by Ted Tayler
Gibril was a quiet, studious character with few friends in London. He lived next door to a tenant with a noisy dog and a tendency to play heavy metal music late into the night. He complained to his neighbour to no avail. He went to see Patrick Flynn and asked for something to be done. He was ignored. Mr Flynn told Gibril he was too busy. That night Murphy and O’Callaghan paid Gibril a visit.
They roughed him up and warned him that Mr Flynn didn’t stand for ‘troublesome tenants’. If he caused any more problems he faced eviction. Gibril didn’t understand why he should be the one who was moved out. The two ‘heavies’ gave him a beating and left.
Gibril was still hurt and upset the next day when he went to work. He told his colleagues at the call centre of his situation. He wasn’t able to concentrate on his job and was sent home early. His supervisor told him he ought to report the threats and intimidation to the authorities.
When he returned to his building Gibril found he had locked himself out. He walked to Flynn’s offices and demanded a new key. Paddy Flynn exploded with rage. He threw a replacement key at the frightened young man and told him if there was any further trouble, he’d have to move out.
The young man walked home in tears. He spotted a police station on the other side of the road and entered. He told the desk sergeant he believed his life was in danger. The officer listened patiently to his story but chose not to record the details. As far as he was concerned, it was yet another landlord-tenant dispute. They were ten a penny around here these days.
Gibril Khan left the police station and set off to return to his apartment. It was just his bad luck that Eamonn Murphy pulled up at the lights, to allow a group of pedestrians to cross the busy road. He spotted Gibril, realised where he had just emerged from, and later that afternoon he told his boss, Paddy Flynn.
Flynn told Murphy to get hold of O’Callaghan,
“Get tooled up, the two of you. We need to make an example of this kid.”
The three men burst through the door to Gibril’s apartment at around ten o’clock that evening. They attacked him with baseball bats. Murphy then produced a knife and stabbed Gibril in the arm and chest. The young Muslim lay on his bed semi-conscious and bleeding as the three men smashed up his belongings, emptied drawers and scattered food and clothing throughout the rooms.
“You won’t be staying here any longer,” shouted Flynn, as he left. “We can’t have people living like pigs. Stands to reason, doesn’t it? Be out of here tomorrow or we’ll be back to finish the job.”
A couple from a flat on the second floor were returning home from a local takeaway. They saw three men hurrying away, but when questioned by the police later, they said they couldn’t identify anyone; they were too far away and it was dark.
As they passed Gibril’s door they heard him moaning. They called for an ambulance straight away. Gibril struggled to speak while they tried to staunch the flow of blood from his wounds. He told them what had happened and who was responsible. The ambulance arrived and rushed him off to the hospital. Gibril Khan had died at four-thirty the following morning.
Nobody was ever arrested and charged with his murder. Flynn and his colleagues were still terrorising the Borough of Ealing. Murphy reckoned Gibril dying had done them a favour.
“We don’t get half the bother we used to get with stroppy tenants. It sharpened everyone up lovely. They’re as good as gold these days.”
Phoenix closed the files. He had everything he needed. He rang Rusty and asked him to join him.
“Time for some street-cleaning Rusty.”
The two friends had much to talk about. It was barely a month since Zara Wheeler had cast off her police persona and joined Rusty at Larcombe Manor. On her arrival, she had been renamed Artemis. Her days and sometimes nights were spent with Giles Burke and the rest of the intelligence-gathering team in the ice-house. Any leisure time she had was spent with Rusty.
Phoenix missed the easy camaraderie that he and the ex-SAS man had developed over the time they had known one another. He could still recall the pain that Rusty inflicted on him while he underwent a rigorous training programme three years ago. The friendship that had blossomed from the direct actions they attended together since outweighed that painful memory.
They had stood shoulder to shoulder fighting a common enemy at Eton Wick only a month ago. Rusty had saved his skin near Cropredy when they were sent to get rid of a couple of rogue agents. Their brushes with the various terrorist cells that had threatened to cause havoc and panic across the UK would live long in the memory. Their bond was built on mutual respect for their particular skill sets.
