Three Weeks in September

by Ted Tayler

  “Tricky,” said Rusty. “We don’t have enough food in the freezer to feed that many. Visiting a local eatery or ordering in large quantities of takeaways raises problems. The good citizens of Sheffield might question whether this house is hiding a secret. Why not ring Gus and tell them to bring sandwiches?”

  Phoenix gave his friend a stare.

  “I’m calling Athena,” he replied, “you can contact Gus. Tell him to limit the number he brings to four at the most. One vehicle only. We’ll finish at two o’clock. They can grab a late lunch.”

  “What about us?” asked Rusty.

  “We got up early, I’ll make our lunch for half-past eleven. I’m not going to a meeting hungry.”

  Phoenix rang his wife. Athena picked up on the second ring.

  “Morning, darling. How are things?” he asked.

  “Daddy’s putting on a brave face. I think he’ll be okay until the weekend. Perhaps I can travel up on Saturday and stay over until Sunday. Tell me what happened in Rochdale. Did everything go to plan?”

  “Need you ask?” replied Phoenix, “we’re in Sheffield now. Later today we start on the next stage of the mission. I’ll be home by tomorrow evening. I’ll see you then, look, I’ve just had a thought. Why don’t you tell Geoffrey to pack a bag and get him to travel with you this morning? We can take care of him better at Larcombe.”

  “Daddy’s an obstinate old devil,” said Athena. “He wants me to believe he’s strong and independent. I’ll try, it would put my mind at rest, and he will have Hope to take his mind off other matters.”

  “I don’t suppose you’ve heard when your mother’s body will be released?”

  “No, it’s far too early. I doubt if we’ll hear until the middle of next week. Daddy and I made a start on the funeral arrangements last night. If I spirit him away to Larcombe, we can finalise things. Once the actual date is known, maybe we could both return here, and stay over until after the funeral?”

  “I can’t see that being a problem,” said Phoenix. “One issue we might have is making sure he keeps his nose out of Olympus business while he’s staying with us. When you get back today, have a quiet word with Giles. He might persuade Maria Elena to be extra-vigilant, and shepherd him away from sensitive areas with offers of time with his granddaughter.”

  “Leave that with me, Phoenix. Good hunting. I’ll see you when you get home tomorrow. Stay safe.”

  Phoenix ended the call and rang Giles Burke.

  “Good morning, Phoenix,” said the surveillance expert. “I trust everything is still on schedule?”

  “All going like clockwork, Giles. What news do you have for me on Harrack and Mansouri?”

  “They followed a circuitous route that took them around an hour’s walk to reach Royal Victoria station. Then they used a train and the Tube to return to the apartment in Slough. We tracked them via CCTV for as much as we could. They travelled separately throughout the journey. We spotted no mobile phone usage on any of the camera footage, nor did a third-party meeting take place. It’s possible they made the outward journey using the same route.”

  “What about the IED?” asked Phoenix.

  “Its construction has been identified. Our hacker captured files that enabled us to prepare a detailed analysis for you to look at tomorrow. Everything’s there, the makeup, and every shred of evidence the emergency teams gathered on site. He closed every back door he accessed. The authorities won’t know he’s been inside their systems having a poke around.”

  “It’s frightening, isn’t it?” said Phoenix, “nothing is safe these days. What’s the world coming to? I look forward to reading it tomorrow. What have Harrack and Mansouri been up to since they got home?”

  “They’ve not emerged from the apartment since they made it back. We have agents on twenty-four-hour surveillance. If they step outside their door, we’ll know. Have you decided on a course of action?”

  “I’m convinced these two aren’t working alone,” said Phoenix. “Have we got eyes and ears inside the apartment yet?”

  “I discussed this with Henry Case last night,” said Giles. “His opinion was that if these are experienced operatives, then getting access to install cameras and listening devices would be nigh on impossible without alerting them. We have a tap on the landline, but they’re too fly to use that. They’ll use burner phones to contact other cell members.”

  “I’ll give thought to what I might do next,” said Phoenix. “Rusty and I will be busy for the next thirty-six hours. I might need to catch up with you and Artemis late tomorrow evening after this show has ended.”

