Gold, Silver, and Bombs

by Ted Tayler

  Kelly and Colin waited outside the entrance to the big Victorian house that the four brothers had occupied. Hayden arrived in the people carrier several minutes later.

  “Everything went to plan then Phoenix?”

  “Of course.” said Colin.

  “What next?”

  “Drop me off at the Holiday Inn. I’m off to bed. You can drive home to Devizes, and get to sleep. First thing in the morning, visit the addresses and pick up the girls. Do you think you can manage that?”

  “It will be a breeze,” said Hayden.

  “Who’s going to be my taxi-driver?”

  “I’ll do it,” said Hayden “Kelly, you can get off home, stick the blanket on and warm the bed up for when I get home.”

  Colin looked at Kelly. Hayden, you lucky swine, he thought. I’m at the Holiday Inn; you’re in clover.

  The three agents were tired but happy when they awoke. Colin went for a hearty breakfast and afterwards walked across to the station. He rang the transport section for a minicab to collect him from Bath Spa. He should be back at Larcombe Manor by the end of the morning meeting.

  Kelly and Hayden returned to Swindon in the people carrier with another young female agent on board and began collecting the victims. One or two of the property owners needed a gentle tap to keep them in line. Hayden saw to that. The girls were confused and most of them strung out. The nurse and Kelly reassured them they would be looked after.

  In an hour, they were on their way to the medical centre at Larcombe. The physical side of their ordeal over. They would receive medical attention before they transferred to the safe house. They would have their reliance on drugs tackled. With care and attention and the passage of time, it was possible the mental side of their ordeal would be behind them too. It would be a long journey.

  In other parts of Swindon, life went on as normal. Normal for Swindon, that is.

  In a side street in Rodbourne, a Lexus blocked the driveway to No43. It was empty, locked up tight with no sign of its registered driver, a Mr. Anjum Ahmed. Miss Ethel Perkins, eighty-six years old, wanted to drive into town, to buy cat food. She was not happy. She told the man at the council so when she rang him.

  The burnt-out BMW attracted several early morning commuters as they drove or cycled into Swindon to work. The police received one call after another reporting the matter. The desk sergeant tried to fob people off as long as possible; he knew that he would not be popular sending someone out until it warmed up. The paperwork in the office was always more appealing on a winter’s morning.

  In a flat near the town centre, Sondra Lovett wished she hadn’t downed so many Bacardi Breezers last night. It was that bloke at the bar’s fault. He looked a bit of alright. If he hadn’t thought she was a tart looking for business, she would have been more careful on the booze. As it happened, she got pissed. She could hear Cyrus in the bathroom. Why couldn’t he aim for the side? Bringing him back had been a disaster. She hoped he would shove off home soon; she hurt all over, he was so big, everywhere. Why was life so bloody unfair?

  Colin stood on the station platform. There was still no sign of Andy Partridge. The Paddington train was due to arrive in two minutes. Life really did go on as normal.

  Except that is, for the Ahmed and Hussein brothers.

  Oh, and the Old Town nightclub would be without a few of their big spenders.

  Colin chuckled to himself as he left Swindon station. Life is about balance: good and bad, right and wrong, lucky and unlucky. The brothers’ luck ran out. The clients with those accounts with the gang were the lucky ones. Nobody was left to collect the money they owed.

  Colin could still taste the full English he had enjoyed at the Holiday Inn; very enjoyable it had been too. On the downside, it did not entirely stop him from remembering the smell of the BMW blazing away last night. He looked out of the window and watched the pleasant Wiltshire countryside flash past him.

  His senses were working overtime, you might say.

  CHAPTER 9

  Colin arrived back in his quarters at Larcombe just over an hour later. He returned the kit he had taken on his trip to ‘Bazza’ in the armoury and congratulated him on his choice. After a phone call to the main building, he got the call to visit Erebus in the meeting room at the manor house.

  Erebus stood by one of the floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out across the lawns. He looked pre-occupied. When Colin entered the room, he beckoned him to join him.

  “Good morning, dear boy.”

  “Mission completed, sir.”

  “Well done Phoenix. What would I do without you?”

  “Anything from the meeting this morning I need to be brought up to speed on, sir?”

  “Yes, we have received more intelligence from the mole inside the cell, Abdul Rivzi. To fill you in on his background, Abdul runs a lucrative traffic in fake brand-name clothing. We overlook this as long as he provides his handler with useful information on the day-to-day working of the cell.

  A small cluster such as the one in Milton Keynes is still dangerous; it is empowered by modern communications. It has access to weapons and explosives; although they are strategically unfocused at present – it leads them to be elusive and unpredictable.

  His latest intelligence suggests that the militant leaders of his group are less concerned with doctrinal depth than their obsession with their beards. More concerned with developing a distinctive pattern of patois speech, an open disdain for women, and an aversion to jewellery. Many of the cell members are born again Muslims or converts from non-Muslim societies drafted in via the prison system. This worries me Phoenix. Life was so much easier when terrorists were fanatical but predictable.

