The Phoenix Series Box Set 2

by Ted Tayler

  “You’re a swine, Phoenix,” grumbled Athena.

  “I know,” he replied, giving her a squeeze and a kiss, “but that’s what attracted you to me in the first place. Right, I’m off to the orangery to catch up with Rusty. We’ll head underground after we’ve finished, to pick up the things we need. I’ll see you in a few hours. With luck, I can spend time with you and Hope before we leave for Chiswick.”

  With that, Phoenix left. Athena carried on with her Olympus duties. Maria Elena tended to Hope. In the ice-house, the surveillance of Dwight Thacker, Waqar Ali, Gavin McTierney and hundreds of other known criminals continued. In Tower Hamlets, Hackney and Brentwood, the prime targets went about their business without a care in the world.

  Phoenix and Rusty were putting the finishing touches to their plans in the orangery. Plans that would disrupt those carefree lives for good.

  “I reckon we’re done here, Rusty, don’t you?” said Phoenix.

  “I agree,” replied Rusty. “Let’s get below to see the lads in the armoury.”

  “Our transport will be available at half-past two,” said Phoenix. “They needed an hour to make the necessary adjustments we specified. OK, let’s visit Bazza and Thommo.”

  The two agents left the orangery and headed to the ice-house. After a swift descent in the lift, they were in the corridor outside the armoury. There was the usual sound of laughter. The two ex-SAS men loved their work. Phoenix knew they would have to stand a few minutes’ banter before they got the kit they requested and returned to the surface.

  Phoenix and Rusty entered.

  “Here they are then,” cried Thommo, “the glory boys. Off to the big city to strike another blow for justice.”

  “You put us through our paces here, Phoenix,” said Bazza. “You keep coming up with strange requests for equipment that nobody else requisitions. When will you run out of ideas?”

  “If I keep leaving hints it’s the same hand carrying out these direct actions, sooner or later an intelligent copper will put two and two together. Variety is the spice of life.”

  “Of death, you mean,” said Thommo, which set both he and Bazza into peals of laughter.

  “Do you watch much TV, Rusty?” asked Bazza. “We were watching a talk-show last night weren’t we, Thommo?”

  “Yes, mate, they had that former snooker professional Bob Smee on last night,” said Thommo.

  “Excuse me?” Bazza asked, looking at the two agents, with a grin.

  “That’s the chap,” Thommo had tears running down his cheeks.

  On the other side of the armoury counter, Phoenix and Rusty were unmoved. Then the light dawned. Rusty groaned.

  “Very funny,” he growled, “can we concentrate on business, lads? We need to be in Chiswick before it gets dark.”

  “Two big boys like you, afraid of the dark? Do you need us to come and hold your hand?” asked Bazza.

  “I do think you need to get out more,” said Phoenix, “spending so long below ground, without any action, is taking its toll.”

  Minutes later, the kit they needed was in the lift and they were on the way to the surface. Bazza and Thommo had got their serious heads back. As usual, the last few words weren’t uttered in jest. They wished them a successful mission, and to come home safe.

  On the surface, Rusty noticed a car leaving the transport section garage. He whistled.

  “Top of the range, a luxury item for this trip then, Phoenix?”

  “We’re taking two vehicles, Rusty, you can drive the Mercedes; I’ll follow you in the more nondescript family saloon.”

  True enough, a second car was soon parked alongside the Merc. It was a bog-standard model which wouldn’t attract much attention when they were cruising the streets of the London boroughs tracking their targets. The Merc was to be used on one of the direct actions.

  “Let’s get the cars loaded; then I’ll get back to the main building. I promised Athena I would spend time with her before we leave. Sorry, mate, I guess Artemis will be on shift until later?”

  Rusty nodded. “Yeah, I’ll call her tonight from Chiswick. I’ll meet you back here at three o’clock, okay?”

  Phoenix walked back to the apartments he shared with Athena and Hope. Mother and daughter were playing on the floor of the lounge. Maria Elena was in the kitchen, washing up a few items.

  “Hola, Senor Phoenix,” she called, “you want something to eat, yes?”

