by Ted Tayler
“We’ve got time to spare before things kick off,” said Rusty.
“What gave you the idea Phoenix?” asked one of the crew members.
“I read an article online last month. The Ministry of Justice was concerned that the sale of former prison service vans – used by firms such as G4S, Reliance, and Serco to transport prisoners – could allow criminals to pose as prison guards and smuggle suspects and convicts away from hospitals or courts. Fleets of the vehicles were due to be decommissioned from January after new contracts were awarded to private firms to provide security services across the UK for the next seven years.
Before the transportation of inmates was outsourced, out-of-service vans got destroyed. The Ministry of Justice were concerned that while prison service vehicles that have reached the end of their service were destroyed, this was not the case with vehicles operated by private contractors.
Any of those vehicles, which started service eight years ago, when private security companies first won Government contracts, can now legally be offered for sale on the open market. We just needed to buy uniforms and insert the relevant paperwork into the system. A little bullshit to the other crew and a big thank you to him upstairs for the weather; we were home and hosed.
We picked up the truck from a batch waiting to be decommissioned for just over six grand. Rusty told them we planned to strip it out to use it as a horsebox.”
“What do we do with the packages we picked up?” asked Jeff.
“Almost forgot them; they’ll be freezing.” said Colin.
He got his mobile phone out of his coat pocket. He sent a text message to a series of numbers.
‘Your dinner is in the oven. I’m off to bingo.’
“We had better finish these drinks and head back to the lock-up. We’ll have company over the next few hours. Weather permitting, of course.”
CHAPTER 13
The agents left the warmth of the pub and Jeff and his lads made their way back to the lock-up. Snow still fell steadily. The streets were virtually empty. There was an eerie silence as the men split into pairs and approached the lock up. They moved into position two minutes apart. Just in case someone was foolish enough to be wandering around the back streets on such a foul night. Nothing could be left to chance.
Rusty and Colin took the car from the pub car park and followed. Rusty pulled up and parked fifty yards past the garage. Colin knew that Jeff was inside keeping himself and his mates warm by burning the security firm clothing they wore. All he and Rusty could do now was wait.
“Heads up,” said Rusty “this is one of ours.”
A van stopped by the double doors to the lock-up. The doors swung open and the van reversed up to the entrance. The driver stayed in the cab with the engine running. The garage doors hid what was happening at the rear of the van. Not that there was anyone around to see. Jeff selected three prisoners’ names from the manifest. He turned to the three guards who jumped from the back of the van. They were dressed from head to toe in black clothing and wore ski masks.
“Remove these three men from the cells; apply duct tape to the mouth, put hoods over their heads, then handcuff them to the bars on the inside of your van.”
The men did as they were told. Quickly and quietly, the switch was completed. The three guards soon sat opposite three very frightened terrorists. The van doors closed and their journey to a safe house, twenty-odd miles away in Bletchley began.
“That’s one delivery on its way,” said Jeff “it will take them a couple of hours in this weather, but we mustn’t complain. This would have been far more difficult to keep under wraps on a dry, bright moonlit night.”
“Jeff, you’re getting poetic in your old age,” joked one of the crew.
“That’s enough of that; keep your eyes peeled for the next collection. The sooner we get rid of these prisoners, the sooner we can try getting home to our beds.”
The quiet back street saw another three similar vans arrive over the next hour and a half. They had agents in the back, ready to guard their respective charges. The Bletchley bound van was followed by transport heading towards Corby, Cropredy and the outskirts of Reading.
Each vehicle collected its complement of prisoners and took them away for interrogation. Jeff had been with Olympus for five years. He arrived at Larcombe Manor after being injured near Sangin in Helmand Province in June 2007. Time healed his physical wounds. He felt no sympathy for the men he checked off his list. As the last men were bundled into the Reading transport, he knew that whether they talked or not to their interrogators, they wouldn’t live to finish the pathetic sentences the British courts had handed them.
Colin sat in the car alongside Rusty and kept an eye on proceedings. He was impressed. Not just with the smooth efficiency with which Jeff and the lads dealt with the transfers, but with the sheer scale of the Olympus Project. Wherever his missions were in the UK, there were safe houses, clean up crews, and fully trained agents to call upon for help.
The criminals didn’t have a prayer!
“That looks to be the lot Phoenix,” said Rusty “all is safely gathered in.”
“Odd place to send those two younger prisoners I thought.”
“Which place was that?”
“Cropredy; I guess they think that if they play them folk music for a few hours they’ll spill their guts. I know I would.”
“Yeah, I suppose that’s as close to a joke as we’re likely to get from you Phoenix. Let’s see what needs dealing with inside and then we can get off home.”
The two agents joined Jeff and his lads in the lock-up. The truck was scheduled for collection within ten days after the fuss had died. Once it was many miles from Northampton, it would be destroyed.
Rusty and Jeff surveyed the scene. They were satisfied the contents of the lock-up stood a good chance of remaining undetected for a week or more. The ground outside was being covered by further snow. The comings and goings of the vans would not be visible by morning.
