by Paul Kirby
The final straw for Dick was when a group of local kids who’d found out about his exploits knocked on his door and then ran off and hid behind Dick’s hedge, only for him to find a burning package on the doorstep. Dick fell for it and immediately started to stamp the fire out while the group looked on in amusement, shouting obscenities at him as he frantically tried to extinguish the burning package wearing only his slippers. It only took a couple of seconds, but it was too late. The damage had been done. The paper bag set alight on his doorstep contained dog shit. An old prank, but a funny one nonetheless for those behind the hedge watching as this disgusting man walked back indoors, not realising he was covered in it all up his jogging bottoms and obviously all over his slippers. Dick walked it all through the house as he returned to the living room to carry on drowning his sorrows in gin. He hadn’t smelt the unbelievable stench of the dog muck. All he could smell was smoke and he wouldn’t realise the full extent of the prank until much later, after he’d woken up from his drunken stupor, by which time it would be far too late. When he did finally wake, the stench was so much that he was sick. It was everywhere. This was more than he could take.
Dick looked at the mess and the smell that now filled his once spotless abode, then looked at his watch. It was nine twenty in the evening. He ran back into the bathroom and was violently sick again. The tag around his ankle felt like a shackle never to be removed. His house stank, his life stank, he’d been hung out to dry by his wife and son and he could not face up to prison life for the crimes he’d committed all those years ago. Still half-drunk, he went to the drink cabinet to see what was left. A half-started bottle of Scotch would do. He kept hold of it as he looked for his car keys and grabbed his coat. This was it. Dick’s darkest hour had arrived and he’d made up his mind. Still clutching the Scotch, he staggered outside, got in his car, and drove to a quiet, dead-end road about a mile away from his house. He parked in a cul-de-sac and sat in his car swigging from the bottle with tears streaming down his face. His world had fallen apart in a very short time and he no longer wanted any part of it.
The drunken Dick Durley finally got out of his Jaguar and walked into a dark wooded area that had a pedestrian path that crossed a railway line. He leaned on the gate for a while, crying and gulping at his bottle, which he clutched for comfort. He watched a train rattle past him. He felt freedom would be the next passing train as he battled to keep himself upright and then, as he stood there, engulfed in the silence, he heard a train approaching down the line. He paused for a moment or two as the noise grew louder. This was it, the grand finale.
He could now see the train as he staggered out of the darkness and into its path. With a sickening thud, the train sent him spinning into a million different bits. Dick was gone—dead! He’d squeaked his last and now out of his suffering, he’d passed the pain of his last couple of weeks on to the poor train driver, who at the point of impact had hit the brakes and pulled the emergency lever. Although it was pitch black, the driver just caught sight of Dick’s face as he splattered up the front of his train, a sight that would haunt the driver forever and consequently also ruin his life forever. Dick had ruined so many lives when alive and he had now managed to achieve the same in death.
Chapter 39
The following day, as the news broke about the train jumper and who it was, the Flowery firm members were falling in with Butler in order to make their final preparations for Operation Desert Storm. They, like the DSTC, were about to disappear from public view until their mission was accomplished.
But before anything happened, Dell had put into action his back-up plan, a plan he’d come up with right from the very start of Butler’s reappearance, one he had devised with Burt during their discussions of what Butler might want and why he might be hanging around. It was a plan that if things should go wrong at any time for Dell or any of his firm that they’d have a bit of life insurance. Dell was obviously dubious of Butler’s intentions and planned to protect himself and his boys. This was precisely the sort of thinking that set him apart. These things made him numero uno and once he was satisfied everything was in place, he packed his bags and met up with Richards and Funnel, making sure they’d got all their essentials, the ones Dell had instructed them to take, and off they went to meet up with Butler’s men and form that team of special men Butler had so proudly put together. They were so special even Butler would never have guessed in the end just how special they would turn out to be.
* * *
While everyone was making plans to change the world around them, Bart’s world had already changed, and he didn’t even know it. By the time he came out of his induced coma, which his one-time and only friend had helped put him in, Bart’s life would be unrecognisable. With his dad having taken his own life and his mum incarcerated on terrorism-related charges, Bart would wake to a living nightmare. The life he knew before was forever destroyed.
* * *
Richards drove to pick Dell up from his apartment with Funnel alongside him, the pair buzzing with excitement. They loved adventure coupled with action, as did Dell.
“Alright, boys?” inquired Dell. “You got everything I told ya to bring?” assuming his role of boss.
“Yes, Joe, of course,” was the reply.
Dell sat in the back and took his bag off his shoulder and placed it on the other side of him as he sat down.
“What’s in that bag?” asked Funnel.
“That, my son, is insurance,” said Dell with a smug little grin on his face.
“Ah, looks like some sort of PC to me,” replied Funnel.
“Yeah, it is actually the very latest in modern technology, that is, my son,” said Dell as he patted it gently. Reality had already hit Dell and he was under no illusion as to what was around the corner for them. Dell, the new James Bond? He didn’t think so. Once he’d patted his iPad again, he said to the other two, “This, boys, is our lifeline.” Then he quickly changed the subject as he wanted to keep his cards close to his chest.
