by Ted Tayler
“Whatever works, I guess,” said Rusty.
Phoenix checked out the nearest supplier and ordered the largest fire extinguisher and fire blanket combination they stocked. He didn’t need the blanket, but it came under the advert for a landlord’s special offer so it made perfect sense. He charged it to the shell company listed as owning the various safe-houses Olympus owned in the UK.
“Same-day delivery cost me an extra five pounds ninety-five, but money’s no object when you’re not paying,” he said to Rusty.
“Time for a change of music,” said his friend, “then we’re off to Chiswick.”
They pulled into the forecourt of the safe-house to the strains of ‘Enter The Sandman’ at five minutes to eleven. Rusty got out of the van and went towards the back doors.
“Are you going to sit there all day, Phoenix?” he called.
“Just until the end of this track mate, then I’ll open up and we can get started.”
In a few minutes, they were inside the house and emptying the bags of equipment on the floor in the living room. There were guns and ammunition. All the ingredients for assembling an explosive device; plus a few tools that if a policeman ever had cause to check the pair over marked them out as ‘going equipped’.
Rusty had a look through the cupboards and the chest freezer in the kitchen.
“Hungry, Phoenix?” he asked.
“Always,” came the reply.
“Well, unless you like fish fingers, baked beans and tomato soup you might be out of luck.”
“I’ll pass; there’s a pizza place two hundred yards back towards that last roundabout. I’ll go there and pick up something. That delivery’s due mid-afternoon, so we’ve got time to get something. How are we off for coffee?”
“More than enough if you drink it black.”
“Shall I make a list?”
“Might as well start getting domesticated Phoenix, parenthood is just around the corner; it will be nappies and baby food in a few months.”
Phoenix went shopping and the food and drink polished off before Giles got in touch at noon. Phoenix marked the location of each target on a street map showing either Hounslow or Southall and then they started manufacturing their device. The front doorbell rang at a quarter past three.
“Package to be signed for,” said the Polish delivery driver, leaving the heavy item on the doorstep. He was gone for his next drop-off almost before Rusty could scribble a name.
The two agents spent the next couple of hours manufacturing their device. Giles sent through updates for the target locations at six in the evening. It was time to tour the area to confirm the stages of the plans Phoenix had put together. They got in the van and drove through the suburban streets, studying the specific buildings in which their targets were now situated. The ways in and out of the properties were double-checked. As they motored back to the safe-house, keeping within the speed limit, Rusty asked Phoenix when they were going to start work.
“No time like the present.”
They paid a brief visit to the safe-house. Rusty went upstairs to change. Phoenix collected an item from a medicine cabinet in the bathroom. The usual toiletries were on the top shelf. The lower shelf contained a few drugs useful when interrogating suspects, or speeding up the demise of a criminal who refused to co-operate.
On a Tuesday evening, Frank DeAngelo visited Heston Pool for exercise. He wasn’t the greatest swimmer, but he needed to keep as fit as he could now in his mid-sixties. He would arrive at around seven-thirty and leave at just after nine. It was a twenty-minute drive from his house.
Rusty and Phoenix followed him in the van as he made his way across the Borough. DeAngelo parked up, went inside and changed. He emerged from the changing rooms holding a towel, and a bottle of water. He wore flip-flops and a sensible pair of swimming shorts. Frank was a man-mountain and most casual pool user gave him a wide berth. His reputation around the manor meant he always had an outside lane to himself.
Phoenix sat by the side of the pool reading a magazine, next to where Frank had dropped his towel and bottle of water. Rusty came from the changing rooms. He was over forty, the same as Phoenix, and his SAS training had given him a physique that tempted a few looks from the females in and around the pool.
Phoenix knew from watching him swim in the pool at Larcombe that a hundred lengths of these baths wouldn’t tire Rusty. He could run a half-marathon straight after and not bat an eye-lid. Frank ploughed his way up and down the pool, stopping after every three or four lengths to take a breather. He gave others in the water a stare if they dared look at him.
Rusty was gliding up and down the lane next to Frank. Frank watched him while he rested, but Rusty ignored him. After forty minutes, Frank was resting longer than he swam, but Rusty carried on with the same steady rhythm that he had started. He was breathing to his left and watching Frank as they swam side by side. He slowed deliberately so they arrived at the wall together.
Frank was breathing heavily.
“Good exercise for you, swimming,” said Rusty. “Do you come here often?”
Frank looked at Rusty. Was that a chat-up line? Unlikely, the bloke looked as if he had served in the forces. Frank didn’t care much for small talk.
“Tuesday nights,” he grunted.
“Might see you next week then,” said Rusty and turned back to start the next length. Frank DeAngelo watched him go. Just a minute or two, he thought, and I’ll have enough energy to follow you.
Rusty got to the other end of the lane and pulled himself athletically out of the water. He collected his towel and went to the changing rooms. Phoenix sat in the car park in the driver’s seat of the van. He had finished his magazine; he was listening to the radio. Rusty joined him five minutes later.
“Everything OK?” asked Phoenix.
“He’s had enough for tonight. He lumbered into the changing rooms as I was getting dressed. He towelled himself dry and took a long drink of his bottled water. He’ll be out later.”