  “No worries, Phoenix,” said Giles, “oh, Artemis said to send her love to Rusty. He hasn’t called since he left yesterday. Nothing changes.”

  “Nothing happened that we hadn’t planned for,” shrugged Phoenix. “Why worry the girl?”

  Giles continued with his shift in the ice-house. Phoenix checked with Rusty that Gus Dickerson travelled light. He relayed Giles’s message.

  “I’ll be in hot water when we get home tomorrow then,” muttered Rusty.

  “Forget that for now. Let’s get stuck into these reports. Gus and the lads will be here before we know it.”

  The two agents concentrated their attention on the seven men they were adding to the list of the missing. Their ages ranged between twenty and fifty-five. Those men in prison were the tip of the iceberg. Olympus could only do so much. They didn’t have the manpower to clean the streets of every criminal out there.

  As he read page after page compiled by Minos and Alastor from data gathered by the media and their own investigative agencies, Phoenix felt his heart grow heavy. Hundreds of cases were known to the authorities before the independent inquiry report they had received last week. Hundreds of cases were reported as the weeks passed. Victims still felt let down by the police, and the council. The grooming continued in every area of South Yorkshire, and survivors reported activity levels rising, not falling. The gangs were aware they might be being watched now, so they became clever at hiding their tracks. Often, if someone reported something they believed needed to be brought to the authorities’ attention, it was not given the priority it warranted. In fact, the social care services treated it as something of a nuisance. How many would slip through the net?

  “These comments stink of a cover-up,” muttered Phoenix.

  “Exactly what I thought when I read through this on Tuesday afternoon in the orangery,” Rusty agreed,

  “You’re learning,” said Phoenix. “Erebus would be proud.”

  “You were his favourite. Erebus only allowed me in under sufferance.”

  Phoenix continued to read. Why wouldn’t you want a support group? Not only around this area but across the country. At least the one they had tried to tackle the problem. For whatever reason, it was disbanded. and the authorities have resisted attempts to replace it.

  “The police use the right buzzwords about protecting children and tackling child exploitation, but it’s just words,” said Rusty, looking up from his file. “Why turn up mob-handed to a potential witness’s home address to get a statement? It signals to everyone within several miles radius that a young girl had reported instances of abuse. Imagine walking to school the next day. That’s bound to deter victims that haven’t come forward so far from reporting what they suffered.”

  “While we spent last weekend up here, Athena and I consulted Zeus,” said Phoenix. “The media has consistently mentioned ‘Pakistani men preying on young white girls’. But that isn’t the full picture. Athena was concerned that Olympus act against those that attacked and exploited children within their own community. Zeus supported her view and agreed that British Asian girls were unlikely to report their abuse due to a fear of dishonour, scorn and retribution.”

  “Which name am I looking for here?” asked Rusty.

  “Salim Qureshi, the oldest of the seven men we are targeting. He’s a fifty-five-year-old shop owner from Brinsworth. Qureshi befriended young girls who came i
nto his shop on the way home from school. Some were the children of his brothers and his cousins. He blackmailed the girls into having sex with men in an apartment above the shop. They were forced at knife-point to perform sexual acts. The apartment was visited by dozens of men in the evenings. One victim had been gang-raped by fifteen men before she could leave. Her attackers included a father and son. He was a boy she knew. A fellow-student at her school. The abuse was recorded on mobile phones by several of the men. Qureshi threatened to send the evidence to the girl’s family if she ever dared to go to the police.”

  “That’s enough,” said Rusty, “he’s going to the top of the list. Can we pick up that swine, please?”

  “You’ve read the file, Rusty. When Gus arrives, we share the targets out between the teams. One target each, taken within a specific timeframe. We locate them during today, watch them tomorrow morning, then coordinate our direct action so that seven men go missing within a seven-minute period. Friday prayers are an important time for Muslims. Some men attend the mosque every day. Others never do, but the window in which we strike will be the same.”

  “What is the significance of the number seven?” asked Rusty. “I never read that in the files anywhere, did I?”

