The Phoenix Series Books 10-12 (The Phoenix Series Box Set)

by Ted Tayler

  Athena was speaking with friends of her parents that Phoenix had never heard of, let alone met. These people were several rungs up the social ladder, so he thought it unlikely they would ever meet again, after today.

  Geoffrey was talking to Sarah Gough, who still wore her church vestments. Phoenix left them to it. He was hungry, and the food the pub had provided was enough to feed twice as many people as had attended. Still, he could make a start.

  “How are you and Henry getting on, my dear,” Phoenix heard Geoffrey ask as he crossed the room. He hoped his father-in-law didn’t put his foot in it.

  “Very well,” Sarah replied. “We get together as often as possible. We saw you both at the christening, of course.”

  “In happier times,” said Geoffrey, with a sigh, “we had no idea we only had one week left together.”

  “Henry and I haven’t seen one another since that Bank Holiday,” Sarah admitted. “We’ve talked on the phone, and I’ve written to him, but he’s always busy.”

  “Athena keeps them busy,” said Geoffrey, “but I must say you two make a good couple, despite his work.”

  “In what way?” asked Sarah puzzled.

  “Well, Head of Security is a label that could cover many tasks. Ever since I’ve known Phoenix, I’ve tried to discover the exact nature of what it is he does when he disappears for days on end. Rusty intrigues me too. Henry’s more a man of action than a charity worker, don’t you think?”

  “Are you saying Athena is involved in something other than charity work?” asked Sarah. “Something more aligned with the work she did after she left Random House and joined the security services?”

  “Perhaps, I’ve said too much,” said Geoffrey, looking at the empty glass in his hand. “I’m not used to drinking alcohol at lunchtime these days.”

  Sarah left Geoffrey standing alone in the middle of the bar. Phoenix saw her heading for his wife. Something was about to hit the fan. He put the plate piled high with savouries and sandwiches back on the table and went to help prevent this from becoming a disaster.

  *****

  Rusty met the Olympus team leader at a safe house in Solihull. It turned out to be a five-bedroomed house with a large garden at the front and the rear.

  “This is cosy compared to the usual places I get to stay,” he said.

  “There are many of us to accommodate,” said the other senior agent, “we’ve diverted the Irregulars here, plus half of my team. We’ll carry out our attacks, and then the rest of my crew will be alerted if our actions bring Mansouri and Harrack out of hiding.”

  “The noose is tightening,” said Rusty, “Giles told me before I left Larcombe that there were less than six hotels left to check. We’ll know their whereabouts by tonight.”

  “I can promise them a restless night,” said the team leader.

  The house filled up with bodies over the next hour. Rusty took the team through the details of the direct action and confirmed there were to be no prisoners.

  At dusk, they moved into position. The first van drove to Wolverhampton. Twenty minutes later the remaining two vans made for Winson Green and Walsall. At nine-thirty in the evening, they swept the area around the terrorists’ properties for evidence of surveillance. Several hidden cameras were disabled, but there was no sign of any people on watch.

  The all-clear message meant that the four teams of two agents could strike.

  Rusty paired with Kevin Wilson. The Olympus team leader with Tate.

  Akhtar, Rahman, Uddin, and Osman would never go to paradise. The four men died in a swift burst of bullets from guns fitted with silencers within thirty seconds of the teams entering the house. The teams transferred the bodies to the vans and drove to Solihull.

  “We will get rid of them in the morning,” said the team leader, “Cannock Chase is nice this time of year. It’s better than they deserve.”

  Rusty fetched glasses and two bottles of red wine. He poured the drinks and passed them to his colleagues.

  “To Monty Jacks and Finn,” he said.

  The Olympus men raised their glasses and echoed his toast.

  Rusty sent a message to Phoenix and the ice-house at Larcombe Manor.

  ‘Mission completed.’

  “What does Henry Case do for the Olympus Project, Annabelle?” asked Sarah.