“I’m sending two of my lads over to the pub; they had rooms to let. If they can’t get in there, then I’m sure the landlord will know somewhere they can find a bed. Nobody will bat an eyelid over two lads deciding not to drive home in this snow. We can arrange to pick them up in the morning, or later if conditions are treacherous.”
“Great; so you’re giving me and Phoenix a lift to Wolverhampton and the 4x4 we came up in?” asked Rusty.
“We can try,” replied Jeff.
Colin wondered why the six of them weren’t finding digs, but it made sense. It would be too big an advert. The police and the security services might be thick, but not that thick.
The journey to Wolverhampton was tricky, but they made it. Jeff dropped them off in the car park opposite the premises of the truck company that supplied the prison vehicle.
“Thanks for your help lads!” shouted Rusty as Jeff and his mate slithered out of the car park and drove away into what remained of the night.
The 4x4 made steady if slow progress on the last leg of their journey. It was approaching Tuesday lunchtime when they arrived back at Larcombe. Everything around the estate resembled a picture postcard.
Colin knew their return would be noted; sure enough, almost as soon as he closed the door to his room, his phone rang. Fat chance of a sleep before his debrief then. It was Erebus, who else.
“I saw you return old chap; you were right, it worked like a dream. Congratulations. If you can spare me a few minutes, we can run through the fall-out we have been monitoring here. Then you can get that shut-eye I’ve no doubt you are looking for.”
Colin smiled to himself. The old man always had his finger on the pulse. Even when he must have been thinking about his wife going through her last hours. It took a special person to set up an organisation such as this. Erebus was the rock on which it was built. Athena had big shoes to fill.
“Where do you want me to meet you, sir?” he asked.
“I believe I’d vote for the orangery, of course.”
“Of course,” said Colin.
“Ten minutes; you are a cheeky beggar.”
Colin laid the phone on the bed. Had it only been seven months since his arrival at Larcombe? He recalled that first day when Erebus showed him around the estate and uncovered its secrets. They shared a joke that day about the orangery and the icehouse. Erebus hadn’t forgotten it, Colin didn’t believe he ever would either. This was the old man’s home. Colin had grown to feel that way too.
He was desperate for sleep. A shower would have been great first too, but duty called. He met Erebus in their favourite spot and the old man told him the tale.
“The vehicle that returned to Belmarsh had a nightmarish trip back; things didn’t improve for the four security staff when they arrived. The authorities at HMP Wakefield had prepared themselves for a delay in their arrival, because of the adverse conditions; but, they grew concerned when night fell. At first, they checked for blocked roads and traffic accidents, but nothing matched either the vehicle or the route. When the truck had not completed a journey that would normally take four hours within ten hours, they no longer felt ‘concerned’. They panicked.
They contacted Belmarsh and asked what had happened. Where were their prisoners? Belmarsh could not help them. I’m sorry Phoenix; I know you’ve heard this one before, but forgive me, I’m enjoying it too much to skip the minutiae.”
“That’s fine, sir. I’m enjoying it too. It’s the way you tell them.”
“As far as Belmarsh were concerned everything had been fine when the truck left them. They rang the security firm to ask if they had heard from the personnel with the truck. I would imagine the governor crossed his fingers, and everything else, as he waited to be told the truck driver stopped somewhere overnight. Highly irregular, but a possibility; considering the state of the weather.
Imagine how his career flashed before his eyes when the controller at the security firm told him a switch to another truck had been authorised by the relevant parties. In addition, Joe Nethercott signed for the prisoners; exactly as per the papers they had first received. I cannot tell you everything that passed between the two men. I believe the swearing began to escalate when the controller asked the prison governor, ‘What’s the problem?’
When the truck arrived back at the depot, there were security firm managers, the local police, and people from Belmarsh. There were a few men in suits from government departments too, who nobody had the nerve to ask for identification.
Everything the driver and his crew said tallied with the controller’s statement. Because of the atrocious weather, a switch had been authorised. The local police visited the Wakefield governor and then arrested Joe Nethercott. Joe and his wife had just gone to bed after a night in front of the fire, watching TV. Asinine, I grant you, but the police wish the public to think they are doing something at times like this, even if their actions are totally inappropriate.
We can assume Joe will be back home by now; this matter has gone far higher than the local police. The authorities have a real problem. In the past twelve hours, they have managed to secure a total news blackout. You can imagine the uproar, even panic, that would follow. Imagine if news bulletins or the morning papers headlined the sparse details known so far, concerning the escape of twelve of the most feared terrorists this country has ever held in her prisons.”
“Egg on face,” said Colin “heads would roll.”
“It’s conceivable something this explosive could bring down a government Phoenix.”
“How do you reckon the security services will want to play it, sir?”
“Let us recap what they know. They know the prisoners were removed from the official carrier. They then disappeared into a blizzard, together with four men posing as security staff. There has been no sighting of the truck or the prisoners. No one has claimed responsibility for the operation. They are in the dark. The questions I would expect them to be asking would be -
Were the men non-Muslim ex-prisoners radicalised while in jail, tasked by Al Qaeda to release what they view as ‘political prisoners’?