  “No, but in Islam, Hell has seven gates and seven levels,” said Phoenix. “Sinners go to different levels depending on the severity of their sins. The seventh level feels appropriate for each of these predators. Zeus thought it would send a message that would resonate with the imams of the region’s mosques. The authorities have sacrificed a great number of young women on the altar of political correctness, we can’t depend on them getting to the heart of the problem. Most of the Muslim population are peace-loving and honest. The best way to solve the problem may be to foster a change from within.”

  “Time has gone on, as you predicted,” said Rusty, “we had better get lunch now. Our visitors will knock on the door before we know it.”

  “Visitors,” exclaimed Phoenix, “damn it, I’d better call Giles before I do anything else. Open a can of beans and put on the toast. We’ll have to make do and mend.”

  “I didn’t expect high cuisine,” muttered Rusty. “But I hoped you would dish up something more exciting than beans on toast.”

  Rusty plodded off to the kitchen. Phoenix was already talking to Giles Burke.

  “Any movement from inside the apartment, Giles?” he asked.

  “No change since you rang three hours ago, Phoenix,” replied Giles.

  “Odd they stayed inside for three whole days. Have they had any visitors?”

  “Let me check the logs sent through by our surveillance teams. A paramedic visited the floor the apartment is on yesterday, around noon. We haven’t had agents inside the building, as I told you earlier, so we can’t confirm who had called them. The log report states that thirty minutes after the paramedic arrived, an ambulance pulled up outside the building. The two-man crew went up in the lift. Ten minutes later, a patient came out on a trolley and was put inside the ambulance. The crew were accompanied by a female. Presumably, a relative of the patient. She wore a burka. Head and body covered from top to toe.

  “Nuts,” said Phoenix, “they’ve gone. The bombers must have spotted our teams. Get into that apartment. My bet is we’ll find they’ve cleaned out everything that might have provided clues.”

  “Sorry, Phoenix,” said Giles, “there was no evidence of a female living in the apartment.”

  “There was no female. Mansouri made himself ill enough to warrant a hospital check-up, and Harrack is the right height, and shape to pass himself off as a woman. The outfit wards off suspicion. It’s a common sight on the streets of major towns and cities. If the so-called female wasn’t talkative, the ambulance guys have attended enough awareness courses to accept the silence as normal.”

  “How would they have dealt with the situation when they reached the Accident and Emergency Hospital?” asked Giles.

  “I’ll leave you to find that out, Giles,” said Phoenix. “I suggest you and Artemis start the search for Mansouri and Harrack. A start point will be whichever hospital is the closest to that apartment building.”

  Phoenix ended the call.

  “Lunch is ready,” Rusty called out from the kitchen, “was that bad news from Larcombe?”

  “Afraid so, our two bombers were too cute for the teams watching them. Giles still has to confirm it, but I reckon they’ve moved on to their next target.”

  The two agents tucked into their snack.

  Rusty was reminded of his teenage years when he always seemed to be feeding himself because his mother was incapacitated. When his father got drunk, he knocked her about after he came home from a lunchtime session at the pub. His mother would be in bed, nursing her wounds when Rusty got home from school. To avoid his father’s anger, Rusty made himself something on toast and then made himself scarce in the neighbourhood.

  Phoenix was thinking of how much Hope enjoyed a bowlful of beans with toast soldiers to dip into the juice. Ninety per cent of it ended on her chubby cheeks but watching her gave him and Athena great pleasure.

  Rusty was washing up when the doorbell rang. Phoenix checked the peep-hole. Four burly men stood on the doorstep. Everything in their demeanour screamed ex-military. He opened the door.

  “Come on in, Gus, and welcome. Follow me through to the lounge. This is Rusty, by the way.”

  “Gus Dickerson, it’s been a long time,” said Rusty. He stood by the kitchen door with a tea towel and a fistful of knives and forks.

  “You never mentioned you knew Gus,” said Phoenix, taken by surprise.

  “You never asked,” said Rusty, turning away and returning to the kitchen.

  The new arrivals found places to sit, and Phoenix handed out the schedules he had prepared for the coming mission. The three agents who had accompanied Gus Dickerson didn’t look concerned, but Phoenix sensed a tension in the room.