  “No thanks, Maria Elena,” said Phoenix, “I ate earlier.”

  Athena tutted.

  “Something that’s not good for you, no doubt.”

  Phoenix ignored the comment and sat on the floor beside Hope.

  “Mummy’s getting on at Daddy again, Hope,” he said quietly. His daughter beamed at him.

  “It’s ten to three,” said Athena, “we don’t have much time together.”

  “Sorry,” replied Phoenix, “it can’t be helped I’m afraid. If we get these missions over and done with by the end of the weekend, you can have a word with the criminal underworld. See if they’ll take a break for a month or two; to give us a breather.”

  Athena could tell he was gently chiding her; they both knew the pressures Olympus was under daily. The time to rest would be when their job was finally finished. Sadly, the chances of that happening were slim to none. The fight continued; it was never-ending.

  “I love you,” said Athena, “don’t forget that. Good luck and take care.”

  The three family members shared a hug for the last few minutes they had together. Whether Hope realised its significance was doubtful. Phoenix and Athena did, and that was what was important.

  Rusty was in the driver’s seat of the Mercedes when Phoenix returned at three. The small convoy made its way along the winding driveway, through the gates to the estate, and headed towards Bath. Just over two hours later, after threading their way through the afternoon traffic, they arrived at the safe-house.

  “Let’s unload the kit first,” said Phoenix. “It’s dusk, so we shouldn’t get any nosy neighbours getting a shock at seeing what’s going indoors. Once we’ve checked out how the previous occupants left the place, we’ll use my car to fetch supplies. Enough to cover us for the next forty-eight to seventy-two hours.”

  Rusty nodded. They emptied the cars in quick order, and inside they found that whichever agents had been in residence until recently, had left several of the basic items.

  “That’s an improvement,” said Rusty, “we don’t need that much. A few odds and ends, and a takeaway, and we’re sorted.”

  “The shops will be open for a while yet,” said Phoenix, “let’s have a coffee and a slice of toast for now. Those bacon rolls you ordered again today, will keep me going for a few hours. We can pick up a takeaway on the way back from our first recce.”

  Twenty minutes later, the family saloon was in traffic on the road to Hackney.

  “Ah, the joys of driving in London, in the early evening,” moaned Phoenix.

  “Top speed of ten miles an hour, mate,” said Rusty, “it’s quicker to walk.”

  They crawled past Shepherd’s Bush, thankful that neither Bazza nor Thommo was in the back of the car. They slid quietly past Mayfair, with its sense of classic England; Old Victorian houses on tree-lined streets. Thirty minutes later they were in a different world.

  Hackney is a desolate sprawl of grotty council estates and tower blocks. On this Wednesday evening, the two Olympus agents spotted gangs of youths in hoodies, roaming the streets; they disappeared into the narrow alleyways that criss-cross the borough. The average age of the gangs was around thirteen. Older, hooded drug dealers hung around the street corners, openly selling crack and heroin.

  “That shit tip to our left is the Trelawney, isn’t it?” asked Rusty. “I don’t think its reputation has been overstated.”

  They continued to cruise around the borough, following a designated pattern. It might have appeared aimless, but Phoenix had factored in a drive-by of every known hang-out that Gavin McTier
ney might visit. As the night turned darker, sirens wailed in the nearby streets, the signature throbbing sound of a police helicopter could just be heard somewhere above them.

  “There’s our man,” said Phoenix.

  A brand-new people carrier, with blacked-out windows, had pulled out into the line of traffic ahead of them. Its occupants had just left a popular nightclub. The club wouldn’t be opening its doors for a few hours. This visit was a regular one. Gavin McTierney liked to put in a personal appearance when his thugs were collecting protection money from one of his best-paying customers. He never handled the cash himself, of course, but it was important to remind people with whom they were dealing.

  “Where are we off to next?” asked Rusty.

  “A couple of pubs and restaurants on his agenda tonight,” said Phoenix, slowing at a pedestrian crossing to allow a line of teenage girls to totter across the street. “McTierney will eat at the last one on the list. Once we’ve confirmed his routine, we’ll head over to Tower Hamlets. That won’t take long. Fifteen minutes, at a guess.”

