by Ted Tayler
“It’s different. I’ll say that. A lot of hanging around, of course, but with Phoenix and Rusty otherwise engaged, Athena wanted to give us a chance to avenge Hugh’s death.”
“Wherever he arrives, Paul Heath won’t make the Malaga flight. If we miss him here, or he avoids our other team at the premium drop off, we’ve got it covered. Our man inside the airport is poised to get a call put out over the tannoy for Paul Heath to meet his brother.”
Henry and Hayden sat in the front of the Olympus van and kept watch. Their two colleagues in the dark interior monitored Graham Heath.
“It can’t be long now,” said Henry.
“Patience is something you learn on stakeouts, Henry,” said Hayden. “No offence, but I miss not having Kelly beside me. Today is the first time in years we haven’t teamed up for a job.”
“She appears to be handling her condition better these days,” said Henry, “that morning sickness must have depressed her?”
“It was a nuisance, but the result is what matters. We can’t wait to be a family of three.”
Henry wondered what that might be like for him and Sarah. It was early days, but Athena gave birth to Hope in her late thirties. She and Sarah were of the same age; there was still hope. Time would tell.
“This could be him, it’s a taxi firm from Burton,” said Henry. “Are we ready?”
They were. Paul Heath’s cab stopped three rows across from where they parked. The side door of the van slid open behind them as Henry and Hayden watched their target. The agents crossed the car park at an angle, bringing them to the terminal pathway, cutting off Paul Heath’s access to the airport. Henry and Hayden stepped out of the van. They walked towards the second twin.
Paul Heath looked around him. Graham said they’d meet here. Where was he? Had he been delayed in traffic? Paul called his twin brother. Inside the dark van forty yards, away Graham Heath’s phone rang.
“I can’t take your call at the moment. Please leave a message after the tone, and I’ll get back to you.”
Paul was confused. He made for the terminal building and the check-in desk; Graham couldn’t be far away. As Paul walked towards the pathway, he sensed company. There was someone behind him; he saw two men heading his way. Paul was unarmed. His only hope was to run into the car park and hope to force a driver out of their car. He looked in desperation for new arrivals. He tried to hail a taxi that was leaving, but the driver ignored his flailing arms.
Paul hit the tarmac. The flailing arms were not him trying to attract attention. He had been thumped hard in the back by two burly men who now had him pinned to the ground. Hayden ran to the van and moved it closer to Henry and their colleagues. Paul was soon inside the van beside his brother.
A small group of businesspeople and holidaymakers stopped to watch events unfold. Mobile phones snapped a handful of photos that would find their way onto social media sites later that night. They would be picked up by national newspapers and TV stations in the morning. The dark blue van left the car park at high speed.
“A pity about that,” said Hayden, “but we snatched Graham without witnesses. The media will report the kidnap of only one man, which might help Giles cover our tracks.”
“Home to Larcombe then,” said Henry. “I know I shouldn’t, but I’m looking forward to teaching these two that crime doesn’t pay.”
*****
Tuesday, 13th January 2015
In Northamptonshire, a group of people started a new day. Phoenix and Rusty were awake by seven; they spent the night in a safe house in Kettering. They weren’t alone; four Irregulars arrived late in the evening. Sandy Nesbitt, the helicopter pilot, was on her way back to the UK from Ireland. Giles informed Phoenix that she was due in Kettering by lunchtime.
One of Hugh Fraser’s last tasks was fast-tracking five ex-homeless veterans to help with this county-wide direct action. He made the initial contact, but when he failed to return from his weekend away, Artemis took control. Along with the other duties she performed in the ice-house yesterday she made sure Phoenix had the support he needed.
Phoenix had chosen a range of crime hot-spots where the Irregulars could pass valuable information back to him and Rusty. He delayed taking them through the plans for the next few days until they finished breakfast.
While they ate, he called his wife at Larcombe Manor.
“Good morning, darling,” said Athena, “congratulations for yesterday. Everything went to plan.”
“What did you expect?” he replied, pretending to take umbrage at his wife’s comment.
“You weren’t the only team to have a good day,” she said, ignoring his remark, “Hayden and Henry picked up the Heath twins at Birmingham International last evening. Their escape to the Costa del Crime is on indefinite hold.”
“Good work by those two,” said Phoenix, “and Giles. He needed to find them fast; otherwise, they would have slipped through our fingers. How does Henry plan to deal with them?”
“Did you have something in mind?” asked Athena.
“I wondered whether we could deliver them to the O’Riordans?” he replied.
“I’m not sure it’s practical to drop two bodies into the Glencairn Bank. Parking in Gresham Street is a nightmare.”
“I want the Grid to know we’ve found them and they’ve paid for what they did. When we trace those responsible for killing Biggles and Orion, they will suffer the same fate.”
“I’ll discuss it with Henry,” said Athena. “We will send a message. You have my word. Good hunting.”
Phoenix called Giles in the ice-house.
“Do we have any further news on the people involved in Friday’s murders? Where are we with that Vasiliev character?”
“I passed you the details of his address and his known associates late on Sunday evening,” said Giles. “With everything else going on, you may have missed it. You left for London early in the morning.”
