by Ted Tayler
Maria Elena tapped on the door at eight.
“Good morning,” she said. As always, bright and breezy even at such an ungodly hour. Giles must be doing something right.
Phoenix gave his daughter one last hug and handed her over to the nanny’s care.
“I’ll be home on Friday. Athena will return from London tomorrow. If you can hold the fort until tomorrow lunchtime, that would be great.”
“We’ll be fine,” replied Maria Elena.
When Phoenix arrived at the front door of the manor house with his bag, he found Rusty sat in the van waiting, with the engine running.
“As long as the traffic isn’t horrendous on the M5 and M6 we’ll be in Rochdale by high noon,” he said, swinging the van towards the driveway.
“High Noon; what a great film,” said Phoenix. “A man whose life was dedicated to upholding the law, putting aside the considerations of a loved one to face a gang of deadly killers. Remind you of anyone?”
Rusty smiled.
“Let’s go head them off at the pass, pardner.”
“The posse will pick us up when we switch from the M6 to the M62. I’ve suggested to Danny Tipper, the group leader we stop at the nearest place where we can get a good lunch. We can brief everyone then.”
“Do you want to listen to the radio?” asked Rusty.
“To save arguments, I suggest we opt for radio silence,” said Phoenix, closing his eyes.
“You didn’t get much sleep last night I take it?” asked Rusty.
“I slept like a log, as it happens. Athena rang to say Geoffrey insisted she returns to Larcombe tomorrow. If she’s in charge at headquarters, things will stay on track. Geoffrey needs to confront what happened on Monday without her fussing around him. He’ll come out okay on the other side, in time. He’s made of stern stuff. Athena can make sure Giles and Artemis do the necessary regarding the bombers. If we need to act at once because they intend to strike elsewhere in the next forty-eight hours, we’ll get the nearest teams to disrupt their plans. If they’re lying low, then they can keep them under observation until we’re free to eliminate them. No, I’m running through the likely scenarios for the next three days in my head. I don’t need the distraction of Judas Priest this morning.”
“I’ll leave you to it then,” said Rusty, relieved that his ears weren’t to be assaulted by Phoenix’s favourite brand of music.
A little over three hours later they had left the M6 after a mind-numbing trek from Rugby. Rusty spotted the Olympus vans in his wing mirrors as they arrived to line up in convoy behind him. The vans bore dark blue or black livery and tinted windscreens. They carried no insignia to expose their true nature.
“We’ve got company, Phoenix.”
“Good,” said his friend, stretching out the kinks in his frame after the long journey, “I’m starving.”
The lead van following them overtook and indicated left at the next junction. The four vans pulled into the motorway services and parked as far away from one another as possible. Once inside the restaurant, the smells from the kitchen made Rusty’s stomach rumble.
“You too?” asked Phoenix.
“I was late getting out of bed. I only grabbed a slice of toast and a coffee.”
The two agents waited in line, ordered their food, and sat at the back of the room, where they found several spare tables. The pair were joined in due course by the two agents from each of the other three vans.
“I’m Danny Tipper,” said the youngest looking guy among them.
“Youth Opportunity Scheme?” Rusty asked.
“I moisturise,” replied Danny, familiar with comments about his youthful appearance.
Phoenix ignored the light-hearted banter. He checked the restaurant clientele and staff and searched for faces turning their way. Nobody took any undue interest in the group.
“We’ll eat first, and then I’ll issue your instructions,” he said.
At one o’clock the four teams drove away from the car park, rejoined the M62 and travelled east. They reached Heywood thirty minutes later. Each van drove to their designated positions and waited.
In Gorton Street, Mohammed Rafiq, a thirty-four-year-old mechanic lay underneath a three-year-old Ford Kuga. He was a sexual predator who had been a significant member of the grooming gang operating in the town for years. One of his victims came forward two years ago. Angel was fourteen. She had been in care for most of her life. She was first lured into his spider’s web with drink and drugs.