  At the weekends, Abdul says they drive into the country and camp out. They pretend to be akin to the Mujahedeen in Chechnya and live on pita bread and tuna. They play paintball games mimicking battlefield scenarios where they kill non-believers. These activities are even videoed and sent off to their superiors.

  Every exercise they undertake has an overt military context. He has had handgun training every weekend. Oxford Circus was already a target when he joined the cell. As that mission failed, his cell is still in training. But they are out of the loop for ‘bang up to date’ information as a punishment.

  As the London 2012 Games grow closer, though, it is obvious they need to be prepared. At any time, they expect to receive news they are to be involved in the proposed strikes. At the moment, location and timing of such strikes are unknown. At least to the cell at Milton Keynes.”

  “The increased frequency of intelligence coming from Rivzi must inevitably increase the risk of him being exposed as a mole though sir? Do we have any contingency plan for bringing him out if things go pear-shaped?”

  “We discussed that matter this morning; it would be unfortunate for Rivzi if he was found to be less sympathetic to the cause than supposed. It could be far more damaging for Olympus if we lost contact with him. We believe he is one of our best assets, in identifying where and when they will hit the Games.”

  “Although Rivzi reports that the cell doesn’t have the ‘doctrinal depth’ of a number of their colleagues, ‘unfortunate’ would still be a euphemistic description of what would happen to him if his double role is uncovered.”

  “That is a risk Mr. Rivzi has to take Phoenix; we cannot afford to lose him.”

  “Anything else, sir?”

  “A transfer of prisoners will take place between HMP Belmarsh and HMP Wakefield in ten days time.”

  “What’s behind this, sir?”

  “The prison population in England and Wales has hit a record high, Phoenix. The Ministry of Justice says the figure rose by over five hundred in the past week alone. Officials are making contingency plans to speed up opening new buildings and bringing mothballed accommodation back into use. There are now around sixteen hundred useable places left in the system, but prison chiefs say they stay confident they have enough to cope with those imprisoned by the courts.

&nbs
p; The Prison Service says they are developing contingencies to increase usable capacity. The pressure is most acute in London, so, inmates are to transfer out of the capital to other institutions to free up space. This removal of difficult and dangerous prisoners to Wakefield will be the first in a series of moves.”

  “It seems daft that logically, we need more prisons so we can lock up the scum I’ve just been handling. Along with the other lowlifes, we meet. Who thought it a good idea to stop building prisons? Or more to the point, who thought it a good idea to give the government’s hangman his P45.”

  “We must deal with things as they are, Phoenix, not as we wish them to be,” said Erebus. He moved away from the window and sat in one of the easy chairs by the fireplace. Colin took a seat opposite him as the old man continued.

  “The rapid increase in prison numbers means that parts of the system are little more than human warehouses. They do nothing more than lock people up in overcrowded conditions, with regimes that are hard pressed to offer any employment or education. A few first-time offenders will undoubtedly take a fast track to a criminal career. Rehabilitation work to tackle reoffending will go by the board as jails try to cope with the rapid rise in prisoner numbers. Prison and probation officers are increasingly overstretched. It is vital that these staffs get the resources and support they need.”

  Colin was well aware of the negative effects that prison had on a large percentage of offenders. But he still believed it better for them to be banged up than to receive a pathetic non-custodial sentence that seemed in favour these days.

  “The system is what it is, sir, as you pointed out just now. How much do we know about this proposed switch? Have we any intelligence on who might be on board the van? How long does the journey take? Which route do they follow? Perhaps, more important, do we have a plan for ensuring these prisoners do not reach their intended destination?”

  Erebus smiled.

  “Always eager to get on with things aren’t you, dear boy? As we understand it, the trip takes around four hours; they negotiate the M25 and then take the M1 North via Newport Pagnell. They leave the motorway at Junction 40 and then I believe they take the A638 towards Wakefield.

  On the subject of the make-up of the transferees, they will all be Muslims with known terrorist affiliations. There will be a maximum of twelve prisoners. There may be the odd empty place in the vehicle due to illness on the day.”

  “Twelve, are they sure they can round up that many?” asked Colin. He knew in his heart of hearts that the number would be a drop in the ocean. He liked winding up Erebus; the old man didn’t fail him; he walked over to the main table and picked up a file. He launched into ‘statistics-mode’ and read from a sheet he pulled from the file.

  “HMP Belmarsh is one of our most secure prisons and is home to many of its most dangerous offenders – including a large swathe of terrorism convicts. A number of high-profile terror suspects have passed through the high-security jail of late. Muslim prisoners made up just one in seven of Belmarsh inmates two years ago. That proportion has climbed to one in five, with no signs it has stopped climbing.

  The number of foreign nationals in HMP Belmarsh, in general, has increased by a third. The situation at Belmarsh mirrors a nationwide shift, with data suggesting a doubling in Muslim inmates across the country over the past decade. There were around ten thousand in our jails at the end of last year.”

  “Right then,” said Colin getting up from his chair and joining his boss at the table “how are we going to reduce that number?”

  “We talked through a few ideas this morning Phoenix. The route that the van takes virtually negates any realistic opportunity of attack until they leave the motorway; so, one way suggested we concentrate our efforts in the tiny window between Junction 40 and HMP Wakefield.”