“No point in hanging around here then,” said Phoenix, “we might as well pick up a takeaway and a four-pack of beers. We can get a good night’s sleep and start again afresh in the morning.”
In the changing rooms, Frank DeAngelo sat on the bench by the locker that contained his clothes. The man-mountain was hunched over. As other swimmers wandered in they looked over, but nobody wanted to trouble him. They didn’t need a slap if he had just nodded off after his exertions in the pool.
While Rusty had engaged Frank in a quick chat, Phoenix had emptied a vial into the bottled water container. Frank’s heart had stopped around ten minutes after he had taken his well-earned drink. When it was getting near closing time, a member of the staff realised Frank wasn’t snoozing and called an ambulance.
Rusty had been right; he was coming out later. On a stretcher, in a black bag. The autopsy would later show DeAngelo had died of heart failure. Too much exercise late in life when you’re not used to it can be dangerous, so take care.
Wednesday, August 21st, 2013
Phoenix awoke as dawn broke over the capital. He descended the stairs to the kitchen and boiled the kettle for that first cup of coffee. He could still hear Rusty snoring gently upstairs. Today would see a change of direction. He and his colleague were due in Ealing to begin the process of eliminating the Irish murderers of Gibril Khan.
He walked through to the lounge and studied the items laid out on the table. Rusty had trained him three years ago to assemble and deactivate the type of weapon they were to use today. Phoenix would defer to his trainer’s expertise on this occasion. They weren’t looking for a massive explosion that resulted in innocent casualties. This had to be a car bomb that was large enough to kill the occupants of the vehicle, but it must avoid any collateral damage.
The car bomb has been used as a weapon of assassination for decades. More often than not, the desired effect was a far wider impact than the interior of the car itself. Phoenix understood how car bombs could be activated b
y a variety of methods. When the doors opened, or the key turned in the ignition. The explosive device could be activated by the accelerator or brake pedal. Many terrorist organisations used a range of timing devices.
Rusty had a selection of those available this morning from which to choose; he would make his final decision based on today’s intelligence from Giles as it was received. Their device was to be fixed magnetically to the underside of the car, inside the mudguard of the nearside rear wheel.
It was likely that he’d choose a tilt fuse. A small tube designed of plastic, not dissimilar to a mercury switch. One end of the fuse filled with mercury, with the other open end wired with the ends of an open circuit to the electrical firing system.
When the tilt fuse moved or was jerked, the supply of mercury flowed to the top of the tube and closed the circuit. Phoenix remembered Rusty’s commentary in the training session. As he calmly demonstrated what happened to a remote-controlled toy replica of the Prime Minister’s Jaguar as it drove over rough terrain in the grounds at Larcombe.
“The state of the potholes in the roads around the country these days means the IRA, Al Qaeda or Animal Rights activists could depend on the normal rising and dipping that comes with driving in modern Britain. Once the circuit is completed; the bomb or explosive is allowed to function. We’ve done half their work for them by our own neglect.”
The toy car exploded into the air two seconds after his commentary ended.
Upstairs, Rusty stirred and a minute or two later he padded down the stairs in his underwear.
“Morning, Phoenix. Time for a coffee and when I’m awake, I’ll get showered, shaved, and dressed. I can’t wait to get started.”
“OK, Rusty, I’ll go up and get myself ready now. Giles will be contacting us at eight. He will give us the latest itinerary for our targets and you can pick which choice to use. I want the victims of these thugs to know someone cared enough to take them out in a spectacular fashion. That’s why I plan to attach the bomb inside the rear mudguard. The petrol in the fuel tank will make the explosion of the bomb more powerful by dispersing and igniting the fuel.”
“We take every precaution to keep the Olympus name out of the headlines,” said Rusty. “An assassination such as this will mean the authorities will investigate it thoroughly. My construction will feature elements familiar to them. When they analyse the bomb’s characteristics they will come up with a long list of potential suspects. Enough to muddy the waters. We could never use this particular method again. It has to be a one-off.”
“Understood,” said Phoenix, “I know I can rely on you to get it right. We’ll pass the design on to Henry Case and he can include it in a ‘Do Not Use’ section of our standard operating procedures manual.”
Phoenix went upstairs and got ready. Rusty followed fifteen minutes later. By eight o’clock, both men were in the living room. Rusty had started to assemble the bomb. Phoenix took the call from Giles Burke.
“Your targets are both still at home. The car is parked in the driveway of Murphy’s house. Their Wednesday routine sees him leaving at around ten-thirty; he then picks up O’Callaghan and they drive across town to call into Flynn’s offices. They leave his place around fifteen minutes later with a list of properties that need to be visited. These aren’t courtesy calls. They are on tenants who have fallen behind with their rents or lodged one complaint too many over shortcomings in the service their landlord provides. We don’t have details of those visits as yet. Artemis is working on that now. She says ‘Hi’, to Rusty, by the way.”
“I’ll pass that on,” said Phoenix, “he’s got his hands full at present. Thanks for that Giles, we’ll hear from you at noon with an update. We can tail them at a distance from Flynn’s place in our van, in the beginning. If we get the specific intelligence, we can select the optimum kill zone to reduce any unwanted casualties and take it from there. It will help, though, if we were able to plan ahead of time, knowing exactly where they will be and when.”