“Have we got someone watching the place?” asked Phoenix.
“We have, but there’s been no sign of him. He’s disappeared. A thug named Alexeev called at his house yesterday evening. He was in the helicopter with Les Biggar. I’ve checked the images from Kemble. There’s no doubt.”
“Have him disposed of,” said Phoenix. “Can we link any of Vasiliev’s men with the helicopter or the home invasion in Bath?”
“Vladimir Mikhailov flew the helicopter. The evidence is overwhelming. Two gang members match the vague description we have for the assassin at the house,” Giles replied, “but it’s inconclusive.”
“I don’t have a problem with that, do you?” said Phoenix. “They wanted a war; they can have it. Alexeev will have three companions in the afterlife.”
“I hadn’t realised the Russians believed in that type of thing,” said Giles.
“Thank Minos for that gem of knowledge,” said Phoenix. “I do read his reports now and again. Since the demise of communism, many Russians have returned to religion. It’s estimated forty per cent believe life does not end with death.”
“That’s good to know,” said Giles, “I suppose.”
“It comes to us all in the end, Giles,” said Phoenix.
CHAPTER 10
Rusty was ready to get on with his real job of work. He had cooked six fried breakfasts for the team and loaded the dishwasher. His domestic duties were over for the day. He waited until Phoenix came back into the lounge, and then he allocated tasks to the team.
“Ben Anderson and Ross Summers? You served in the Royal Regiment of Fusiliers, is that correct?”
The two youngest Irregulars raised a hand in confirmation. They had both received shrapnel wounds from an IED in Helmand back in 2008. They had flown home to Queen Alexandra Hospital in Birmingham for a series of operations. As with many others, although the body healed, the mind was reluctant to move on. A too familiar spiral into drink and drugs left them living on the streets before the end of 2011.
As comrades, they stayed together and fought their way b
ack to something approaching normality when Olympus came knocking.
“Your youth lends itself to the role we need you to play,” said Rusty, “you’re to become students again. We want you to mix with the student population at the University. Uncover as much as you can of the intimidation used by the dealers who frequent the campus. Give us the names of the major players. Identify the sites where a large percentage of the deals get made. Remember, we’re not interested in the users, only in the scum that are terrorising the students there with these aggressive tactics.”
“One whiff of a rumour you’ve slipped back into your old ways and you’re out,” said Phoenix. “Out of this mission, out of the Irregulars. Are we clear?”
“We’re clear,” said Ross Summers.
“Cliff Barclay? You served in the Welsh Regiment, based at Tidworth?”
“Yes, chief,” said Barclay, “I moved there in 2005.”
His accent placed him from the North, possibly the Colwyn Bay area. Rusty had a good ear.
“We shipped out to Iraq for Operation Telic 6,” Barclay continued, “I was air-evacced to the UK six months later. Seven of the past eight years was a dream from which I never awoke. It took a long time to get the right help. I can’t wait to pay those people back for persevering.”
“I see from your notes; you were married with two young daughters?”
“The wife left me and took Delyth and Jenna with her. I wasn’t the same bloke she married, that’s fair enough, but I wanted to keep seeing the kids. We’re rebuilding our relationship, it will take time, but I’d do anything for them.”
“That’s why we selected you for this case. We have a nasty pair of individuals in Corby. A bloke and his partner are plying their victims with crack cocaine and then encouraging them to engage in depraved sexual activity.”
“How old are these girls?” asked Barclay.
“Between ten and twelve,” said Rusty.
Barclay nodded.
“I’m your man, chief,” he said.
“That leaves me,” said Don Donovan, “ex-Coldstream Guards, two tours in Northern Ireland, followed by two decades of decline.”
“You’re partnered with Sandy Nesbitt when she joins us,” said Rusty. “The two of you will be on the streets of Northampton. There has been a spate of gang-related shootings in the area. You will listen for names, potential victims. I’m afraid much of your day will be in and around Castle Ward and St Crispin. In the evening I suggest you stay in well-lit areas. The parks and gardens tend to be full of drunks, druggies, and Eastern Europeans intent on stabbing someone. Pretty much anyone.”
“Charming,” said Don. “Is this a job for a woman?”
“Sandy will cope,” muttered Rusty.
“Some people have loose lips when they think it’s only a woman listening,” said Barclay. “Which shows how stupid they are,”
“Quite,” said Phoenix. “Right, Rusty, hand out their information packs and get them on their way. Don, you wait with us until Sandy arrives. We can drop you in the Castle Ward after lunch.”
“What will you two be doing while we’re gathering information?” asked Donovan.
“We’ll be removing the risk of another violent sexual assault in Wellingborough,” said Rusty.
“That won’t take us too long,” added Phoenix, “so get moving. Find the men responsible for the shootings, so we have something else to do.”
Phoenix left Donovan with his information pack to read. The guy wouldn’t have been on his list of Irregulars. Hugh Fraser would have weeded him out, for sure. He didn’t want to chew Rusty’s ear off, but Artemis needed a sharper red pen when scrutinising the backgrounds of these veterans.
