by Ted Tayler
Colin knew better than to barge in to see if Erebus was ready to start. Far better to stay in the corridor and wait for the boss to emerge. Then he could listen for any titbits of news to pass back to his colleagues in the stable block. Unless the people in the dining room were discussing him, in which case he would keep quiet.
As he strained to pick up what was being said, Colin heard footsteps nearing the door; it was Erebus.
“Ah there you are, old chap,” said the old man, “let’s go to the orangery for an oasis of peace and quiet. We can order a pot of coffee later if that suits?”
“That’s great, sir,” replied Colin.
The two men walked the rest of the way in companionable silence. Inside the orangery, the décor proved to be as tasteful and understated as in the rest of the house. Erebus looked around the room in admiration. As if he hadn’t been there for a while and remembered how wonderful it was.
“Opinion is divided among us, Phoenix,” said Erebus as he finally decided where to sit. Colin sat next to him and wished he had overheard who was for him and who against among the prime movers of the Olympus group.
“That wasn’t my intention Erebus,” said Colin.
“Let me say right away Phoenix, that your performance over the past three months has been exemplary. As far as your fitness, both physical and mental, is concerned you have applied yourself to every task thrown at you with commendable effort. You are without a doubt ready to carry out a direct action effective from today.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Colin, “it was hard work but I’ve never been fitter, and I feel thirty-three rather than forty-three. So why do I sense misgivings among the others?”
“My fault, I’m afraid, old chap. I remember there being a few items of unfinished business on your summer tour. I proposed we let you loose on a target you researched earlier. A quick job to get you back into the swing of things. Athena wasn’t in favour though. She thought I indulged you. The lads shared my opinion. We want to get you into the field and back doing the things in which you excel.”
“What’s the final decision?”
“A green light Phoenix. Refresh your background on DCI Richard Armitage (SOCA London) as soon we conclude this meeting. You now have a laptop in your quarters. I’ve arranged for our IT people to pass you their files on Armitage. The police have the material you gathered before you joined us. We lost that edge when they found your Land Rover in the car park across the road from the Pavilion, but that can’t be helped. There have been no signs of the police focusing on your non-appearance in the river. It’s too soon to assume it’s a closed book, but on balance, we believe you can carry on in the field, with caution. Remember Phoenix, it’s imperative you complete your task without leaving clues for the authorities as to your identity.”
“Nor my links with Olympus,” said Colin, “yes Erebus, the instructors drilled that into me often enough over the past twelve weeks. I understand.”
Erebus took his mobile phone from his suit jacket pocket and rang for their refreshments. Five minutes later they sat enjoying a delicious hot cup of coffee while they chatted over the basic details of the Armitage case. Colin recounted everything he learned during his planning for the hit while on tour with Maiden’s Hair. Erebus listened carefully. He marvelled at the level of detail that Phoenix amassed, and how much he remembered despite the three months’ gap since he had access to his own files. If Athena had been there, listening to this conversation perhaps her misgivings might be allayed. Unless she had reservations over another aspect of Phoenix’s nature. He needed to keep an eye on these two. The old man wasn’t blind to the sparks that flew whenever these two came into contact with one another. Erebus might be old; but not that old.
Richard Armitage served with Sussex Police for sixteen years and was based at their headquarters in Lewes. In April 2007, he joined the Serious Organised Crime Agency in London. He worked with teams targeting the drugs gangs operating across London and the south-east. A thankless task, but one which the public expected to be carried out diligently and by officers who acted with honesty and integrity. Men and women who never compromised or abused their position.
During his time in London, Armitage rose to the rank of DCI and on the face of it, he was a model policeman. In 2010, the forty-five-year-old officer was accused of shaking down drug dealers for cash and guns, planting narcotics on them and then arresting them. He was also accused of falsifying police reports. The charges against him included conspiracy, official misconduct, and theft.
Four witnesses appeared in court to testify that Armitage robbed people, planted drugs and violated his oath of office. The defence barrister argued his client’s arrests were legitimate. His career was devoted to getting drugs and guns off the streets. One of his accusers had been a former colleague who was dismissed from the force in 2008 for corruption and received a custodial sentence. The others were career criminals escorted to the court from prisons across the country.
It was their human nature to lie he said. The barrister told the jury they should reject their evidence as unreliable. The defence barrister told the court that Armitage’s former colleague only agreed to testify against DCI Armitage in exchange for a reduction in his sentence. The jury listened to the men lined up to accuse the DCI. They heard those witnesses being discredited and the unblemished record of Richard Armitage over two decades and found him not guilty.
DCI Armitage declined an offer to return to duty with SOCA and took up a post in his old stamping ground on the south coast. His current post was as a Superintendent in Corporate Development.
Erebus looked up when he realised Colin had reached the end of his account.
“What opinion did you form of his case Phoenix?” he asked.
“Guilty as hell,” replied Colin.
“I agree. If you take advantage of the most recent data for him, you will discover he has large sums of money salted away. Held in bank accounts his superiors have no idea existed. He appears to be seeing out the next few years in a cushy ‘non-job’ until he takes his pension at fifty. I expect he’ll retire to Spain or Portugal and play lots of golf. That is his main preoccupation, from what our surveillance has uncovered.”