  “Sorry, sir, but don’t talk daft; that’s no more than a five-minute drive from the junction.”

  “Hold your horses Phoenix; I didn’t say it was an option to which we gave any credence. We thought of stopping the transfer vehicle on the motorway, perhaps by arranging an accident, followed by an attack designed to release the prisoners. The assailants would be wearing clothes suggesting terrorist sympathisers carried out the raid.

  There are several pitfalls with that idea too, I’m sure you will tell me what they are.”

  Colin shrugged his shoulders.

  “Well, the first problem is causing an accident without hurting innocent people. The volume of traffic on the M1 during daylight hours is substantial.”

  “It is used by ninety thousand vehicles per day.”

  “Enough said; even if you could stop the truck without incident, you would have an audience. Let us assume everyone sits quietly in their vehicles as the traffic builds up behind the accident, or breakdown, whichever you engineer.

  The security of prisoner transport vehicles is paramount at all times. Two communication systems run without the need for opening windows or doors. The driver's ‘comms’ operation is usually fully hands-free. The rear of the truck can also be hands-free or the vehicle could be fitted with headset sockets or telephone handsets.

  Most of the ones they use these days have high-security locking and unlocking systems with stainless steel electronic bolts. To stop the vehicle will be the easy part. To get inside and release the prisoners is one thing. The task of emptying the driver’s cab and removing the truck to a more convenient place would be a different kettle of fish.

  The officers inside the vehicle would call for back up by mobile phone before we could effect an entry. I think we need more ingenuity.”

  “Do you have something in mind, Phoenix?” asked Erebus.

  “Give me a day or two, sir. I believe we can do this without any accidents. Without there being any spectators. Olympus will stay off the radar too as far as any responsibility for a dozen terrorists disappearing into thin air.”

  “Forty-eight hours then Phoenix; bring your detailed plans and present them to the executive at the morning meeting. I shall be away tomorrow, but hope to return before then. Elizabeth has not been well; her condition has deteriorated. The doctors at the nursing home are concerned that she may have given up, old chap. It does not seem possible that a person could will themselves to die. But, Helen’s death was so catastrophic for her it appears to be the case.”

  Colin understood now why the boss had been standing by the window when he arrived, and why he had looked so distracted. Colin knew about loss. He and Erebus had found a mechanism through which they could cope. They fought back against the injustices. Every now and then, the loss overtook them. Erebus had been gazing across the immaculate lawns of his family home. He may have been imagining himself and his wife sitting together on the patio, as they watched Helen riding her horse across the estate. Colin often heard a song that reminded him of Sharron singing a track by her favourite group; he would catch a scent that reminded him of his second wife Sue. Whatever challenges these next few months brought, Colin knew he could never lower his guard. While the threat of terrorist attacks existed, and criminals remained unpunished, he must stay focused. There was no time for emotion.

  Erebus returned to the window. He had removed the honeymoon picture of him and Elizabeth in Ibiza from the drawer of the table under the window. The picture he had shown Colin on his first full day at Larcombe Manor.

  Colin left Erebus with his memories.

  CHAPTER 10

  The first person Colin saw when he left the room was Athena. She made it clear she was pleased to see him. Athena pushed him back against a massive painting of Trafalgar and kissed him passionately.

  “I’ve missed you so much,” she purred.

  “I’ve missed you too,” said Colin, pushing her gently away. A steward emerged from a doorway further along the corridor, but fortunately, they were far enough apart to appear as if they had been deep in conversation; rather than recovering their breath after an amorous clinch “but we need to cool it. Erebus will have kittens if he hears
that we are involved.”

  “Ooh” sighed Athena, with a pout “we are involved then?”

  Colin realised that this was the moment. He had known ever since the night they had slept together that this conversation would come. After meeting with Erebus, he was in no doubt any emotional distraction could harm the chances of Olympus making it through the summer without significant loss of innocent lives.

  Colin suggested he and Athena walk over to the orangery. He always enjoyed meeting there with Erebus. It was comforting and as private a place as one could find on the estate. They strolled over, side by side, in silence.

  When they were indoors once more, Colin took Athena’s hands in his.

  “Athena,” he began “the other night was something both of us wanted and enjoyed.”

  “I need to be with you again, soon.”

  “We have to focus on the enemies that this country faces; these next few months will present Olympus with a series of challenges. Any one of them could be a disaster if we are more concerned with our emotions than with the cold, hard facts surrounding any potential terrorist strikes.”

  “What about us?”

  “There’s be plenty of time for ‘us’ after this ends.”

  They kissed.

  “Can we still spend ‘quality’ time together if there’s a chance?”

  Athena raked her fingers down Colin’s back and her tongue fought its way into his mouth. Her hips pressed against him and from the response she got from Colin’s body, she knew there was only one answer he could give.

  “Are you doing anything tonight?”

  “Not sleeping, that’s for sure,” she grinned, cupping his erection in her hand.

  “Hold that thought,” he said, breaking away from her grasp. I have work to do. Erebus has to visit Elizabeth as you may know. I need to plan the direct action on the prison transfer in time for the morning meeting, the day after tomorrow.