a court marital and was given five months in the glasshouse the army’s jail system.
Strayker looked up at Davenport, “this guy seems to fit the profile taking into consideration the armaments hijacking.”
“My thoughts exactly Mick, even though the latent print with only four points would be inadmissible in a court. I would put good money on this Clarke being a man we need to talk to.”
“So what’s the plan Jack?”
“We are already further down the line with this Mick; Clarke runs with a guy, named Ryan Booth also ex-army.” He passed across the table another buff brown file to Strayker.
As with the previous one a mug shot stared at him; the image was one of Ryan Booth. He had been a sergeant with a reputation for physical abuse; to the men under his command this led to his dishonorably discharge.
Strayker raised his head, “Do we know where they are now?”
Davenport gave out a sigh, “Unfortunately this is where we draw the line Mick; it’s now in civilian Police jurisdiction.”
“So you’re saying we have to kick it over to them.”
“My hands are now tied, this is outside our reemit.”
Strayker stood up and walked over to the window feeling the warmth of the sun radiating through the glass; pausing in thought he looked out at the two helicopters, he turned and faced the provost marshal, “if I could sanction your continued involvement to apprehend these two bastards would you pursue it?”
“Mick; I want these two reprobates as much as anyone however; it would take someone in the highest of places to let me and my boys in.”
Strayker walked over to the desk, “May I use your phone?”
Davenport pushed it across the table towards him, “nine for an outside line;” he then sat back bemused at Strayker.
Strayker rang the Whitehall number from memory; after the third ring a woman’s voice answered.
“This is Major General Strayker, can you put me through its urgent.”
A few seconds later Strayker began bringing the person on the other end of the phone up to date; when he finished he replied, “yes Ma’am,” and handed the phone to Davenport.
“The prime minister would like to speak to you Jack.”
The Provost Marshal’s bottom jaw dropped with his face showing traces of astonishment as he retrieved the phone.
The conversation lasted less than a minute and was mainly one-way with Davenport doing the listening finally the call ended with Davenport replying “Leave it with me Ma’am.”
Replacing the phone he looked at Strayker, “you have powerful allies on your side Mick.”
“Goes with the territory Jack.”
“So the information I was privy to is correct; you and your new unit exists.”
“Yes Jack; we exist and it may possibly be why I am being targeted; what I am about to tell you is highly classified.”
Strayker spent the next twenty-minutes giving a brief resume about the unit to the Provost Marshall whom sat back absorbing the Intel.
“So the iron lady now has a hammer to crush the unseen enemy.”
“In a manner of speaking that’s correct Jack.”
“Well you and your unit have my one-hundred percent backing.”
“So you now have the green light Jack; what’s the plan?”
“Bear with me one moment while I call someone in.”
He picked up the phone, “send Fisher in.”
Seconds later a young man entered the room.
“Major General Strayker meet Major Carl Fisher, my senior investigator and the man I have assigned to your case.”
Strayker stood up and extended his hand, which the Major clasped.
Major Fisher stood at six feet two inches a couple of inches taller than Strayker, he had brown eyes with close cropped fair hair; Strayker noticed the firm handshake.
Major Fisher spoke with a Geordie accent, “A pleasure to meet you sir”.
They all sat down around the table and Major Fisher began his Intel briefing.