“I’ll take a look at the new data and plan when and how to dispose of Mr Armitage. The sooner the better. Thanks for the coffee Erebus; and the green light.”
“The ‘how’ is up to you Phoenix; the when is preferably within a week,” said Erebus as Colin stood up and prepared to leave the orangery.
Colin grinned. “The clock is ticking, tick-tock.”
With a spring in his step, Colin strode across the lawn towards the stable block. Once inside his quarters, he checked out his laptop. Sure enough, more files populated his inbox. They had been forwarded by Giles, one of the IT guys who tutored him in the dark arts of computers.
Colin couldn’t help recalling those first tentative keystrokes back at Shaw Park Mines and how long it took him to figure out how to send an e-mail. A long time ago now. He became more proficient in Africa, he had time to spare and a thirst for knowledge. Knowledge was paramount. The more he discovered about the people he hunted, the easier it became to dispose of them.
Colin spent the rest of the day studying the files. He had various CCTV photos of DCI Richard Armitage in London and Lewes. He was confident he would recognise him when the time came. Colin reviewed information he had gleaned himself about the policeman’s early career and his fall from grace on the mean streets of London.
It gratified him to see that Olympus staff only found the same incriminating evidence he detailed during his own meticulous planning stage earlier this year. He hadn’t missed much. Except for the handful of items added over the past three months, while he was running, shooting and undergoing the operations.
A detailed analysis of the bank accounts that Giles and his friends had traced showed that Richard Armitage had around half a million stashed away. His two-bedroom, end of terrace house in Chapel Hill in Lewes
, was worth just under four hundred thousand. It stood as close to the golf course as he could get without having a caravan behind the nineteenth hole.
“What is the fascination?” thought Colin.
Colin knew Armitage was married until 2009, but his wife disappeared with a personal trainer half her age, while Richard feathered his nest in London. If she’d known how much he was adding to his pension pot, who knows, she might have stayed.
“Women are fickle souls,” he said out loud, but nobody heard him.
The family home, a detached four-bedroom property on the outskirts of Lewes had been sold. Mrs Armitage snaffled her share of the proceeds and moved to Margate where her new beau Carlos wanted to open a fitness studio. The kids moved out long since and were scattered around the South East of England. As with most of their generation, they didn’t get the family thing and rarely visited their parents. Colin could understand not going to see Mum. But nobody wanted to go to Margate if it could be avoided.
Time passed quickly when you were having fun. Colin was back in harness, doing what he did best. Planning in minute detail the method by which a bad apple from the barrel might be removed. One rotten apple can ruin the whole crop as we know. The police service had several such poisonous articles in their midst. Colin in his guise as ‘The Phoenix’ wanted to help them clean up their act. An improvement was long overdue and Colin could find only scant evidence they could do the job for themselves.
He glanced at his watch. It was nearly midnight. Food must wait. Sleep was the next thing on the agenda. Tomorrow was another day, and he needed to check his itinerary with Erebus. If he got the green light, then he could get kitted up with the items needed for the trip. Then the transport section could be contacted to run him into the city. He saved his work on the laptop, closed every file and crashed out on his bunk. Sweet dreams.
Colin had been awake since six o’clock. He had showered and got dressed, then trotted over to the canteen for a hearty breakfast. As he read through his proposed programme for the direct action against DCI Armitage, he satisfied himself everything was in order. Then he contacted the main house and asked for Erebus. It was now the appointed hour for their meeting and he sat with his boss in the orangery.
“It’s good to see you have grasped the urgency of the situation, Phoenix,” enthused Erebus, “this looks waterproof when do you leave?”
“I need to pick up a few clothes and the right weapon from the armoury,” said Colin, “plus a lift to the station early tomorrow morning. When the job is finished, do I contact the transport section for a minicab ride back here?”
“On this occasion, yes old chap, please do,” said Erebus. “We’ll debrief the mission once you get back. We can take account of any wrinkles in the planning process that need ironing out. Once we’re happy that you can work in the field without your true identity being uncovered. Then you can be deployed in London or one of the major provincial cities for other assignments. Lengthy stays back at Larcombe Manor will be less frequent the more successful you are. Naturally, if there were to be any fallout from a mission that left you exposed in the field we’d spirit you back here for safekeeping.”
Colin’s meeting with the old man soon ended. Erebus returned to the main house and Colin made his way to the ice-house and the armoury.
“Morning guys.” he said to the two who had been with him when they played ‘Three Men in a Boat’ in July. He now knew they were Sgt Pete Thommo Thomas and Sgt Barry Bazza Longdon. Both men were ex-SAS.
“What do you recommend for this scenario?” Colin asked them.
He unfolded his sheets of paper. Among them were a diagram of the ‘kill zone’ and a list of his proposed clothing. There was a complete itinerary too of his journey to and from Larcombe Manor.
“How about a Russian PSS,” said Thommo.
“What’s that when it’s at home?” asked Colin.
“A simple double-action pistol Phoenix,” replied Thommo, “their special forces used them on covert ops when they need a completely silent option. It’s lightweight, weighing in at less than a bag of sugar when loaded and it’s got serious stopping power.”
