by Ted Tayler
The Olympus agents in the fish and chip van were still selling its produce. Phoenix parked twenty yards up the road and studied the faces in the queue.
“The twins aren’t outside fetching their supper,” he muttered, “and this group of young kids and senior citizens don’t look like the local mafia. We go ahead as planned.”
Phoenix drove into a side street opposite the van. At the next junction, he turned left, switched off his headlights, and crept along to the end of the cul-de-sac. He turned the vehicle around, ready for a sharp exit.
Once outside, he and Rusty donned their balaclavas, checked their weapons, and pushed open the back gate. The weeds and nettles stood waist-high. Rusty narrowly avoided kicking a rusty old bicycle, abandoned in what had been a lawn when the twins were at junior school. They reached the back door. Nobody inside had stirred.
Rusty had seen a neighbour at an upstairs window, a man out walking his dog, a lady putting more rubbish into an overflowing bin, and nobody had uttered a word. It wasn’t hard to see why. On the other side of the estate last year, someone broke in and killed a bloke over a debt of a mere forty pounds. Community spirit only travelled so far. It didn’t extend to sticking your nose in where it wasn’t wanted.
Phoenix stood aside gun raised. Rusty worked on the door lock. Fifteen seconds later they were inside the kitchen. Phoenix made a mental note to tell his friend he was losing his touch. He could hear sounds from the TV, and he wasn’t sure whether it was hip-hop or another brand of American crap. It was annoying; and loud, which suited their purpose. The Mullen twins hadn’t been disturbed.
Rusty waited at the closed door to the first bedroom, checking for movement inside. Phoenix paused at the entrance to the living room, nodded to Rusty and then burst through the open door. Terry Mullen lay on a battered, black leather settee staring at the TV screen. Terry tried to move his head to focus on the intruder.
He’s stoned, thought Phoenix, not what we needed. We’ll get nothing out of him in this state. It took him thirty seconds to secure the young thug and get him ready to transfer to the people carrier.
Rusty had followed his friend’s orders. At the nod from Phoenix, he entered Dale Mullen’s room, gun at the ready in case the lad was armed. Dale was asleep. Empty bottles of Newcastle Brown littered the upturned cardboard box that served as a bedside table.
“Damn,” he said, looking at the clothes strewn on the floor, “please don’t tell me I have to get you dressed.”
Rusty pulled back the duvet. His worst fears were confirmed.
“My apologies, I should have knocked,” said Phoenix, when he entered the room a minute later.
“Yeah, very funny,” said Rusty, adjusting a pair of jeans on Dale’s inert figure. “Give me a hand. Dale’s as drunk as a skunk. The bedclothes smell like he was too lazy to get up for a pee. How’s his brother?”
“Stoned out of his head,” replied Phoenix. “How are we supposed to get a confession out of these two now?”
“We can take them back to Larcombe, let Henry have them for an hour,” Rusty suggested.
Phoenix didn’t want to deviate from his plan, but he could see no option. He looked at his watch.
“Right, you finish up securing Dale. I’ll carry Terry outside and chuck him in the back. Bring Dale when you’re ready. Find something to gag them. I don’t want to listen to them mouthing off on the way home.”
“Are we returning to the safe house first and driving home in the morning?” asked Rusty.
“It seems such a waste,” said Phoenix, “we’re here now, and the Dwyer gang need our attention. Let’s get these two stowed away first, and then we can discuss it over a beer.”
“You only let me buy two cans earlier, to drink with our pizza,” said Rusty, “we’re out of supplies.”
“The pubs will be open for another hour,” said Phoenix, “we’ll have a late one, for a change.”
As Rusty closed the door of the twin’s property behind him, he checked the surrounding homes and gardens. There was nothing to see, and nobody was watching them. Terry and Dale Mullen were soon in the back of the people carrier. The interior window was up, and the agents could drive back to the safe house in silence. In the back, both boys were now half-awake and wondering where the heck they were.
“They won’t be going anywhere,” said Phoenix, when they parked at the safe house, “just leave them in the back. Let’s walk back to that pub we passed on the last roundabout.”
