by Ted Tayler
“Not far then,” said Phoenix.
“Manageable,” the two Irregulars replied at once.
“We’ll be in touch when another job comes up,” said Phoenix, “you two can stay here, make use of the facilities until they collect the car. Safe journey home.”
“What did you mean by that?” asked Rusty, as they strode out towards the station.
Phoenix left Rusty in the dark.
Friday, 16th January 2015
The morning meeting contained a mixture of light and shade. Athena was pleased to have her husband home safe from the Northamptonshire mission. Rusty and the others had contributed to a successful outcome. Two depraved individuals would never harm another child. Two drug dealers had been slain and the only person who could have been responsible was another suspected killer, Kieran Freeman.
The police had wanted enough evidence to arrest Freeman for months. They couldn’t believe their luck. His car was filmed at the scene of a gangland killing and then he calmly drove home and went to sleep. He protested his innocence and blamed a group of people who broke into his flat and held him hostage. It was the daftest alibi the detectives had ever heard. They even had a Skorpion machine pistol with his fingerprints on it as the confirmed murder weapon. Open and shut case sprang to mind.
Giles confirmed both Ross Summers and Ben Anderson had returned home without incident. Another team would replace Brantly Mason and Demarai Scott in time, but their deaths opened several lines of enquiry for the police. Giles would spread as much information as he could to aid in the reduction and eventual removal of the levels of intimidation suffered by the University’s students.
There were darker moments too as the next rash of funerals were discussed. It reminded the senior agents around the table that the successes were almost as frequent as the losses Olympus suffered.
“The distortion of those Monitoring Service messages was a surprise, Phoenix,” Minos remarked. “It puts a different light on the subversive attempts to justify engaging in a war against ISIS.”
“These people mean business,” said Alastor, “but how do we respond?”
“It’s plain to see the most vociferous people on this matter are only puppets,” said Athena. “The faces of those holding the strings will never reveal themselves.”
“Do we have the time and resources to fight on a second front?” asked Phoenix.
“What do you suggest?” asked Henry. “We can’t stand by and watch the country fooled into believing the rubbish these people are broadcasting,”
“I propose Giles and Artemis become whistle-blowers. They can uncover the distorted messages intercepted at Caversham. That will sow seeds of doubt in the public’s mind. For now, we can offer little else.”
“I agree,” said Athena. “Henry, what progress have we made on establishing our defensive lines?”
“Eighty per cent complete, Athena,” replied Henry, “we’ll finish on Sunday. Our available personnel will be supplied with weapons and ammunition from the armoury. Larcombe will be on alert, twenty-four-seven from then. We won’t get caught unawares.”
“Fingers crossed, we don’t get a snap inspection visit from the Charity Commission,” said Rusty. “It might be difficult for the gardeners to explain why they need Glocks while digging up our vegetables.”
Light and shade, with Rusty providing a final lighter moment. Athena closed the meeting and prayed nothing dramatic happened in the next forty-eight hours. Her father was going home today. She was tired and feeling queasy.
Monday, 19th January 2015
At Larcombe Manor, the phoney war had begun. Every ex-serviceman who lived in the grounds of the Georgian mansion knew their role if the worst happened. The boundaries were patrolled day and night. Ice-house security systems watched for intruders who might appear overhead.
Athena had awoken early. There was a familiar feeling in her stomach. This was not the right time. Athena planned for a brother, or sister for Hope before she reached forty and knew the longer she waited, the more difficult the pregnancy might become. Should she tell Phoenix of her suspicions, or wait until she had it confirmed by the doctor?
Today, there was another matter to confront. Orion’s funeral service in the Abbey.
The morning meeting would be truncated today. There were briefings and training sessions for personnel in the ice-house. Several had served in one of the armed forces, but there were others, Artemis for instance, who brought layman’s skills to the command centre.
They had to know what to do if an evacuation was necessary.