  Those attending the wake who stood closest either moved away or pretended not to notice and eavesdropped. Sarah’s raised voice could be heard right across the bar. Phoenix arrived just in time to persuade the two women to take the discussion into the quieter room next door. Both he and Athena could tell Sarah was agitated.

  “What do you mean, Sarah?” asked Athena.

  “Geoffrey tells me you keep him in the dark too. There’s something more sinister going on at Larcombe Manor, and Henry Case is involved in it up to his neck.”

  “Look,” said Phoenix, attempting to calm her, “Geoffrey has had these crazy notions ever since we first got together. Henry is our Security Head. The Olympus Project stands for certain basic principles. He thinks when Rusty and I go off on trips away from Larcombe Manor, we’re involved in some form of skulduggery. We’re merely spreading the message, reinforcing those basic principles.”

  “You may fool him with that, but I know Henry only too well. He is a military man through and through. I’m not a naïve, young woman, Phoenix; Annabelle and I have known one another since University. I’m aware of the career path she took after we left Cambridge. I met Henry when I visited Larcombe to discuss your wedding. We hit it off, and when I returned home, I did some digging. There has never been anyone who took an interest in me, not in that way since I entered the Church. It seemed as if men believed I was off-limits once they met me in my vestments. My research told me Henry attended public school. He went up to Oxford to study History but left after a year to join the Army. His service record covered his early training and his transfer to military intelligence, but details were somewhat vague over his role towards the turn of the century. He joined Olympus at the outset. My concern is that the job he did in those latter years in the Army included the interrogation of suspected terrorists. If Geoffrey is right, then that interrogation could have continued to the present day.”

  Athena looked at Phoenix. Was it time to tell the truth? Could they bluff their way through this? As they had on many occasions before with people like the Charity Commission. There had been many scrapes that had almost whipped away the charity cover to expose the Project’s real purpose.

  “Has Henry ever given you even the slightest hint he is involved in anything as unpleasant as you suggest?” asked Phoenix.

  “Well, he wouldn’t, would he?” said Sarah.

  “Maybe, you don’t know him as well as you think,” said Phoenix. “Henry has been struggling with his conscience for months. He has discussed matters with both of us, and Rusty Scott too, so he tells me.”

  “So, things happen at Larcombe Manor that are far from charitable?”

  “Henry performed a role in the Army that necessitated the interrogation of suspects and prisoners. He swears he never crossed the line. Olympus has never asked him to do anything illegal either. In recent months, his relationship with you has become so important to him he has considered resigning his post. We persuaded him to stay because he is so important to us in the broader view of intelligence and security. He has handed the interrogation duties on to junior personnel.”

  “I wish he could have told me everything from the beginning,” said Sarah, “or when we became close back in the summer. It’s a lot to take in. I’m not sure how I feel about it and don’t think you’re off the hook, Phoenix. You didn’t answer my question. What is it you do that needs people like Henry to interrogate people?”

  “We need you to go home, Sarah,” said Athena, “talk with Henry, and decide where you go from there. You love one another. As for Larcombe, and the work we do, it will depend on the outcome of those talks. If you and Henry can move forward together, then we can help yo
u understand the work we have done over the past six years with Olympus. If not, then we would hope you would keep your concerns to yourself.”

  “What of your father? He’ll be moving closer to you soon, so he tells me. Will he be left in ignorance too?”

  “If possible,” said Athena, with a smile.

  A mobile phone rang in the hotel room where Mansouri and Harrack rested. It was now three in the afternoon. Mansouri saw the call came from Bakar al-Hamady on one of the burner phones on the bedside table. He picked it up and listened: -

  “Abort the planned attack. Get to the mosque at once.”

  “What happened?” asked Mansouri.