At five past ten, the two agents sat in the corner of the bar. Old habits caused them to sit facing the doors, with an unobstructed view of everyone in the place. Not that there were many drinkers tonight.
The barman told them it was always quiet on Thursday evenings.
“It’ll be manic tomorrow, and Saturday mind,” he added.
“To be honest, I thought we’d see more activity on the streets,” Rusty said to Phoenix, as he sipped his pint of lager. “Although there were a few groups of youths loitering on the Cowgate, over here, nearer the Tyne it’s civilised.”
“They don’t get the urban street gangs up here, or the violence associated with them in the south,” said Phoenix, “but that’s not to say the threat isn’t there, it could surface at any time.”
Rusty saw Phoenix was nursing the last dregs of his drink. He offered to get another round. Phoenix nodded towards two men who had slipped in from the public bar.
“Don’t stand too close, or turn your head,” he said, “just try to catch what those two are saying.”
Rusty carried the empty glasses to the bar. The barman was serving in the public bar. Rusty leaned on the counter and studied the row of optics. He could overhear snatches of the conversation. The guy with his back to him was a loud talker. His voice carried. Either he didn’t notice anyone else in the bar, or he didn’t care. The man with him was facing towards the counter, and Rusty could lip-read most of what he said, despite his voice being much quieter, thanks to the mirrored wall behind the optics.
“Same again?” called the barman, as he walked from the other end of the bar.
“Please,” replied Rusty.
The two men moved away from the counter and sat on a table next to the door to the public bar. Rusty paid for the drinks and strolled back to where Phoenix sat. Both sets of men now sat opposite one another.
“Do you know who the guy on the left is,” asked Phoenix.
“The other bloke called him Phil or Will, can’t be sure.”
“I’ll bet you any money that’s Phil Dwyer,” muttered Phoenix. “We had an old photo of him on file. Taken before he went to jail for the assault on the taxi driver. He’s spent a fair amount of the past seven years getting tattoos, shaving his head, and building muscle in the exercise areas. While you were hanging around up there at the bar, I was trying to imagine him without the changes, and now I’m convinced it’s him.”
“He offered the other bloke a job,” said Rusty, “he told him they needed to recruit men for doorstep visits to clients. Those that were late making payments. I don’t think he was interested, but they’re still in discussions, by the looks of it.”
Phoenix thought for a while.
“I want you to take the twins back to Larcombe tonight. Don’t drink that lager, or you’ll be over the limit. I’ll call the ice-house and leave a message for Henry. You should be home by three. Henry can start the day with interrogation at six. He should have the answers we need before the meeting at nine. I’ll tell him to pull out the stops.”
“What are you going to do?” asked Rusty.
“Go undercover,” replied Phoenix.
“On your own? That’s dangerous, and not in line with Olympus protocol. You should know that. We rewrote the damn thing after we lost the men in Portsmouth.”
“There were two of them, with a handler, and they still died,” said Phoenix. “We need another significant result against the Grid. I’m on the spot. It’s too good an opportunity to miss. If Dwyer needs a man to knock
on doors, then I’ll be that man.”
“Be careful, Phoenix,” said Rusty, “keep your phone on you at all times. We can use the GPS to keep track of you from Larcombe. When will your first check-in be? I’ll warn Giles to expect it. What codeword will you use?”
“I’ll be careful,” said Phoenix. “I’ll message him every morning at eight. If he doesn’t receive ‘Judas Priest’, then send the cavalry from our Newcastle team to wherever my phone tells you I am.”
“I don’t like it,” said Rusty.
“Tough,” said Phoenix, with a grin. “I’m sticking to the band I love. No way will I send ‘Abba’ as a message just to appease your middle-of-the-road tastes.”
“You never change. Don’t expect me to explain this to Athena, mate. She will not be happy.”
“No risk, no reward,” said Phoenix. “Now, bugger off back to Bath.”
Rusty shook his head and left. Phoenix stared across the bar at Dwyer and the reluctant debt collector. The conversation appeared to have died. It was only a matter of time. He sat and waited.