When the senior agents gathered at nine o’clock, Athena asked Giles for an update.
“The misinterpretation of the ISIS messages has been made public,” said Giles. “Serious questions are being asked of the people who started this concerted campaign. It may not have derailed it altogether, but it’s no longer on the main line. We’ve got enough momentum to see this matter side-lined until after the General Election. One good shove will see it finished.”
“Terrific, Giles,” said Athena. “Minos, will you and Alastor give that final shove, please?”
Minos nodded. He knew if he and Alastor dug deep enough they would find a way.
“Henry, what do you have to report?” asked Athena.
“Kelly Dexter is six months pregnant now. Hayden doesn’t think she should serve on our defensive line. Kelly planned to keep working for as long as possible, but the possible escalation of the Grid’s attacks has made Hayden think twice.”
“If Kelly wishes to take a step back into a pure training role, that’s acceptable,” said Athena. “We will have agents going through retraining and new recruits coming to Larcombe until that becomes impossible. Olympus must not alter the public perception of what we do by bowing to pressure from the Grid.”
“Business as usual,” said Phoenix.
*****
“Next Sunday, at midnight,” said Tyrone O’Riordan.
“What’s that?” asked Colleen.
“D-Day. The destruction of the Olympus Project.”
“How many men did you find prepared to risk their lives?” asked Colleen.
“More than enough,” said Tyrone. “I told them to expect a picnic.”
“The gangs and their leaders won’t thank you if it goes pear-shaped,” said his mother. “How many is more than enough?”
“Three hundred,” Tyrone replied. “We have an unlimited supply of automatic weapons and ammunition. Loads of it has been coming into the country from Eastern Europe. They won’t know what hit them.”
“Do you really know what they have at Larcombe Manor?” Colleen asked. “What if they have heavy artillery, rocket launchers, grenades? Won’t the neighbours raise the alarm once your men start the attack?”
“We’ll overrun them by sheer weight of numbers, mother. Don’t be a wuss. Remember, they’ve got women and children to protect, so if we hit them hard with that first strike they’ll crumble.”
“I don’t want us killing women and children, Tyrone,” said Colleen, “your Dad never stooped that low.”
“Don’t worry, mother. No women and children, but we can’t afford to let this organisation recover. You understand that, don’t you?”
*****
There wasn’t a spare seat in Bath Abbey as Phil Hounsell’s coffin arrived. His Portishead colleagues stood shoulder to shoulder with the Manvers Street contingent. There were high-ranking police officers from across the country. This was one of their own. A man who had moved on to a different career, but he was respected.
The manner of his death had shocked the local community. Artemis recognised members of many of the families that had lived on the street near Mary Trueman’s old home. They had been her neighbours when she worked in Bath and Portishead.
She was a few rows behind Erica. Shaun and Tracey stood either side of her, heads bowed throughout the service. Artemis wanted to give them a hug as she had done when she had first met them. She and Phil had driven south as
the news of Erica’s kidnapping had broken. When he went into the station to help in the hunt, she had worked with Erica’s mother, Mary to comfort the young children.
Artemis spotted Callum and Debbie Wood in the congregation. He caught her eye. It was clear he wanted to talk when the opportunity arose.
Athena was on her own in a pew filled with people she had no connection with whatsoever. She found herself crying at poignant parts of the service. It was only a few months since they had attended her mother’s funeral. Her emotions were all over the place. Her father had returned to Larcombe this morning. He was moaning already. He had plans for next weekend as if she didn’t have enough to think about.
Callum Wood wasn’t one hundred per cent sure if he had spotted the CEO of the Olympus Project. He would ask Artemis when they talked.
When the service ended, the family left the Abbey, walking behind the coffin. The midday traffic didn’t let them travel over five miles per hour on the short journey to Haycombe crematorium.
Row upon row of uniformed police marched outside into the bitter wind. Nobody stood around chatting for long. The Abbey courtyard was deserted within minutes as the rest of the congregation slipped away to find a warm place to remember a colleague or friend.