  They continued their recce, unnoticed and unchallenged. Everything followed the steps the intelligence section had itemised in their background checks on McTierney and his gang. Phoenix left the gang leader in the steak house, to enjoy his free meal and drinks. He drove on towards their next target. It was time to find Waqar Ali.

  “We’re dealing with a gregarious young man,” said Phoenix. “Who doesn’t touch the drugs he peddles, even if he does occasionally drink alcohol. Yet we’re more likely to find him in one of the sixty-odd pubs and bars in the borough than anywhere else. Waqar likes to get out at night and meet people. He spends so much time indoors, or in his BMW, taking phone orders from clients, that he needs to have time in the real world.”

  “Does he favour anywhere in particular?” asked Rusty, worried they could be in for a long night. He was eager to get back to Chiswick and that takeaway.

  “We’ll cruise along Brick Lane, for now, then wrap it up for tonight if we don’t find him. The data we have on McTierney suggests he’s a creature of habit. We can find him later in the day tomorrow, while we locate Waqar Ali first thing in the morning. He’ll not move far from his home for a few hours. This twenty-four-hour dial-up drug service needs him to be hands-on most of the day.”

  “I could always ring him. Place an order,” said Rusty, tongue in cheek.

  “I want to pick him up away from his home. The details Minos provided indicates he’s got the family around him. There was an arranged marriage at nineteen; just before he got into trouble with the law. So, now he’s got a young wife and two kids. It is not a happy marriage. They live with her parents and grandparents. Minos thought there might be more of the wife’s family members living in the house. Young Waqar doesn’t get on with any of them.”

  “Fair enough,” said Rusty. “I was thinking we could pick him up from home.”

  “He could just as easily be somewhere in the borough, parked up in his brand-new BMW, jotting down the orders being placed. Ali never touches the merchandise, not even to pass it to his runners. No, I’ll add this to the list of things we need the ice-house to so. If Ali leaves home tomorrow, we need to track his car and interrupt his note-taking.”

  Twenty minutes on Brick Lane’s winding street, moving from north to south, then back again, revealed no sightings of Waqar Ali. There was nothing to be gained by hanging around attracting attention. Phoenix drove towards Chiswick.

  It was half-past ten before they could tuck into their curry. Two cans of lager each were the maximum Phoenix allowed them.

  “Up bright and early tomorrow,” he said, “you need to call Artemis. To apologise for forgetting to ring her tonight.”

  “Shit,” said Rusty. “I’m still not used to this relationship malarkey. I’ll set the alarm on my phone, so I catch her before she goes to the ice-house at eight.”

  “I’ll talk to Giles, to catch up on the latest intelligence. He may be able to pinpoint where and when Waqar is on the move. We need to get a better handle on his routine than we managed tonight. I don’t want to have to deal with the problem on his front doorstep. It would be safer if it was out in the open, somewhere with fewer witnesses.”

  “Have you decided which option we’re going for in Hackney?” asked Rusty.

  “Unless something extraordinary turns up tomorrow; yes, we’ll stick to Plan A. If Thacker’s plans have changed, then we may need to revise all our plans. Let’s get to sleep, and it will become clearer in the morning.”

  “Sweet dreams, mate,” said Rusty. “No night feeds to interrupt you tonight, you should get eight hours.”

  “Not with your bloody snoring I won’t, even with a wall between us,” muttered Phoenix.

  CHAPTER 7

  Thursday, 6th March 2014

  Rusty’s alarm woke him at seven. He rolled out of bed, showered and dressed, then headed downstairs. He found Phoenix hard at work in the lounge.

  “I’ve checked the kit we’ll use today,” his colleague said, “everything’s set. Get your breakfast. I’ve eaten, but I won’t say no to a fresh cup of coffee.”

  Rusty went to the kitchen, slipped two slices of bread into the toaster and switched on the kettle. There was plenty of coffee and long-life milk on offer. As he fetched the milk from the fridge, he picked out complementary portions of margarine and jam to make his toast more palatable.