Dwyer stood up and walked to the bar.
“Another pint, Mick, when you’re ready,” he called. The barman was serving in the public bar, again.
Phoenix sensed he was being watched. Phil Dwyer checked him out in the mirror. His companion had now finished his beer and was leaving. He glanced at Phoenix as he passed him on his way outside to the street.
The last few customers were preparing to do the same. Mick came through to serve Phil Dwyer and then came around the end of the bar to collect empty glasses. It was the fag-end of the night. Everyone was keen to get home.
“Your pal’s had enough then?” said Mick, pointing to Rusty’s pint.
“Early start in the morning,” replied Phoenix, “it won’t go to waste. I’ll finish it. I’ve nowhere to be tomorrow.”
When Mick moved to clear the next table, Phil Dwyer sat on the chair opposite Phoenix.
“You’re not from around here,” said Dwyer. “So, what’s your game?”
“Game?” asked Phoenix.
“Nobody comes into this part of town by choice. So, you’re either a copper or a nonce.”
“I’m neither,” said Phoenix, “and talk like that is likely to get someone into a heap of pain.”
Phil Dwyer stared at the man opposite. He had met every sort in prison and on the streets of the city. He could usually get a read on them within a few seconds. This bloke was a mystery.
“How long have you been out?” asked Phoenix.
“What do you mean?” asked Dwyer.
“It doesn’t take a genius to see you got your latest tats done inside by an amateur. You’re busting out of that shirt too, so you’ve had plenty of spare time to work out. Now, stop pissing me off, and let me finish my drink.”
“Where’s your boyfriend gone? If you’re not the law, then maybe you’re a poofter?”
“Wrong again. How many more guesses have you got? The guy I was drinking with is a delivery driver. He’s taking two packages south in the morning. I’ve been working as a delivery driver’s mate. A zero-hours contract, on minimum wage, isn’t what I wanted out of life. I told him to stick his job up his arse. Is there a job around here that pays better?”
Dwyer took a large sip of his beer. Phoenix could see the cogs in his pea-sized brain working. Come on, you can do it, he thought. It’s not a great leap.
“If you’re looking for a job, maybe I can help,” said Dwyer.
At last, thought Phoenix.
“Not sure I want to work for a bloke who thinks everyone has a secret to hide,” said Phoenix, finishing up his drink, and swapping the glass for Rusty’s.
“We need people who can handle themselves, door to door on the estates around Newcastle and Sunderland,” said Dwyer. “You look as if you could fit the bill. The money will be better than riding shotgun for Citylink. Cash in hand at the end of every day.”
“So, it’s a debt collection firm. I’m cool with that,” said Phoenix, “where do I need to be, and when?”
“Meet me here at noon tomorrow. I’ll set you up with one of our regulars. He’ll show you the ropes. It’s more than a debt collection firm. We loan them the money they pay it back with interest. You only call around when they forget.”
“How heavy do I need to get?” asked Phoenix.
“Watch, listen and learn from the guy you meet tomorrow. I ain’t going to spell it out for you. Either you’re in, after tomorrow, or you’re out. It’s no skin off my nose.”
“Noon tomorrow then,” said Phoenix, finishing his drink. He stood up and headed for the door.
Dwyer watched him leave. As the door closed behind him, he too drank up. Then he walked to the door, held the door open for a while and then stepped outside. He saw Phoenix fifty yards up the street passing under a streetlamp.
“Let’s see where you’re going, pal,”
Phoenix had heard the door. He walked past the entrance to the safe house and headed for the row of shops and offices where he and Rusty had shopped earlier. He thought he remembered a Chinese takeaway. There it was, and it was still open. Phoenix ordered his food and waited. When he came outside with his carrier bag, he searched the street for Dwyer. He was in the doorway of an estate agency across the road. Right, time to have fun. He turned around, went back inside the shop and checked the menu board again. The local taxi firm had an advert at the bottom. He called for a ride home. Three minutes later he was in the back of a cab and pulling away from the kerb.
