by Ted Tayler
Phoenix heard the passenger door close behind Rusty. He switched on the engine.
“I don’t know the area well,” said Artemis. “I must be close.”
“Excuse me, mate?” Cornell heard a voice behind him. “Have you seen a red Mini Cooper?”
Glenn Cornell turned to see who was behind him. A van pulled up by the pavement. The client still spoke to him on the phone.
“I think I need to find a different personal trainer,” she said. “I reckon you’re going out of business.”
Rusty shoved Cornell towards the open van door. Phoenix grabbed his arms. The mobile phone flew into the air. Rusty caught it, helped Phoenix subdue Cornell and then closed the door. The streets of Wellingborough were safer now. All done and dusted in less than twenty seconds.
“Thanks for your help,” Rusty said to his wife. “I wish we could chat, but I must dash. Talk to you soon.”
“Remind Cornell of Maisie Reynolds, from Aldershot,” said Artemis, “the lonely widow he attacked in her own home. She was so traumatised she took her own life. Maisie would have been sixty today.”
“If we kept searching, we might find other victims out there,” said Rusty.
“Perhaps, and if we allowed him to keep offending, there may be more deaths. My conscience is clear.”
“Mine too,” replied Rusty.
“Good luck with the rest of the mission,” she said. “Tell Phoenix to check in with Giles tomorrow. He’s off duty this evening.”
Phoenix drove away from the library once Rusty got back in the van.
They would deal with the low-life when they returned to the safe house in Kettering. A clean-up crew could dispose of the body tomorrow.
“He won’t be missed,” said Rusty.
“It’s just a shame those unknown victims can’t watch him suffer,” said Phoenix.
CHAPTER 11
Wednesday, 14th January 2015
“What time were our crew arriving?” asked Rusty, as Phoenix was pulling into a parking space near the town centre.
“Fifteen minutes after we left the safe house,”
“Good,” said Rusty, “our guest wasn’t alone for too long then.”
Phoenix had moved on to focus on today’s mission.
“Ben, can you hear me?”
“Yes, Phoenix, loud and clear. I can see the van. I’m making my way over to you.”
“Don’t approach the van. We don’t want it associated with you. We’ll meet you in that cafe two doors further on from the bank.”
Ben Anderson crossed the busy road and headed inside the warm café. He ordered a drink and grabbed the only free table. He saw the two Olympus agents follow him a minute later. They joined him.
“How’s student life?” asked Rusty.
“I’ve seen little of Ross,” said Ben, keeping his voice low, “he’s been hanging out in Abington. A lot of students live there, it’s two miles from here. He’s due to arrive in the centre by noon. I’ll go by then. So, nobody will connect us.”
“I’m meeting Ross alone, to put any nosy parkers off the scent,” said Phoenix, “we can’t be too careful. OK, what have you learned?”
“The students are being targeted by dealers from Manchester and Liverpool,” said Ben, “they’ve established county lines, and are big on intimidation all over the campuses.”
“That’s what we understood,” said Rusty, “the county lines are phone lines used for the buying and selling of drugs. Those drugs come from larger metropolitan cities to be distributed in smaller market towns. In a university town, there’s a ready market in a concentrated spot.”
“There’s drug-related anti-social behaviour at the St John’s hall of residence,” added Ben Anderson, “The police were there last week executing search warrants. They arrested a student on suspicion of being in possession with intent to supply.”
“Have you heard of any addresses taken over in the town, or student accommodation in the halls?” asked Rusty.
“They’re not on the campus, yet, but Ross has seen evidence in Abington. He will fill you in on that later.”
“Any names that have cropped up yet? I know you’ve not been there long, but…” asked Phoenix.
“There are two names associated with the intimidation,” Ben answered, “Brantly Mason and Demarai Scott. They’re mid-twenties, from Manchester. Hard as nails, I reckon they’ve been in a gang since they were ten or eleven. I’ve seen them at work, but I’ve kept well away. They’re evil bastards.”