  “The cameras around our helpers’ homes went blank an hour ago. I sent a friend in Wolverhampton to check on Zahar Osman. He found that someone had broken into Zahar’s house, and he was gone. There was blood spray on the wall above the settee in the living room. We must assume the people watching us came from British security services, and they killed our helpers. I’ve left Walton, and I’m at the airport now. My flight to Paris is in ninety minutes. If I escape unharmed, I’ll call you at the mosque on this number. Ditch every other phone you have, save the plans to a thumb-drive, but destroy every physical and digital record. Is that clear? It is only a delay. If Allah spares us, I shall return to help you strike a crippling blow to the heart of this country. Go quickly, brother.”

  “Who was that?” asked Harrack.

  “Our saviour,” said Mansouri.

  The two terrorists travelled light. They had left the hotel and were inside their sanctuary by twenty-past three. The smoke alarm in their room alerted the hotel staff and the fire service fast enough to save the place from lasting damage. A metal waste bin suffered the most. Documents, maps, and SIM cards it had contained were a molten mess. A rubbish skip at the rear of the hotel now held two laptops repeatedly smashed with the butt of a gun.

  In the ice-house at three o’clock, Giles and Artemis analysed the data they had gathered in the past twelve hours. Added to the news that the threat to New Street station had diminished, it was interesting reading.

  “It took what felt like forever, but we found the four young men and neutralised them,” said Giles. “Now we have two hotels within a mile of the station where men booked into a room within the time frame we anticipate on Sunday night.”

  “Rusty has sent teams to both hotels,” said Artemis, “we’ll hear from them within the next thirty minutes. If we can catch Mansouri and Harrack in the next half hour, it will be a great day.”

  “Our search around Liverpool threw up seven possible names,” said Giles. “Seven might sound a lot. A city of that size is sure to contain radicals, no matter which religion, or political leader they follow. If we can narrow that number, we might find the supreme head of the cell.”

  As the two intelligence agents worked on the list, the call came through from Rusty.

  “We’ve confirmed the hotel. The fire engines were outside when we arrived. The birds have flown. I guess we missed them by ten minutes. Can you search CCTV cameras around Grand Central, please? We might catch up with them yet.”

  Giles switched his attention to Birmingham. Artemis stuck to the task of locating Mr Big.

  Artemis found Bakar al-Hamady’s name in several searches. Al-Hamady was fifty-eight-years old and from Syria. He was an ISIS sympathiser. He had travelled to Pakistan, North Africa and Russia, as well as back to Damascus. MI5, Border Control and Merseyside Police had references to him as a person of interest.

  Artemis made a note of the address the police had for him in Walton, Liverpool. Perhaps that was where Mansouri and Harrack had been for three days. Could this be Mr Big?

  “I may have located our man in the North,” said Artemis, when Giles looked up from his computer screen.

  “Good, but I fear another dead end with the other two. I found Mansouri and Harrack one hundred yards from the hotel, then again in the next street. After that, they disappeared again. They’re not to be found anywhere within a mile radius.”

  “Could they have been picked up?” asked Artemis.

  “It’s possible, but why not get picked up at the hotel?” said Giles.

  “Where might they have gone? What buildings are there on the neighbouring streets?”

  “There’s a mosque close by,” said Giles, “with a hard-line reputation. Is it possible they went there?”

  “The imams could offer protection until the police turned up with a warrant. Provided they had reasonable grounds to suspect criminals were inside; the police wouldn’t have any trouble removing them.”

  “Olympus can’t burst in guns blazing, though can we? It would draw too much attention.”

  “We may have to be patient and wait,” said Artemis, “what do I do about al-Hamady? He lives in Walton, by the way.”

  “Get a local team to visit him. Bring him in for questioning. Henry can find out what he knows.”

  Artemis made the call. They would find the house empty. The planner took off for Paris as they approached Walton. He had removed every item of interest before he ran.

  At the mosque, Mansouri and Harrack were already scheming.

  “A week more and the centre of the city would have been in ruins,” cursed Harrack, “how did the authorities get onto us? We were so careful.”

  “We must pray and be patient,” said Mansouri.

  Tuesday, 16th September 2014

  Yesterday had gone, and Tuesday heralded a period of calm at Larcombe Manor. The past two weeks had been hectic.