“We’ll do our best, Phoenix,” replied Giles and ended the call.
CHAPTER 7
Rusty drove the ‘Scott & Bailey’ van through the streets of Perivale. He watched as Eamonn Murphy parked the car one hundred yards ahead outside Flynn’s office building in Fraser Road. Murphy and Terry O’Callaghan got out of the car and went indoors.
“We’ll have to find a place to park. That could be a nightmare,” said Phoenix.
“If Giles is right, they’ll be a while. Don’t sweat it. I’ll drive around the block and try to look inconspicuous.”
On their second circuit, Phoenix spotted the car pulling away and into the lines of traffic.
“Follow that car,” he shouted, “but keep your distance.”
Rusty edged into the line of traffic that was leading them towards Bilton Road. They were five vehicles back from their target. Once they reached the main road they tracked them to a residential area, full of small Drives and Crescents. Murphy pulled up in front of the terraced property. There were cars and pedestrians in abundance on both sides of the tree-lined street.
“I don’t like wishing my time away, but I can’t wait for twelve o’clock to arrive. We need that update from Giles. This place is hopeless. It’s far too crowded.”
“Be patient, Rusty,” said Phoenix, “everything comes to he who plans everything perfectly.”
The two villains soon left the first building they had to visit and set off around the narrow avenues. Rusty followed at a discreet distance. Another tenant was soon ticked off the Flynn ‘hit-list’ for today and off they drove again. This time, it was clear they were bound for somewhere much further away. They headed for Wembley. Heavy traffic around lunchtime meant it took them twenty-five minutes to arrive next to a sports ground.
Murphy reversed into a parking space under a wall and he and O’Callaghan got out and crossed Marsh Road. Rusty saw Murphy point up to his left and then they set off for a row of houses to their right.
“They’ve got two places at least to visit on this estate then Phoenix,” said Rusty, as he drove into the empty space next to the car.
“They visit this area every Wednesday and use this car park because the side streets are resident-only parking here. Giles added that information to your files when I read it. This was always a good bet. We don’t need the update at noon now.”
Phoenix jumped out and opened the rear doors of the van. As he removed the traffic cones the transport section had provided Rusty slipped around the front of the van. The van door meant he was totally blocked from view as he attached the explosive device to the rear inside mudguard of the car.
Then he joined Phoenix as they each took a stack of cones and spread them the length of the small car park. Phoenix took a yellow laminated card with ‘No Parking’ printed on it from the van. He slipped it under the windscreen wiper blade on the driver’s side of Murphy’s car. In black felt-tip, he scrawled ‘Please remove by two o’clock. Resurfacing.’ on the card.
“Our work here is done,” said Phoenix.
He closed the rear doors of the van, jumped into the passenger seat and Rusty reversed out of the car park and they set off for Chiswick. They could be home in time for lunch. Eamonn Murphy and Terence O’Callaghan returned to the car around thirty minutes later. They had threatened a Pakistani grandmother with eviction and roughed up a Belgian student who wanted his shower to at least run hot for two minutes in the morning.
“What’s going on here,” said Murphy. He took one look at the card, snorted and threw it on the ground. O’Callaghan kicked over the nearest traffic cones and they got into the car.
“Bloody council workers,” moaned Murphy, “always standing around leaning on shovels, or pushing paper.”
“Alright, let’s get to our next property. We need to report back to Mr Flynn. We don’t want to keep him waiting. What was it he said this morning when we were five minutes late getting to work?”
“He reckoned I’d be late for my own funeral,” said Ea
monn Murphy with an empty laugh as he started the engine and drove forward. The car park Phoenix had selected really did need resurfacing. The first pothole the car encountered was the last.
Rusty and Phoenix returned to the safe house. There was a message from Giles with a complete itinerary for the villains today. Phoenix didn’t burst their bubble by telling Giles and Artemis they had wasted their time. He remembered what Rusty had said about the added responsibility he had these days as joint leader of Olympus.
He sent a message back to the ice-house team.
“Vital information received. Many thanks for your efforts.”
Rusty looked over his shoulder.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“BS,” replied Phoenix, “what’s for lunch, I’m starving.”
Back in Wembley emergency service vehicles were arriving in convoy. They found the wreck of a blazing car, parts of two bodies, and two dozen traffic cones Brent Council hadn’t realised they possessed. In his office in Fraser Road, Perivale, Patrick Flynn was fuming.
“Where are those useless boys now?” he yelled at his receptionist. “Keep trying their mobiles. When you get hold of them; tell them they’re fired.”
At the safe-house, Rusty was polishing off a fish-finger sandwich. Phoenix had resisted the temptation and settled for two slices of buttered toast.
“Do we wait a while before we move on, Phoenix?”
“No, we’re going to do the same as last night; visit a keep-fit establishment. Read goes to the gym three nights a week to train for his mixed martial arts fighting.”
Rusty groaned. “Does this mean I’ll be busting a gut lifting weights to distract his attention?”