“Great work, Ben. That’s what we need. I’ll get Larcombe to dig out their backgrounds. It gives us someone to focus on. Drink up, get back on the streets. The longer you’re in here, the more suspicious people will get.”
“Yeah,” grinned Ben, “why would a student be hanging around with two wrinklies like you?”
Ben finished his latte and left.
“Do you think they do any of those wraps in here?” asked Phoenix.
“I’ll ask,” said Rusty, “but this café feels more old school.”
It was eleven when the two agents left. The second mug of coffee and the bacon roll filled them up and had kept them away from the chilly wind.
“Another hour before we meet Ross Summers,” said Phoenix, “where shall we head?”
“The Grosvenor Centre is undercover. It will be warmer than standing on this street,” said Rusty.
At noon, Phoenix tried the comms, to see if Ross was in range.
“Ross, have you got into town yet?”
“Hi, Phoenix. I’ve just got off the bus. Where are you?”
“On the first floor of the Grosvenor Centre. Get up here as soon as you can.”
Ross appeared ten minutes later. He waved a greeting from twenty yards away.
“Crikey, he looks even younger dressed liked that,” said Rusty.
“Ross fits in with the modern student,” said Phoenix, “but I’m not sure we should be outside this kid’s toys store. It’s bound to look creepy if we’re caught on CCTV. Let’s keep on the move.”
“Ben said you had seen evidence of vulnerable people intimidated by the dealers, Ross, is that right?” asked Phoenix.
“There was one poor guy with mental health issues whose house was being used by drug dealers, prostitutes and alcoholics. He thought they were being friendly when it started but couldn’t prevent the escalation. The dealers weren’t local. They had moved in from Sheffield.”
“Is that the only case you’ve seen so far?” asked Rusty.
“The only one I’ve witnessed, yes, but chatting with students and other locals in the pubs, I’ve heard it’s spreading over the town. The signs are obvious. A rise in anti-social behaviour typified by an increase in comings and goings from a property. An increase in litter, noise becoming intrusive and disturbances that spill out onto the street. These don’t always get a response from the police, but neighbours are pissed. Often, the gang takes over several properties and moves between them. Or they use one property for the odd day before moving on to keep one step ahead of the police.”
“Keep trawling for names that crop up,” said Phoenix, “I want to have more than the two we’ve identified so far. If they don’t materialise soon, we’ll think of another way to close these operations.”
“Will do,” said Ross, “when do you want to meet us again?”
“This needs to happen by Friday,” said Rusty, “if we don’t hear from you and Ben before then, we’ll switch to Plan Two. On Friday evening, we’ll remove you both. When you are parachuted into an area like you were, someone will ask questions. Once that becomes a gang member, instead of the students and locals you’ve pressed for information, then it means trouble.”
“Understood,” said Ross, “we’re being as careful as we can, but thanks for the warning.”
Ross left them and made his way via the escalator to the ground floor. The two agents headed for an exit at the opposite end of the shopping centre. Time to get the van and return to the safe house.
*****
Tyrone O’Riordan had been in the Glencairn Bank for less than an hour. He arrived at noon and if he was still there at four o’clock, it was because he’d had a very busy day. At least, that’s what he told himself. There were thousands of others doing the hard work for him.
Tyrone had to make sure the dirty money they moved through his private bank was clean when it arrived in their High Street bank accounts. His commission reduced the amount, but it was clean.
Tyrone had checked the financial indicators he used to make the money the Grid invested was working as profitably as it could. That had been Hugo Hanigan’s legacy. He had developed a great strategy, one which Tyrone followed in many of the markets. The Glencairn had earned a reputation for performing well above the rest of its competitors. Tyrone took more risks than Hugo did, especially with the commission he had collected. The figures he had looked at this lunchtime still showed a positive trend. Tyrone was content.
There was a knock on the office door.