Rusty arrived in the orangery and sat opposite his colleague.
“How have you been, mate?” he asked.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’ve missed you,” said Phoenix, leaning back in his chair. “This last few weeks have been hectic, but strange, you know? Now I’ve moved out of the stable-block, we never get the chance for a quick chat. When I was planning a mission, like this one here, I used to be able to pop next door and we’d bounce around a few ideas. It helped get the job done quicker.”
“Better maybe, not quicker,” quipped Rusty.
“There you go,” said Phoenix, “that typified the off-the-cuff sessions we had back in the day. Now everything seems so much more formal. I have to ring you up and get you to meet me here in the orangery. At the morning meetings, Athena limits the amount of banter to an absolute minimum. Then we’re away to our apartment and you shoot off to rest, train or spend time with your partner. Life’s changed. The missions are still full-on and challenging when they happen, but everyone needs light and shade in their life. I’m missing the light, Rusty. Now Artemis is here, I’m scurrying around the place, keeping out of sight. It’s driving me mad.”
“You reckon your life has changed? What about mine? I never imagined being shacked up with anyone a year ago. You have to remember that one of the reasons for the formal nature of things lately, is because you and Athena are joint leaders of this outfit now. As for Artemis, what can we do to change that situation?”
“Sorry, Rusty, I’m not having a go at you for falling in love with the one woman who could identify me as Colin Bailey. My past was bound to catch up with me sooner or later, I guess. With everything that’s ahead of us, we need to find a way forward, though, or things will just get worse.”
“Going forward?” asked Rusty. “What is ahead of us Phoenix? Apart from everything we hear at the meetings.”
“Athena’s pregnant.”
“Congratulations. I’m pleased for you both. Ah, shit; I see what you mean. Do I tell Artemis? She’s bound to notice when she sees Athena around the place over the next few months.”
“Exactly, sit on our news for now; I’ll let Athena tell the others in her own time,” said Phoenix. “Our quick visit to London was to tell her parents the news. That went better than she feared, but her father’s reaction stunned me. He took me to one side the night before we came back to share a damn good scotch. He’s onto things here; he’s not fooled by the charity camouflage. Her mother hasn’t a clue what’s going on, but Geoffrey Fox is no mug. We’ll need to tread carefully there.”
“Artemis knows that you two are a couple. Hearing you are having a child won’t be too difficult to come to terms with,” said Rusty. “If you were thinking of getting married and sending out invitations, well, that might cause ructions. You’re not though are you?”
“Well, now you come to mention it,” said Phoenix, “but we have a major obstacle to overcome first. I don’t exist. Not in an official sense. We could manufacture an identity as we did for my passport to get me out to Ibiza, but Athena doesn’t want to marry Garry Burns. She wants to marry me.”
“Oh, what a tangled web we weave,” said Rusty.
“Bit of a nightmare isn’t it? I want you to be my best man, Rusty; if we ever find a way to make it happen.”
“I’d be proud to, Phoenix. Will my invitation be a ‘plus
one’?”
“This child of ours is going to be leaving school at this rate before we tie the knot,” groaned Phoenix.
“Right, let’s get our thinking caps on,” said Rusty. “We’ll plan this operation, get it sorted, and then find a way to fully integrate Artemis into the organisation. We can’t have you skulking around Larcombe in the shadows forever. You need to be free to push that pushchair in the grounds next year whenever you want.”
It was time to get serious. Rusty was right. Phoenix forgot his personal problems for the time being and got his game head in place. For the next few hours, they studied the profiles of the six targets. Giles had provided reports on the patterns of their movements, day to day, week to week. It wasn’t long before they had crystallised a method by which they could dispose of each of the landlords and their enforcers.
“OK, then Rusty. I’ll run this past Athena in the morning. We’ll ask Giles for the absolute latest on their whereabouts this week and take it from there. Can you drop into the ice-house and visit Bazza and Thommo to order up the supplies we’ll need?”