Rafiq recognised the familiar signs of vulnerability. He knew how to press the right buttons. He offered to take the young girl to restaurants and treat her to the food she could only dream of at the home in which she lived. His friends in the grooming gang either owned or worked at the restaurants they visited. The predator homed in on his target, but as with the others involved, he was putting the young girl in the shop window.
Angel was raped by Rafiq within a month of his meeting her outside a takeaway in Bridge Street. Over the following six months, he drove her to various locations in Rochdale and Bury. Angel lost count of the number of men who assaulted her. In the beginning, she thought she pleased Rafiq by being ‘nice’ to his friends. He treated her better than anyone before had ever done. As time passed though, he became distant towards her, and Angel realised she was being used.
The young girl went to the police and shared details of every abuser she could identify. She pointed out where the attacks took place and provided DNA evidence. She waited and waited. Nothing happened. The police and the Crown Prosecution Service had decided not to proceed. Reports from the home suggested Angel was unruly and prone to exaggeration. She regularly skipped school and was caught drinking cider and smoking, aged twelve, in a local park. The authorities declared her an unreliable witness.
Phoenix and Rusty exited the van. Its rear doors faced the garage entrance. The forecourt was quiet. The only sound inside came from a radio on a workbench on the back wall. ‘Happy’ by Pharrell Williams was the tune playing. There was an office on the right-hand side with the door shut. Rusty stopped by the entrance. He could watch the street in both directions from there and keep an eye on whoever sat inside the office. A quick glance told him, for now, they had fallen asleep. He needn’t disturb him.
Mohammed Rafiq continued to work on the car. Phoenix slipped inside the workshop and crept alongside. Rafiq sensed a presence. Unaware of any danger, he slid the wheeled creeper board forward, thinking it was his employer.
“What’s up, Nasim?” he began.
Phoenix tipped the creeper board over, grabbed the mechanic around the neck and applied a choke-hold. Six seconds later, the blood flow to the brain was cut off and Rafiq slumped unconscious. He gagged the predator, secured him with zip ties, and spoke to Rusty: -
“Ready to move. Open the van’s rear doors.”
Rusty checked the office for the last time. The guy still hadn’t moved. He walked across the forecourt. Traffic moved steadily on the street, but nobody was in urgent need of repair to their vehicle. The coast was clear. As soon as the rear doors opened, Phoenix bundled their target inside. Rusty closed the doors and joined Phoenix in the van. It was time to transfer to the rendezvous point they agreed with Danny Tipper.
Nasim Khan emerged from the office an hour later. He turned off the radio and called out to his mechanic. What was going on? Why would he wander off leaving the work on the Kuga unfinished without saying a word? The customer expected to collect his car at five o’clock.
The garage owner rang Rafiq’s mobile. It was in the pocket of his leather jacket hanging on a peg on the wall. Nasim rang around the likely places Rafiq might have gone. Nobody had seen him.
Nasim Khan didn’t know it, but Mohammed Rafiq had become the first of the missing.
CHAPTER 4
While events at the garage played out in the pattern Phoenix had planned, Danny Tipper and his colleague left their first port of call. They had watched the restaurant on Bridge Street for twenty
minutes before spotting activity. A man emerged from the alleyway leading to the accommodation over the business. He flopped into the driver’s seat of an old BMW and drove away.
Shabir Amin, the fifty-three-year-old restaurant owner was a colleague of Mohammed Rafiq. Angel had often eaten in his restaurant. Many of Amin’s customers were on intimate terms with Angel. The BMW left the small town of Heywood and drove towards Bury. Fifteen minutes later, still unaware he was being followed, Amin pulled up outside a secondary school.
“School’s not out for another thirty minutes,” Danny muttered.
“I used to say I had a dental appointment if I wanted to skip out early,” said the agent beside him.
Two minutes later, a uniformed girl slipped through the gateway and ran towards the BMW.
