A Frequent Peal of Bells

by Ted Tayler

  “Henry, I want you to review our security protocols. Not only here at Larcombe, but across the board. Every safehouse must be invisible. Every agent needs to be reminded of their duty to keep Olympus safe. We are practised at staying off the radar of the authorities. It’s imperative we extend that to include anyone who might be associated with the Grid.”

  “Understood, Athena,” said Henry.

  “Giles and Artemis, return to the ice-house. Gather every scrap of intelligence on these killings today. Use whatever CCTV and communications data you can access to discover who carried out these attacks, Trace the killers to their origin if you can. We will act when the time is right. Switch personnel from other duties. I’ll leave you to assess priorities for the short term. Phoenix and Rusty need someone on their shoulder this evening. The targets they seek have been active in the region for weeks. These aren’t new to the game. Liaise with Phoenix and guide him towards the specific riders we want. There’s little to gain from a random stop. When we talked last night, Phoenix told me the brothers who tried to mug him last night were small fry.”

  Giles and Artemis left the room along with Henry Case.

  “I’m sure you two know what to do, don’t you?” asked Athena.

  “I’ll continue to monitor the news reports,” said Alastor, “if a major news story breaks I’ll be in touch.”

  “The only people we haven’t heard from are the Prime Minister and the Home Secretary,” said Minos. “I thought someone might have appeared on TV by now. I’ll keep watch for that. Tomorrow, while we meet to discuss the aftermath of these attacks we can expect statements in the House of Commons. That should be a lively morning to end the week.”

  A message alert sounded on Athena’s phone.

  “I’ve received word from Hugh Fraser,” she said, “he wants to know if he should come back tonight.”

  “He’s taken time off to attend the two funerals, hasn’t he?” asked Alastor.

  “Yes, he went to Manchester for Jacks’s funeral on Tuesday. Finn’s funeral is tomorrow, in Staffordshire.”

  “Does Fraser have family in the north?” asked Alastor, “I know he’s divorced, but I can’t recall them having had children.”

  “He hasn’t been with us at Larcombe for long, but we always try to accommodate agents when they ask for leave. Hugh has been with Olympus long enough to earn a rest. Why he stayed up there between the two funerals, I can only guess.”

  “I sense you have more than a guess, Athena,” said Minos, “nothing sinister, I hope?”

  “Ambrosia seemed keen to form an alliance with Hugh Fraser straight after his appointment. It was understandable. The Irregulars were her idea. Hugh oversaw developing that project and I saw no reason to object to her visiting Larcombe to discuss matters with him. It’s not usual for a senior Olympian to drop in here unannounced. Erebus told me Zeus and Hera came here on rare occasions in the early days of the Project. Our mentor was against the others visiting. He reckoned it posed an unnecessary security risk.”

  “We have details of her visits,” said Alastor, “nobody crosses that cattle grid at the gate without the fact being recorded.”

  “Keep me informed of her trips south, Alastor,” said Athena, “the frequency and length of her stay might highlight their true nature.”

  “They’re both single,” said Minos, “so, if it’s not to discuss Irregular business, it’s not irregular.”

  “Touché,” said Athena. “Thank goodness we found a lighter note to end on today. I’ll see you both in the morning.”

  Athena returned to the apartment. It had been an exhausting day. She needed to be with Hope. The giggles and splashes from the bathroom told her Maria Elena was getting her daughter ready for bed. Athena went to the kitchen to see if she could prepare a quick meal. Her appetite was dulled by events in the past ten hours.

  “You’re back,” said the nanny, as she carried a chubby-cheeked infant into the lounge.

  “I need a cuddle,” said Athena, “today has been dreadful.”

  Maria Elena handed the warm, fresh-smelling bundle to her mother. Hope wanted a cuddle too; ten hours was a long time without setting eyes on either Mummy or Daddy.

  “I didn’t watch much of the news,” said Maria Elena, “it wasn’t right for Hope to see. We watched children’s TV, played games, and took a walk around the vegetable patch. There’s always plenty to tell her. She takes everything in even if she can’t say the words yet.”

