by Ted Tayler
“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 died and thirty injured in the Operation. During a six-month tour of duty, the SAS carried out 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 we take them, and ‘finish’ with a raid to take the suspect out.”
“Rotherham is nothing like Fallujah, Rusty,” said Phoenix.
“There’s still time,” said Rusty.
“Before you withdrew, what happened to cause this ill-feeling between you and Dickerson?”
“We were at the sharp end, as usual, edging our way forward, clearing buildings and roads for the troops to move into the outskirts of the town. The opposition had loads of time to prepare for the attack. Iraqi insurgents and foreign mujahideen had built strong defences; they built tunnels and trenches, and spider holes. They hid a wide variety of IEDs in the fortifications and stacked propane bottles, drums of gasoline, and ammunition in the interiors of darkened homes. Everything was wired to a remote trigger to set off when troops entered the building. They booby-trapped buildings and vehicles and wired grenades to doors and windows.”
“It must have been painstaking progress?”
“I had been with a Delta Force crew that morning, helping to de-activate IEDs. Those boys were heroes. They knew if they got spotted, the bomb would be triggered remotely. The roadway ahead cleared, and we fell back. Gus Dickerson was responsible for clearing the houses on the left of the street, or what remained of them. Dickerson gave us a ‘thumbs-up’. My team leader called a light-armoured reconnaissance vehicle forward, and half a dozen young Marines trotted along at the rear. The vehicle attracted the snipers on the high buildings up ahead, and they came under fire. Because we believed they could take shelter inside, they hugged the walls of the houses and darted into doorways. Two Marines stepped over the threshold of a shell-damaged house and triggered a device. They never stood a chance.”
“You blamed Gus Dickerson?” Phoenix asked.
“You heard what he’s like just now,” said Rusty, “he’s slap-dash. Gus scanned through your schedules and reckoned everything would be fine. He’s not a great one for detail. Our superiors asked questions when we returned to base, but Gus had all the answers. He reckoned he wasn’t in that house. Whoever should have dealt with what was inside, whether one of our men or a Delta Force guy, they must have missed it. The Coalition forces already had strained relations between them. Our government wanted us out of the real fire-fight, and flak flew over the US forces treatment of prisoners. We were on our way home before the matter got further scrutiny. Gus and I never served together on the same missions after that. Not by choice. It’s just the way the cards fell. He came out when I did, although I don’t think he had to hit anyone. I didn’t have a clue he’d joined Olympus until Danny Tipper mentioned his name.”
“Forewarned is forearmed, Rusty,” said Phoenix, “I know you, and I’ve trusted you with my life on several occasions. If Dickerson becomes a potential risk to the complete success of this mission by cutting corners, or not following my schedule to the letter, he’ll leave. You know what they say about one bad apple. We need to watch each of these agents closely to see they remain focused one hundred per cent.”
“Don’t bite my head off, Phoenix,” said Rusty. “But, if there’s a weakness in your plans, they rely on each of the seven teams operating individually in different areas of Rotherham and the surrounding districts. At four o’clock this afternoon, although we’ll be in radio contact, there’s no guarantee we’ll see the others for twenty-four hours.”
“All the more reason to keep the radio contact open, and asked the right questions,” said Phoenix. “I’ll keep the agents on a tight leash, don’t you fret.”
As they prepared to leave the safe house to drive to their start point, Phoenix’s mobile rang. The Judas Priest ring tone alerted him to the fact that this wasn’t the only problem they had to solve.
“Giles? What have you got?” he asked.
“You were right, Phoenix. The flat was empty. Every surface wiped clean; clothes washed. They even left a load in the washing machine. They must have set it going before they left. A strong smell of bleach everywhere. No laptops, phones, or weaponry of any kind.”
“And what did you discover at the A&E department?”
“The crew were traced. Trolleys stacked in the corridors as usual. The crew had to hang around for twenty minutes before they could even unload the patient. The wife was left with her husband while they went to fetch cups of coffee. They still had a wait before they could hand over to A&E staff. When they returned, the couple had scarpered.”
“OK, start with the CCTV at the hospital. Can we pick them up leaving? Did the female take a change of clothing, in the guise of overnight things for her so-called husband?”
“Artemis has found an image of two burka-clad women in the foyer at the right time. She’s searching for them on the Underground, the main-line terminus platforms, and the London airports. Nothing positive so far.”
“Two women we can’t identify as Mansouri and Harrack because of the disguises, terrific.”
“We’ll keep searching,” said Giles. “You need to concentrate on the mission in hand. Leave us to salvage something from this mess. I’ll call you at the safe house at eight tomorrow morning. Oh, before you ring off, Athena and her father arrived back just after lunch. I gather he took some persuading. I thought you wanted to know.”
“Thanks, Giles, Rusty and I are heading out now. I’ll talk to Athena tonight if we return home in time. I look forward to hearing from you in the morning.”
Ten minutes later Rusty drove them to Masbrough, a suburb half-a-mile west of the town centre. Phoenix took in the late afternoon view. There was a mosque and a sizeable football ground that stood out. Nothing else marked the area out as exceptional.
