by Ted Tayler
They arrived as Henry Case completed his report on progress with the training programmes.
“Longdon and Thomas are right on schedule with their trainees,” he said, “while Dexter and Vincent have experienced delays.”
“What’s the problem?” asked Minos.
“Kelly Dexter has missed the occasional day,” said Henry, “she’s been ill.”
Artemis caught Athena’s eye and smiled.
It was common knowledge Kelly and her partner, Hayden Vincent were keen to start a family. It had been the driving force behind their move to Larcombe Manor. Kelly hadn’t wanted to bring a child into the world while they were both agents active in the field.
“What have we missed?” asked Phoenix.
“You both look as if you had a good time,” said Artemis “It takes longer to recover from a late night the older you get, doesn’t it?”
“We have good news for you both,” said Giles. “If you’re up to it, we’ll take you to the ice-house to show you as soon as we’re finished.”
“I wish to take you through our latest reports, Athena,” said Alastor, “now you’re back. Phoenix can go straight away. Minos and I can discuss their findings with you.”
“What you mean is, I won’t read them for ages anyway, so I don’t have to stay?” asked Phoenix.
“Alastor’s right,” said Athena, “let’s divide and conquer. The quicker we can catch up on the latest news, the quicker we’ll be free for the rest of the day. I’m missing Hope, and my father needs the company.”
Phoenix accompanied Giles and Artemis on the walk to the ice-house.
“Have you seen much of Orion since he started work, Artemis?” he asked.
“Only the once, on his first day,” said Artemis, “it was awkward, but we both appreciate how different our lives are now. We’ve moved on. It won’t be an issue.”
Phoenix found it strange having this discussion with Artemis. He had grown fond of the young woman. Not only because she was his best friend’s partner, but her work in the ice-house had been excellent. The skills she had developed in her police career had proved invaluable. Zara Wheeler had quickly adapted to the different focus of the investigations Olympus tackled.
When the four of them got the chance to relax together, she told Athena seeing criminals pay for their crimes gave her the most satisfaction. Too often in her former life, the system had failed the victims.
“I need to talk to Hayden Vincent later,” said Phoenix, as they reached the lift doors.
“If you want me to guess, I reckon it’s morning sickness,” said Artemis.
“Really? That wasn’t why I wanted to talk to him, though. One of his first tasks has become a top priority after yesterday’s meeting. Orion needs to step up the pace. Life could be in danger.”
The lift had reached the first level. Giles, Artemis, and Phoenix crossed the busy floor of the Olympus nerve centre. Around them, the surveillance teams were hard at work, gathering data at an astonishing rate. Analysis of that data might produce a key to unlock the secrets of the Grid and help bring them to justice.
Yesterday, a chance sighting had exposed a potential terror attack.
“On Tuesday afternoon, James Protheroe, an Irregular on his first day at Temple Meads snapped this photo,” said Giles, bringing the image up on a large screen.
“Lousy,” said Phoenix, “it could be anyone.”
“Until this man was caught strolling in Cabot Circus without a care in the world,” said Giles, switching to a clear photo of Omar Harrack.
“Harrack,” exclaimed Phoenix, “our man from Canary Wharf, and Edinburgh.”
“New Street, Birmingham too, no doubt,” said Artemis. “Rusty missed them at their hotel by minutes.”
“Where did they go next, I wonder,” said Phoenix. “Bring that first image up again, Giles, can you please?”
Realisation dawned as they reviewed the image.
“Harrack is the woman in the burka,” said Artemis.
“Protheroe reported the woman had unusually large feet,” said Giles.
“The other two are Mansouri and al-Hamady. The Syrian is pointing out the pressure points. This image is from the subway under the platforms, am I right?”
“Yes,” said Artemis, “a prime location for a bomb.”
“We need to find out when and where al-Hamady returned to this country,” said Phoenix. “He flew to Paris from John Lennon, didn’t he? Can we find the bombers arriving in Bristol on CCTV? Try the railway station first. So, on Tuesday afternoon they’re on a sightseeing visit. On Wednesday afternoon Harrack has time to waste. We should have time to prepare. The attack will be in the next forty-eight hours, I reckon. I need Hugh Fraser and Rusty to meet me in the orangery at two o’clock this afternoon.”