“Fifteen years old, would you say?” asked Danny.
“About that, but I find it hard to believe they’re related.”
“I vote we follow where this leads us,” said Danny. “I know we’ve got enough on Amin to justify picking him up. But we might catch other members of the gang, who knows?”
The BMW moved away from the kerb, and the Olympus agents followed at a safe distance.
“He’s off to Radcliffe, I reckon,” said Danny, as they drove further south from the school.
“What connections did we have with the gang this far out?” asked his colleague.
“One of the other girls whose story was dismissed as fantasy got brought here,” Danny replied. “She said she went to a house situated two streets behind the Muslim Centre. A few of her abusers trotted off to prayers after they had finished with her. When she finally went to the police, she told them she realised she’d been stupid. She was a naïve teenager from a broken home. Her mother struggled to cope and was often depressed and suicidal. It dawned on the kid they had exploited her vulnerability and low self-esteem. She had grabbed at any chance to get away from her home circumstances.”
“The grooming gangs use such convincing methods,” the other agent agreed, “they work hard to build trust in their victims. That trust is breached when they take the youngsters to their friends and relatives and offer them for sex for heroin. What I find strange is how that other girl’s evidence got brushed aside. Along with many others over the years. In particular, stories that various agencies were told by kids in care. Social Services’ prime job is to keep them from harm. Why didn’t they intervene?”
“There was a culture of fear,” said Danny. “They didn’t want to damage the delicate relationship between the different ethnic groups in the area. Most offenders highlighted were Pakistanis. If they had raised concerns, they feared it may have been perceived as racially motivated. So, for years they denied they had a significant problem.”
“Ease back a little, boss, Amin’s turning into the side street up ahead.”
The BMW turned into the street, slowed and parked on the grass verge. The restaurant owner heaved his considerable bulk out of the car and moved around the front of the car and opened the passenger door. Danny noticed he had to unlock the door to let the girl out.
Amin gripped the girl by the wrist and led her up the garden path to the semi-detached house. The door opened before they reached the front step. The couple disappeared inside.
Danny had driven slowly past the property, keeping a close watch on what happened. He parked fifty yards further along the street.
“Difficult to tell how many were inside,” he said.
“Does it matter?” asked his mate.
Danny smiled.
“Not really, but I’ll contact our nearest team to provide back-up. They’re at least fifteen minutes away. We’ll wait until they’re en route and we’re confident of their time of arrival. Then we’ll break in and deal with whatever we find.”
Danny made the call and then contacted Phoenix to let him know the score. Phoenix passed on the good news that Rafiq was secured. When Danny heard his backup was under five minutes away they made their move.
The big red key carried by his colleague took the side door off its hinges. The agents darted through the kitchen, and into the lounge. Amin slumped on the settee, with his hand down his trousers. He was still levering himself out of the settee when Danny hit him behind the ear with a cosh. Amin was out for the count.
Another man stood in the middle of the room, with the young girl knelt in front of him The Olympus agent fired off the taser. She screamed. The man lay twitching on the floor.
“Fetch the van,” Danny ordered. His colleague ran from the house, reversed the van up the street, and swung into the driveway. As the backup team entered the street Danny and his mate were manhandling Amin into the van. The other man soon joined him.
The young schoolgirl had been in tears ever since the Olympus agents had crashed through the door into the lounge. Danny spoke to her gently. He told her she had nothing to fear from them. Danny asked where she lived and radioed the backup team driver to be ready to drop her off at the end of her road.
“These two are evil men,” Danny warned her, “no matter what they promised you. My advice? Forget you were ever here, and we’ll make sure they won’t hurt you, or anyone else again.”
The girl nodded through her tears and ran sobbing to the waiting van. When she reached the door, she turned back.
“What about the money?” she asked.
