by Ted Tayler
He had spun the story well. “They were looking for people who liked hard work, didn’t mind getting their hands dirty, and prepared to travel around the country chasing up clients. I got in touch and they employed me. They offered me the job no questions asked; as long as I hit my quotas they’ll keep employing me.”
It did the trick. They swapped mobile phone numbers, and he promised to ring her as soon as he had a break due. She hadn’t rung him in the past two months. Colin got the feeling Therese was a strong woman; capable of standing on her own. He did not classify her as the clingy, needy type.
Colin decided to let sleeping dogs lie.
With another problem sorted, even if only for a short time, he thought of those sleeping dogs. He wouldn’t get to enjoy a full night’s sleep tonight, so he had better get his shut-eye now. As the afternoon dozed away for Colin at Larcombe Manor, in Milton Keynes the situation was to take a dramatic turn for Abdul Rivzi. Although Olympus ignored his activities on market stalls scattered around the Midlands, other agencies did not.
Today was the day for Abdul to appear in court. After he left hours later, two men in a dark saloon car followed him home.
At the end of the week, a report appeared in the local paper.
“A trader who sold fake designer clothing at a market in Midsummer Boulevard has been given a community sentence and ordered to pay £800 costs. Abdul Rivzi, 51, of Pentagon Way, was handed a community sentence of two hundred and forty hours of unpaid work. In addition, he was ordered to pay costs of £800 having admitted sixteen charges relating to over four hundred items of counterfeit clothing. It follows an anti-counterfeiting operation at the market by Buckinghamshire Trading Standards over an extended period. A council spokesman said having made a test purchase and confirmed it as a fake, Rivzi was arrested and clothing and cash seized. Magistrates considered aggravating factors including an earlier conviction for possessing counterfeit goods and that there had clearly been a number of offences over a lengthy period. They were satisfied that the cash seized formed part of the trading operation and Rivzi forfeited over a thousand items of clothing. Trading Standards believed clamping down on illegal traders such as Rivzi helped the fight against serious organised crime. The sale of counterfeit goods damaged honest businesses who suffer when sales are lost to criminals who peddle these illegal goods. The profits might be used to fund more serious organised crime.”
Abdul Rivzi didn’t see the report. He didn’t serve one hour of his community service. Callers at his home over the next couple of weeks found the property appeared to be empty. His car sat in his driveway. There was never any sign of the mole whose Olympus handler had code-named ‘Top Gear’.
In the evening, while Colin sat in the canteen eating, and anticipating the arrival of Athena to his room later, Abdul Rivzi was in an abandoned warehouse in Leicester. The men who had followed him from the court were there. Around a dozen other men had joined them.
A chair had been bolted to the floor in the centre of the room. Abdul was lashed securely to it. He was blindfolded and frightened.
An elderly man stepped forward. He spoke quietly to Abdul.
“Who do you report to?” he asked.
“No one. What do you mean?” replied Abdul.
“I thought you might remember that you reported to Waheed Shaikh, the leader of your cell.”
“Him, of course, but why did you ask who I reported to?”
“You have been receiving money. The money you get from selling your goods on the market stalls is not enough to explain the amounts in your bank account. Who has been paying you this money?
Abdul did not reply. He feverishly thought how to explain away the money he had received from his handler. How had this happened? Who had betrayed him?
“If you refuse to answer a question, that’s when the beating starts.”
Four men came forward from the gathered crowd of onlookers. They started with punches, slaps. They tired of that so four other men took their place.
The old man returned to stand next to Abdul.
“It is better you talk. Tell us about the British security services. Who is your handler?”
Abdul’s face bled; his nose broken and several teeth loosened. He tried to speak. The sound that came out was weak and barely a whisper.
“I’ve never spoken to the security services.”
The old man shook his head even though Abdul had spoken the truth.
The group of men surrounded Abdul. He heard them curse him for becoming an MI5 spy, for betraying his people.
“You will be taken out and shot for being a spy.”
“Where you're going, you'll not be telling anybody a thing.”
“We will skin you alive, Abdul, and nobody will hear you scream.”
Finally, the Imam spoke.
“We have tried Abdul. We will leave you to consider. In the morning, you will be ready to tell us what we want to know.”
They cut him from the chair and strung him up, his hands raised above his head. He was to remain in this stress position for eight hours.
The torture continued when he was alone in the room overnight. They left the air conditioning unit on full blast. Abdul was not sure his body could take that cold on top of the beating. He felt sure he would answer their questions in the morning. The beating was preferable to the standing.
At first light, several of the men returned, the elderly Imam accompanied them.
He whispered to their prisoner. “Are you ready to talk now Abdul?”
Abdul heard another voice.
“He is too weak to handle torture, especially electrocution.”
“Perhaps we should try it anyway,” said the Imam.
Abdul drifted away; the pain didn’t register after a while. He was somewhere else, floating on his back in a swimming pool, gazing up at a clear blue sky.
They asked him questions, but his mind had gone.
When he refused to answer, they beat him on the soles of his feet.