  “Thanks again for filling in at short notice,” said Athena, “tomorrow might bring better news. Phoenix will be home, and after the morning meeting we should be able to cope.”

  Maria Elena said goodbye and left. Giles had rung her to say he had to work underground until midnight. She had another evening alone to catch up on her favourite box sets.

  *****

  In St Johns Wood, Phoenix and Rusty got ready to leave the safe house to begin another evening’s fun.

  The riders they targeted had terrorised the streets around the Abbey Road Studios for weeks. Nearby attractions were a magnet for tourists and gave the gang ample opportunity to snatch mobile phones, cameras, and handbags. Phones and cameras were easy to dispose of for cash in the local pubs. Handbags were where the real money could be earned. Literally, if the tourists carried bundles of cash; but the credit cards and sometimes passports proved invaluable. They always found a ready market for those.

  “Why do tourists flock to these old studios?” asked Phoenix, “that waxworks place is only half a mile away.”

  Rusty didn’t comment. There was no educating him sometimes. Phoenix’s phone rang. The same old ringtone. It had to be Giles.

  “Giles, what have you got for me?” asked Phoenix.

  “The team are on the move. Artemis is tracking them on CCTV. They’re riding through Maida Vale.”

  “We’re two hundred yards from the safe house. Where does Artemis reckon they’re headed, and which road gets us there quickest to intercept?”

  “They’ve turned onto Abercorn Place,” said Giles, “their next right will take them on to Abbey Road and lead them towards the studios. Are you on Finchley Road yet?”

  “Joining it now,” replied Phoenix.

  “Turn right onto Grove End Road and you’ll be on Abbey Road in no time. Good hunting.”

  “Thanks, Giles. Keep a close eye on things. Update me if you see something suspicious.”

  “Will do, Phoenix.” Giles ended the call. He and Artemis resumed their analysis of the Grid attacks. They searched for clues to identify which gang initiated the killings. The killers could have come from any direction. The final pockets of non-Grid enthusiasts had been surrounded and now obliterated.

  Rusty drove them along Grove End Road and reached the junction with Abbey Road. Traffic had become lighter now; the rush hour was ending. The pause before the night-time rush was all too brief. London never sleeps, and hundreds of pedestrians covered the pavements.

  “We can’t use the same ploy as last night,” said Phoenix, “it’s too busy. We can follow them and move in when they’re preparing to strike.”

  “That’s risky,” said Rusty, “if they spot a tail they’re only two minutes from Edgware Road. If they reach the Westway, they’ll be swallowed up in traffic in no time and we’ll have lost them for the night.”

  “It looks as if we use Plan C then?” said Phoenix.

  “I didn’t know you had prepared a Plan C.”

  “We’ve got the masks, why waste them? We locate the three riders, follow as close as we can without drawing their attention, and before they move in on anyone, we strike.”

  “What, right in the middle of this crowd of people?” asked Rusty.

  “Giles, can you hear?” asked Phoenix.

  “I’m right on your shoulder, as instructed,” Giles replied.

  “There are biker gangs out there who are active on social media, aren’t there? Annoyed at these punks giving bikes a bad reputation. Time for a little misinforma
tion. Start spreading the news. A vigilante group is due to take the law into their own hands. If the police won’t chase these riders, the true bikers will.”

  “I’ll get on it straight away,” said Giles.

  “Hold fire until I’ve hit somebody,” said Phoenix.

  “Your targets are sixty yards to your left, Phoenix,” said Giles, “they’re cruising, searching for fruit to pick.”

  “We’ve got them, Giles, thanks,”

  The riders and their pillion passengers paid too much attention to passing foot traffic to notice the van. There were so many targets; so little time. They planned one rapid strike each, and then a sprint home through Maida Vale. If they struck gold, they might earn enough money for a great weekend.

  In the van, the pig masks were donned, the stun guns readied. The front bike accelerated, A target had been selected ten yards ahead. The rider slewed the bike in front of a stationary pair of Japanese tourists. He was taking a photograph of his wife. She looked over her shoulder, to make sure they didn’t get in anyone’s way.