Were they members of a white supremacist faction?
Finally, the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question.”
Erebus paused.
Colin jumped in, feet first.
“What question would that be, sir?”
“Who’s going to give us a job us after this shambles?”
Colin grinned. This was a special moment for Erebus and Olympus. They had executed the plan to perfection. Every trace of the events of yesterday had been obliterated. Either by the agents hands or by the weather. Erebus was right; the authorities were totally in the dark.
“We aren’t out of the woods yet, sir,” cautioned Colin “we still have to move the truck and destroy it. With luck, we can do that in ten days to a fortnight. The sight of an eight-year-old prison vehicle on the roads around the Midlands and mid-Wales isn’t rare. If we are careful we can manage the situation.”
“I agree with you Phoenix, we must not relax; the intelligence section has done a wonderful job covering its handiwork concerning the interception and transmission of messages, but that cannot stop there. Giles and his people need to make sure nobody can uncover the true source of the interventions.
I have every confidence in the ability of the agents at the safe houses to carry out their duties in secret and to a successful conclusion; we pick these locations with great care. When the time comes for disposal, we need to carry out a risk assessment. I cannot believe I just said that.”
Erebus stood up and stretched.
“We could leave it to our people in situ, to decide where and when to do the deed. Or we send one of our ambulances to collect the packages and add them to the growing population in the pet cemetery.”
“That sounds to be the best idea, sir. No point running any undue risks, particularly for the safe houses furthest away from Larcombe.”
Erebus stayed standing.
“Come back to the house with me Phoenix. I have a fine Courvoisier L’Esprit that this mission merits. I’ve wanted to open it for a while.”
Colin and Erebus set off towards the house. How had a simple bloke such as himself, who never drank anything more than lager until his thirties, changed into someone about to be offered a glass of brandy from a bottle that cost four or five grand?
The old man led Colin up the elegant staircase to his private quarters. Colin had never seen these rooms. On arrival, he slept in a room on the other side of the manor house. He had marvelled at the opulence and style of the Georgian fixtures and fittings. The old man’s apartments were equally well appointed.
They entered the lounge and there was evidence throughout of the feminine touches that Elizabeth provided; yet with her absence for several years, it seemed as if Erebus had kept everything as she left it. The room had a sad tinge. There were vases of dried flowers that had seen better days and a magazine on a side table from a publication that had gone out of business.
Colin was glad of the roaring fire; it warded off the chill in the air that accompanied him and Erebus when they walked through the snow to the house. The old man went to the drinks cabinet and brought glasses and a decanter to the chairs by the fireplace.
For two hours, the two men talked and drank. Erebus told him of his vision for the future of the Olympus Project. As the brandy warmed them and Erebus mellowed, even more, the conversation drifted back to his days in the Royal Navy. He talked of the pride he had felt in following in the footsteps of his ancestors. Colin recognized this to be a special moment. He had been a loner throughout his life; he was gradually learning what it meant to be a valued and loved member of a family. Maybe it’s the brandy, he thought.
The shrill ring of the telephone broke the spell.
Erebus answered it, listened to the voice at the other end.
“Thank you; I understand. I shall come straight away.”
He replaced the receiver and turned to Colin.
“Elizabeth
passed away fifteen minutes ago; it was very peaceful. The nurse left her sitting in a chair to see to another patient. When she returned, Elizabeth had slipped away; she is at peace now.”
“Erebus, I am so sorry. Do you want me to come with you?”
“Thank you Phoenix, but no I shall go alone. I shall leave instructions for Athena to assume control of operations until I return.”
Erebus rang for his driver to bring the car around to the front door. Colin went down the staircase with him and watched as the car disappeared up the long winding driveway.
As he returned to the stable block, he thought of the vision for the future that Erebus had mapped out. Would he still have the heart for it now that his beloved Elizabeth was gone? Was the time fast approaching when Athena would assume the mantle of head of Olympus?
Difficult and dangerous times lay ahead for the country, despite the success of yesterday’s mission; there might be difficult and dangerous times ahead for the Olympus Project too.
CHAPTER 14
The snowy weather persisted and things at Larcombe, akin to the whole of the UK, struggled to move at a snail’s pace.
Athena chaired the morning meetings while Erebus arranged his wife’s funeral. The government lifted the news blackout on the fallout from operation ‘Big Break’ and as predicted, they had a rough ride in Parliament and the media.
A nationwide search for the twelve terrorists and the men who engineered their escape began. All sea and airports became subject to a massive increase in security. Police examined thousands of hours of CCTV footage, and various public appeals were broadcast for information.
There were reported sightings from Ascot to Aberdeen, but the police found nothing. Behind closed doors, they admitted they didn’t know where to look. A few weeks later, the frantic manhunt lost impetus and stuttered to a turgid trickle. No one noticed when it stopped altogether. It became plain that by the spring, the approach of London 2012 was uppermost in everyone’s mind.
