The Phoenix Series Box Set 3

by Ted Tayler

  Athena had heard and seen enough. She walked back to the apartment. Maria Elena sat in the window seat, reading.

  “Hope has just gone to bed, for her afternoon nap,” she said, standing up and walking to the middle of the room. “Is everything alright?”

  “No, Maria Elena, it’s far from alright,” sighed Athena. “But, if we can get through today and tomorrow unscathed, then perhaps we can turn the corner.”

  “Shall I stay?” the nanny asked.

  “You can have an hour or two to yourself,” Athena replied, “I’ll see you this evening at six o’clock.”

  Maria Elena left the room. Athena remembered that Giles was in the ice-house hunting for Maurice Kelly’s new address.

  “Ah well, she’ll soon find out for herself,” she thought. “It can’t be helped.”

  Athena walked to the nursery and making as little noise as she could, turned the door handle. She stood in the doorway and watched her daughter’s chest as it rose, and fell, in innocent slumber.

  Phoenix found her there twenty minutes later.

  “We’re set to go,” he whispered.

  Athena and Phoenix walked back into the lounge and she clung to him.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “Rusty and the others will be with me. I’ll be home by lunchtime tomorrow.”

  “I can’t lose you,” she said, her head lying against his shoulder. He could feel the dampness of her tears seeping through his shirt.

  “I know,” Phoenix replied.

  They kissed and held one another tight for several minutes.

  “Good hunting,” whispered Athena.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” said Phoenix, “give Hope a kiss from me when she wakes.”

  With that, he left the room and hurried to the front door. Two vans from the transport section were waiting outside, their engines idling. Have waved to Kelly and Hayden and then jumped into the passenger seat of the lead vehicle.

  “Drive,” he said to Rusty.

  *****

  Hugo Hanigan checked his mobile phone for the sixth time. There was still no call from Sean Walsh. He must have been among the people picked up by the police earlier today. The fools were wasting their time.

  The jurors he had planned to target were dead, the other deaths had been collateral damage. Hugo couldn’t fathom why the police hadn’t announced that two plain-clothes police officers had died in the Bromley house fire. That puzzled him. Why else would two armed men sit in a car fifty yards from the home owned by a juror?

  As for Sean Walsh and whoever else they had grabbed in their frantic attempts to show they were being pro-active; they would get nothing from them. Nobody would dare to talk. Not if they valued their lives, and those of their families.

  Hugo looked at his watch. It was three in the afternoon. The chartered helicopter ferrying the Finkelman family back from Jersey would take off at five o’clock. It was due to land at Denham Aerodrome around six.

  A team was standing by to drive through the gates, onto the tarmac, to intercept the family as soon as they appeared in the doorway, with their hand luggage. No one on board was to be left alive. An incendiary device would destroy the helicopter and leave a lasting memory in the minds of every person in the UK.

  Hugo smiled at the thought.

  Then he considered his next move. The Newcastle address was still unknown to him. Sean had been so close to discovering it. Now he had to wait for the police to release him. They had no reason to keep him for long. If they were stubborn enough to refuse to accept ‘No comment’ as a genuine response, he might need to devise an audacious plan to release Walsh and senior gang members the Met had arrested.

  Hugo checked his phone again, this time for a number for Colleen O’Riordan, Sean’s sister. He thought she might know who the police had grabbed, but better still she might be able to put him in touch with Sean’s contact in Newcastle. They needed to find Kelly. Another couple of deaths before the Old Bailey opened for business in the morning. That would be the icing on the cake.

  The country would be on its knees before he had finished.

  They would show him respect then.

  CHAPTER 9

  Sunday, 27th April 2014

  Rusty made good progress as he drove through scattered showers along the M4 and left the motorway at Junction seven. As he had thought, traffic was light. They reached Forty Green, two miles outside of Beaconsfield at a quarter to five. Kelly Dexter parked behind him thirty seconds later.

  “Right,” said Phoenix, “we passed the Judge’s house four hundred yards back. I saw no signs of anyone loitering. I’ll walk back alone to make sure the coast is clear. I’ll call you if we’ve got company. Just give Kelly and Hayden a heads-up to stay in the van for now.”