Abdul gazed at the sky and relived the events of the last year. He was ‘Top Gear’ a senior figure in the cell at Milton Keynes who acted as an agent for a branch of the secret service. An agency so clandestine, MI5 and MI6 were unaware of their existence.
He was of such value to them he got paid tens of thousands of pounds with the flow of information from him handled by a special intelligence section. He was clearly the most important source within any terrorist cell in the UK.
Inside the cell, he had risen through the ranks to become a key figure. The irony was that one purpose of this cell was to search for informers and agents of the security forces.
Many people, both Al Qaeda members, and others were picked up by the cell and interrogated for lengthy periods of time. Sometimes they held them in Milton Keynes, but on other occasions, they took them to isolated houses in remote areas where they held them for weeks.
Abdul had taken part in such interrogations. He had beaten people to death. He had told his secret security service handler many things, but not the depths of his involvement.
The beatings continued. Abdul Rivzi never gave up the name of his handler. He could not speak. Around seven o’clock in the evening, Abdul grew cold. The sky overhead filled with clouds. It was getting darker.
He was so tired.
It was much easier to sink to the bottom of the swimming pool and sleep.
CHAPTER 11
Erebus returned from visiting Elizabeth. The doctor told him there was little more they could do. It was a matter of time. Erebus expected as much. In a way, he welcomed it. She was no longer the Elizabeth he had known. She was an empty shell. Her body was functioning, but her mind had decided it would no longer have anything to do with it and shut down.
The old man had sat in the main meeting room since five o’clock this morning. Sleep was not possible. To lie in bed alone, as he had done for several years now, just as unattractive. He showered and dressed; ready for the nine o’clock meeting. Then he sat in
the chair and stared ahead, seeing nothing, alone with his memories.
Colin too lay awake. He was alone this morning. Yesterday offered the opportunity to relax, exercise, and fine-tune his plans to disrupt the prison transfer. Thoughts of his passionate encounter with Athena the night before kept him warm throughout the day. As each twenty-four-hour period elapsed, it took the men and women at Larcombe Manor a day closer to their next big challenge.
Athena had used the day before to do her own thinking. She thought about Erebus. How Elizabeth’s situation might affect her mentor’s attitude towards the Olympus Project. Could he retire and pass the reins over to her? Would he be able to commit to the cause the stern challenges that faced them demanded?
Her mind never drifted far from thoughts of Phoenix either; their lovemaking had been both tender and passionate. She had given herself to him completely; yet in the morning, he was cool and distant. It was imperceptible, but she felt it keenly. He reminded her of the need for them to suppress their emotions. The tasks ahead were too important. The security of the nation depended on Olympus getting it right. There would be no second chances.
In Leicester, the body of Abdul Rivzi travelled on its way to its final resting place. The two men who snatched him from his doorstep in Milton Keynes had been given the task. His body was in the boot of their dark saloon car. The driver set the satnav for a lake on a golf course ten miles outside Leicester.
The spy identified as ‘Top Gear’ took his secrets with him to the afterlife. The Imam and his colleagues had broken Abdul physically and mentally, but somehow he clung on to the knowledge they craved. The terrorists lost that battle. Olympus lost a vital, irreplaceable asset. Who suffered the greater loss? Only time would tell.
The clock on the mantelpiece struck the hour; Erebus shook himself awake. Doors were opening and people arriving for the morning meeting. Athena, Thanatos, and Minos walked purposefully forward together to join him. Alastor trailed behind with Henry Case. They appeared troubled.
“Welcome back Erebus,” said Thanatos.
Athena touched the old man’s sleeve and asked, “How’s Elizabeth?”
Erebus shook his head.
“She only has a matter of weeks, maybe even days.”
“I am so sorry, Erebus,” said Athena.
“Is everyone present?” said Erebus, breaking away from the circle of his closest friends and colleagues. Normal service had been resumed.
“Right then, the first item on the agenda is the prisoner switch. Phoenix, will you present your proposal please?”
Alastor spoke.
“Might we digress from the agenda Erebus for a moment? We have urgent and potentially grave news from our intelligence section.”
‘Head’ Case stood up and broke the news to the agents and their superiors around the table. Abdul Rivzi, their invaluable contact within the Milton Keynes cell had failed to contact his handler. He had missed two scheduled contacts so far. Activity monitored via CCTV feeds hacked into by the ice-house computer geeks spotted unusual traffic movements by known cell members in the early hours of this morning.
“Trading Standards…” Henry Case continued.
“What do bloody Trading Standards get to do with it?” exploded Erebus.
Henry explained.
“Alastor and I agree. It is almost certain that the case exposed the details of his bank accounts to someone in the cell and this would have ended in interrogation, torture, and execution. We must assume that they know everything.”
“This was not very much, thank goodness. He knew nothing about whom he worked for,” said Alastor.
“It still gives us a problem,” said Athena. “We place our entire reliance on the ice-house to intercept any email or mobile traffic to and from the cell. We are blind, but at least, we can hear.”
