Hester’s Copse England
Lat = 51 degrees, 12.8 minutes North
Long = 0 degrees, 57.1 minutes West
Tuesday 22nd March 1988
The journey from Strayker’s home on that Tuesday morning to Hesters copse had taken one and three-quarters of an hour in horrendous raining conditions.
Edward’s showed his I.D to the guard at the compound entrance and was waved through; this was Strayker’s first visit to Hesters copse complex since it became operational.
Edward’s pulled the Range Rover up alongside a guarded door, Strayker stepped out and the guard opened the door allowing him access.
He found Max in the briefing room sipping a coffee, “good morning sir; a real shit day out there!
“According to the weather reports Max; it’s in for the next two days.”
Max walked to the coffee percolator, “Coffee sir?”
“White two sugars Max; and I’ll have your report from Afghanistan.”
Twenty minutes later Strayker was up to speed with Max’s mission in Afghanistan.
Strayker then briefed Max on the capture of the two assassins.
“Booth the injured one is in our medical facility in building two, the other is waiting in the interrogation room, let’s go and see him Max.”
They both entered a room with a large two-way mirror and observed two men one was the guard with ear defenders carrying a baton the other was in grey overalls several sizes too big with his head hooded, he was standing in the stoika stress position, being forced to lean against a wall with legs wide apart standing on the toes, with only the fingertips touching the wall.
“His name is Clarke,” Strayker handed Max Clarke’s military record.
As Max reviewed the file on Clarke, he was distracted when Clarke collapsed to the floor.
The guard motioned forward and with his baton began prodding the detainee in the ribs and back, he was shouting at him however the room was sound proofed, after several seconds Clarke picked himself up of the floor, the guard forced him back into the stress position.
Strayker handed Max another file on a clipboard, which was the documentation on Clarke’s detention.
Clarke had been detained at the facility for, Max looked at his watch; thirteen hours and forty-five minutes.
Clarke had been registered in at Nineteen hundred hours the previous evening, stripped and hosed down with cold water and dressed in the overalls he now stood in with a hood over his head.
He had been placed in the interrogation cell and subjected to bouts of white noise from a machine emitting a constant hissing sound.
Clarke had not been allowed to sleep, no food had been given but the record showed two small glasses of drinking water had been administered.
Although these processes were not technically the same as sensory deprivation, the purpose guiding their use was the deliberate production of the following effects. Visual, auditory, tactile and kinaesthetic deprivation and thus mimic sensory deprivation.
Depriving the brain of the sugar and oxygen necessary for normal functioning and disrupting normal body metabolism.
Applied together over time-developed conditions of high physical and psychological stress, which could achieve rapid nervous breakdown.
This was technically an illegal form of torture, but Strayker had put it upon himself to take the gloves of to get the answers needed.
Max walked over to a console with switches on the nearby wall and flicked two of them, a green light bulb emitted from inside the cell, the guard removed his ear defenders, the cell door opened, and a table with two chairs were brought in.
Max looked at Strayker, “time to go to work on this bugger.”
“He’s all yours Max.”
As Max left the room Strayker went to the switch console and operated a switch that would allow him to hear the interrogation.
When Max entered the room Clarke was still hooded but was now seated with his hands cuffed to the chair arms, Max observed his body trembling from the effects his mind and body had endured, his torso was slumped with his head down on his chest.
Max dragged the other chair grating it on the floor surface and sat down.
Clarke reacted by bolting up right with his torso and head.
Max still had Clarke’s military file with him; he opened it and began to read aloud from it.
“Jeremy Clarke, age twenty-five, born twenty-fourth November nineteen sixty one in Warrington,” Max paused for effect.
“Eight years with the Cheshire Regiment, one commendation for bravery in the Falklands war.
May, Nineteen eighty-six, arrested for attempting to sell a military handgun to an undercover military police officer, found guilty, sentence, court martial along with a five months term in the glasshouse.
Clarke had remained upright and silent in the chair.
Max continued, “now facing a life term with no chance of parole for attempted murder of one of her Majesties army officers, life has taken a nasty turn for you Clarke and you’re looking at a lifelong spell in one of Her Majesties darkest shit holes, and I can guarantee it will be.”
Max stood up and went to a light switch on the wall by the door, he flicked it on; a strong light emitted directly onto Clarke’s hooded head.
Max walked behind Clarke; he loosened the hood and withdrew it.
Even though Clarke had his eyes tightly closed, the light penetrated his eyelids, his retina’s pulsed and he vomited onto the table in front of him.
Max sat back down and faced Clarke, “are you ready to spill your guts?”
Clarke’s mouth was coated in vomit he spat out some of the residue he looked at the silhouetted figure in front of him, “I have rights you bastard, I want a lawyer.”
Max picked up and read from the file, “Friday 19th March 1987, Jerry Clarke killed in an exchange of gunfire with British armed forces Bromley Kent.”
“I’m not dead,” Clarke screamed.
“You are now son, no one can help you now except; maybe me, and I own your sorry arse.”
Clarke’s resolve capitulated there and then, “what do you want to know.”
“You and your mate Booth, whom are you working for?”
“I don’t know; Booth receives the orders.”
“Nice try son, one more time before I make life uncomfortable for you, who is ordering you to kill Strayker?”
“Honest to God I just follow Booth’s orders.”
Max stood up and leaned towards Clarke, “Bullshit Clarke; do you want to go back to leaning against that wall?”
Clarke looked down and just shook his head.
Max decided on a new tact, “How does Booth get his orders?”
“Clarke slowly looked back up, “by phone, he never makes the call it is always from the other person.
“Okay; what do you know about this other person?”