  “OK, Phoenix,” replied Rusty.

  Phoenix strolled along the road to the fine-looking Finkelman property. He wore a white hard hat, a hi-viz jacket, and carried a clipboard. Any cover to explain why he was wandering around on a Sunday afternoon was better than none. Although these large, detached houses offered seclusion and stood well back from the road, there were always nosy people around.

  Phoenix reached the driveway to the house. He checked again in both directions, but nobody was in sight. He walked quicker now and skirted around the side of the building. Phoenix peered inside the double garage. Phoenix looked for telltale signs someone had been here since Friday when the Judge and his family had left for Denham Aerodrome. There were none that he could see. A final check around the outside of the house satisfied Phoenix that everything was well. No nasty surprises awaited the Finkelmans when they returned home.

  Phoenix returned to the van.

  “No worries,” he said, “let’s get to the aerodrome. We need to recce the approach roads, and the airfield itself, before that chopper lands.”

  “We’ll be there in twenty minutes, give or take,” said Rusty, and drove towards the M40. The closer the two vans got to Denham, the wetter the roads became. A shower was passing through. One which showed no sign of being in a hurry to blow away.

  Although that made visibility a problem, it kept dog-walkers and other pedestrians indoors for the time being. Spotting vehicles or people on foot who posed a threat would be easier. Every little helped.

  Phoenix called Hayden and told him to get Kelly to park the van and await further orders. Rusty and Phoenix drove past the entrance to the aerodrome and looked for any signs of unwanted visitors.

  “Not that my knowledge of small airfields is that great,” said Rusty, “but it’s quiet. A light plane is lining up to come into land. I see two men on the tarmac, near the main building, who might be ground crew judging by their uniforms. They’re sheltering from the rain for the moment, not taking much notice of the plane. I can’t see anybody in the tower from here. How many people did your research tell us there might be here today?”

  Phoenix sighed.

  “This is a busy little place, during the week. At weekends, it varies, I’m hoping at six o’clock on a Sunday evening it’s the quietest it gets throughout the week.”

  Phoenix kept looking around for danger signs and continued reading from his notes.

  “This airfield lies on a well-drained gravel plateau and is easily accessible from Central London. They store and maintain one of the Helicopter Emergency Service helicopters here.”

  “Bloody good job they do, don’t they?” said Rusty.

  “Too right,” replied Phoenix, “they might be busy later. As for the tower, a duty officer supervises flying operations, so he’s up there somewhere, even if you can’t see him. There is no full Air Traffic Control service, but he provides pilots with flight information, weather forecasts and the rest. The airfield is in close contact with customs, border control, and the police.”

  “Terrific, we can expect company if we have to engage with the enemy,” muttered Rusty.

  “There are only two entry points we need to watch,” Phoenix continued. “The one we used and one on the f
ar side. There are loads of hangars on the north side of the airfield. Those have several businesses running out of them. Flying schools that offer pilot training and aircraft hire firms, for both fixed and rotary-wing aircraft, and companies providing maintenance. Monday to Friday this place must be buzzing.”

  “Ten to six,” said Rusty, checking the clock on the dashboard. He was happy that it was Sunday and civilian casualties would be at a minimum.

  “The rain has stopped,” said Phoenix. “We’ll get a good view from here of any vehicles approaching from the other side. As soon as we see the helicopter making its approach, we’ll make our move. I see one of your ground crew guys is walking over to that row of parked cars to the right of the main building. My guess is he’s got a spare set of the Judge’s keys. There he goes. Straight to the brand-new Mercedes. That will be waiting for them as soon as they reach the bottom of the steps. No doubt they pay well for the door-to-door service.”

  “I think I can make out a chopper through the clouds,” said Rusty, “it's showtime.”

  “When they land, it will only take two minutes before they’re in the car,” said Phoenix. “Call Kelly, and tell her to turn the van around, and stay in position until she sees the Mercedes approaching. She should then move in front of it, and we’ll cover the front and back door as we escort them home.”