It dawned on Danny that this wasn’t the first rodeo for this youngster. She was prepared to service this unknown guy, in return for money. Money which she needed for her drugs habit, no doubt. The tears might be genuine, but they hid a tragic story that wouldn’t end for her this afternoon. It wasn’t his job to get her the help she needed. His task was to take Amin and others off the streets, so they couldn’t poison the minds of any more children.
Danny followed the other van up the street. He called the other driver.
“What happened on George Street?”
“Nothing yet boss, our man is in the supermarket working, but his shift doesn’t end until six. The other team will pick him up as soon as he leaves. His car is parked under the trees at the far end of the overflow car park. He couldn’t have picked a quieter spot.”
“Thanks. Make sure your passenger gets home safe. Don’t listen to any crap she feeds you, just drop her close to home, and then make for the rendezvous point. I’ll see you there.”
The other van turned off and set off towards Elton. Danny watched it go.
“Have you ever been there?” he asked his mate.
“Don’t think I have,” he replied.
“When the sun’s shining you can be fooled into thinking it’s a good place to live.”
When they reached the rendezvous point, they parked alongside Phoenix’s van. They were inside the light industrial unit on the Rochdale trading estate which Olympus had rented. Danny got out and walked to the passenger window.
“Another two bodies to add to the missing, Phoenix,” he said.
“Two?” queried Phoenix.
“Shabir Amin pimped out a school kid to a bloke in Bury. After he left the restaurant, I followed him, to see what he got up to on a weekday afternoon. Here’s a photograph I took of the client to whom she was delivered. Perhaps your people can identify him? He’s carrying no papers.”
“Did he not want to tell you his name?” asked Rusty.
“To be honest, after a belt from the taser he wasn’t in a mood to talk.”
“Send the photograph to my phone, Danny,” said Phoenix. “I’ll get Giles to start the hunt for him. If he’s illegal, nobody will miss him. We can’t risk letting him tell the others in the gang that someone is cleaning the streets of vermin.”
“Will do,” said Danny, “coming through now.”
“Got it,” replied Phoenix, “and… it’s on its way to the ice-house.”
“What did you do with the girl?” asked Phoenix.
“A team stationed near the supermarket is taking her home. They won’t be too long arriving. She’s no innocent, I�
��m afraid. The poor beggar is a drug addict. She was more interested in the money she didn’t receive than what happened to Amin and the other bloke.”
The Olympus agents sat in silence for a minute. They could make sure that criminals paid for their crimes and bring closure to many victims. They couldn’t cure society’s ills.
“Did you say six o’clock the supermarket worker is being picked up?” asked Rusty, eager to break the sombre mood.
“Give or take,” replied Danny. “They should be here by half-past six at the latest.”
Rusty looked at his watch. That was over two hours away.
“Any chance of a coffee and a sandwich? We’ve got to wait for a while.”
While they waited for the van to return from Elton, they transferred Rafiq to Danny’s van. They made sure the three missing men were tucked up safe and sound and then locked the unit. The four agents sat in Phoenix’s van.
“A bacon roll’s better than a sandwich,” said Rusty.
“Black pudding is a favourite up here,” said Danny’s mate.
“You can’t beat a bacon roll,” said Phoenix. Nobody wanted to argue with the boss.
“Here they come,” said Danny Tipper. The dark blue van stopped next to them. He jumped out and told the driver to follow them. They drove to a roadside café on the Rochdale road out of Bury. Ten minutes later the six agents stared at steaming mugs of coffee and a tray filled with rolls.
“Take your pick lads,” said Danny, “bacon, sausage, cheese, or ham.”
“Are you sure there’s enough here?” Rusty asked, knowing there was enough for twelve hungry labourers.
“Tuck in,” said Phoenix. “You never know when we’ll get the chance to eat again.”
When they arrived back to the trading estate, full to bursting, it was just after six.
At the supermarket in George Street, Abdul Sajid, the forty-one-year-old frozen food shelf-stacker had finished for the day. He walked towards his beaten-up old Nissan at the far end of the car park. It had no tax or insurance, so he hid it away from prying eyes.
