What a Country

by Paul Kirby

  Dell woke up in the early hours of the morning after a night of mixed dreams. On the one hand his son, Harry, and a happy family environment, on the other, murder and prison and yet more prison. He sat up in his chair and thought about yesterday’s conversation with Burt. It weighed heavily on his mind. This is no way for a man to feel, but at least he could see a better future, which hopefully involved his son. He knew only too well the feeling of abandonment and that was not what he wanted for his boy. Dell had started to feel guilt for the very first time and he didn’t like it. Burt had planted the seed, but there were many rivers to cross before he could even think about reuniting with young Harry. A guardian angel would come in very handy if there were such a thing. Big Burt was probably the closest thing to that. Dell needed something altogether different. Dell needed a change of direction and his chat with Big Burt had made that more apparent. Too much activity was taking its toll.

  Chapter 16

  Operation Desert Storm was what they called it, and soon Dell and his boys were going to find out all about it. But first a certain policeman by the name of Butler had to be told of the plan before wheels could be set in motion. He was called to a secret location on the South Bank for a briefing. Dark forces were now at work, and none other than Tommy “Bloody” Butler was the chosen on. He was about to get a real lesson in policing and policy.

  Butler had been the scourge of Dell’s younger years and he was about to return with the long arm of the law, this time with a different agenda. He was about to receive orders from above that would shock not only Butler himself, but also Dell, the Flowery firm and the whole nation if they were ever to find out the truth. This was going to be the first operation of its kind in the UK, but not necessarily the last, and Butler needed not only to prove his position in Scotland Yard was justified, but so was his choice of accomplices. Only time would prove him right or wrong.

  Butler sat down at a big oval table in a room that overlooked the Thames. Seats had place names in front of them on the table, but he noted a couple of positions had none, which he found strange. His superiors were here. Maybe he was being demoted or, worse, maybe he was being sacked. He grew nervous as everyone around the table looked extremely serious and important. He had been asked to pick a capable team for a secret operation. Had he messed up somewhere along the line? He hadn’t even disclosed who his choices were. All he’d done was check that they were still a team and still associating with one another. He knew in his own mind that whatever their mission, he had the right team for the job. As they sat around the table eyeing each other up, Butler grew increasingly anxious, his mouth becoming dry as he tried to hide his nervousness. What was this all about and why was he here amongst what appeared to be such important officials? If Dell had done something he didn’t know about and had ruined his career, he was going to make his life hell.

  A man Butler had never seen in his life coughed and stood up and said in a very authoritative way, “I suppose one or two of you are wondering why we are all gathered here today. Let me explain.”

  Butler fidgeted in his chair, fiddling with his nameplate. He reached for a jug of water, shaking as he did so, and poured himself a much-needed glass.

  “What I have to say is strictly confidential and for all involved in this covert operation, it is a matter of life and death,” the faceless man continued. “This is for Queen and country and every man sitting here today has been carefully chosen to carry out his duty as England and the whole of the UK expects.

  “I am here to tell you about a trial operation that has been sanctioned by the Home Office and it is for the men in this room to carry out in a right and proper manner. Are we all clear so far?”

  Tommy Butler was trying to keep his cool and his nerve as he swallowed what seemed like a tennis ball-sized lump in his throat. Oh my good gawd, what have I been roped into here? he thought to himself. Why me? And what the hell is he going to come out with next? Bloody hell, why did I think of Dell’s mob? This sounds like it should be something for the SAS, not for the likes of me and the toe rags I had in mind. As the grey suit continued, Butler thought it must be a fantasy, something out of a James Bond film, and therefore certainly not something he should be involved in, let alone Flowery Fucking Dell. Then without warning Grey Suit turned to Butler and asked who he had in mind for his part of the operation. Butler only got as far as J… - when Grey Suit produced a series of photos of Dell and the others, to Butler’s amazement. Who were these people? How did they know who he’d selected? Then, while pondering these questions, a close-up of Gerry Funnel was shown with two Asian men Butler, much to his embarrassment, didn’t know.

  “Get to this man first before you try Dell and his mob. He’ll give you what you need to know to get them on your side,” said Grey Suit, pointing at the picture of Funnel.

  What don’t these people know? Butler worried. He felt well out of his league and very uncomfortable. He’d paid one visit to the Country and only had one drink in Dell’s presence. How did these people know so much? And again, who were they? Times were certainly changing, and this was a power way above Butler. All he could do was honour his election into this secret society and carry out his orders to the best of his ability, and carry them out he would. The establishment was not happy with the state of the nation, and now it appeared they were about to take a very different stance indeed. Butler was now on the front line and he was going to take Joey Dell and Co. with him. But it was going to take all the cunning he could muster. He was going to have to draw on all his experience as a policeman as he knew he was going to have one hell of a fight on his hands. Dell was an experienced criminal who would not be prepared to help the “Filth” at any cost. Butler was going to have to prepare himself for a Battle Royal of wits and he knew it wasn’t going to be an easy task by any means. Dell was certainly no fan of the establishment, but on the other hand he was certainly no fan of Muslim terrorists.