  The dark shape of a helicopter loomed over the landing area. Rusty and Phoenix found themselves mesmerised for a few seconds by the flailing rotor blades. The noise was deafening. The helicopter hovered, then descended, and with two gentle bounces, it stood stationary on the tarmac.

  “There!” shouted Rusty, slamming the van into gear and gunning for the gateway. Phoenix rang Kelly in a frantic call to get her and Hayden to provide support.

  A beat-up transit van was speeding from the north side of the airfield.

  The helicopter pilot, Keith Stott chatted to his passengers, asking them to wait until after the blades had stopped before leaving the aircraft. He reminded them, as he did on every trip when he flew them to Jersey, not to leave any belongings behind. Reuben Finkelman and Keith Stott had a good relationship. Keith was one of the family.

  Keith opened the side passenger door and lowered the steps. He saw a transit van only fifty yards away and closing fast.

  A sudden movement to his right made Keith step back, putting a protective arm across the chests of Ruth and Rachel who were eager to get to the car.

  “Wait,” he cried. “I’m not sure what’s happening.”

  It was Rusty’s van that had shot across the tarmac in front of the helicopter and alarmed the pilot. With a screech of brakes, Rusty protected the pilot and passengers from immediate danger. A second van blocked the entrance. Kelly and Hayden had arrived.

  The three gangsters in the beat-up transit were heavily armed. They came out firing. The appearance of the two vans had been unexpected. This was supposed to be an easy kill. Drive across the airfield at speed, rake the doorway with automatic fire, finish anyone still breathing, and then toss the incendiary device into the passenger compartment.

  Simple, they’d been told.

  This would be far from simple.

  The four Olympus agents were now out of their vehicles and finding cover wherever they could. Keith Stott had moved his passengers back inside, where they crouched by the seats. He remained by the doorway.

  Two of the gangsters were using old AK47 assault rifles, and Rusty thought he made out the sound of a Skorpion submachine gun spitting lead. The same weapon Phoenix had used less than two months ago, to take out Gavin McTierney.

  Compared to the Olympus agents, these guys were amateurs. They sprayed bullets left and right. The van blocking the chopper doorway received dozens of hits in its bodywork, but it served its purpose as a barricade.

  Rusty and Phoenix took careful aim with their SAS C8 carbines. Hayden lay in the prone position armed with a Heckler and Koch G36. Kelly Dexter stood with her weapon of choice, the MP Shield, behind the open driver’s door of her van.

  A volley of well-placed shots rang out. The reply from the gangsters became sporadic at once and then stopped. The airfield fell quiet once more. The three attackers lay dead on the tarmac.

  Rusty and Hayden ran forward to check the bodies and kick away any weapons. Kelly got back inside the van and started the engine. She could see the duty officer in the tower, standing by the window, phone to his ear. From that angle, he couldn’t see her van. Time to leave. The cavalry would soon be on its way.

  Phoenix reached the door of the helicopter. The Finkelman’s cowered inside on the floor. Ruth and Rachel looked shocked and in tears.

  “Keith’s been hit,” cried Miriam Finkelman.

  “I’ll look after him,” said Phoenix. “You and your family need to get your things and run to your car, sir. We’ll escort you home from here.”

  Reuben Finkelman urged his wife and daughters forward, and they dashed across the tarmac to the Mercedes. Miriam clung to her husband’s arm.

  “Who are you?” the Judge shouted over his shoulder, “Special Forces?”

  “We’re just glad to help, sir,” replied Phoenix, “the young lady will lead the way.”

  Kelly Dexter drove through the aerodrome entrance, followed by the Mercedes. Hayden and Rusty ran back to the helicopter where Phoenix bent over a body.

  “What’s the damage?” asked Hayden.

  “A stray bullet straight through the heart,” Phoenix replied. “There’s nothing more we can do here, I’m afraid. We need to follow the Judge’s car, in case there’s a backup hit squad lying in wait up the road.”