Erebus added, “It also means that the Milton Keynes cell and the other cells in their hub believe that the ‘secret services’ are aware of their existence. In addition, they will suspect the authorities know everything they have planned so far regarding London 2012. This would encourage them to amend their strategy. To do that, meetings are likely to be held, requests for advice and guidance from their superiors and so forth. To lose Abdul Rivzi is a severe blow, but we must keep positive. Most of all we must stay on the alert. Henry, please get that message to your people on the intelligence team.”
“I shall do that right after this meeting, Erebus.”
Colin sat quietly listening to this conversation. He waited for his chance to reveal his plans for the coming operation.
Erebus noticed that Phoenix looked impatient.
“Any comments, Phoenix?”
“It strikes me that if it was an official government authority that was supposed to have planted a mole in the Milton Keynes cell. Therefore, Olympus is in greater danger of being exposed. We consistently try to carry out our direct actions under the radar. If Rivzi’s body is ever discovered, or his family starts asking questions about his disappearance, sooner or later MI5 or MI6 will be alerted. If they didn’t put him inside any cell; who did?”
“Fair comment Phoenix,” said Erebus. “How do we counter that possibility?”
“By making it appear that supporters of Al Qaeda pulled off a spectacular publicity coup in mainland Britain. A coup which switches the security services attention away from the Midlands and Abdul Rivzi while switching the public’s attention towards the failings of the authorities. It might look like this in fact.”
Colin then showed them the details of his daring plan.
After he finished his presentation, the room was silent for a few moments. That silence ended in spontaneous and unprecedented applause.
“Brilliant. Dear boy, you have surpassed yourself,” said Erebus, more animated than he had been for a few weeks.
The direct action received the green light.
Athena stood up and addressed the meeting.
“This mission must not be seen as a cure for the ills the system is experiencing. This is just the first step. We are painfully aware that we have a prison population that is growing. We have fewer officers in prisons than ever before and not enough police to cope with the criminals on the street. So, what we have seen is the unchallenged growth of extremists. Men capable of whipping up anti-British feeling and inspiring their followers to commit acts of terrorism. The authorities have fewer people to search them out these days, so the police service and prison service find it difficult to handle. The government rejects any claim staff shortages are hindering efforts to stop Islamic radicalisation within the prisons. Well, they would, wouldn’t they? They also proposed that the high-security jails should have units that work with the security services to root out extremism. The removal of prisoners from HMP Belmarsh and the others that will follow reduces the chance of serious levels of radicalization occurring. To concentrate the vast majority of potential terrorist troublemakers at HMP Wakefield is an interesting strategy, but a strategy not without risk. Over the last few years, there has been a noticeable change in our gaols, with people becoming radicalised and then getting themselves involved in violent situations. The people responsible for that coercion was the more prominent Muslims inside our prisons. We now know that in HMP Whitemoor, a prison with a large Muslim population, inmates housed there, convicted of terrorism offences, have tried to influence and pressurise others. Non-Muslim prisoners often join the extremists because they are promised protection. Before long, they too are plotting acts of terror and endorsing groups such as Islamic State and al-Qaeda.”
“The answer is to go inside the prisons and make sure the most susceptible people are kept away from those that might turn them into extremists. We cannot keep drugs out of prison. We cannot keep mobile phones out of prison; so it’s clear there are not enough people to prevent the radicalisation,” said Thanatos.
Athena looked at Thanatos; this was not the negative reaction she wanted to hear.
“We cannot be defeatist, Thanatos. As I
say, the direct-action plan devised by Phoenix is the first step. The government appears to believe putting all their bad eggs in one basket will solve the problem of creeping radicalisation at sites across the country. What it will do is turn HMP Wakefield into a one-stop-shop for the would-be terrorist. Wakefield houses Category A prisoners and is the largest high-security prison in the country. The thought of having every extremist together in that cauldron of caged criminality frightens me to death. The government has cut the number of prison officers by a fifth over the past two years, with further reductions to come. Prisoner-to-staff ratio is between four and five to one. This must lead to a significant deterioration in safety. Perhaps the proposed action in the next day or two will reverse the decision to cut staff numbers. It is possible, we might even see new prisons built.”
“We live in hope,” muttered Colin.
Erebus decided that the meeting should close. He was tired. He wanted the executive to reconvene after lunch. Henry Case returned to the ice-house to pass on the old man’s instructions to the covert surveillance team.
Colin walked across to the stable block and identified and arranged the recruitment of the agents he needed for the Belmarsh/Wakefield mission. He gave it the code name ‘Big Break’.
He had a long list of items he needed from stores too, and he needed to pay a quick visit to the transport section. Above anything else, he wanted to reassure himself on the weather forecast. Crikey, it was all-action stuff around here.
Rusty banged on his door and invited himself in straightaway. He had been at the morning meeting, so he knew the score.
“Top job mate,” he said, “what do you need me and the lads to do?”
Colin knew Rusty and several other ex-SAS men scattered around Larcombe Manor were itching to get a gig such as this one.
“Sort out lads with a Yorkshire accent for a kick-off.”
Rusty looked over Colin’s shoulder at the list of items they needed. He spotted the code name.
“I remember that. ‘Big Break’, pot as many balls as you can.”
Colin looked at him with a blank face.