“Which lucky ticket did we draw, Phoenix?” asked Rusty.
“Osman Hassan, a thirty-five-year-old van driver. He works for a family-run firm that delivers Asian foods and spices to restaurants across the North of England.”
“What was his role in the affair?”
“Hassan was a frequent visitor to Qureshi’s evening parties. Hassan cherry-picked the most vulnerable, got them hooked on drugs, and took them in his van when he made deliveries. Girls travelled to Bradford, Liverpool, Manchester, even as far south as Birmingham. Hassan dropped the girls at various residential addresses where they stayed until he returned a day or two later to collect them. You can imagine what happened.”
“Is he driving today?” asked Rusty.
“Hassan’s returning from Leeds and Bradford today. He should turn into this road at a quarter to six. We’ll park here and keep watch. If he leaves home, we follow. If he stays indoors and goes to bed after ‘Question Time’, then we can drive back to the safe house and pick up fish and chips on the way.”
“What if he doesn’t drive straight home?” asked Rusty.
“Creatures of habit, Rusty, be patient. He’ll be here.”
At five forty-six, Osman Hassan drove past the Olympus van, parked his van half on, half off the grass verge and went inside his house; lights out at ten forty-five.
“Not a lover of ‘Question Time’ then,” said Rusty, “can I have mushy peas with my fish and chips?”
CHAPTER 6
Friday, 5th September 2014
Phoenix rose early. If everything went to plan today, he would be home by nightfall. When he and Rusty returned here last night, he felt it too lat
e to call Athena. He knew Hope was an early bird. His wife and daughter were likely to have shared quality time already this morning. No matter how early; and whether Athena enjoyed it as much as he did in similar circumstances, or not.
“Good morning,” said Athena. Phoenix could hear the sleepiness in her voice; sleep deprivation was a torture technique Henry Case utilised. Hope could play that game better than any grown-up.
“We got home last night,” said Phoenix, “sorry for not calling.”
“I understand,” said Athena, “we didn’t go to bed late. Daddy found the journey tiring, and once we arrived, everyone showered him with sympathy. It was genuine and well-intentioned, but it got too much for him. I’m letting him lie in this morning. I hope a good night’s sleep will do him a power of good.”
“Good to hear Giles say you persuaded him to travel to Bath with you. We can occupy his mind far better at Larcombe. That must be preferable to leaving him alone with his thoughts in Belgravia.”
“Small steps, every day,” said Athena. “How have the missions gone?”
“Phase One passed off without a hitch. Danny Tipper removed the three targets, plus an illegal immigrant guilty of a serious sexual assault on a minor. The guy had been missing from immigration for some time. They can stop looking now; nobody will find either of them. Our three original targets will be on a Missing Person list for a very long time.”
“Good, and where are you with Phase Two?”
“Each of the seven targets has been located. The individual teams reported back to Rusty throughout the late evening and into the early hours. The younger ones among their number went clubbing in Sheffield.”
“Is everything in place for today?” Athena asked.
“Gus has his teams on surveillance already. Giles is calling me at eight. Once that conversation ends Rusty, and I move into position.”
“I returned too late to attend the morning meeting yesterday,” said Athena. “Giles and Artemis had returned underground. Minos updated me on the Slough situation. Mansouri and Harrack are an experienced, and crafty pair. We can’t be sure whether we are hunting two men dressed as women, two men, or a couple.”
“If I were them, I would stick with the burka disguise,” said Phoenix, “they knew we were watching. They would assume whoever had photographs of them uncovered their true identities. The bombers can’t split up as they did in Canary Wharf, so the disguises are the only logical way to move around freely.”
“You’re saying they can’t split up because a Muslim woman travelling alone is an unusual sight,” said Athena. “It draws attention to them, and that’s the last thing they want. That’s a valid point.”
“Can you do me a favour?” asked Phoenix. “Ask Minos or Alastor to dig into the service record of Gus Dickerson. Rusty and he have a history. It may have been ten years ago, but it’s still raw as far as Rusty is concerned. I want to discover whether he has any misdemeanours flagged on his performance since joining Olympus.”
“I’ll see to that. Could Dickerson be a problem, do you think?”
“I can keep Rusty on a leash, that’s no hardship. We shouldn’t have cause to cross paths with the other teams until this is over. If one of the Amigos turns up something incriminating, get it to Giles. He can relay it to me. I’ll be in touch with the surveillance teams in the ice-house throughout the mission, in case a target goes missing, and we need assistance.”
“Hurry home, darling. We’re missing you, aren’t we, Hope?”
Hope rested her head against her mother’s breast, listening to the conversation.
“Dada?” she asked.
Athena held the phone to her ear.
“Hello, poppet,” said Phoenix, “are you being a good girl?”
Hope grinned from ear to ear.
“See you both tonight,” said Phoenix.
“Okay, be careful,” said Athena. “Hope rolled over onto her tummy anyway; she didn’t want to listen to what you had to say.”
“She’s picked that up from her mother,” said Phoenix, and ended the call. He didn’t need to wait for the response.
Giles called at eight as agreed.
“Phoenix,” he began, “we’ve hunted high and low for Mansouri and Harrack. They are nowhere on any CCTV footage we can access in London.”