  The men in the grey suits had given him the heads up on Gerry Funnel, so maybe, just maybe, Butler held the trump card. But he was going to have to find that out for himself. He’d already gotten a pair of undercover cops in place in the Country and so far they’d come up with nothing on Dell. They would have to turn their attention to Funnel and see what could be dragged up on him. So far, all they had reported was the constant moaning from the Durleys and how they were getting their solicitors involved in the case of Bart’s arrest. Some people just don’t know when to let matters drop and be thankful that no charges were ever made, Butler thought.

  Operation Desert Storm had just gotten off the ground but was very much in its infancy. It seemed Butler was pretty much the last man to know just what it involved. While the plan had gotten out of the traps and already hit the first bend running, it seemed to Butler as if he was only just leaving the gate. He had a lot of ground to make up if he was going to finish a winner. Right now, though, he was feeling very much like an also-ran.

  There was a good reason for this lack of information. He didn’t need to know the full details until just before the off. He knew something was going on. He’d been asked by his governor to find a capable team of villains, but he didn’t know what for. Now that he’d been briefed on the matter, he could get going and catch up with the rest of the “in the know” crowd, although there weren’t too many of them. The target, the recently formed terror cell led by The Ayatollah, was also very much in its infancy and Butler knew two of its party should have stood trial for war crimes in Syria. It had been decided to watch them to see how their radical views developed. The British government saw them as involuntary guinea pigs. They were part of the prize Butler was aiming for—not that he knew that at that moment. What he did know was that he didn’t have long to assemble his team.

  He’d left the meeting under no illusion of the expectations of the grey suits. He was well aware he’d been the last person in the room to know about Operation Desert Storm and also that England’s expectati
ons rested on his shoulders. The “England expects” was a bit strong, Butler thought, but at least the message had been got over as to how serious the establishment was taking this. At one point, Butler had visions of being told to take a short holiday and spend his time at Plymouth Hoe, keeping his eyes on the horizon for an invasion of foreign ships while he played a relaxing game of bowls. But never mind, he’d got plenty to get on with now. As he walked away from the meeting, his head was all over the place. With much to think about, he needed a stiff drink. At this particular moment, he would have loved to walk into the Country and ruin the Flowery firm’s day, but he knew that was off limits. So, once back over the Thames, he got himself comfortable in a nice old pub not far from Scotland Yard and had a couple of drinks and a good long think about the best way to tackle this. This was completely out of the ordinary.

  Big Burt’s proclamation of “too much activity” was going to ring true for Butler as well now. Like most men in his position, he liked everything nice and quiet and peaceful, and as there were now a bunch of terrorists looking to change all this, he was not a happy man. One thing that did please him, though, was the fact that all the criminals he needed all drank in the same establishment. The police loved it when all the usual suspects drank under the same roof. It made their lives so much easier.

  One such suspect of course, was Gerry Funnel, and he had now hit the front of the pack. He would be the first to feel the long arm of the law, but not before observation was set up on him. Butler wanted to be armed to the teeth with evidence so that Funnel would talk and give him enough on Dell’s firm to get them on his side. And he knew he’d never needed the help of a criminal gang as much as he did now. He also knew getting Funnel to talk about a gang of professionals that included his twin brother was not going to be easy. One thing Butler did know was that Gerry Funnel was not just a drug dealer, but also a frequent drug user, a possible addict, and those sorts of people by and large were only too keen to help as they were normally desperate for their next fix. He hoped Gerry would prove to be no exception.

  For Gerry, too much activity was a good thing and the more activity, the more he liked it, as it meant he was earning and he liked earning. Since he had lost out on the Swedish move, he’d struggled, but now business had picked up for him and he was getting back on top a lot quicker than even he’d imagined. One reason for his change of fortune was his introduction to the Afghan pair by Ifty. They had started to order big and their preferred drug of choice, crack cocaine, was a very good earner indeed as the end user had to keep feeding his addiction. This meant orders were becoming more frequent and bigger. Not only was Gerry earning it in cash, he was also getting his hands on a lot of stolen goods as the users had to turn to theft to satisfy their cravings. This suited Gerry down to the ground as he could offer rock bottom prices for goods like expensive watches, designer handbags, jewellery etc. The Durleys loved to buy such items as they thought they were getting a good deal and for some reason or another, they trusted Gerry. They still hadn’t put two and two together and realised Gerry had spoken to the newspapers and it was the newspapers fees that had set him up properly in the drugs trade. One day, Dick Durley in his squeaky little voice had asked him if he gambled as he was a little bit curious as to where this money had suddenly come from. Gerry’s reply was, “Don’t be a cunt, Dick, you know what happens to people round here if they win money on the horses, they end up floating in the Channel and I don’t fancy that mate. Would you?”

  “No, I wouldn’t, thank you,” squeaked Dick in reply.

  Gerry could have gone on dealing for years had he not been introduced to the fundraising department of the local terror cell. He was now well and truly on the radar. He was very careful not to let on to Dick about his drug dealing, as he didn’t trust him one little bit, and if he found out Bart was a regular customer, there was no telling what sort of stories he’d tell about him.

