by Ted Tayler
“That’s what we understood,” said Rusty, “the county lines are phone lines used for the buying and selling of drugs. Those drugs come from larger metropolitan cities for distribution in smaller market towns. In a university town, there’s a ready market in a concentrated spot.”
“There’s drug-related anti-social behaviour at the St John’s hall of residence,” added Ben Anderson, “The police were there last week executing search warrants. They arrested a student on suspicion of being in possession with intent to supply.”
“Have you heard of any addresses taken over in the town, or student accommodation in the halls?” asked Rusty.
“They’re not on the campus, yet, but Ross has seen evidence in Abington. He will fill you in on that later.”
“Any names that have cropped up yet? I know you’ve not been there long, but…” asked Phoenix.
“There are two names associated with the intimidation,” Ben answered, “Brantly Mason and Demarai Scott. They’re mid-twenties, from Manchester. Hard as nails, I reckon they’ve been in a gang since they were ten or eleven. I’ve seen them at work, but I’ve kept well away. They’re evil bastards.”
“Great work, Ben. That’s what we need. I’ll get Larcombe to dig out their backgrounds. It gives us someone on which to focus. Drink up, get back on the streets. The longer you’re in here, the more suspicious people will get.”
“Yeah,” grinned Ben, “why would a student be hanging around with two wrinklies like you?”
Ben finished his latte and left.
“Do you think they do any of those wraps in here?” asked Phoenix.
“I’ll ask,” said Rusty, “but this café feels more old school.”
It was eleven when the two agents left. The second mug of coffee and the bacon roll filled them up and had kept them away from the chilly wind.
“Another hour before we meet Ross Summers,” said Phoenix, “where shall we head?”
“The Grosvenor Centre is undercover. It will be warmer than standing on this street,” said Rusty.
At noon, Phoenix tried the comms, to see if Ross was in range.
“Ross, have you got into town yet?”
“Hi, Phoenix. I’ve just got off the bus. Where are you?”
“On the first floor of the Grosvenor Centre. Get up here as soon as you can.”
Ross appeared ten minutes later. He waved a greeting from twenty yards away.
“Crikey, he looks even younger dressed liked that,” said Rusty.
“Ross fits in with the modern student,” said Phoenix, “but I’m not sure we should be outside this kid’s toys store. It’s bound to look creepy if they catch us on CCTV. Let’s keep on the move.”
“Ben said you had seen evidence of vulnerable people intimidated by the dealers, Ross, is that right?” asked Phoenix.
“There was one poor guy with mental health issues whose house was being used by drug dealers, prostitutes and alcoholics. He thought they were being friendly when it started but couldn’t prevent the escalation. The dealers weren’t local. They had moved in from Sheffield.”
“Is that the only case you’ve seen so far?” asked Rusty.
“The only one I’ve witnessed, yes, but chatting with students and other locals in the pubs, I’ve heard it’s spreading over the town. The signs are obvious. A rise in anti-social behaviour typified by an increase in comings and goings from a property. An increase in litter, noise becoming intrusive and disturbances that spill out onto the street. These don’t always get a response from the police, but neighbours are pissed. Often, the gang takes over several properties and moves between them. Or they use one property for the odd day before moving on to keep one step ahead of the police.”
“Keep trawling for names that crop up,” said Phoenix, “I want to have more than the two we’ve identified so far. If they don’t materialise soon, we’ll think of another way to close these operations.”
“Will do,” said Ross, “when do you want to meet us again?”
“This needs to happen by Friday,” said Rusty, “if we don’t hear from you and Ben before then, we’ll switch to Plan Two. On Friday evening, we’ll remove you both. When you are parachuted into an area like you were, someone will ask questions. Once that becomes a gang member, instead of the students and locals you’ve pressed for information, then it means trouble.”
“Understood,” said Ross, “we're as careful as we can be, but thanks for the warning.”
