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

by Ted Tayler

  The rest of the week passed with little incident. Bakar al-Hamady disappeared into a Parisian suburb until he knew it was safe to return to the UK.

  Ahmed Mansouri and Omar Harrack submitted to the strict regime of the mosque, they were safe from harm, for now.

  Geoffrey Fox busied himself throughout the week, looking for suitable properties on the coast, and checking storage facilities for his furniture in the event the house sold quickly. He spent time with Hope, and Maria Elena, but allowed Phoenix and his daughter space. They thought he was sensitive to their needs, but really, he wanted to avoid any conversations about Henry Case.

  Hugh Fraser had called Ambrosia to inform her he would drive up to Manchester on Monday for the funeral. She had invited him to join her in her home outside Leeds that evening. Ambrosia wanted to cook a special meal for the occasion. They had much to discuss, and if Olympus could spare him, she hoped he would stay until after lunch on Tuesday.

  Giles Burke set the wheels in motion, yet again, to spread misinformation around events in the North, and the Midlands. People go missing all the time. The police don’t have the resources to check; that was easy to handle. In Winson Green, the house where Uddin and Rahman had died now lay empty. A cleaning crew visited the house within twelve hours. They could have arrived earlier, but they were cleaning two other properties. The ice-house team was happy that no links to Olympus existed.

  Henry Case visited a Bath jewellery store on Friday morning.

  He was driving to Surrey in the afternoon. Everything was sweetness and light.

  CHAPTER 13

  Monday, 22nd September 2014

  A few miles away from Larcombe Manor on the other side of Bath, Erica Hounsell stared out of her kitchen window. She and Phil had been married for nine years. During the time they had known one another, she always felt secure.

  Erica remembered the night they first met. She had been working behind the bar in the Waggon & Horses pub, and he breezed in with the gang from work. It was obvious they came from the police station in town, but there was something about this more senior officer. He kept finding excuses to pop to the bar for a chat.

  Romance took its own sweet time as the long hours he worked interfered with progress, but they got there in the end. Their children, Shaun and Tracey, followed the wedding in 2005 in quick succession. The eight-year-old and six-year-old made her little family complete.

  When the kids were still young, and her Mum still alive to babysit them, Colin Bailey kidnapped Erica. The killer wanted Phil to call off the chase. Phil had been tracking him from Durham to Manchester with a young colleague, Detective Constable Zara Wheeler. Bailey wanted to use Erica to gain free passage to travel to London to murder men who had avoided getting caught by the law.

  It had been a tense time, but Zara helped discover where Bailey held her, and Phil rode to her rescue. Within twenty-four hours, Bailey was back in the centre of Bath, and Phil had attempted to arrest him. Phil survived the violent struggle in the water, but Bailey disappeared.

  Phil had then been promoted to Detective Inspector and transferred from Bath to Portishead. Zara was then his Detective Sergeant and had followed him to the Avon & Somerset Police HQ. The pair had a one-night stand in Bristol. Somehow, the marriage survived, and they put the matter behind them. Not long after, Zara left the police and moved away from the area. Things got back on an even keel.

  The stability Erica craved had returned. Nothing was ever forever. Phil was so frustrated with the way the force was changing, he resigned and took an early pension before he got sacked. Erica recalled the concerns she had when Phil talked of going into security work.

  It had seemed speculative. The money might be plentiful for a single high-profile assignment, but where would Phil get the bread and butter work? The kids were at school, and she worked in a building society. The family wouldn’t starve, but the uncertainty caused her several sleepless nights.

  As it turned out, Hounsell Security Services proved an attractive proposition. While Phil was at the Glastonbury Festival earlier in 2013, he had met Wayne Sangster. It was Wayne who had the contacts and the off-the-wall ideas of people who might offer them work. For the past twelve months, Phil hadn’t stopped working. He had employed two more staff, who travelled up and down the country, providing security for stars of stage and screen.