  Rusty finished his kitchen duties and sat beside him.

  “We thought it best we reduced the numbers for this meeting,” said Phoenix.

  “That’s fair enough,” replied Dickerson, after he had flicked through his copy. “If you take us through the critical points in these schedules, we’ll link up with the others later this afternoon and brief them. The concept appears sound judging by what I’ve read.”

  “You might want to do more than glance at the details,” muttered Rusty, “careless mistakes cost lives.”

  Phoenix raised a hand as Dickerson leapt out of his chair.

  “Enough,” he said. “Remember where you are, and who you represent. Olympus has no time for petty squabbles between its agents. Whatever the issue is, you need to park it, and we go ahead with this mission as planned. We can’t have anyone on the team who isn’t giving things their total concentration.”

  Dickerson stepped back and sat down.

  The tension in the room was palpable. Phoenix ignored it. He was focused and expected everyone else to follow his lead.

  “You’ve had a few minutes to check the schedules,” he said, “are there any questions?”

  “We’ll get moving, boss,” said Dickerson. “The start time for discovering the whereabouts of these jokers is four o’clock. Each of the six vehicles will check in with you when they’re at their appointed observation spot. We’ll keep in radio contact throughout. I’ll order my guys to stop once their target is tucked up in bed for the night.”

  “We could have chosen many more targets,” said Phoenix, “but these were among the ringleaders and worst offenders. In addition, the men selected are creatures of habit. Locating them should be straightforward, and tomorrow the pattern of activity they follow will mirror that which I’ve outlined in the schedules. Somebody might go off-piste, but choosing the afternoon window to grab them reduces the likelihood they will be hard to snatch.”

  Dickerson and his men left the safe house.

  “What do you want to do before we drive to our observation point?” asked Rusty.r />
  “Do you need to ask? I want the full story on you and Gus Dickerson. You were both one step from being sent packing.”

  “Sorry, Phoenix,” sighed Rusty, “it goes way back. We were both SAS sergeants. There’s only a matter of months between us in age and length of service. I was a fiery beggar in those days. As you well know, a difference of opinion with a senior officer led to the corps and me parting company. I had my arguments with plenty of others over the years.”

  “You don’t suffer fools gladly,” said Phoenix. “It’s what I liked about you from the moment we met.”

  “At the end of 2004, the Iraq War was in full swing. Operation Phantom Fury was a joint American, Iraqi, and British offensive. Gus and I were involved. The fiercest point in the conflict centred on Fallujah. The Black Watch was ordered to help American. and Iraqi forces with the encirclement of Fallujah. Their First Battalion was eight hundred and fifty strong and itching to fight. D Squadron of the SAS prepared to take part in the operation as part of Task Force Black, but Blair was nervous about the possible scale of casualties. They prevented us from taking any part in the ground battle.”

  “I watched this unfold while I was in The Gambia,” said Phoenix. “I wasn’t that interested. I only thought of getting home to the UK to avenge my daughter’s death. The way I read the situation, Blair conned the British public into that controversial military action. Over the next decade, it cost hundreds of young men and women their lives.”

  “Politicians aren’t among my favourite people,” said Rusty. “To a man, we were pissed off when we learned that what we trained for, to fight the enemy, was being denied us. The SAS are often the first in and last to leave in a theatre of war.”

  “What was Task Force Black?” Phoenix asked.

  “We worked jointly with Delta Force in Black Ops against Al Qaeda and other insurgents earlier in the year. There were a hundred and fifty of us. We cleared over three thousand insurgents off the streets with several hundred killed. Six men were killed and thirty injured in the Operation. During a six-month tour of duty, the SAS were involved in one hundred and seventy-five combat missions. The Task Force utilised our capabilities in reconnaissance and surveillance to watch suspects and gather intelligence for the coalition intelligence services. They named our operational process ‘find-fix-finish’. Not far removed from the tasks we’re carrying out here in Rotherham. We ‘find’ the insurgent, ‘fix’ a time and place where they could be taken, and ‘finish’ with a raid to take the suspect out.”