Ross left them and made his way via the escalator to the ground floor. The two agents headed for an exit at the opposite end of the shopping centre — time to get the van and return to the safe house.
*****
Tyrone O’Riordan had been in the Glencairn Bank for less than an hour. He arrived at noon, and if he was still there at four o’clock, it was because he’d had a hectic day. At least, that’s what he told himself. There were thousands of others doing the hard work for him.
Tyrone had to make sure the dirty money they moved through his private bank was clean when it arrived in their High Street bank accounts. His commission reduced the amount, but it was clean.
Tyrone had checked the financial indicators he used to make the money the Grid invested was working as profitably as it could; that had been Hugo Hanigan’s legacy. He had developed a great strategy, one which Tyrone followed in many of the markets. The Glencairn had earned a reputation for performing well above the rest of its competitors. Tyrone took more risks than Hugo did, especially with the commission he had collected. The figures he had looked at this lunchtime still showed a positive trend. Tyrone was content.
There was a knock on the office door.
“This was just delivered by courier, Mr O’Riordan.”
It was Philomena, his assistant. She handed him the jiffy bag and closed the door behind her. Tyrone caught a whiff of her perfume; it was intoxicating.
The twenty-three-year-old graduate had been working for him for three months now. There was a chemistry between them that was obvious from the day she attended the interview.
Why hadn’t he slept with her yet? Tyrone made a note to rectify that.
The Grid’s operations and its enemies occupied his mind for far too much of his time. Tyrone was aware he over-indulged in his few hours of leisure time. If it continued, he could damage his health and his bank balance. Was it time to take things at a slower pace?
Tyrone knew if he moved in with a woman, it would please his mother. If he introduced her to a fine-looking, intelligent Irish girl such as Philomena, she wouldn’t be able to contain herself. Tyrone forced himself to put thoughts of a long-term relationship to one side until work finished. He left the jiffy bag until last.
“Right, let’s see what this was,” he said, opening the padded envelope.
Tyrone slid out a photograph and looked at it in horror. The twins, Graham and Paul Heath were united in death. Side by side as they had been in their first photo in the hospital at birth. This final image showed them with a bullet hole in the forehead. He grabbed the jiffy bag and looked inside to see if there was a note.
As he tipped it up, two thumbs fell onto the highly polished desktop.
Tyrone called his mother. He told her what he had on the desk in front of him.
“It’s a shame you were so quick to pay those boys for their work,” she said, “you could have saved yourself a bundle. Olympus didn’t take long to find them, did they?”
“Olympus know about the Glencairn and that I run things from here. They don’t have either of our addresses yet, but we’ve waited long enough. It’s time to raise our game.”
“You can’t blame them retaliating Tyrone. You killed eight of their people last weekend.”
“I never told you what happened at Ilford, did I?” said Tyrone, “we had to dump five bodies on the Marshes after Olympus hit one of our garages on Monday. The local Accident and Emergency hospitals ten miles in every direction were at crisis levels with broken bones from the punishments they
dished out to the crew; nobody walked away unscathed. That place is out of action for a month. It will cost us two million quid, easy. They’re hitting us hard, mother. I haven’t got a clue where’s next for treatment.”
“What can you do?” asked Colleen.
“Hit them where it hurts,” Tyrone replied. He dropped the thumbs back into the jiffy bag and took one last look at the photo before shredding it. Time to get home. Time to rally the troops.
*****
In the Kettering safe house, Phoenix was talking with Giles in the ice-house.
“We still need to follow up on Cliff Barclay’s progress on his case this afternoon,” said Phoenix. “As for the shootings, unless Donovan and Nesbitt uncover something fast, we will have to go with the names we’ve uncovered so far. We have neither the time nor the resources to stay anywhere for an extended period. Security at Larcombe is uppermost in my mind.”
“The Grid received the message at lunchtime,” said Giles, “they will know we are balancing the books from the weekend. The Grid has two ways to go. Either they carry on their crooked business and ignore the occasional dent we make in their armour, or they go on the offensive.”