“Looking at this spec,” his mate Bazza added, “you’ll be up close and personal. If you need to make a hit, this thing will do the business up to twenty-five maybe fifty metres at a push.”
“How does it work?” asked Colin holding the pistol Thommo fetched from one of his well-stocked drawers.
“When you fire, the piston delivers enough oomph to get the cartridge out of the barrel then it seals the cartridge neck. There’s no noise, smoke or blast with this baby.”
“Impressive. Does it kick back much?” asked Colin.
“A little,” smiled Bazza, “why don’t you try it for half an hour on the range? I’ll sort ammunition out for you; blanks for now and the real thing for when you leave us.”
“Great idea,” said Colin, “this feels good. Let’s practice.”
Forty minutes later Colin left the armourers with his weapon of choice; fully cleaned and with a six-round detachable box.
Erebus had sorted his financials. When he dropped by his quarters to lock the weapon away, he found a money clip on his laptop. He had more than enough for a day trip to Lewes. Erebus left a note scribbled on a sheet from Colin’s notepad.
‘Bon voyage. Receipts are traceable, always use cash. Good hunting.’
Next stop was the clothing store. A misnomer, as in reality, the crew members had a wide range of clothing available stored in a large trunk in the stable block. His trainer Rusty used to call it the dressing-up box. Operators saw what was available, found the right size, signed it out from the store, wore it, got it cleaned and threw it back in the box on their return.
Colin had a good rummage around and found what he needed. A reversible zip-up windcheater. It was baggy enough to allow him to conceal his PSS and gave him the choice of wearing it in navy blue or maroon. He had a pair of jeans and a pair of sturdy walking shoes in his quarters. He grabbed a red bobble hat and a white baseball cap from the box and stuffed them into the jacket pockets. Phoenix was good to go.
CHAPTER 13
Colin climbed out of bed with the first buzz of his alarm. He showered but didn’t shave. He took his underwear, socks, jeans and shirt from the neatly ironed pile by his laptop on the table and put them on, one by one. Colin looked in the mirror. It looked okay.
He ate a full English breakfast at the canteen and returned to his quarters. He put on the navy blue jacket, slipped the PSS pistol and ammunition into the left inside pocket and made sure it was securely zipped. Colin checked the way the jacket looked. He tried with his hands in the side pockets, and then in his jeans. Only a genius would guess he was carrying.
Colin spotted the IT whiz kid Giles on his way in to start work.
“Where can I grab a rucksack mate?” he called.
“Best bet is Rusty. He’s got a stock of most things. It’ll cost you, though.”
“Yeah, yeah,” said Colin, “I can hear him, remember the six P’s Phoenix.
“Piss poor planning etcetera. Where is he?”
“Most likely to be in the pool doing hundreds of lengths.”
Colin didn’t want his hands or pockets full of odds and ends. He needed the bag to carry a few necessary items and keep his hands free. He ran across to the pool. Sure enough, Rusty was swimming length after length; the guy was a fitness freak. Colin looked around him. A couple of other keen beggars were in the pool. Nobody took much notice of him. He spotted a rucksack on a chair at the end of the pool. He tipped the contents onto the chair and made to leave.
“Phoenix,” shouted Rusty, as he touched the wall at the far end and took a breather, “that’ll be a tenner, pal. There’d better not be any kit missing when I get out either.”
Colin waved a tenner from his money clip. He called out. “Done that, Rusty. I hope I haven’t made you lose count on the number of lengths you’ve done.”
“Bastard.” c
ursed Rusty, “I’ve got to start over now.”
Colin shook his head. Why couldn’t people work out, you only need to get fit? It wasn’t compulsory to get fit enough to drop. Back inside his quarters, he dropped his two pieces of headwear, a travel shaver, and a pair of binoculars and an Ordnance Survey map of East Sussex into the rucksack. He checked his wristwatch. Just after seven-fifteen.
The minicab with the Mount Olympus logo waited outside the stable block with its engine running. He got in and nodded to the ‘paramedic’ that he vaguely recognised from that first night.
The cab arrived at Bath Spa station in good time for Colin to catch the seven forty-three train to London Paddington. Nobody gave him a second look on the platform or on the train. He dozed for a while with his head on his chest. This shielded his face somewhat from any passenger wandering along the aisle who might glance around at their fellow travellers.
The train pulled into the station at just after a quarter past nine and Colin made his way along the concourse towards the stairs leading to the Tube. A Circle Line ticket deposited him at London Victoria in just under twenty minutes. Colin checked the timetable for the next train to Lewes; he had just less than thirty minutes to kill. He told himself not to make such puerile jokes, but sometimes they slipped out.
With a newspaper and a scalding hot cup of coffee, he sat on a bench waiting while he went over the planned itinerary in his head. He needn’t have bothered, he had gone over and over it so often that there was no chance he’d forget a single step. The old clock above him ticked around inexorably and the station announcer broke into Colin’s reverie with news of the imminent boarding of his last train ride this morning. Just before half-past eleven, Colin was walking along the platform at Lewes station and making for the exit.