“Go to the Country. We gotta follow Butler and he’s meeting us out front.”
“Where are we going?” asked Funnel.
“Dunno, but wherever it is, that’s where we’re stayin’ until the big day,” responded Dell, making himself comfortable in the back.
Richards did as Dell said and when they got there, Butler was waiting with Wilson. They headed off toward the A40 once more and made their way out of London.
Dell, sitting quietly in the back, thought about what the next few days held. They were entering new territory and what else? God only knew, but one thing he was sure of was once all this was over, he would be reunited with his son. This was the most important thing for him, but first he had to carry out his duty, and if his instincts served him well, the whole thing would go without incident.
They went over the Greenford flyover on their way out of town, where just below them on their left was the DSTC’s intended target, the Royal British Legion. They carried on out, past Northolt Airfield, and as before got off at the Beaconsfield junction, only this time, they turned left and headed toward Slough before turning off to the right and into Burnham Beeches, a very large Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty. The winding country roads took them through confusing miles of woods and finally to a very large country hotel just outside the picturesque town of Slough. They weren’t a million miles from home, but they could’ve been absolutely anywhere for all anyone knew.
They pulled up alongside Butler in the car park and everyone got out and looked around at their peaceful and tranquil surroundings.
“This looks alright,” commented Dell, taking in the scene.
“Glad you like it. This is where we’ll all be staying until the job’s complete,” replied Butler. “Come on, we’ll go and check in.”
Butler looked at his watch. It was almost five in the evening on November 7, 2018. Just over four days remained until the terrorist plot
that would shock their community, their country and the world was due to be enacted and here he stood in a hotel lobby with a carefully picked team that was going to prevent the atrocious act. Butler checked them all in under false names, using the equally false company name of Lewis and Co., and when they got their room keys, suggested that they meet in the bar in half an hour for a few drinks, paid for of course by the company. This suited everyone and off they went to drop their bags. They still had a few details to discuss and had yet to see any pictures of the terrorists and that was certainly going to throw up one or two surprises!
The mood in the bar was relaxed with no signs of any last-minute nerves. This of course was to be expected as this lot weren’t known for being bottle merchants and they were looking forward to the task that lay ahead. The pretence of being corporate businessmen was to be played out right until they checked out and when Butler announced he’d booked the conference room for just after breakfast the next morning, everything looked and sounded just as it should.
After a couple of hours in the bar, they all went into dinner and then Dell retired to his room for an early night in front of the TV, as did Butler and Wilson, while the other two had a couple more drinks.
The next morning, they were all up for breakfast and then headed for the meeting, where they were joined by another member of Butler’s team, a man known only as Mullins. During this meeting, locations were discussed, as were the finer details of the forthcoming events, and a series of the all-important surveillance photos was seen.
Mullins took to the stage and the others were mesmerised by him as he appeared to know everything you could possibly want to know about the terrorists. Every little move, planned times, places, you name it, Mullins knew about it, and this left a big impression on Dell and the others, including Butler.
The atmosphere in the room took on a more sinister feel as they listened to the plans of the DSTC and their IS ideologues. The plans had to be stopped and this team were more determined now than ever before. Mullins revealed much that morning that nobody else had known before. He got the room outraged and fired up as never before. Then he pulled out of his briefcase the surveillance photos of those intent on making this whole horror story a reality.
Before the pictures were passed around, they were warned they may see people in these pictures that they knew or might recognise, as some of the pictures were taken in places they all frequented. Shock was an understatement. Some of these photos had been taken in the Country and they recognised all four terror suspects. Two of them had been in the pub on more than one occasion and the other two they’d seen on the streets on their patch. This was frighteningly close to home and no one was happy with what they saw, especially Terry Funnel. There were several pictures of his brother, Gerry, fraternising with two of the fundraisers. Also in their company were Ifty and of course Rita. Terry felt embarrassed and angry about what he saw, not to mention a raft of many other emotions as he stared at the photos.
“What the fuckin’ ‘ell is ‘e playin’ at?” he said in disbelief.
“Don’t worry Terry. Gerry didn’t know their political leanings. He was only trying to earn out of them. Anyway, he has been of great help to us in this operation without even realising it,” said Mullins.
“And what the hell is Rita Durley’s part in all this?” asked Dell, trying to divert the attention from Terry.
“Well, she drove a car the terrorists intend to use as a car bomb and dropped it to their workshop with her lover, Ifty Khan,” replied Mullins.
“So now there’s a Durley involved, is there?” asked an angry Dell. “Those cunts can’t keep their fuckin’ noses out of anything, can they?”
“Well, Rita and Ifty are safely under lock and key and will be dealt with at an appropriate time,” said Mullins as he handed round more photographs.
“Good!” replied Dell as he studied the images of The Ayatollah and Cairo. “And we’ve seen these two about on several occasions,” he spat out.