“Zara,” it was Debbie Wood who called her name.
The two women hugged. They had always been on good terms.
“Hello, Debbie. It was lovely to hear that you and Callum had a son. Ronnie is it?”
“Yeah, my mum’s got him today. I’m picking him up now. Callum wants a word and then he’s going back to work. Nice to see you again, shame about the circumstances. You know where we are if you ever want to chat.”
Debbie scuttled off, wrapping her coat tighter against her.
“Let’s get out of this wind,” said Callum. They found a table in All Bar One around the corner from the Abbey. It was warm and welcoming.
“Hot chocolate?” asked Callum.
“Bugger that, I need a drink,” said Artemis.
Callum fetched two large whiskies and a bottle of dry ginger.
“Right, it’s time to put our cards on the table,” he said after they had taken their first sip. “I’ve followed up on the dates Erica gave me for the only trip Phil made for Olympus. He was near Musselburgh at the end of October. At that time, Sir James Grant-Nicholls was arrested. He was charged with the murder of his wife Fiona, who had been missing for years. Her remains were discovered in the grounds of his estate. What possible connection could that have with the charity? Did Phil find the body?”
Artemis took another sip of her drink. She might need to get another whisky. She didn’t say a word.
“The CEO was there today, wasn’t she?” asked Callum. “A tall, dark-haired woman sat on the end of a row near the back. She was there representing the Olympus Project I imagine? Erica told me you work at Larcombe too. Why didn’t you sit together? Why didn’t you tell me you worked with Phil? What have you got to hide?”
“Callum, I’ve never lied to you. It doesn’t do to lie to the police. I told you what I thought you needed to know. I want to find who was responsible for his death as much as you do.”
“We haven’t made much progress on that front,” he sighed. “We keep confirming who it wasn’t.”
Artemis knew it was dangerous to say more. Phil’s killer belonged to the Vasiliev gang. He had disappeared and those who murdered Phil and Les Biggar had been eliminated. She wished she could tell Callum, but it was impossible. As for Phil’s trip to Scotland, that was even more dangerous to discuss.
“I work in one department at Larcombe, Phil worked in another,” she said. “We never encountered one another at work. What he was involved in on that trip, I’ve no idea. The case you referred to surely can’t have concerned Phil? It must have been a coincidence. He was looking for the family of an ex-serviceman, I expect. We don’t get requests to search for dead bodies.”
Callum remained unconvinced. He was sure Zara knew more than she was admitting. His copper’s nose told him so, and it was rarely wrong. They had finished their drinks.
“Same again?” he asked.
“Not for me, thanks,” Artemis replied. “I promised my husband I wouldn’t be late.”
She got up to leave.
“Don’t forget what Debbie said, give us a ring if you want to talk,” said Callum. “I might have more questions for you, are you planning to go anywhere?”
“I won’t be moving far away from Larcombe,” she replied. “As for questions, I don’t think there’s any more I can add to what I’ve told you, Callum.”
Artemis left the bar in the centre of the city and walked to the station. As she walked, she called Rusty.
“Can you send a car to fetch me from Bath Spa, please? I’ve had a drink. I’d better not drive.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll come into Bath,” he replied.
“Thanks. Did Athena get back yet?”
“She drove back from the Abbey,” said Rusty. “The only person I’ve seen her talking with since was the doctor. They were chatting in the corridor outside Athena’s apartment.”
“You don’t think…?”
“Another baby? No, Phoenix would have mentioned it.”
Artemis wasn’t so sure. Athena might hide her pregnancy from Phoenix with the imminent threat of action from the Grid.
She wouldn’t want him to worry.
If Athena was pregnant, it changed everything.