Rusty returned to the safe house. The first three Irregulars were in position — comms in place on order to liaise with the ice-house, Phoenix and himself. The game was afoot.
“Any sign of our fifth wheel?” asked Donovan.
Rusty gave him a stare.
Phoenix shook his head.
“He’s not worth the effort,”
It was noon. Sandy Nesbitt was due any minute. Phoenix wanted to get her and Donovan on the ground, listening for information. Anywhere, that took Donovan miles away.
*****
Back at Larcombe, Athena neared the end of the morning meeting. With Phoenix and Rusty on the other side of the country, Minos and Alastor covered most items. They worked tirelessly digging out data useful to agents in the field. Now and then, they saw the first green shoots of an issue that became a national crisis.
“In the early days of Olympus, Erebus and I passed many evenings discussing our earlier lives,” Minos said. “Court cases I sat on where we made far-reaching judgements, his memories of the war in the Falklands. Alastor and I have noticed speeches in the House of Commons, articles in respected journals, online interviews where important people have expressed opinions that surprised their interviewer. Individually, they didn’t raise too much comment. When taken together, the Government has taken note of the mood in the country. The Grid’s arrogant flouting of the law and the frequent terror attacks have provoked a groundswell of anger that could bring down the Government.”
“They scraped by that vote of no-confidence by a narrow margin,” said Athena. “The clever money is on a General Election in the summer, isn’t it?”
“Those conversations with Erebus concerning events thirty years ago brought these different rumblings into focus. Last year we saw sickening footage of the beheadings of journalists. They were reporting on conflict without the restrictions in place three decades ago. Satellites and the internet allow journalists the freedom to report what they want, how they want. Their safety gets compromised as a result, and we’ve seen the penalty. ISIS has access to the same technology and uses it to spread their message of hate.”
“That’s gone quiet in the past month,” said Henry. “Thank goodness. They contained the threat.”
“Which begs the question of why there were references to them in these speeches, Henry, asked Alastor. “With everything else the Government needs to tackle, why would they foster interest in something no longer headline news? What if factions exist that don’t want that situation to continue?”
“Before the Falklands War the Government weren’t in a favourable position with many in the country,” continued Minos. “There was high unemployment, high inflation, plus cuts in public expenditure. The Tories were unpopular. After the war, the Falklands Factor helped them win the 1983 Election. The reality of a fractured nation got lost in the hysterical headlines of British heroism. In the decade that followed, the conflict played a significant role in Cool Britannia emerging.”
“Are you suggesting these rumblings have been orchestrated by the Government to prepare the public for military action against ISIS?” asked Giles Burke.
“What better way to deflect the public’s attention from what’s happening at home where they are losing the battle with organised crime?” asked Minos. “Imagine the positive spin they could put on showing ISIS they can’t bully us; that we’ve had enough of standing by waiting for them to strike at us on our shores. We’re confident enough to bloody their noses in their backyard.”
Athena was dumbstruck.
“They hope to transform the fortunes of the Government before the Election by taking us into a war in the Middle East. That would be madness.”
“That is our interpretation of the articles, unguarded comments and opinions expressed by respected politicians,” said Minos. “In the coming weeks, we expect to see an escalation in the warmongering.”
“What evidence do you have for that?” asked Henry.
“You are aware of the role of the BBC Monitoring Service?” asked Alastor.
“I know it started in WWII,” replied Henry, “to give the British Government access to foreign media and propaganda. It provided valuable information in places where foreign journalists were banned.”
“That role has continued,” said Minos. “The Monitoring
Service played an important role in helping observers keep track of developments during the Cold War, and the eventual collapse of the Soviet Union. It’s a part of the BBC which monitors and reports on mass media worldwide, based at Caversham Park, Reading. It has overseas bureaux in cities such as Moscow, Cairo, Nairobi and Delhi. They select and translate information from radio, television, press, news agencies and the internet from one hundred and fifty countries in over seventy languages. Reports produced by the service are used as open-source intelligence by elements of the Government and commercial customers.”
“I understand their role,” said Henry, “but what have they gleaned that has got the Government so agitated?”
“A series of messages on the web emanating from ISIS-held territory within Syria and Iraq speak of the escalation of sustained attacks within Europe,” replied Minos. “They’re designed to create havoc and panic. They also hope to encourage tens of thousands of young men and women to return from Europe to join them.”
“How can the public expect the presentation and interpretation of the material they have gathered to be impartial?” asked Giles. “Given that the BBC is neither impartial nor neutral.”
“It has a liberal bias, but not so much a party-political bias,” added Henry. “How could these warmongers guarantee they avoid mixed messages from the BBC?”
The Two Amigos had stumbled upon something that divided opinions around the table. Athena wished Phoenix and Rusty were here to contribute. Artemis was in the ice-house, ensuring they received up-to-the-minute data on the Northamptonshire mission. Her counsel was always valuable.
“Athena, should we continue to log voices in favour of conflict?” asked Minos, exasperated at the impasse, “or do you think we see something that isn’t there?”
Athena considered for a moment.
“Please continue, Minos. We would be foolish to ignore any data you gather on our behalf. It may not get used in the short term, but little since Olympus began has been of no use.”