  The two riders behind slowed and spread out across the lane preventing traffic behind from passing.

  Both the rider and his passenger struck. This was no simple snatch and then blast away from the kerb at high speed. The two thugs produced steel rods, ten inches long. The man and his wife threw up their arms to protect their heads. While the pillion passenger grabbed cameras and phones from the couple, the rider took the handbag from the woman. He even wrenched the rings from her fingers.

  Passers-by stopped in horror as the tourists slumped to the ground. Their attackers remounted the bike and made to flee the scene. The outriders prepared to follow but were alerted by the sound of a vehicle closing at speed.

  Rusty had put his foot hard on the accelerator. The van hit both bikes a glancing blow as it powered between them. Riders and passengers crashed to the ground. Phoenix watched as members of the public rushed forward to help the stricken tourists. They would need to spend the rest of their visit to the capital in the hospital, but it could have been worse.

  There were no helpers for the other members of the gang.

  The lead attack bike struggled to pull away.

  “When he dropped the scooter his engine died,” shouted Rusty, “We’ve gained valuable seconds when he had to hot-wire it again.”

  The traffic lights ahead had turned to red. The rider wasn’t in the mood to stop, but it wasn’t his lucky day. A Harley-Davidson idled on the near side of a London Transport bus at the head of the queue. The hairy biker didn’t move for anyone. The railings on the curved bend prevented the scooter from escaping via the pavement. Rusty closed right up on the rear of the scooter. They were trapped. If only for the seconds before the lights changed.

  Phoenix and Rusty leapt out, and each zapped a target with the stun gun. They thrust the semi-conscious bodies into the van. The lights changed as they returned to their front seats. The bus passengers weren’t sure what had happened. Maybe it was for a TV show or a student prank? The biker had turned to look behind. He realised what was happening and gave the agents the thumbs-up as he roared away.

  Traffic behind them grew impatient. Horns blared, but Rusty took his time. They were in no rush. Time to return to the safe house with their captives. Someone else could remove the scooter. The lads in the back didn’t need it.

  “There’s no point dissuading these two from nicking the odd iPhone, is there?”

  Phoenix shook his head.

  “We’ll truss them up nice and tight and relieve them of the items they stole. Then we’ll bag those, together with the weapons, taking care not to leave any prints. I’ll check where the nearest police station is, and we can dump them on the front steps.”

  “Aggravated assault is the least they can be charged with,” said Rusty. “I’d hope for a lengthy custodial sentence given the prolific history this gang has gathered.”

  The changeover at the safe house only took five minutes. Phoenix looked for the closest Metropolitan Police station. It stood on Fortune Green Road, less than two miles away. Rusty took a leisurely drive up Finchley Road and slowed as he approached the drop-off point.

  Phoenix jumped out of the passenger seat, opened the rear doors, and dragged the two thugs across the pavement and onto the flight of steps in front of the building. Rusty had stapled a bag containing the tourists’ belongings to the rider. The pillion passenger wore the bag with their steel bars.

  Another case solved. Unless the Met and the Crown Prosecution Service got something wrong with the paperwork.

  Thirty seconds later, the van disappeared into the distance. Rusty headed for the M40. A short trip on the road to nowhere, the M25, gave them access to the M4 without too much of a detour.

  “We’ll be home in time for a late supper,” he said.

  “I’m glad this mission’s over,” said Phoenix. “I didn’t enjoy terrorising that twelve-year-old last night.”

  “I know what you mean,” said Rusty. “But this menace needs tackling, otherwise more lads will see it as a lucrative alternative to earning an honest living. There are hundreds of these scooters and mopeds on the road. We had one following us now. He may have been back there earlier after we left the police station, but I’ve lost him now. He was too far behind to miss catching a red light before the roundabout where we joined the M4.”