“No worries,” said Rusty. He left Phoenix in the orangery. It felt good to be getting back into action; he had been idle for far too long. Eton Wick had been a month ago, for heaven’s sake. The next forty-eight hours should see a satisfying conclusion to the hours he had spent researching the landlords’ saga. It might take longer to sort out the issues between Phoenix and Artemis.
Phoenix collected up the paperwork and walked back to the main building. Athena was reading when he arrived in the lounge.
“Ready to go, darling?” she asked.
“Everything’s set for the meeting tomorrow. I’ll run through our plan of action for the benefit of the team, get the latest intelligence from the ice-house and ask for a green light.”
“You can’t wait to get back out there again, can you?” asked Athena.
“It will be good to shake off the cobwebs. After losing people as we did at Eton Wick, you start to wonder whether it was your fault. Could I have done anything differently? Then you start to question whether you’ve still got that edge or not. I never had the responsibility for teams of people in the old days. I only had to decide who, how and when; then take them out.”
“There’s no reason to doubt yourself, Phoenix, and there was nothing you could have done to save Jack Mould. That was pure bad luck. As for being responsible for a team? We’re a team of two at the moment, soon to be three. We’ll look after one another and always keep in mind the objectives of the Project. We have to maintain our edge, to keep bringing the guilty people to account for their crimes.”
“Together we are stronger I suppose,” said Phoenix, flopping onto the settee beside her.
“We have another Olympus meeting in a month from now. I think it’s time I let you in on a secret,” said Athena, “in London. I’ve had Alastor, Minos and Thanatos carry out in-depth background checks on our senior Olympus colleagues. We have to identify the elements around the table that are conspiring against us. We must find the person responsible for the death of Erebus; and whether they are connected to any of those conspirators.”
“I knew there was something going on that you weren’t telling me,” said Phoenix. “Has anything concrete turned up yet to point to the traitors? Have any of the Three Amigos found confirmation of ‘the little black book’? No doubt this next meeting will see a list of names for removal coming our way.”
“I’ll run through what we have so far before you leave for London tomorrow. As for the book, there’s very little evidence of what it contains. It exists; I’m certain of that. My guess is the names in it will be a combination of personal vendettas and significant ministry officials. People who would cause problems if they were still around when the conspirators begin the process of destabilizing and then overthrowing the government.”
Phoenix stood up and walked to the window. He thought for a while; then he picked up the photograph of William and Elizabeth Hunt. Athena smiled.
“You love that photo, just as much as I do, don’t you?”
“I miss him every day. I won’t stop grieving until I kill the bastard responsible for his death. It wasn’t that, though. I was thinking about the yacht. Gavin should have brought her home by now; he hasn’t been in contact. Maybe you could call him tomorrow? After Rusty and I have finished up the job in London, you and I might find time to drive to Lymington and check on ‘Elizabeth’.”
“Aye aye, Captain,” said Athena, throwing a cushion at him.
Phoenix caught the soft missile and returned it to its proper place. Tomorrow was a day to right wrongs; to rid the world of a few of its less desirable inhabitants. People who wouldn’t be mourned by their hundreds of victims.
The day would come when he could take his revenge on those that had taken his mentor from him. A man whose vision had enabled the Olympus Project to bring undesirables such as them to justice over the past six years.
CHAPTER 6
Tuesday, August 20th, 2013
The vehicle from the transport section was parked by the ice-house. Rusty was already below ground picking up the items they required later today and through the rest of the week. As much as they would have loved to have dispatched six people and be home in time for tea, it was more sensible to pick these people off in a manner that didn’t attract attention.
Phoenix made his way across the lawns to join up with his friend. He opted to avoid the lift to the armoury on this occasion. It would have been a good start to the day. A few minutes of banter with Bazza and Thommo always lightened the mood around Larcombe. Things that took your mind off the dangers that lay ahead when you were setting off on direct action.