  The three agents jumped into the bullet-ridden van. Rusty offered a silent prayer. The engine started the first time. It was unscathed.

  “That was lucky,” Rusty said, “it’s just cosmetic. We can write it off as wear and tear.”

  He barrelled through the gateway and sped after the other vehicles. Twenty minutes later they parked on the grass verge outside the Finkelmans’ home. Kelly was waiting.

  “The ladies are upset,” she said, “they were asking after the pilot. I think he’s a friend of the family.”

  “He didn’t make it,” Phoenix replied.

  “We’ve shown our hand now, mate,” said Rusty, “unavoidable, but what do we tell them?”

  “I’ll wing it,” said Phoenix, “the old man thinks we’re SAS, so I won’t shatter his illusion. The Judge is alive, and so is his family. He should be grateful enough to keep quiet for now. We’ll disappear as soon as I’ve informed him of the pilot’s death. I’ll tell him we’ll be back in the morning, but he won’t see us. If he co-operates, we can avoid getting mixed up with the authorities who will be arriving en masse in the next few minutes. Kelly, you and Hayden get back to the M4 and head for home. Rusty, keep the van ticking over, I don’t think the gunfire did it any favours. Time to put Plan B into operation.”

  “I didn’t know we had a Plan B,” said Rusty.

  Phoenix grinned, “You know me, mate, I love planning. Telephone our transport section in London. Tell them I need the replacement van. They will have it ready for us. We’ll stay up here overnight and escort the Judge into the city in the morning.”

  “Are you sure you won’t need us?” asked Kelly.

  “The Judge has an official driver organised. I checked with Giles before we drove here. After the events of the weekend, he tells me the Met will be sending the Judge an armed escort. We’ll give covert support. I doubt if Hanigan’s thugs will attempt a strike in the city in broad daylight, but if they do, we’ll be ready.”

  Kelly and Hayden said their goodbyes and left.

  “The three gunmen were dead when you checked, I take it?” asked Phoenix.

  “Yes,” said Rusty. “I only hit one. I think Hayden got the other two. The G36 leaves its own signature. Do you know what he said when we stood over the bodies?”

  “What?” asked Phoenix.

  “That was for Davy,” replied Rusty.


  “Good,” said Phoenix, “he wanted a chance to avenge the death of his colleague. What nationality were they?”

  “Eastern European, at a guess, two might be Polish, the other from the Balkans somewhere,” said Rusty.

  “He’s got every nationality dancing to his tune hasn’t he, this Hanigan?” said Phoenix.

  He left Rusty and walked towards the house. Reuben Finkelman came out of the front door to meet him in the driveway.

  Rusty was making the call to the transport section in London.

  “We owe you our lives,” said the Judge, offering his hand.

  “I’m sorry sir,” said Phoenix, shaking his hand, “but your pilot was fatally wounded. There was nothing we could do. He deserves much of the credit, his quick thinking prevented your daughters from exiting the helicopter. Things might have been far worse.”

  “That’s why I popped outside. I didn’t think Keith looked too good. We’ve known him since the girls were toddlers. He was a good chap, and a brave one.”

  “We will stay close by until the morning, sir, then when your transport arrives I understand the Met will send an armed escort to escort you. No doubt you have watched the news over the weekend? It’s imperative you reach the Old Bailey in one piece in the morning. Our role will be to shadow your car unseen, to prevent another attack.”

  “I’ve never known times like these,” the Judge said, blowing out his cheeks. “it’s Chicago in the Roaring Twenties. I understand your position. Your unit is sent into action, you do the deed, then disappear. My lips are sealed. Who’s behind this, officer, do we know?”

  “Not part of my brief, sir,” Phoenix replied. “Yes, you described our role to perfection. Ours not to reason why, and so on…”

  “Right, I’ll let you get on, and thank you again.”

  With that Reuben Finkelman returned indoors.

  Phoenix rejoined Rusty by the van.

  “Have the transport boys been in contact yet?” he asked.

  “Another ten minutes, mate,” said Rusty. “Is his Lordship cool with things?”