“I’m pretty sure he is a high ranking army guy.”
“Serving or out in Civie Street?”
“Serving,” Clarke replied.
“Okay now we are making progress you’re doing fine.”
“Can I have a drink of water?”
Max made a thumb’s up signal at the two-way mirror.
Strayker made a phone call for water to be delivered to the detention cell.
“It’ll be here in a few minutes.
“Thanks,” replied Clarke.
Max resumed the interrogation, “do you know why this person wants Major General Strayker dead?”
“Only what Booth has told me?”
“Go on Clarke enlighten me.”
“All I know is that his son was killed in Northern Ireland about four years ago, after a covert mission on a farmhouse was Compromised, Strayker was the operations coordinator from MI-5 and supplied the Intel and it turned out to be an ambush.”
Max turned to the two-way mirror, knowing Strayker had just heard Clarke’s account.
An amber light flashed to his left, signaling someone was at the door; he stood up and opened the door the guard was waiting with the water, “stay with him for the time being.”
“Yes sir,” replied the guard.
Max entered the adjacent room where Strayker was seated with his chin resting on his thumb with his index finger pointing up.
He turned and looked at Max, “any truth in what he said sir?”
“They say that some things in life Max come back to bite you.”
“Do you want to talk about it sir?”
Strayker stood up and looked at Clarke through the two-way mirror; his thoughts drifted back to that fatal day Four years ago.
He stared at the mirror as he related the story to Max.
“I was the head of a military intelligence collating unit within MI5, the units remit was to gather information about terrorist cells their movements and operational deployment in Northern Ireland; we used very reliable informants along with SAS covert insertion units.
Along with this remit we had a top ten most wanted list of major players, on that list was one Connor Lynch, one of our informants had passed us information that Lynch would be at farm location along with a time and date.
The information was analyzed; the source was good and reliable and had always come up trumps in the past.”
Strayker paused, still looking into the interrogation cell.
Max knew it would not be prudent to interrupt and gave his boss time to continue.
Strayker continued, “we passed the Intel to the senior commander for the area, this was two days prior to the proposed meeting, the farmhouse was situated one mile inside the border with Ireland near a place called Derrynoose in county Armagh, a section of twelve Para’s were deployed to recon the farmhouse twelve hours before Zulu time, to take out Lynch and any associates when they arrived.”
Strayker turned and walked over to the coffee percolator on the nearby table, “Black coffee Max?”
“I’ll do that sir.”
Strayker raised his right index finger, “it’s alright Max, let me.”
Strayker brought the coffee’s over and sat down with Max, “you probably have an idea what happened from what Clarke has said.”
Max nodded in confirmation.
“Fifteen minutes before the given hour three people were observed approaching and entering the farmhouse, it was dark, the Para’s waited until fifteen minutes after Zulu time before making their assault on the farmhouse, they were being led by Sergeant Tom Dawson.”
Max’s eyebrows rose at the name.
“Eight of the section came down from the ridge and surrounded the farmhouse when shots rang out; four Para’s including Dawson were fatally wounded in that first volley, a bloody fire fight ensued with the remaining four Para’s by the farmhouse finding themselves being pinned down.
The remaining four that had stayed up on the ridge opened up with a barrage of fire including a GPMG, a two-man team was utilizing the General purpose machine gun; laying down seven hundred and fifty rounds per minute.
This had taken the ambushers by surprise and five of their numbers were killed in the first minute.
This gave the four down at the farmhouse a brief respite, two of them fired grenades from their UGL’s into the farmhouse, and this killed the three occupants outright the four Para’s now turned their attention to the ambushers; the two reloaded their under slung grenade launchers and fired, this was enough to make the ambushers take flight, total tally Four Para’s dead and ten terrorist including Lynch killed.”
Strayker paused as he sipped his coffee.
Max spoke, “That was Brigadier Dawson’s lad you just mentioned wasn’t it?”
“Yes Max; he took it badly especially as it was a set up, I went to see him after the funeral; he blamed me for his son’s death I couldn’t reason with him, we haven’t spoken since.”
“So what’s the plan?”
“This needs to be handed over to the provost marshal; I’ll let him deal with it, have the guards secure Clarke in a cell, and I’ll phone the provost marshal.”
Both men left the room.
Five minutes later Strayker had brought Brigadier Davenport up to speed with recent events and Clarke’s arraign about Brigadier Dawson.
“Well Mick; that’s a hell of an allegation and comes totally left of field, we picked up the top rat on the arms smuggling two hours ago a Captain Preston from the Royal Army Ordnance Corp’s, he’s already coughed up to the theft of your munitions and knows Booth.”
“So how do you want to handle Brigadier Dawson; Jack?”
“I’ll need access to Booth and Clarke.”
That can be arranged, who will you send Jack?”
“Major Fisher will oversee the transfer personally.”
Strayker looked at his watch; “Eighteen hundred hours Zulu be convenient Jack?”
“Give me the location Mick.”
Strayker gave the units location, “I’ll ensure the guards are notified of his and the escorts arrival; Booth and Clarke will be ready for them.”
“Mick; I must warn you that Booth’s and Clarke’s testimonies may not be enough to nail Dawson, their tainted men with very little credibility, at best we might be able to shake Dawson into taking early retirement, he wouldn’t want the publicity this could bring.”
“I’ll let you make the call on that Jack, please keep me informed.”
“I’ll give you a sit-rep in twenty-four hours.”
Both men hung their phones up.
Strayker found Max talking to the onsite duty officer, he spoke to both of them informing them of the prisoner’s transfer, the duty officer saluted about turned and walked away to instigate the transfer process.