  Miguel Fernando still rode on the M25, searching in vain for the dark van with tinted windows. The twenty-five-year-old mechanic had moved to London from Sheffield five years ago. In the evenings he worked as a courier. His daytime job involved breaking up stolen used cars for parts. The gang Miguel worked for set up bogus hire companies and loaned prestige cars such as BMWs, Audi, and Range Rovers. The parts got exported in container loads heading for Africa and the Far East.

  As Phoenix and Rusty made their way back to Bath, Miguel called his boss.

  “I’ve seen a van matching the description you gave us. They were on the M25, but I lost them. When I first spotted them, they had left two bodies at the cop shop in West Hampstead. I got a picture on my phone I can send you. Won’t do you much good though. They wore pig masks. Will I get that bonus?”

  The Olympus agents arrived at Larcombe after ten o’clock. Home safe for now, but was that photo the first crack in the Project’s security?

  CHAPTER 4

  Friday, 3rd October 2014

  Phoenix awoke to the sound of rain lashing against the bedroom window. The sunny and warm spell at the end of September was a distant memory. Autumn heralded its arrival. Athena was asleep beside him. Hope stirred in the nursery, but she seemed content for now.

  He got out of bed and stretched. There was something he had thought of last night, what had it been? The van, that had been it. He needed to tell the transport section to dispose of it. In case the tail they picked up last night on the M25 had noted the registration. Rusty hadn’t covered it while they motored around North West London.

  Athena risked opening one eye.

  “What’s the time?”

  “Seven,” Phoenix replied.

  “I’d love to stay here,” she groaned.

  “I’d love to join you, but today won’t be any easier than yesterday.”

  Phoenix left his wife wrestling with her conscience and went for a shower. As he studied his face after a shave he wondered where the years had gone. Time was catching up with him. Was forty-six classed as middle-aged these days? Rusty was much the same age. He didn’t appear to have aged in the past four years, but neither of them could stay in this game forever.

  “Are you nearly finished?” asked Athena from the other side of the bathroom door.

  “I’m decent if you’re coming in,” he replied.

  “If you’re decent, what’s the point?” she said, as she entered.

  “Are you hungry?” asked Phoenix.

  “For you, always,” she replied.

  Along the corridor, they both heard Hope was now wide awake as she yelled for attent
ion.

  “I’ll cook us a hearty breakfast,” said Phoenix, “you carry on, I’ll collect Hope and she can watch me in the kitchen.”

  “Life’s not fair, is it?” said Athena, giving him a pout.

  “When I look at you and Hope, life’s damned good,” said Phoenix as he made for the nursery.

  Family time always got squeezed between sleep, meetings, and crises. Both Phoenix and Athena knew they must make the most of the time the Project left them free to relax. They enjoyed the ninety minutes this lull in proceedings offered. When Maria Elena arrived to start another day, she found the three in the kitchen smiling and happy.

  “It’s going to be better today, no?” she asked.

  “We live in hope,” said Phoenix.

  The couple left the nanny with their daughter and walked to the meeting room. Everyone was eager to start. Today was Friday. If they got through today without another crisis, at least they might get the weekend to recharge the batteries.

  “What’s the latest on the Grid’s attacks yesterday, Giles?” asked Athena.

  “Nothing new overnight, Athena. No further deaths. I imagine the Grid are congratulating themselves.”

  “What progress on locating the killers?” asked Phoenix.

  “Slow, but steady,” replied Artemis, “we have a list of suspects for each strike. It will be a painstaking task reducing the numbers until we’ve got formal identification for the culprits. We could be ready to act a week from now.”

  “That fits in with our meeting next Wednesday in London,” said Athena, “if we take names to Zeus for him to approve that’s preferable.”

  “We’ll be busy next weekend, Rusty,” said Phoenix.

  “That’s inadvisable,” said Athena. “Eight different regions with direct actions needed? You need to work with Rusty on the planning, but we’ll delegate responsibility to the most relevant teams to carry out the attacks.”

  “Can we not do the Bristol job? It’s on our doorstep,” asked Phoenix.

  “You know what you’re not supposed to do on your own doorstep, Phoenix,” said Henry Case. “If you must undertake a mission, then it should be in Devon or Wales.”