  From an office in the centre of Bath, Wayne and Phil had traced dozens of missing persons. Every week was different, and as far from a dull nine-to-five job as you could imagine. Today, everything was to change again. Her husband was to work for a charity based at Larcombe Manor.

  Phil had gone into little detail on this new job, except to say it was an administrative role. When he told her the salary, she thought he was joking. It was far higher than what he had taken from the HSS business.

  So, that was why she stared out of the window, wondering what he had got mixed up in; Erica had never heard of the charity. There were stories of the low percentage of donations reaching the people they were supposed to be protecting. It didn’t sound very stable.

  Phil was moving around upstairs. He’d be down for his breakfast soon. Erica prayed this new venture would work out. The two lads Erica never met had agreed to become self-employed. There was enough personal security work for two individuals with an average height of six-foot-two, and a combined weight of thirty-seven stones. Phil assured her they would manage.

  Wayne had spent the evening here last night, having a few drinks with her and Phil. Since the middle of last month, when Phil accepted this new post, the two friends had discussed the best way forward. Wayne knew he could follow the others into personal security if there were a uniform.

  There were no hard feelings about the possibility of the business closing. Wayne had moved around in dozens of jobs since he left school. He had been a policeman for eight years when they met at Worthy Farm and watched the Rolling Stones. Before that, he had worn the uniform of a paramedic, the RAF, a zookeeper, and a traffic warden.

  The enquiries kept coming in while they decided whether to close for good last Friday or let Wayne complete the outstanding searches. It was evident there was work out there if he wanted it. Phil convinced Wayne he was competent to run the firm alone. So, they had continued to accept new commissions.

  The pair had established a good reputation. The lease on the office space wasn’t a problem. Once they decided on a new name and got the stationery altered, Wayne would fly solo. He had passed on the good news when he arrived last evening.

  “I’m thinking of calling Triple S, boss,” he said.

  “That stands for Sangster Security Services, I presume?” asked Phil.

  “Yes, boss.”

  “You can stop calling me boss, Wayne,” said Phil. “Triple S is a good choice. I worried you might drop the middle S now the personal security aspect has gone its separate way.”

  Wayne had thought about what Phil said.

  “The uniform would have been easy to get hold of though, on eBay. But I can see what you’re saying. I might change the habit of a lifetime and opt for smart, casual wear for the office, and out on the road.”

  “Progress at last,” said Phil.

  “You taught me loads, Phil, and I’ll never forget that. I’ve got other news too. I called The Wishing Well café in Kilburn on Saturday morning, to talk to Bridie Carragher. She’s still serving customers that delicious Guinness cake of hers. We chatted for ages. I’m going up to London to see her next weekend.”

  “It’s all happening, Wayne,” Phil said, “striking out on your own in the business world, and who knows? The last days of being a confirmed bachelor? I’m pleased for you. Just one thing.”

  “What would that be, Phil?” Wayne had asked.

  “Don’t rush out to buy any new smart, casual clothes for a while. You may need to accommodate an extra inch or two on the waistline if Bridie’s spoiling you with her cakes.”

  Erica smiled at the memory. The two men shared an easy camarad
erie she feared Phil would miss in the coming months.

  “What’s made you smile this morning then, love?” asked her husband as he appeared by the kitchen door.

  “I was thinking of you and Wayne, poking fun at one another. You’ll miss him.”

  “I will, but when I know more people at Larcombe, it will be okay. Different, no doubt, but I’ll make new friends.”

  The couple sat and ate breakfast together in companionable silence. The children were stirring; the quiet would soon shatter as the new school week began.

  “What time will you be home tonight?” Erica asked.

  “I won’t be working police hours or staying out of town on surveillance. Those days are behind me. I’ll be home around half-past five every weekday evening. We’ll have the weekends to ourselves. The kids can get to know me again.”