“This was just delivered by courier, Mr O’Riordan.”
It was Philomena, his personal assistant. She handed him the jiffy bag and closed the door behind her. Tyrone caught a whiff of her perfume. It was intoxicating.
The twenty-three-year-old graduate had been working for him for three months now. There was a chemistry between them that was obvious from the day she attended the interview.
Why hadn’t he slept with her yet? Tyrone made a note to rectify that.
The Grid’s operations and its enemies occupied his mind for far too much of his time. Tyrone was aware he over-indulged in his few hours of leisure time. If it continued he could damage his health and his bank balance. Was it time to take things at a slower pace?
Tyrone knew if he moved in with a woman, it would please his mother. If he introduced her to a fine-looking, intelligent Irish girl such as Philomena, she wouldn’t be able to contain herself. Tyrone forced himself to put thoughts of a long-term relationship to one side until he had finished work. He left the jiffy bag until last.
“Right, let’s see what this was,” he said, opening the padded envelope.
Tyrone slid out a photograph and looked at it in horror. The twins, Graham and Paul Heath were united in death. Side by side as they had been in their first photo in the hospital at birth. This final image showed them with a hole in the forehead where they had been shot. He grabbed the jiffy bag and looked inside to see if there was a note.
As he tipped it up, two thumbs fell onto the highly polished desktop.
Tyrone called his mother. He told her what he had on the desk in front of him.
“It’s a shame you were so quick to pay those boys for their work,” she said, “you could have saved yourself a bundle. Olympus didn’t take long to find them, did they?”
“Olympus know about the Glencairn and that I run things from here. They don’t have either of our addresses yet, but we’ve waited long enough. It’s time to raise our game.”
“You can’t blame them retaliating Tyrone. You killed eight of their people last weekend.”
“I never told you what happened at Ilford, did I?” said Tyrone, “we had to dump five bodies on the Marshes after Olympus hit one of our garages on Monday. The local Accident and Emergency hospitals ten miles in every direction were at crisis levels with broken bones from the punishments they dished out to the crew. Nobody walked away unscathed. That place is out of action for a month. It will cost us two million quid, easy. They’re hitting us hard, mother. I haven’t got a clue where’s next for treatment.”
“What can you do?” asked Colleen.
“Hit them where it hurts,” Tyrone replied. He dropped the thumbs back into the jiffy bag and took one last look at the photo before shredding it. Time to get home. Time to rally the troops.
*****
In the Kettering safe house, Phoenix was talking with Giles in the ice-house.
“We still need to follow up on Cliff Barclay’s progress on his case this afternoon,” said Phoenix. “As for the shootings, unless Donovan and Nesbitt uncover something fast, we will have to go with the names we’ve uncovered so far. We have neither the time nor the resources to stay anywhere for an extended period. Security at Larcombe is uppermost in my mind.”
“The message was delivered to the Grid at lunchtime,” said Giles, “they will know we are balancing the books from the weekend. The Grid has two ways to go. Either they carry on their crooked business and ignore the occasional dent we make in their armour, or they go on the offensive.”
“They have escalated their response on each occasion since this O’Riordan seized control,” said Phoenix. “My gut tells me he will choose the latter. That’s why it’s imperative Rusty and I get back to Larcombe by Friday evening, at the latest.”
“I’ll pass that on to Henry. I know he has stepped up the patrols, but is it enough? Maybe we need to establish our defensive lines. If those are visible from the lane, or the air it will make the Grid aware we are ready for an attack. The element of surprise won’t be available.”
“Keep Athena in the loop,” said Phoenix, “and discuss whatever Henry proposes with Rusty. If he’s unreachable because we’re in the middle of direct action, consult Thommo and Bazza. They will know what’s required. They’ve got the battle scars to prove it.”
“It feels inevitable, doesn’t it?” said Giles.
“Armageddon, a final battle between good and evil? Yes, that’s inevitable,” said Phoenix. “But, in those late-night talks with Erebus, he prepared me for that day.”
