of papers and sat down behind his desk mumbling the name, âJack Crane; so what do you want to know?â
Bradley exhaled noisily, âAnything you can tell me.â
âAs a matter of interest,â Finder enquired cautiously, âwhatâs your connection with Jack Crane?â
Bradley was equally cautious and gave a vague reply, âOh, itâs just some kind of business arrangement that I may get involved in; I just like to know what Iâm up against; who I am dealing with thatâs all.â
A wide tight-lipped twisted smile spread across Finderâs face as he flicked a photo across the desk. âThatâs him; taken about a year ago â age forty-six. Heâs not a man to mess with you know. One of my best clients tried a year or so ago; he disappeared after Crane followed him to the USA. Jack Crane is an ex-SAS soldier from a very different mould. I was fortunate at the time to find this out from a fellow that was also ex-army, although he was of a different breed. He too, appears to be no longer around. He told me that Crane was permanently stationed at Whitehall and was an integral part of what is known as a ghost squad.â
âGhost squad?â Bradley echoed.
âNo one is supposed to know of their existence. A select group of men â hand-picked from the SAS â who do all sorts of covert jobs; jobs that cover a wide variety of dangerous missions for our government. If they get caught, theyâre on their own â so to speak.â
Bradley left Finderâs office somewhat comforted with the knowledge of what he was up against; and smiled to himself with the thought,
âDangerous eh? Forewarned is forearmed, but the man that can outsmart me hasnât been born yet.â
*
The air was chilled at four am the next the morning when Crane returned to the farm. It was still dark. The shadowy outline of a Ford Mondeo was parked directly outside the front door of the house. Dressed entirely in black, Crane skirted around the back of the building and made his way towards the barn.
He paused beside the ribbed steel shutter listening intently. All was quiet. He paused again and put an ear to the partially open Judas door; and satisfied that there was no one around, produced his torch and stepped inside. The pencil beam hit a blank timber wall and the door slammed shut behind him. Crane pushed against the sides to no avail. He was trapped in a cage â a small shed within the barn. He tried lifting it from underneath, but it was firmly anchored down. A hissing noise and pungent turpentine-like smell filled the air. He recognised it immediately and was already beginning to notice the effects. It was ether gas. In spite of feeling light-headed, he cupped a hand over his mouth; holding his breath as he did so. He knew it would not take long to succumb to its sleep-inducing qualities. Using the torch, Crane frantically looked around the walls until the beam fell on a large brown knot halfway down the planking. Holding his breath, he used the torch to push hard on the knot and slammed it with his other hand until it popped out. Leaning heavily against the wall, he put his mouth over the hole and felt a sharp splinter dig in his lip, but he didnât care about the pain, as he pinched his nose tight and drew in lungfuls of clean fresh air.
*
Ryan stood back from the barn and gave a satisfied, smug glance at Stan â his accomplice â as he reached for the mobile phone in his pocket and dialled Bradleyâs number.
âIt worked a treat, just like you said it would; he fell for it good and proper. Itâs all quiet in there; he must be well under by now. What do you want done with him?â
There was a pause at the other end before Bradley replied, âLike I said before, give it a few minutes or so then drag him out and use that iron bar leaning against the side of the barn and break his fucking legs; you got