  One person who didn’t mind a bit of shady dealings going on in the pub was the landlord himself, Mickey. He’d buy the odd bit of Tom (jewellery) himself and because more money was being spent in his place, especially by Gerry, he turned a blind eye and let them get on with it. After all, worse things happen at sea.

  Big Burt’s words still played on Dell’s mind and he too was getting a strong gut feeling that something was on the horizon. He seemed to think that whatever it was, was going to include himself and it was going to get messy. He therefore thought it was about time he spoke to the boys about it, and a Stewards Inquiry was called.

  Chapter 17

  A ten o’clock breakfast and a chat down at the Sopranos’ Café was the venue. His two trustees, Richards and Funnel, made up the stewards along with Dell himself of course. Dell was feeling a little anxious to say the least, and he wanted to get things out in the open. This wasn’t going to be easy, but in his view it was best spoken about. Much to Dell’s surprise and relief, the boys had been thinking along exactly the same lines. And one of their concerns was the two new punters who seemed to have become a little too regular in the Country.

  “Yeah, that’s what me and Burt thought. Do you think they’re wrapped up with Butler?” asked Dell.

  “Wouldn’t surprise me,” replied Funnel.

  “Me neither,” said Richards.

  “Well, boys, we need to keep our wits about us and I think we should shut up shop for a while,” said Dell. They all agreed.

  After a long pause Dell completely unexpectedly changed the subject to his ex-missus and his son, Harry. This was very hard for Dell as he didn’t like talking about his private life and certainly didn’t like to show any emotions. But he needed to know where they were and he wanted to know now. Neither Richards nor Funnel knew anything about their whereabouts, but Funnel did tell Dell he knew her dad was still chairman of the local Royal British Legion and he knew this because his old man used the Legion on a regular basis. He also said Dell’s father-in-law, so to speak, spent most of his time at his villa on the Costa del Sol, Spain.

  “Spain, God, I’d forgotten about his place over there,” said Dell.

  “Well, no one’s seen your old woman for a couple of years now, Joe, so maybe she’s over there with them,” said Richards.

  “Yeah, you could be right, Baz. You couldn’t get your old man to find out for me, could ya, Tel?” asked Dell.

  “Yeah, ‘course I can, leave it with me,” replied Funnel.

  As this Stewards Inquiry concluded, another one down the road was just starting. This one was chaired by The Ayatollah at the Islamic Centre. A number of things were on the agenda as the four-man Desert Storm Terror Cell or the DSTC sat around a table in a back room of the Centre. The Ayatollah spoke in his heavy, Middle Eastern, broken English accent on subjects including hate preaching and raising funds to buy weapons and bomb-making equipment. He asked the group if they thought they should recruit more members for their cell or encourage others to follow their lead. It was agreed that a four-man cell was perfect for them as they wanted to remain as secret and undercover as possible. They didn’t need any newcomers infiltrating the group who might increase their chances of being exposed. So it was agreed they’d remain as four but would continue to encourage and promote extremism to the best of their ability. Next on the agenda was the target for destruction, and so far the best idea they could come up with was a school. They were not all agreed on this, but The Ayatollah had something to say on the matter.

  “What I have to say on the subject of a school as our target is this: having carried out many reconnaissances with Cairo here, I see that many pupils who attend the schools in these parts are in fact Muslim children and that targeting a school here would only be an attack on our own people. And this we do not want. So we will have to keep looking. Do you agree with me, my brothers?” asked The Ayatollah with his arms spread wide. The other three sat looking at him, nodding in agreement. All they wanted to do was wreak havoc, and if The Ayatollah said it w
as okay by him, it was okay by them. Other things were discussed but as the meeting drew to a close, The Ayatollah remembered a potential target Cairo had brought to his attention earlier. “Brothers of Islam,” he said, “I almost forgot that Cairo has come up with a potential target. Would you care to explain, sister, your brilliant idea to the others?”

  “No, no brother, you explain,” she replied obsequiously.

  He nodded and continued, “Sister Cairo has suggested we target a British Legion Club on Remembrance Sunday, and this year they celebrate one hundred years of the end of World War One. We have such a club on our doorstep, and it is a big club and plenty of people will be there to celebrate. These are all infidels and enemies of Islam. What you say, is this a good idea or what?” beamed The Ayatollah as he looked at Cairo, who couldn’t contain her joy. She grinned from ear to ear. The others were smiling too and they agreed this would be an ideal target and as it was still a couple of months away, they’d have plenty of time to raise the funds needed to organise themselves properly.

  So it was agreed: they would hit the soldiers of the past and present as they gathered on a Sunday morning to pay their respects to their war dead over the past one hundred years. Brilliant! The Centre of course had been bugged by MI5, so all this latest intelligence was passed down the necessary channels until it reached Butler. Now was the time to act.

  * * *

  Gerry Funnel’s business had quickly grown to a very substantial enterprise, but now he was about to get what every drug dealer dreaded—a raid. One was planned for Funnel, but not until surveillance was sure he had enough drugs in his possession to put him away for a good few years. This way he was sure to provide enough information on Dell’s firm that could get them arrested and into Butler’s capable hands. But first, he needed Gerry in his pocket to ensure this happened.