  “Looks as if someone raided the contents of the basket in the last budget hotel room they stayed in,” said Rusty.

  “Don’t complain if people use their initiative, Rusty,” said Phoenix. “The cupboard was bare the last time we used this place.”

  Rusty finished his breakfast and wandered back to the kitchen. He got his phone out from his trouser pocket and called Artemis. If he had to apologise for forgetting to ring last evening, he wanted to be out of earshot of Phoenix.

  In the lounge, Phoenix looked at his watch. Just gone half-past seven. Athena was bound to be up with Hope. He called Larcombe Manor and updated her on how things were progressing. She reminded him yet again about the weekend. Phoenix promised to do his best. This was one argument he could never win; so, he kept their conversation brief. He asked her to give Hope a cuddle from her father and ended the call.

  The next call was to Giles Burke.

  “Giles, I wanted to catch you before you left the stable block and headed underground. I need a favour. Can you track Waqar Ali’s BMW for me today, please? I know it might be a pain, hunting him from camera to camera, but it should save us time in the long run.”

  “Will do, Phoenix,” said Giles, “but, I’ll go one better if I can. I’ll get a local agent to carry out discreet surveillance on the guy’s in-laws’ property. As soon as Ali’s out of his garage, and on the road, we can follow him. He stops at various points around his patch, selecting those with the best mobile phone reception. Most days he stays in the car; occasionally, he visits a café or goes to get a manicure. As soon as the BMW is stationary and unattended, our agent will stick a GPS tracker on it. We’ll know where our target is twenty-four seven.”

  “That’s a great idea, Giles, thanks,” said Phoenix. “When you reach the ice-house, can you get Artemis to call me with the latest intel on our three targets?”

  “No worries, Phoenix,” said Giles, “good hunting today.”

  A chastened Rusty had returned from the kitchen. He had collected the breakfast things and taken them through to do the washing-up. Artemis rightly bent his ear about not calling.

  “I was awake half the night,” she had told him, “worrying something had gone wrong.”

  “Uncomfortable call?” asked Phoenix.

  “Well, I need to come to terms with the fact I have someone at Larcombe who cares for me. I’ve only ever needed to look out for myself for the past thirty years.”

  “You don’t need to tell me, mate. I’ve got two people at home relying on me to care for them, and to come home safe from every mission.”

>   “We’re back on the same old subject, Phoenix. I reckon the pressures are worse when you’re in our position don’t you?”

  “Different, maybe; but I wouldn’t want to go back to being alone, would you?”

  Rusty shook his head.

  “You don’t realise it until you find the right person, but there’s nothing worse than being alone.”

  “Christ, I wish Artemis would get a move on and call. You’ll have me in tears here if this conversation carries on much longer.”

  The call came at two minutes past eight.

  “She doesn’t hang around once she starts her shift, does she?” said Phoenix. “Good morning, Artemis, what news do you have?”

  Artemis updated him on both Waqar Ali and Gavin McTierney’s schedule. Artemis told him she had emailed him a list of times and places where each gang leader was expected to be on Thursday.

  “Everything should be as you anticipated. There’s nothing to suggest you need to alter your plans. As for Dwight Thacker, he’s still booked into the same B&B in Brentwood. He paid another visit to the pub up the road last night. Thacker had company when he left; he is no longer mourning the death of the young girl he described as his ‘lady’. The sooner you can get these new girls away from him, the better.”

  “Thanks, Artemis,” said Phoenix. “I’ll expect to hear from Giles later if his man is successful in getting a tracker on Waqar Ali’s car. We’ll get started on positioning ourselves ready to carry out our first strike.”

  Phoenix printed off the contents of the email Artemis had forwarded.

  “Good to go?” asked Rusty.

  “Yes. We’ll take the Mercedes. It’s been adapted for this job. The blacked-out windows give it the appearance of being a motor a gangster might own. You’re driving today, we’ll need your advanced driving skills afterwards, to get us back here without incident. I’ll make a call for transport to collect the car.”