  Phil waited until Shaun and Tracey came downstairs. He said his goodbyes and then finished dressing. Suited and booted Phil drove across the city and made his way to Larcombe Manor. He parked his car and walked towards the front door of the main building. It was five minutes to nine.

  A young man emerged from inside and blocked his path.

  “Good morning, sir,” he said, “we are expecting you. Hayden Vincent will collect you in two minutes. Please wait in your car and then follow him to the transport section garage. You will find a space reserved for you there. Hayden will take you to your office and issue you with a restricted passkey. He will give you the other details you need to be aware of in due course. For future reference, this building is off-limits to yourself, and from tomorrow you will proceed directly to your parking space, to arrive at nine-fifteen, and no earlier.”

  Phil returned to his car. He had imagined Annabelle Fox the charity’s CEO would have met him on his first day. The secrecy surrounding this whole organisation was hitting home. As he sat in the driver’s seat, a car swung around on the gravel behind him. It was Hayden Vincent. The agent indicated that Phil should follow, and they drove the few hundred yards to the transport section.

  Phil took in his surroundings. In the distance, he saw several figures on the lawn. They walked towards the manor house. He was too far away to make out faces, but it appeared to be two men and a woman.

  Two mechanics were working on a limousine. Phil could see a collection of small and large vans, a taxi, and a saloon car parked near the garage workshops. Each carried the Olympus logo on the side door. Hayden had stopped his car. Ahead of him on the wall of the building, Phil spotted a wooden board. It carried his new name, Orion.

  Phil parked and switched off his engine. There was no turning back. He was starting work at the heart of the Olympus Project.

  Hayden Vincent led him inside the building. The rooms he passed seemed small and functional, similar to a barracks. When they stopped at the door with his name on it, he followed Hayden inside. He was impressed by the high-end equipment at his disposal. Everything he would ever need when searching for missing persons was at his fingertips. He never needed to leave the room. Which, of course, was the idea, not that it had dawned on him yet.

  “I’ll leave you to get accustomed to your surroundings, Orion,” said Hayden, “the file containing the details of your first task is there on the desk. You can expect other files and reports to be arriving; now people know you’re here. You can do a half-day today if that suits you, or if you want to stay longer, please make sure you leave at five o’clock. I’ll be back in fifteen minutes with that passkey.”

  Hayden left the room, and Phil opened the file. Fiona Grant-Nicholls; she sounded a refined lady. He wondered how she ended up on a missing person list? Phil switched on his brand-new computer and tried to find his way around the new system.

  “Oh, Wayne, where are you when I need you?” he said.

  It was slow-going. The morning dragged. Hayden dropped the passkey in, and Phil compared the places he could access against the overall scale of the estate. Hayden hadn’t been kidding when he said it was restricted. Phil looked at the clock; it was a quarter to two. He decided a half-day appropriate for this first day. He walked out of the stable block and bumped into a familiar person.

  “Zara, what are you doing here?”

  “I left the police force to find a career I could love,” she replied.

  “I thought you left the area. How did you come to work here?”

  “I met someone,” she said.

  “Good, I’m glad,” Phil replied.

  That was awkward. Phil was about to walk to his car when Zara stopped him.

  “Don’t run off, Phil. We needed to face this eventually. The bosses here wanted it to be much later, but there we are. I met Rusty Scott in Bristol, the day the suicide bombers destroyed Pero’s bridge. I was checking cars in a lane, off Prince Street and would have died if Rusty hadn’t stopped me opening the boot of a car. We started seeing one another, and then he asked me to move in with him. That meant living here, and they offered me a job. I’m starting at two o’clock.”

  “I haven’t seen many places yet. Where do you work? What are you doing?”

  “I can’t tell you,” she smiled, “but if we bump into one another again, you should call me Artemis.”

  “The Huntress, that’s good for an ex-copper,”

  “Well, you’re Orion. We’re well-matched.”

  “We were, weren’t we?” said Phil.

  “That was a long time ago, Orion,” said Artemis. “I’ve moved on since then. Things are very different now.”

