Cobra Z by Sean Deville Read Free Book Online

government still had the money for war, still had money to keep the Parliamentary wine cellar well stocked. Croft could have laughed at the ridiculousness of it all; after all, there wasn’t much else in his life to laugh about these days.
    Croft shifted nervously on his chair, its wooden carved arms unpadded and uncomfortable, probably deliberately so. His right knee throbbed as it often did at this time of year, the cold no good for his apparently healed injuries. Despite being inside, it was as if someone had forgotten to turn on the central heating, and he kept his winter coat on. Admittedly, these were all minor discomforts compared to what he had endured so far in his life. Still, it would have been nice if someone had at least brought him a cup of tea.
    There was a sound, and the door to the inner sanctum opened. Out stepped the thin and gaunt humourless woman who had led him to this waiting area from the front desk of the building when he had arrived. “Captain Croft, they are ready for you now.” Croft nodded his agreement and stood, his right knee cracking loudly. He took the four steps over to where she waited and stepped through the threshold. The woman remained outside and closed the door behind him.
    “Captain, apologies for keeping you waiting. Affairs of state and all that.” Croft recognised the elderly man who strode towards him, the present Home Secretary David Pendlebury. He walked further into the room and shook the proffered hand. There were two other men in the room with them, both seated, neither of them Croft knew. “This is Arnold Craver, Head of the Centre for the Protection of National Infrastructure.”
    “MI5?” Croft asked, knowing the answer. Craver nodded in agreement.
    “This is Sir Peter Milnes, Commissioner of the Police of the Metropolis.” Neither of the seated men stood or offered their hand. “Please, Captain, have a seat.”
    “I presume this is where I learn why I have been trundled into a car and brought to London, sir?” Croft sat down, this leather seat infinitely more comfortable than the one outside.
    “Yes, sorry about that, old boy,” Pendlebury said. “Secrecy and all that. So let’s get to it. Craver?” Craver lifted a briefcase off the floor and placed it on his lap; opening it, he withdrew a thick folder and set the briefcase back down. He looked at Croft for a second and then opened the folder.
    “Captain Croft of Her Majesty’s Royal Military Police, age 38. Formerly a commissioned officer in the Black Watch and the Special Boat Service. Graduated top of his class at Sandhurst. Two tours of Afghanistan. Three Tours of Northern Ireland. Saw action in Iraq and various other theatres that remain classified. Winner of two Military Crosses and the Conspicuous Gallantry Cross. Mentioned in Dispatches countless times. Presently with the Royal Military Police at Regimental headquarters.” Craver closed the folder. “Quite an impressive CV, Captain.”
    “I do what I can, sir. But I suspect we aren’t here to talk about my service record.”
    “No, Captain, we aren’t,” said Milnes. “You are here because someone thinks you are the man for a job we require filling.” Milnes stood up and walked over to a decanter set on a sideboard. “Drink, Captain?”
    “No, thank you, sir, never touch the stuff.” Especially not before lunch time.
    “Well, I trust you won’t mind if I indulge,” Milne said as he poured himself a short measure. Ice followed. At the side of the decanter was a clipboard which Milne picked up. He took a sip of his precious drink, savouring its texture for a brief moment. He brought the clipboard over to Croft. “Before we continue, you need to read this, and if you agree to it, sign it.” Croft took the clipboard and took off the attached pen. He started to read it.
     
    I agree that the information I am about to receive is Top Secret…
    Official Secret Act blah blah blah
    Disclosure will result in life imprisonment, etc.,