by Ted Tayler
CHAPTER 8
Friday, 7th March 2014
Rusty’s alarm awoke him with a start at five o’clock. What unearthly time was that? Light dawned in his head; if not outside. Phoenix had given them the evening off, after two successful missions yesterday. After a few hours eating, drinking and watching a DVD, he had suddenly announced they were making an early start today.
Phoenix was washed and dressed, working in the lounge when Rusty descended the stairs.
“You never really switch off, do you Phoenix?”
“I’m trying to be the future dutiful husband, Rusty. Thacker needs to pay for his crimes. I want to be free of him. Athena and Hope are expecting me to give them one hundred per cent of my attention this weekend. That film gave me a chance to firm up my plans for the next twenty-four hours.”
“It wasn’t great, was it?” agreed Rusty. “I wonder how many other agents have suffered it here over the years since it came out?”
“It was so bad they may have forced hostages they brought here to watch it before they interrogated them. That would have softened them up nicely.”
“Think about how good ‘Scarface’ was, and ‘The Untouchables’. It’s strange how that one was such a turkey. I guess every director is allowed one mistake.”
“You’d better get a move on, mate,” said Phoenix, “I want us on the road by dawn. Can you be ready in forty-five minutes? When you’ve showered, get these clothes on, and we can leave.”
“No problem,” Rusty replied; and went back upstairs at the double, carrying a uniform.
Phoenix drove the transit van to Brentwood. The traffic was light. A band of rain had moved south-east across their route, and the M25 was slick and shimmering. The skies overhead promised a drier, more pleasant trip home to Larcombe Manor.
“They say the sun always shines on the righteous, don’t they, Rusty?” said Phoenix with a smile.
“So, this passing shower was for Dwight Thacker then, was it?”
“A nasty piece of work, our Dwight. We’ll arrive in Brentwood just after seven. He won’t be expecting an early morning call. I contacted the ice-house while you were still catching up on your beauty sleep. One of the night-shift crew gave me details of the floor-plan of the B&B where Thacker is lodging. The junior manager is Scottish. I know you can manage that. They offer early-bird breakfasts for sales reps, who are keen to get on the road. Many of them have been in the area for the week and want to get home to their families. We shouldn’t have any trouble gaining access.”
“We must assume Thacker won’t come quietly,” said Rusty, “what did you pack in the bag you brought with you?”
“Something to subdue him long enough for us to transfer him to the van. I don’t suppose you bothered to inspect the kit in the back?”
Rusty had to admit that he hadn’t.
“I asked for a specific set of items,” continued Phoenix. “We wouldn’t have had enough room in the Mercedes or the family saloon. We didn’t need them until today, so, it was the most sensible option.”
Rusty turned around and peered into the dark interior.
“Gotcha; I wondered why we were sporting these natty green uniforms.”
“They will be authentic enough to fool the staff, and any customers we meet. Most will be half-asleep at any rate.”
As they drew up at the traffic lights, one hundred yards from where Dwight Thacker slept, the rain clouds were dispersing. A few glimpses of blue sky were emerging.
“I reckon it’s going to be a good day, Rusty,” said Phoenix. “As soon as I get parked, you jump out and remove the collapsible patient trolley from the back. I’ll bring the rest. Thacker is on the first floor, in room three. We’ll take the stairs, to avoid hanging around in the foyer inviting questions. You knock on the door, tell him it’s room service, and as soon as he opens his door, we rush him. Sound good?”
“Och aye. What if he’s a sound sleeper? He could be armed too; what do we do if he starts shooting?”
“Room service would have to be pretty rubbish if he opens fire when someone makes a genuine mistake over who ordered breakfast in their room.”
They had reached the B&B. There were several vehicles in the small car park at the front. An overweight, middle-aged man was loading his suitcase and hand luggage into the boot of a Vauxhall Zafira. One of the early birds was just leaving.
Phoenix reversed their van up to the steps leading to the front door. Rusty climbed out and opened the back doors. He removed the trolley and ran inside the building. The Vauxhall driver stood and watched for a moment, his hand hovering over the driver’s door.
“Alright, mate,” he asked Phoenix, “is there an emergency?”
“Suspected overdose,” he replied. He followed Rusty upstairs with his bag. The sales rep from the Midlands got into his car and drove back home to Sutton Coldfield.
Phoenix joined his colleague outside room number three. He opened the bag and removed a bottle of chloroform and a cloth. When he was ready he nodded.
“Room service, sir,” cried Rusty, knocking loudly on the door.
Dwight Thacker stirred. Last night’s dark rum fogged his brain. Was that someone outside the door? He hadn’t ordered breakfast. He turned over and buried his head in the pillow. It would take an hour or two more sleep to get him ready to face the world.
Rusty knocked again. “Hello, are you awake, sir?” he called.