Phoenix left Giles and Artemis to carry out his orders. Things were getting exciting, and he wanted to get back to Athena.
CHAPTER 7
When he reached their apartment, Phoenix found Athena eating lunch with Geoffrey and Hope.
“We went ahead without you, darling,” she said. “Daddy wants to take a trip to Bath this afternoon.”
“Need to buy curtains and a few essentials, Phoenix,” said his father-in-law. “Not something I’ve done for a while.”
Athena had been right about Geoffrey needing the company. Without Grace, he found lots of mundane things he hadn’t needed to bother with for decades.
“That’s fine,” said Phoenix. “I’ll get myself something to eat. I’ll be in the orangery this afternoon. We have an urgent mission to plan.”
After Maria Elena returned to look after Hope, Geoffrey went to his apartment to change, Athena asked Phoenix to explain.
“The bombers are back. They’ve switched their attention from Birmingham to Bristol. We’ve been off the pace on the other attacks. This feels different. If we get the preparation right, we can foil this latest attempt, and take them out of the game.”
“I’ll catch up with how you get on this evening,” said Athena, “take care.”
At two, Phoenix arrived in the orangery. Rusty and Hugh were waiting.
“Artemis tells me you have ruined another weekend,” said Rusty.
“Maybe not, we might get the job out of the way tomorrow.”
“What do you need from us, Phoenix?” asked Hugh.
“Study these building plans. Identify the most likely targets. How many Irregulars have you got available in Bristol?”
“Three, at present. James Protheroe thought he spotted the three suspects on Tuesday. I want to reward him by bringing him in on this next stage. One man is at the airport, and the other has gone to the Harbourside area.”
“Recall them. We need to find where al-Hamady and the bombers are staying. Your people need to be in the centre, or thereabouts.”
“Do you believe al-Hamady will be at the same address?” asked Rusty.
“They won’t make it easy for us,” said Hugh. “I’d expect him to be miles away from Mansouri and Harrack. The bomb maker will be in another location altogether.”
“The ice-house has begun the search,” said Phoenix, “we must do what we can to help. Where’s the highest concentration of Muslims close to Cabot’s Circus?”
“Lawrence Hill?” suggested Hugh.
“Walking distance from where we caught Harrack on camera,” said Phoenix.
“Get Protheroe to Lawrence Hill,” said Phoenix. “The other two Irregulars should be at Temple Meads. Warn Protheroe to be vigilant. The bombers have seen him. We don’t want a repeat of New Street.”
They spent the rest of the afternoon evaluating options. Hugh listed four possible scenarios for the attack method.
Rusty and Phoenix devised counter-tactics their teams might adopt. As the light faded, Giles called from the ice-house. Phoenix listened to what they found so far.
“OK, so Giles confirms al-Hamady arrived in Liverpool on a ferry from Belfast. He took a train from Lime Street to Bristol. Mansouri and
Harrack met him there, but where they came from we haven’t established. Giles has found al-Hamady on CCTV outside Temple Meads fifteen minutes after the photo in the subway. He spoke to the two bombers by the taxi rank.”
“If Giles sends a photo of al-Hamady,” said Hugh, “I’ll pass it to my Irregular at the waterfront. He can ask if anyone remembers taking the fare once he’s at the station. He can get there in twenty minutes.”
“We haven’t got information on the bomb maker so far,” said Phoenix, “it would simplify matters if we did.”
“How will they get the bombs to Mansouri and Harrack?” asked Rusty, “or will they collect them? The sooner we locate those two, the better chance we have of foiling this attack.”
“The shorter period the devices are in their possession, the better,” said Hugh, “Each element of the cell operates as a separate entity. Any overlap is minimal. Therefore the risk of being discovered is slim. I imagine the bomb maker will notify al-Hamady when it’s ready. He will call the bombers, and they will deliver their packages to the station. All three events will occur within sixty minutes.”