“Where to mate,” said the Asian cabbie.
“A mystery tour,” said Phoenix. “Make it look as if you’re heading to the centre, and then double back. My place is fifty yards up the road back there. I’ll make it worth your while. I’m being stalked.”
“You’re the boss,” said the driver.
The cab dropped Phoenix outside the safe house twenty minutes later. There was no sign of Phil Dwyer. He had got fed up and walked home. The people carrier had gone too, Rusty was on the road, delivering two human packages to Henry Case at Larcombe Manor.
Phoenix let himself in, took a seat in the lounge, and tucked into his supper. He finished every mouthful. His appetite had been piqued when meeting Dwyer. Working undercover was something he had done with success over the years. He had missed it.
At midnight, Phoenix went to bed. He had to be up by eight, to send the message to Giles. That was the easy part.
Phoenix had to call Athena too to explain why he was taking such a risk. That was a conversation he was dreading.
CHAPTER 10
Friday, 18th July 2014
Rusty arrived at the ice-house at four in the morning. Henry waited for him at the entrance, half-awake and grumpy.
“Why on earth did you have to book customers in at such an unearthly hour?” he asked, as the lift took them and the Mullen twins to Level Three.
“Don’t blame me, Henry,” said Rusty, “it was Phoenix’s idea. He wanted me out of the picture as soon as possible. These two tearaways need to confess their sins. Then they can receive a just punishment.”
Henry swallowed hard. None of this would improve his chances of a happy future with the Reverend Sarah Gough. Two tearaways, they might be, but they were only nineteen years young.
Both were awake and alert now. The gags prevented their anger from being much more than squirming and struggling against the restraints that secured their wrists and ankles.
“Quit wasting your time,” shouted Rusty, tired after the five-hour drive. He wanted to get to bed. It wasn’t long before he would be up again, and into the meeting room with Athena. Another long day stretched before him.
Henry and Rusty shoved the prisoners into separate interrogation rooms, secured them to steel chairs bolted to the floor, and left them alone. Henry turned the speakers up to maximum and fed them a selection of classical compositions by Wagner.
“That should soften them up,” he grunted. “I’ll have an early breakfast. Then I�
��ll return to see if they’re softened up sufficiently for the next phase of their short stay here.”
“Get them to admit to their role in the murder of Solomon Hussain,” said Rusty, “and they can move to Hotel California.”
“Do you wish to be present?” asked Henry.
Rusty was taken aback. Head Case had never invited anyone to attend an execution. He shrugged.
“If you need someone to hold your hand.”
Henry was quiet for a moment.
“Look,” he said, “you and Artemis have a good relationship, am I right?”
“Yes,” replied Rusty.
“I want the same for Sarah and me, but if she discovered the reality of what I do here, then it would be a forlorn hope.”
“So, you need someone to do the dirty work for you?” asked Rusty. “Yeah, I can see that’s tricky. My suggestion is you talk it over with Athena, in private. She knows Sarah. She would be sympathetic, I’m sure. We have enough agents, going through training and retraining on site these days. The newbies don’t really need to be blooded. Most will have killed, in Afghanistan or Iraq.”
“I could explain it away as a final test in their training programme,” said Henry, at last seeing a way out of his predicament. “If they can’t kill a criminal in cold blood, then they won’t be fit for purpose in the field. Thanks, Rusty, you have given me renewed hope.”
Rusty gave his colleague a friendly tap on the shoulder. It was strange to discover Henry was so enamoured of the vicar. They made an odd couple, but who was he to criticise? He and Artemis might appear to be chalk and cheese to many observers.
“See you later, Henry,” he said and took the lift back to the surface.
Rusty slipped into bed alongside Artemis. It was a few minutes before five. She stirred and opened one eye.
“Hello, darling,” she whispered, “you’re back. How did it go?”
“The Bradford part of the mission went like clockwork. I’ve returned with the Mullen twins and left them in Henry’s tender care. Phoenix has gone undercover in Newcastle.”
Artemis was awake now.