“Yeah, well, you’d notice them two with your eyes shut,” chipped in Butler.
As they all had a good look at the photos, Richards sat poker-faced as usual and hardly said a word. He just looked at them with complete and utter contempt and, being a man of few words, certainly wasn’t going to waste breath on these people. He was itching to get on with it.
“Which one of you is planning on doing the driving on the day?” asked Mullins.
Richards volunteered and Mullins said he’d have to take him on a reconnaissance mission later on. Richards was more than happy to go along, as he knew he’d be shown where the terror cell was working from, which was obviously of interest to all. Also it would keep him occupied. They were asked if they would like to keep any of the images, but no one thought it necessary.
It was Thursday, November 8, and it was getting closer to the big day. Dell’s mob were expected on Friday the 9th. That was their D-Day and they were getting very excited at the prospect. No one was nervous at all, but they could smell blood. They were fast becoming thirsty men. The Godfather of West London didn’t mind getting his hands dirty from time to time and he looked upon his part as a service to Queen and country.
Once the meeting in the conference room was over, Richards took off with Mullins. They made their way back into London and to the small unit being rented out on the Park Royal Industrial Estate. Mullins soon became aware that Richards was no conversationalist, but he noticed an immediate change in his attitude when he drove slowly past the terrorists’ lair and saw them working on the Astra that Ifty had supplied. This excited Richards as this was something concrete. They could see two men obviously hard at work on the car and they’d learned via the eavesdropping surveillance that the process of turning the vehicle into a deadly car bomb was well underway. This meant the likelihood of events taking place tomorrow looked pretty certain and as Richards sensed the others were keen to get to work too, this made him a very happy man indeed.
Mullins drove past the unit and turned the car round further up the road and then drove past once more without being noticed. They then made their way to what was to be the final rendezvous point. This was on the same industrial estate, but quite a way from the unit the DSTC were using. Mullins made sure Richards was happy with the directions even though all the coordinates would be in the SatNav of the car they would be using on the day, which would be supplied to them by the Met Police. It was an unassuming vehicle that would never get pulled over by the police as it was exempt from such things.
Richards was more than happy with the setup and started to be a little more chatty toward Mullins, which in turn made Mullins a happier man. The two men headed back to the hotel, both satisfied with the morning’s work. They would know later that day if the job was definitely on for the next day.
* * *
Rita Durley was languishing in HMP Downview, a women’s prison in Surrey, regretting her love affairs with cab drivers, when she received the news of her husband’s suicide. She was devastated and broke down uncontrollably. She blamed herself entirely and was inconsolable. She was left alone in her cell with nothing but her thoughts of what a mess she’d landed herself in, not to mention the mess Bart was faced with. She and Bart were never that close. He never forgave her for leaving him and his dad for a cab driver when he was a kid, but Dick was never an easy man to live with at the best of times. She felt you couldn’t really blame her. But right now, Rita didn’t see it like that and she wanted Bart to come and see her, but he was still in a coma and still didn’t know anything about his dad, or his mum for that matter. Rita cried all day long. If only she hadn’t met Ifty, none of this would have happened. She cried herself to sleep and was kept under constant watch before being taken to the prison hospital, where she was sedated for her own safety. Rita and Bart, now, strangely enough, were in very similar positions and only time could be the healer.
* * *
On the dri
ve back, Mullins explained to Richards that the pair working on the car in the workshop were more than likely Dasti and Badini. The pair had learned how to convert a vehicle into a potential lethal weapon in Syria while fighting for ISIS and had become experts in this type of terrorism. If they ever got the chance to detonate that car, the damage it would cause would be phenomenal and the death and mutilation would be unbelievable.
“Bastards!” muttered Richards after listening to Mullins.
When the pair arrived back at the hotel in time for lunch, they all sat down together and discussed what they had been up to. Richards said he knew the workshop area well as his dad had worked in the same road a few doors down for years. Finding the place wasn’t going to be a problem at all.
All they were waiting on now was confirmation that the next day was the day. They were all hoping very much it would be, as they wanted to see the job done and to get on with their lives. But no one wanted it more than Dell. He had other plans he needed to confirm and he would welcome the go-ahead sooner rather than later. He knew things weren’t going to be as straightforward as they were being led to believe.
Mullins’ phone buzzed and he disappeared for a few minutes. The surveillance team had intercepted a call to Gerry Funnel’s phone. Dasti had ordered an ounce of crack to be dropped at the unit in Park Royal at two thirty the next afternoon, Friday the 9th. This was the news they’d been waiting for as Gerry’s information was vital to Butler’s team’s plans. It was on for tomorrow. Mullins returned to the room, all smiles. He announced to the table the job was on for tomorrow. There were smiles all round and a sense of relief amongst the team members. Butler stood up and proposed a toast and when all their wine glasses were filled he said, “To tomorrow!” and raised his glass. The rest of the table stood and repeated, “To tomorrow.” They then all sat around chatting excitedly. Dell excused himself and quickly headed up to his own room. He had unfinished business and now was the time to finalise it.