  She waited for him to get to his car and drive towards the exit before she walked to the ice-house.

  Well, you’ve been told, thought Phil as he turned out of the gateway to go home. This place held so many secrets. He wondered what he would uncover next?

  Tyrone O’Riordan sat in his office in the Glencairn Bank. The Grid’s finances were healthier than they had ever been under Hugo Hanigan’s reign. The network of organised crime gangs was more robust too. Weak links had been exposed and eliminated. His mother was pleased with the results.

  Tyrone had met with Frank Rooney last week in Sheffield. As he promised his mother, Rooney soon agreed to toe the line. That meeting had secured Frank’s steadfast support. Any gang that might have wavered in their total backing for Colleen O’Riordan as head of the Grid would now fall in line, like kids in a playground.

  There was just one problem niggling Tyrone.

  He and Frank discussed the covert operators; if they existed at all. In the ten days between their first conversation and their meeting in the Steel City, they had spoken with to gang leaders across the country. Every sighting, every story about these men was collected, and Tyrone had now collated them.

  There were common themes. Dark blue or black vans were always in the vicinity. They worked in pairs on most operations, but occasionally they arrived en masse. Two men stood out from the rest. Similar descriptions came from every region; so it had to be the same pair. They were senior to the others and prepared to operate alone.

  The group were ruthless. When they carried out an attack, ninety-five per cent of their targets died on-site, or their bodies were removed, and never seen again. The remaining five per cent were taken away unharmed. Where they disappeared to was a mystery.

  Tyrone had summed up what he read into these figures.

  “What this suggests is that the team we’re facing numbers only a thousand. That would be the absolute maximum. The methods they use points to a military background; these men are ex-soldiers or marines. They cherry-pick their targets. Just run your finger down the pages; there’s not a lightweight among them. They’re hardened criminals, terrorists, scum that have damaged kids or stalked young women. If you were an honest man, Frank, you would say they deserved it. It’s what they do, Frank. They deliver justice for the common man where the law falls short. They’re vigilantes, and it must stop. We decide within the Grid who lives and who dies. We decide who deals the drugs, traffics the women, and delivers the arms shipments. There’s one thi
ng in this summary that’s a weakness we might exploit.”

  “I’m damned if I can see it,” said Frank.

  “Why leave that five per cent alive? Where do they take them? They must have a home base. Somewhere they can do what they wish with their prisoners. Question them on the local gang structure, and ultimately about us, Frank. Squeeze them until they break and spill what they know about the Grid. We need to find that place and put it out of business.

  “Where do we start to look?” asked Frank.

  “Do you have anyone in mind?” asked Tyrone.

  Frank Rooney thought for a second, then realised what Tyrone was asking.

  “Expendable you mean. I do. So, we set a trap for these jokers. Get them to pick my guy up and take him back to their base for a chat.”

  “You’ve got it in one, Frank.”

  Tyrone called his mother.

  “I know how to remove the last effective opposition to the Grid,”

  “Tell me, what do you plan to do?” asked Colleen.

  “We’re sacrificing a pawn to get to the king.”

  You have finished reading ‘Three Weeks In September’

  The tenth book in the series featuring ‘The Phoenix’.

  In the penultimate book, ‘A Frequent Peal of Bells,’ the action continues.

  • What secret will Orion uncover about Heracles on his first task at Larcombe?

  • Can the Irregulars score a significant success and give Ambrosia more power?

  • Terror returns to the tracks bringing more headaches for Olympus

  • Can the Grid’s Trojan Horse, find a chink in the Olympus armour?

  • Which criminal enterprise is next for Phoenix and Rusty to handle?

  • Relationships continue to get tested. Which sort of bells will be ringing?

  These are just a few of the unanswered questions. The Olympus agents must face many dangers. There are many criminals to be brought to justice. Several wrongs to put right and closure sought for victims. There are more tales to tell.