“What chance have we got of intercepting those calls?” asked Phoenix.
“They always use disposable, pre-paid phones these days,” said Hugh. “They’re nigh on impossible to trace.”
“We need more information on al-Hamady and our bomb maker,” said Phoenix. “I’ll ask Giles to get someone on it. Either we prevent al-Hamady from acting on the call to say the device is ready, or we eliminate the product and its manufacturer.”
“Who will take part in the mission?” asked Hugh.
“Rusty will take you, Protheroe and two of our agents stationed in Filton to handle the bombers. I’ll target al-Hamady and the bomb maker. I’ll decide who I need with me once I know where I’m going. Two of us will be plenty. We have to limit the risk of being identified throughout this mission.”
“I’ll write up everything we’ve covered this afternoon,” said Hugh Fraser, “and go over every step we agreed. By the morning, you will have a copy to go through as often as necessary to get every step entrenched in your mind. Proper planning, and all that.”
“Thanks, Hugh,” said Phoenix, “I know you get the detail right, with the appropriate colour-coding, but my contribution to this direct action needs flexibility. On those occasions, I wing it.”
Hugh looked mortified.
“You’re new, Hugh. The reason I fought to get you here was for that attention to detail. Keep doing what you’re doing. For me, it’s not so important to get the bombers. Senior people in the cells will find others willing to take their place within days. I want to reach those closer to the top of the organisation, such as al-Hamady. He’s the driving force, the planner, and this campaign will be thwarted for months if we remove him. As for the bomb maker, he’s responsible for many deaths, but Grace Fox’s death makes it personal. I swore I would take my revenge when the opportunity arose. That time is now.”
“I understand,” said Hugh, “you have my word, I’ll never stint on the detail. I’ll always leave you and Rusty to decide how you want to play things. You have far more experience in that arena. Doing things by the book is how I’ve lived my life for so long, improvisation comes hard.”
Phoenix decided to have some fun at Hugh’s expense.
“I didn’t mention we saw Hugh last night, Rusty,” said Phoenix. “He attended that posh wedding party at the Dorchester.”
“Really? How on earth did you get a ticket for that, Hugh?” asked Rusty.
“As a plus one for a guest,” said Hugh, gathering up his papers. He was keen to leave the orangery before Rusty could probe any further.
“An honoured guest, no less,” said Phoenix, “don’t be coy, Hugh. Our Logistics Officer has snared the lovely Ambrosia, Rusty.”
“Good for you,” said Rusty. “I knew you had got divorced. The dating game is a minefield after that trauma, so they tell me. If you want to get back in the game, I guess picking someone from the top shelf is a great way to do it.”
“To be honest, I’m not sure I snared anyone,” Hugh said. “I thought Ambrosia was out of my league. She’s beautiful, intelligent, and loaded. If her late father owned a brewery, she had the full set. As soon as I met her, I never stood a chance.”
“She’s ambitious, don’t forget that,” said Phoenix.
Hugh Fraser nodded.
Exactly, thought Hugh, her ambition may fuel her interest; not any great passion.
“I’m not wet behind the ears, Phoenix,” he said, “I’ll watch my step. What’s the worst that can happen? To be seen in public with her last night did my self-confidence no harm.”
Hugh left Rusty and Phoenix to head back to the stable block.
“Do you think he’s naïve?” asked Rusty.
“I think Ambrosia’s a scheming little minx,” said Phoenix, “not in the Demeter class, but dangerous all the same. She uses Hugh and the Irregulars to increase her status within the organisation. Her relationship with Zeus and Hera has progressed further in a few months than Athena, and I have managed in two years.”
“She’s active in targeting those two things,” said Rusty, “and be fair, you wouldn’t bother with the latter. I reckon you would be happy to exist without being friendly to anyone outside Larcombe Manor.”
Phoenix couldn’t argue. When you’ve been a loner for the first forty years of your life, it’s challenging to switch to Mr Gregarious, even over four years. Athena despaired of him at times, but she understood what made him tick.
As they left the orangery, Phoenix heard a vehicle. It was Athena and her father. The shopping trip must be at an end.