“We’ll never defeat them without help from the authorities,” said Giles, “we’re heavily outnumbered.”
“Numbers don’t always count,” said Phoenix, “I never professed to understand the analogy Erebus used. He said when a side has a man sent off in football, the ten men often prevail, even when playing a far superior side. They perform better as a team than they did when they had their full complement. They find reserves of strength they didn’t know they had.”
“I’ve seen that happen,” said Giles. “It often means a change of tactics. Is there something we could do to even up the score?”
“Erebus was a strong believer in targeting the most significant gang members in the actions we undertake. When the attack comes, we must defend Larcombe for as long as possible to create the opportunity for an attack on the heads of the Grid. If it was possible to remove O’Riordan and his mother and close the Glencairn Bank, it would paralyse the network protecting the organisation. Without easy access to a bank to launder their money, it would create a vacuum. While they fought amongst themselves over who takes control and the money situation festers those of us who survive that final battle could come out of hiding. We would be able to hand over the information the authorities need to reverse the trend. They would never end crime altogether, but whichever party is in Government it would be forced to recognise public opinion is with them. We can already see how fed up they are with the Grid’s influence on their daily lives from the demonstrations across the country.”
“So, either way, the Olympus Project would face massive change,” said Giles. “If we fail to create that vacuum, then we perish. If we succeed, then we risk removing the veil of secrecy and give the authorities additional intelligence to break the network of organised crime and its stranglehold over the UK. Do they have the resources to make it happen?”
“I’ll leave you to ponder that, Giles.”
As the call ended, Giles turned to Artemis.
“Did you catch any of that?” he asked.
“Only snatches,” she replied.
Giles nodded. He feared Artemis had heard more than that.
Danger lurked around every corner for Phoenix and Rusty when they were in the field. It was a chilling thought that the same might soon apply to everyone working here in the ice-house.
“Whatever we learn in here has to kept from anyone other than our superiors,” he reminded her. Maria Elena was innocent i
n this. It might soon be time to suggest she visited her parents back in Estepona.
In Kettering, while Phoenix was talking to Giles, Rusty had contacted Cliff Barclay. The Irregular arrived back from Corby thirty minutes later for a debrief with him and Phoenix.
“Do we have their names?” asked Phoenix.
“Rick Francis the bloke involved,” said Cliff, “he is one sick, depraved individual. His partner, Leigh-Anne Dyson is complicit in everything that’s happening. She’s the manipulative one in the team, she persuades the youngsters to start on the drink and drugs. She’s not afraid to use violence to get what she wants either. Francis is a dangerous bastard, but the pair of them are evil. Their victims are traumatised beyond belief. Who knows if they’ll ever find their way back?”
“Thanks, Cliff. Sorry you had to go through that ordeal, mate,” said Rusty.
“Just make them suffer, Rusty, that’s all I ask.”
“Take a break, Cliff,” said Phoenix. “We’ll sort them out tonight. The sooner those kids get help the better.”
Cliff went upstairs to his room. Phoenix and Rusty prepared for their evening’s mission. As night fell, they left the safe house. Two hours later Rick Francis and Leigh-Anne Dyson were in the back of the Olympus van parked outside the safe house.
Cliff Barclay was refreshed. He asked if he could drive the prisoners to Larcombe Manor. He wanted to hand them over to Henry Case in person.
“I know he won’t let me watch,” said Cliff, “but I want to tell them what will happen to them on the way to Bath.”
Phoenix sent him on his way. He called Giles to let Henry know to expect an angry Welshman. Phoenix asked for one of the nearby Olympus teams to send a car they could use until they returned to Larcombe on Friday.
Rusty could travel back on the train with him to Bath Spa. He had often let the train take the strain when Erebus was in charge.
“After three hours with Cliff, those two will check into Hotel California without a murmur,” said Rusty.