Dwight was riled now. Why couldn’t this bloke leave him alone? He jumped out of bed, naked, looked for a towel to cover himself. Then grabbed it and rushed to the door.
“What the fuck’s the matter with you, man?” he shouted, as he wrenched the door open. “I never ordered any breakfast…”
Phoenix was through the door in a second. Dwight was still holding onto the towel, in no position to defend himself. Rusty followed his colleague into the room. He closed the door behind them. Phoenix struggled to overpower the younger man. Rusty put the trolley against the door and joined in the fun. Thirty seconds later, Dwight was sleeping like a baby.
Phoenix nodded towards the trolley. Rusty set it up, and they loaded their patient onto it.
“Pass me the oxygen mask from the bag please, Rusty,” said Phoenix, “we’ll use this to disguise the fact we’re keeping him sedated. If we bump into anyone when we leave, an overdose will be the easiest story to get them to swallow. Later they may wonder who called the paramedics, but nobody will bother us in his room for a while. We’ll collect up Thacker’s belongings and take them back to Larcombe.”
Less than five minutes later, Phoenix left room three and called the lift. He held the door for Rusty, who had to stand the trolley on its end to squeeze their passenger into the compartment.
“He’s hardly going to complain, is he,” said Rusty. “Anyway, the stairs would be a bugger to negotiate.”
As soon as the lift doors opened, the two agents got the trolley back on four wheels and made a sharp exit from the B&B. The trolley was in the back of the transit before anyone inside noticed. Rusty looked back as he opened the passenger door. There were two faces at the ground-floor window. They were finishing their breakfasts, but they didn’t let the sight of two paramedics in an unmarked transit spoil their day.
The time signal on the radio in the van announced it was seven-thirty.
“We should pop into the safe-house to collect our odds and ends of equipment. Try to leave it as neat and tidy as we found it. We’ll be home in time for elevenses,” said Phoenix, “and the sun is coming out. Happy days.”
“I was right about Thacker being armed,” said Rusty. “We’ve got his gun, and ammunition, five hundred quid’s worth of drugs, and several grand in cash on board. Please keep to the speed limit on the way back, mate.”
“Don’t worry, I’m in no rush. Everything went to plan. The charity shops in Bath will benefit from the other items we collected,” said Phoenix. “His clothes, watch and jewellery will brighten up the contents of the bags we drop off on their d
oorsteps.”
“Can we change radio stations halfway back, Phoenix,” said Rusty, “you know this heavy metal stuff gives me a headache.”
“When we reach Reading services, I promise,” laughed Phoenix, “a headache, really? I find it relaxes me. It always has.”
Phil Hounsell and Wayne Sangster were meeting in the HSS offices around the time heavy metal switched to middle-of-the-road tracks more Rusty’s style. It was an uncomfortable meeting because the work had dwindled. Phil was concerned how much longer he could afford to keep Jake and Dusty on the books. He and Wayne looked through the firm contracts they held, to come up with a solution. Things didn’t make for pleasant reading. Wayne looked at the glum expression on the face of his boss.
“Did you read in the papers about those guys who got shot in Hackney?” he asked. “No loss, of course, but it looked to be a professional hit by a rival gang.”
“The Met seemed keen to divert the public’s attention away from the growing strength of the gangs,” said Phil, “that was implicit in the statement they released. For a time, it has been apparent the stronger ones are either eliminating the opposition or squeezing them out of business. There’s trouble brewing.”
Phil sat back from the desk, with his contract file on his lap. His thoughts strayed to Carrie Ditchburn. There had been nothing in the newspapers regarding her former boyfriend yet. He had passed on the information to Olympus, hoping for a response. but maybe they weren’t interested.
He realised Wayne was speaking again.
“What chance do the police have against the threat these gangs pose? The Met is losing up to fifty officers a week. The cuts they’re being forced to make to save money are biting. Then there’s their obsession with priorities. The focus now is on radicalisation. Everything domestic has been shelved for that, as a result, these gangs have become even stronger.”
“Radicalisation, the relentless pursuit of historic sex offenders, and hammering the poor old motorist,” said Phil, counting out the priorities on his fingers. “I hear you, Wayne, it’s the same tune they’ve been dancing to for years.”
Wayne was on his ‘high horse’ now.
“The gangs deal in drugs, extortion and violence and some younger members are hardened by their experiences before they ever landed on these shores. A fifteen-year-old from any one of several African countries may have escaped from a brutal regime where his family have been butchered before their eyes. We might believe our streets are tough, but they’re nothing compared to that.”
“There was a quirk concerning the drive-by shooting in Hackney,” said Phil, “something didn’t sit right with me about that. When we investigated the occasional gang death in the Avon & Somerset Police, we saw few fatal drive-by shootings. It’s more common these days for a gunman to walk right up to the victim. It’s not death from a distance; but up close and personal. Executions in broad daylight too are a rarity. The gangs are more concerned with their business dealings than trying to prove they’re tougher than their neighbour. Something as blatant as those deaths are bad for business. Nobody wants to buy drugs from their local dealers; everybody stays well away until the police presence is withdrawn. There was another motive for those killings, I’m convinced of it.”