“I’ll see you tomorrow morning, Rusty,” he said.
“Athena’s waving,” said Rusty, “she’s got the rear door open. I reckon you’re in for a spell of heavy lifting, mate.”
*****
Colleen O’Riordan had just returned to her penthouse apartment. The afternoon had flown past; she enjoyed pampering herself. The health spa membership was extortionate, but she could afford it now, so why not? Tommy would turn in his grave. He moaned if she spent twenty quid on getting her hair done.
Thoroughly relaxed after the treatments they lavished on her Colleen felt ready to study the latest reports Tyrone emailed her. He was a good boy. Her son explained everything to his mother in words of one syllable, chiefly where computers were concerned.
Colleen could cope with the day to day running of the Kilburn gang she controlled. It wasn’t any harder than keeping house for Tommy and the children. They were all big kids. Now and again, someone needed a slap to bring them in line.
As for the Grid, well she dared to control that too, no matter how big it became. It wasn’t so easy to balance the housekeeping accounts and keep the kids in line with gangs scattered across the UK. That’s where Tyrone proved his worth.
He was her iron fist when someone needed a slap. His skills in the financial sector allowed her to check rather than micro-manage the money side of things. Colleen understood words of several syllables. She was far smarter than Tyrone imagined. She liked to keep that to herself. Her son wasn’t the first O’Riordan to think of her as a helpless female.
Colleen always found it helped her get what she wanted. Strident, stroppy women never received what they thought they deserved. They got what their men thought they deserved for being that way. A lesson she learned very early in her marriage.
She sat in front of her computer and read the note from Tyrone. So, this was a memory stick. The idiot notes Tyrone gave her were perfect. Colleen followed the instructions and found a series of files. She opened ‘Bank’ and viewed folders containing hundreds of photos, street plans, and diagrams of what looked to be a bank vault. Things had progressed well. Colleen searched for a summary, found it in the last folder she viewed, and printed herself a copy to read in bed. She wondered if she would have sweet dreams of a hundred million pounds tonight.
Colleen grew curious. W
hat was in this other file, labelled ‘Gonzo’? She opened it. There was far less inside this one. Those dodgy photos Tyrone kept mentioning, and glossy pictures from a celebrity magazine. They were taken last night at the Dorchester. That magazine wouldn’t be on the racks in the newsagents yet; this must be from a digital issue. Who’s this Gonzo, Colleen wondered? Is he in these photos?
According to the captions, these photos came from a society wedding party — two people with more money than sense getting married in their sixties to avoid being lonely. Colleen didn’t need that complication.
The deep massage this afternoon stirred a few emotions she had suppressed for too long, but the eighteen-stone gay masseur didn’t put his hands anywhere he shouldn’t. More’s the pity. Colleen wanted someone young and fit, and their role would not be to stop her from getting lonely.
“Very posh,” she said, looking at the female guests’ dresses and jewellery. Tyrone had enlarged one photo; Colleen clicked on it. The bride and groom were dancing. He was a Sir somebody, and she was a Duchess. Behind them seated in the corner sat a group of people. A man was being led towards the dance floor by a tall woman in a gorgeous maroon dress. The diamond necklace around her neck had to be worth fifty grand.
Colleen looked again at the man. Good looking, a few years younger than her. He was punching above his weight with the woman he accompanied. He must be rich. Why did Tyrone think this important enough to send her? She glanced back at the photos of the men involved in the moped gang business in West Hampstead.
Tyrone was still trying to find proof of a secret organisation at work in the country. Was he clutching at straws as she kept telling him? It was a leap, but when she compared the man’s appearance in the various images, there was something familiar. Inconclusive, but maybe Tyrone had a point. It wouldn’t hurt to follow the trail from this wedding party.
The photos were first-class, professional shots. An expert could enhance the images of the other guests near where this couple had sat. As for the hosts, they would plaster their details over the pages of the magazine. How did they connect to the couple in question? She could shortcut that process by finding a Dorchester employee who needed to earn quick money. Colleen had to have the guestlist for that party.