“They have escalated their response on each occasion since this O’Riordan seized control,” said Phoenix. “My gut tells me he will choose the latter. That’s why it’s imperative Rusty, and I get back to Larcombe by Friday evening, at the latest.”
“I’ll pass that on to Henry. I know he has stepped up the patrols, but is it enough? Maybe we need to establish our defensive lines. If those are visible from the lane, or the air it will make the Grid aware we are ready for an attack. The element of surprise won’t be available.”
“Keep Athena in the loop,” said Phoenix, “and discuss whatever Henry proposes with Rusty. If he’s unreachable because we’re in the middle of direct action, consult Thommo and Bazza. They will know what’s required. They’ve got the battle scars to prove it.”
“It feels inevitable, doesn’t it?” said Giles.
“Armageddon, a final battle between good and evil? Yes, that’s inevitable,” said Phoenix. “But, in those late-night talks with Erebus, he prepared me for that day.”
“We’ll never defeat them without help from the authorities,” said Giles, “they outnumber us.”
“Numbers don’t always count,” said Phoenix, “I never professed to understand the analogy Erebus used. He said when a side has a man sent off in football, the ten men often prevail, even when playing a far superior side. They perform better as a team than they did when they had their full complement. They find reserves of strength they didn’t know they had.”
“I’ve seen that happen,” said Giles. “It often means a change of tactics. Is there something we could do to even up the score?”
“Erebus was a strong believer in targeting the most significant gang members in the actions we undertake. When the attack comes, we must defend Larcombe for as long as possible to enable us to attack the heads of the Grid. If it were possible to remove O’Riordan and his mother and close the Glencairn Bank, it would paralyse the network protecting the organisation. Without easy access to a bank to launder their money, it would create a vacuum. While they fought amongst themselves over who takes control and the money situation festers those of us who survive that final battle could come out of hiding. We would be able to hand over the information the authorities need to reverse the trend. They would never end crime altogether, but whichever party is in Government it would be forced to recognise public opinion is with them. We can already see how fed up they are with the Grid’s influence on their daily lives from the demonstrations across the country.”
“So, either way, the Olympus Project would face massive change,” said Giles. “If we fail to create that vacuum, then we perish. If we succeed, then we risk removing the veil of secrecy and give the authorities additional intelligence to break the network of organised crime and its stranglehold over the UK. Do they have the resources to make it happen?”
“I’ll leave you to ponder that, Giles.”
As the call ended, Giles turned to Artemis.
“Did you catch any of that?” he asked.
“Only snatches,” she replied.
Giles nodded. He feared Artemis had heard more than that.
Danger lurked around every corner for Phoenix and Rusty when they were in the field. It was a chilling thought that the same might soon apply to everyone working here in the ice-house.
“Whatever we learn in here has to kept from anyone other than our superiors,” he reminded her. Maria Elena was innocent in this. It might soon be time to suggest she visited her parents back in Estepona.
In Kettering, while Phoenix was talking to Giles, Rusty had contacted Cliff Barclay. The Irregular arrived back from Corby thirty minutes later for a debrief with him and Phoenix.
“Do we have their names?” asked Phoenix.
“Rick Francis the bloke involved,” said Cliff, “he is one sick, depraved individual. His partner, Leigh-Anne Dyson, is complicit in everything that’s happening. She’s the manipulative one in the team. She persuades the youngsters to start on the drink and drugs. She’s not afraid to use violence to get what she wants either. Francis is a dangerous bastard, but the pair of them are evil. Their victims are traumatised beyond belief. Who knows if they’ll ever find their way back?”
“Thanks, Cliff. Sorry you had to go through that ordeal, mate,” said Rusty.
“Just make them suffer, Rusty, that’s all I ask.”
“Take a break, Cliff,” said Phoenix. “We’ll sort them out tonight. The sooner those kids get help, the better.”