The possibility of an accidental encounter with Artemis kept him away. He hadn’t asked Rusty what time she started work on the first floor this morning. It would be just his luck to be bringing up weapons and ammunition from the second-floor armoury and she stopped the lift on her floor, to return to the surface. What an uncomfortable few seconds that could be.
Phoenix contented himself with checking out the work the transport team had carried out decorating the van they had been assigned. It was the ubiquitous ‘white van’, complete with a few ‘dings’ and odd patches of rust. The signage identified ‘Scott & Bailey’ as a team of handymen perfectly equipped to keep your property in tip-top shape.
“I wonder who the comedian was who thought that one up,” mused Phoenix.
He was happy enough with the cover it gave them, but the name of the firm sailed close to the wind. At the back of his mind, it rang a bell. While the guys in the transport section filled their downtime watching cop shows on TV, Phoenix spent his leisure time planning his next mission.
Phoenix heard the lift doors open and wandered over to the ice-house entrance. Rusty brought out the first bags of equipment.
“A warm day for it, Phoenix,” said Rusty.
“It would be warm indoors painting and decorating, that’s for sure. Is this a good idea, using our surnames on the side of the van?”
Rusty looked at their colleagues’ handiwork.
“Don’t sweat it, Phoenix. You’ll see a thousand vans similar to this in the smoke over the next couple of days. They’re ten a penny. Nobody takes a blind bit of notice of them. If it was a colour or a name that makes it stick out like a sore thumb, that’s when you’d need to worry. This firm won’t be in business for long. As soon as this job is over it will be off to the salvage yard and into the crusher.”
“Do we need anything else from below or have you brought everything up now?” asked Phoenix.
“No, this was everything they had on our list. We need to get hold of one more item. The safety and security systems below ground are top of the range as you know. Everything you would ever need to prevent or fight a fire is on hand, but no mission wish-list before has ever called for a fire extinguisher.”
Phoenix had studied Rusty’s reports closely. There was a particular purpose behind his re
quest. Rusty hadn’t questioned it. He was comfortable with his friend’s selection as always. With the van loaded up, it was time to set off for West London. The radio in the van issued a time-check soon after Rusty turned the key in the transmission. It was seven fifty a.m.
“We should be leaving the M4 at Junction 3 at around eleven o’clock at the latest,” said Rusty, “where do you want to start first?”
“I asked Giles to update me on the latest movements of our targets. He’s checking in with us at noon today. We’ll leave the M4 at the Chiswick Roundabout and set up a base in our safe house there. It’s not in current use; I confirmed that last night. It will be just one more layer of camouflage for the house. Evidence of someone apparently carrying out remedial work on the place. It reinforces the thoughts of the neighbours it’s just a normal three-bedroomed detached house in the suburbs. As soon as we can put pins on the map to isolate our targets then we’ll follow our plans for each, to the letter. We can assemble our device inside the house and store our fire extinguisher until it’s needed. We’ll get that delivered after lunch. I’ll start sourcing it now en route. What could be more natural than fire safety items being delivered to an address going through a home improvement programme? Every multi-occupancy property should have one as a matter of course. No flags will be raised. The delivery driver will never connect the dots.”
“Ingenious, as ever,” said Rusty, “this traffic’s heavier this morning. Still, we aren’t in a mad panic, are we? Are you happy with this radio station, Phoenix, or do you want me to tune into something edgier?”
“We can stick with Heart for a while. You can find Kerrang. on 105.2 when we get closer to our destination. That will liven things up a touch. The station’s coverage is more restricted these days.”
“Is it a fact that most metal lovers are over forty these days? Do any younger kids get that stuff?” asked Rusty.
“It’s a simple matter of mathematics, Rusty. How long has heavy metal music been going? Look at the ages of the band members around, and still playing. It has got broad appeal across the ages. A disproportionate percentage of the brainiest five per cent of the student population term themselves as metalheads. It was the first genre of music that grabbed me when I hit seventeen. Nothing since has had the same effect.”