  Phoenix and Athena brought Geoffrey Fox home with them first thing in the morning. He would stay until he had sold his Belgravia home, and discovered his bungalow with a sea view to start his new life, without his beloved, Grace.

  Rusty Scott drove from Birmingham. Four out of six wasn’t bad. He had found a hard-line mosque that was a possible location for the bombers. Continuous surveillance would be in place until they reappeared.

  Hugh Fraser was in the stable block checking on the date for the funeral of Monty Jacks. His estranged family insisted he wanted his ashes scattered in Manchester. Whatever the result, Hugh knew he needed to attend. It set a precedent. He hoped it would be a long time before another Irregular met an untimely end.

  His hand hovered over the phone. Should he call Ambrosia first? A trip to Manchester early next week might bring the possibility of time in her arms later in the day. He knew she would be keen to discuss the next mission for the Irregulars.

  Along the corridor, Henry Case flicked through the pile of reports he had to get through. There were more potential Irregulars to vet. Another batch of agents was soon due to start its refreshment programme. Longdon and Thomas had suggested minor adjustments to the schedule, many of which looked eminently sensible considering what clowns the two of them could be. The phone rang. It was the Reverend Sarah Gough.

  “Sarah, lovely to hear from you,” he said.

  “Oh, Henry,” Sarah began. Henry could tell she was on the verge of tears.

  “There’s something I need to tell you,” said Henry.

  “Why didn’t you tell me at the very beginning when we sheltered from the rain at Burrington Combe?” she asked. “If what you do is legal, then although it’s uncomfortable to think about, I can cope with it. You used to call me ‘padre’ back then. They serve alongside the fighting men, and some even carry weapons into battle.”

  “I was foolish enough to think I could keep you from ever finding out.”

  “Geoffrey Fox told me yesterday he had his suspicions. I tackled his daughter and her husband, and they gave me a sanitised version of the truth.”

  “I’ve grown to love you so much, Sarah, that the thought of this bringing our relationship to an end has been causing me sleepless nights. I would quit Larcombe and leave everything behind to be with you. There, I’ve said it. I’ve been longing to tell you for weeks.”

  “Oh, Henry, they told me yesterday you have been in torment over this, and how
it might affect our relationship. You must know I love you deeply. I prayed for guidance last night after I returned home. I had to be sure it was right for me to accept you have duties to perform with which I might not agree. But I still want to share my life with you.”

  “Did you find the answer?” asked Henry.

  “Not from my prayers. I googled Albert Pierrepoint, the hangman, and found he was married for forty-nine years. I thought if his wife Annie could reconcile what his day job was, so could I.”

  If only you knew, thought Henry. He was a long way short of the four hundred Pierrepoint had executed, but he and Sarah would never wander through the pet cemetery on a sunny afternoon stroll.

  “When will I see you again, Henry?” asked Sarah, “I can understand now why you’ve been keeping your distance. I know the truth now, so you needn’t be concerned.”

  “I’ll drive to see you this weekend,” said Henry, “and bugger the parishioners. I’m sleeping at the vicarage. If anyone complains, tell them you’ll be reading the banns very soon.”

  “Are you asking me to marry you, Henry?” asked Sarah, the tears were now forgotten.

  “Will you find someone to marry us, Sarah?” he asked.

  Sarah laughed.

  “I will.”

  Artemis sat in the apartment she shared with Rusty Scott. The morning meeting had been a brief affair with three of the protagonists away. It was lunchtime. If Rusty got home soon, they could spend an hour or two together before she went underground for her eight-hour shift.

  Artemis glanced at the date on the newspaper she was reading. The sixteenth, that meant only seven days remained before Phil Hounsell arrived to work at Larcombe. She knew Phoenix and Athena would do everything possible to keep him segregated from the senior personnel. Artemis wasn’t sure what his reaction would be if they accidentally bumped into one another. Ah well, she had seven days grace before needing to worry about that.