Cliff went upstairs to his room. Phoenix and Rusty prepared for their evening’s mission. As night fell, they left the safe house. Two hours later Rick Francis and Leigh-Anne Dyson were in the back of the Olympus van parked outside the safe house.
Cliff Barclay asked if he could drive the prisoners to Larcombe Manor. He wanted to hand them over to Henry Case in person.
“I know he won’t let me watch,” said Cliff, “but I want to tell them what will happen to them on the way to Bath.”
Phoenix sent him on his way. He called Giles to let Henry know to expect an angry Welshman.
Phoenix asked for one of the nearby Olympus teams to send a car they could use until they returned to Larcombe on Friday.
Rusty could travel back on the train with him to Bath Spa. He had often let the train take the strain when Erebus was in charge.
“After three hours with Cliff, those two will check into Hotel California without a murmur,” said Rusty.
Thursday, 15th January 2015
“Any news on the children?” asked Artemis.
“We had to quieten them to get them to come with us,” replied Rusty. “Francis and Dyson were high as kites when we broke into the flat. The kids were asleep, locked in the spare bedroom. As soon as we’d taken out the two so-called adults, we busted open the door. You don’t want to know the state of their living conditions. It would turn your stomach. The kids cowered in their beds; the stench of urine was overpowering. We tried to calm them without resorting to the needle, but it was hopeless.”
“Where did you take them?” asked Artemis.
“To the police station on London Road. We did our usual drop-off, with a message — no big surprise. Nobody came outside to see what we had done. Giles put the CCTV camera on the fritz for one minute. Enough time for our visit to be undetected. Pray those kids receive the help they need.”
“Weren’t this bloke Francis and his accomplice ever on the radar from social services?”
“I think so, years back, but they didn’t have the resources to pursue the case. One of the staff went on long-term sick, and the others couldn’t handle the extra workload.”
“A familiar story,” sighed Artemis.
“I love you,” said Rusty.
“I know you do, come back safe,” said Artemis.
“You OK, mate?” said Phoenix,
overhearing the last exchange.
“We both want kids,” said Rusty, “and there’s no way we could ever treat a child as those two did. It’s the uncertainty that’s the problem. With trouble brewing, is it the wrong time to even be thinking of it?”
“Don’t wait,” said Phoenix. “It was the best thing that ever happened, both times. Enjoy every day while you can.”
Phoenix stood up and headed for the door.
“That sounds like our car, Time to stop being morbid. Let’s find Don and Sandy. I want to get the guy responsible for these gangland shootings.”
Rusty drove them into Northampton. It felt better not having the van. They had used that when they were meeting up with Ben and Ross. As they entered Castle Ward at ten o’clock, they used the comms to set up a meet.
“Sandy can you and Don get across to Victoria Park?” asked Phoenix.
“We’re on our way,” replied Sandy.
Rusty parked the car, and the two agents walked through the park. It was far from deserted despite the wintry day.
“There’s the Irregular couple,” said Rusty, spotting them up ahead.
“Or the odd couple,” said Phoenix. “They look scary, don’t they?”
“Right you two,” said Phoenix, calling them on his mike. “Sit on the bench twenty yards in front of you. We’ll stop here on the opposite side of the path, looking across to the stream. If anyone approaches, keep talking amongst yourselves. We’ll pick it up once they’ve gone.”
“Understood,” said Don Donovan, “we’ve got a name for you.”
“Kieran Freeman, a twenty-eight-year-old gang member,” said Sandy Nesbitt. “He’s been the enforcer for the main gang in the town for the past two years.”
“Freeman has three confirmed kills, two possible and two kneecappings,” added Donovan. “I half expected him to have emblems on the side door of his flash car, the same as fighter pilots in WWII.”
Sandy had a fit of the giggles.
“Is that for real or is she still playing a role?” asked Rusty, with his hand over his mike.