“Giles,” said Phoenix, “start a search for two women wearing burkas, travelling together. They need those disguises. Get Artemis to check airports and ferry terminals. We need to confirm they’re still on British soil. Start the clock at the point they left the hospital foyer and calculated when they could have arrived in Bristol, Cardiff, and Birmingham if they travelled by train. Check major cities further afield if they don’t turn up there. If they’re abroad, they’re someone else’s problem for now. If they’re still in the UK, then another large city is their next target.”
Giles set the wheels in motion seconds after he ended the call. It was clear they still lagged behind the terrorists. The first task was to find where the bombers got to on Wednesday night or Thursday morning. They may have several steps to identify where the terrorists were this morning. Would there be enough time to confirm their whereabouts before they carried out their next attack?
The time was eight fifty a.m. in Masbrough.
“When does Osman Hassan start work?” asked Rusty.
He and Phoenix sat in the van two hundred yards away from the delivery van. It hadn’t moved since last night.
“Friday’s his day for a handful of local delivery runs,” Phoenix replied, “he finishes at one o’clock today. That gives him a long weekend. More time to play.”
Across town, the pattern of activity for the day formed. The other six Olympus teams returned to their targets addresses, and either sat, waiting for movement, or following them wherever they went. The clock moved on.
Nine o’clock had arrived in Whiston.
Aziz Chauhan was getting out of bed. He had been clubbing in Sheffield until the early hours. Aziz checked how much of his cash remained. The taxi fare had been massive, and the others left him to pick up the tab. He’d get it back in kind when it was their turn to pay, but that didn’t help Aziz today. He groaned and crossed the landing to the bathroom. His parents were already at work. Aziz heard his mother shouting at him to get up earlier, but he couldn’t be bothered.
The young thug stood under the shower, trying to rid himself of the effects of the drink and drugs from last night. Aziz wished he could move out and find a place of his own. The boss kept making fun of him, saying he was a mummy’s boy.
“Twenty years old, and still tied to your mother’s apron strings,” Tariq Malik would say. “What would she think of what you get up to in that car of yours?”
The other gang members laughed at him; the car had been a present from his father when he reached eighteen. Dad bought him a small family saloon. A sensible car, according to his parents. None of the local girls his age would be seen dead in it.
Aziz liked younger, white girls. His parents didn’t realise that. Aziz picked them up from school, when it was cold, or raining. Several twelve- and thirteen-year-old girls accepted the chance of a lift. To persuade them not to say a word of what happened before he got them home, he kept indecent images of them on his phone.
When the neighbours saw Chauhan driving past they saw a smartly dressed young man from a decent family. They thought it a shame that so many young people were unemployed these days. Aziz may have been short of cash this morning, but he ran with the gangs since he reached fifteen. Working for the Malik crew allowed him to make good money.
After he showered and dressed, he wandered downstairs to get breakfast. The expensive watch he wore on his wrist showed that there was time to drive to the local cash machine on his way into town. It didn’t pay to be late. Tariq Malik ordered a beating when one of his boys stepped out of line.
The Malik family controlled much of the violent crime and drug dealing in Rotherham. Each of the lads it recruited used untrace
able mobile phones. Aziz kept the cheap pay-as-you-go phone his parents paid for in plain sight. His family were surprised how little he seemed to use it compared to other young people.
The gang phone remained on ‘silent’ in a secret pocket sewn into his designer jeans. The vibration informed him when he needed to make a drug deal. If he was at home when he got contacted, Aziz told his mother he was going to meet a friend. She was happy to know Aziz had become so popular. If only he could find a nice Asian girl to marry.
At nine-thirty, Aziz reversed his car off the driveway. The Olympus team designated to deal with him followed at a safe distance. Aziz Chauhan didn’t suspect a thing. He withdrew a hundred pounds from the ATM at Yorkshire Bank and then drove the four miles to Deepdale. Another working day began. Aziz collected the first batch of heroin that needed delivering.
The passenger in the van parked on the opposite side of the road from the taxi office took photos of Aziz entering and leaving. Any drugs transfer happened inside, away from prying eyes. The driver nudged his mate; he spotted the look-out on their side of the road. The lad on the bike watched for the police. The Olympus agents were alerted to wait until Aziz cleared the street before setting off in pursuit.
Aziz headed for the address he had received. He understood the process. Tariq Malik had loads of money to dispose of and ran several cash-based businesses. The taxi firm and a cash and carry company. The money got laundered through those outfits. Malik employed Aziz to distribute the produce to lower-tiered dealers in each district.
This tier had people who chopped it up, added stuff to make it less pure, and made it more profitable to sell in the smaller street-level quantities. Street kids often laced heroin with block weed to get kids addicted to other substances. It guaranteed a steady future income.
Aziz’s friends, Jamshed and Ejaz, who came out with him last night, had permission to operate in the nightclubs. The stuff they moved was pure, blue coke fresh off the boat. The addicts in Deepdale who bought a bag in the pub over the weekend might as well put talcum powder up their nose. It had so many impurities added to it after it left Aziz’s hands.