CHAPTER 13
Tuesday, 20th - Friday, 23rd January 2015
The grounds of the manor house had lost a little of their beauty. As Athena looked over the lawns from the guest bedroom windows, the vehicles from the transport section felt an ugly intrusion. She had persuaded Henry not to dig trenches. That would have been too much. Erebus would turn in his grave.
When the Grid’s thugs attacked, Larcombe’s defenders had cover. Athena couldn’t imagine those moments. She prayed they were brief. When someone stood toe to toe with bullies they chose flight over fight. After her meeting with the doctor yesterday, she wished that was the case more than ever.
Athena watched a car leaving Larcombe as it drove along the elegant driveway and rattled over the cattle grid. She waved a hand even though she knew the driver wouldn’t look back.
Nine o’clock. Time to get to the morning meeting.
Phoenix was heading to the Midlands. Despite her opposition, he insisted on attending Andy Walter’s funeral in West Bromwich.
Phoenix elected to stay on the A46 for most of the journey. A short stretch of unfamiliar roads brought him to the part of West Bromwich where Andy was born and raised. He had time for the scenic route. Time to remember working with Andy and of the others being buried or cremated this week.
The responsibility of leadership weighed heavy on his shoulders of late He never set out to be a leader. He preferred to work alone. Erebus and Rusty taught him to be part of a team. A team that had become his family. It hurt when a family member died.
Phoenix had first met Andy Walters when they needed a shadow team of drivers to follow the transport vehicle from Belmarsh prison. There had been plenty of action in those few days last June, ending in Tommy O’Riordan being killed. Andy had been a driver for senior military personnel in Iraq, and Afghanistan. He left the Army in 2011 and freelanced as an armed chauffeur for Arab Royalty when they visited London.
Phoenix recalled that he referred to him and Rusty as Batman and Robin. You never saw one without the other.
After a three hour drive, Phoenix pulled into the Sandwell Valley Crematorium. He had thirty minutes to wait. The car park was only half-full. Whoever it was inside making their final journey didn’t have a big family. Several cars arrived as he waited.
Erebus insisted that to protect the organisation’s security, any funerals should be low-key, family and close friends only. Phoenix expected to see a handful of Andy’s former colleagues, but not so many as to draw attention.
The funeral corteg
e entered the gates of the crematorium with seven minutes to go. The hearse bearing the coffin stopped at the door. Two funeral cars drew up behind. Andy’s widow and three children got out of the first car. Two elderly couples emerged from the second. His parents and in-laws, Phoenix assumed. Andy had been fifty-one. He was lucky to have the full set.
The other mourners gathered on the pathway leading to the main door. Phoenix got out and walked across to join the queue. Nobody spoke. They filed inside. The service followed a traditional format and forty minutes later they were outside again.
Phoenix made his way to his car. He was not alone. He counted five men altogether. Agents he had never met. Olympus personnel didn’t stand in line to offer condolences to their colleague’s family. Andy knew that when he joined. The Olympus pension fund would look after his family’s financial well-being.
“When the family is grieving,” Erebus told him, “they need reassurance that everything is taken care of, not platitudes.”
Phoenix waited as one by one the cars left. He followed them at a distance through the gates. He needed time to reflect, to rest for a while, before facing that drive back to Larcombe. Phoenix drove into West Bromwich for a late lunch.
Phoenix parked near a shopping centre and strolled around the nearby streets to clear his head. A new-looking police station stood on the opposite side of the road. Maybe there was a café closer to where he parked. He turned and headed back the way he came. Inside the shopping centre, he found just what he needed. He ordered a healthy snack and a coffee. Rusty wasn’t around to get him into bad habits.
“Hello stranger,” said a voice, “mind if I join you?”
The man who sat opposite Phoenix was a policeman.
“Mick, how are you? What brings you to West Bromwich, are you working undercover again?”
“You know I can’t tell you that, Frankie, or whatever you’re calling yourself this week,” said Mick, the barman from Newcastle who Phoenix met during the Dwyer case.