The phone rang. Wayne answered.
“Hounsell Security Services, Wayne speaking. How may we help you today? Yes, the boss is here; I’ll connect you.”
Wayne handed Phil the phone, with a shrug, to show it wasn’t anyone they knew.
“Phil Hounsell speaking.”
“Good morning, Orion,” said Hayden Vincent, “my employer asked me to get in touch. The report you submitted recently was very useful. Feel free to pass on any further information you believe might be in our mutual interest. Forward correspondence to the following email address. This will be your contact with my employer, going forward. Rest assured, positive results bring financial benefits. Enjoy your weekend.”
Phil noted the details Hayden provided. There was no clue in the name to tell who, or where this man came from. Phil slipped the sheet of paper into the top drawer of his desk.
“Another job, boss?” asked Wayne.
“It seems that’s up to us, Wayne,” Phil replied.
“Very enigmatic,” said Wayne, “so, what’s left to sort out here this morning then?”
“Not much. I think we’ll have to tell Jake and Dusty that we won’t need them after the end of April. The missing person’s jobs, plus the security contracts we have, will keep the two of us out of mischief for the foreseeable future. Which means you won’t have to sign on, nor have a change of uniform for a while.”
“The way that mispers job in London ended was sad, wasn’t it?” said Wayne. “Not just the fact Carrie died, but the aftermath made it sadder.”
“Thacker getting away without a scratch do you mean?” said Phil, wondering whether the phone call earlier suggested perhaps he hadn’t.
“He’ll get his comeuppance one day, boss; no, I looked at Carrie’s Facebook page the other evening. There were hundreds of messages of condolence posted by kids she went to school with, pony club staff and former members from around Cheltenham. People she worked with in restaurants across London. Some came from parts of the country she never visited. If only a few of those kids had shown her they cared when she was alive, who knows? She might have got away from that shitbag Thacker and turned her life around.”
“Too true. We need to show those around us we love them, Wayne. So, I’m going home to my family to show a little love. Take the rest of the day off and do the same. See you Monday morning.”
The two colleagues left the HSS offices and headed home.
Phoenix and Rusty were also almost home. The Roman city streets were always busy, but Phoenix turned the van through the stone pillars at the end of the driveway to Larcombe not long after eleven, as predicted. He went directly to the ice-house. They had made a brief stop at Reading services for a comfort break, and to check their patient was still out for the count. While they were there, Phoenix had called Henry Case to tell him when to expect company.
As soon as the van pulled up, Henry emerged from the ice-house, with Pete Thomas and Barry Longdon. Rusty got out of the van and opened the back doors. Dwight Thacker and his trolley were removed. The two ex-SAS men from the armoury wheeled the unconscious Thacker into the lift and took him underground. The Skorpion, spare ammunition, and other miscellaneous items Phoenix had requisitioned were laid at Thacker’s feet.
“A successful mission, Phoenix,” said Henry Case, “well done you two.”
He patted Rusty on the shoulder.
“A shame your prisoner wasn’t awake before he booked into Hotel California. It’s a beautiful day, and he won’t be returning to the surface alive. Well, I mustn’t keep him waiting.”
Henry left them and entered the ice-house. Phoenix and Rusty took the transit to the transport section and returned it.
“Just feel the warmth of that sun, Rusty,” said Phoenix, as they strolled across the lawn towards the main building, “it’s great to be alive, isn’t it?”
“Have fun this weekend with your future in-laws,” said Rusty.
“Why do you always have to kill the mood?” grinned Phoenix. “You and Artemis enjoy what time you have together too. I’ll see you at the meeting on Monday morning.”
Rusty went upstairs to his apartment. Artemis was still on shift. He decided to catch up on last night’s lost sleep. Who knew? He might need his energy tonight when she finished work.
Phoenix found Maria Elena playing with Hope when he walked into their quarters. The nanny told him Athena was in the administration office and wasn’t expected upstairs until noon. Phoenix gave his daughter a kiss and told Maria Elena he was letting his partner know he was home.
He found her sat at a desk cluttered with files. Athena appeared stressed. When she spotted who it was barging through the door, without knocking, her face lit up with a gorgeous smile.
�
�Phoenix, you’re home safe; thank goodness.”
“Early too,” he added.
He went through the details of the past few days.
“We have to be content with the results we’ve achieved,” she said when he had finished. “We have severely restricted the activities of one gang, eliminated the head of another, and in time, the man responsible for a young girl’s death will be punished. It’s not perfect, but it’s a start.”
“Have I missed anything else since I was away?” asked Phoenix.
“Me, I hope,” said Athena, getting up from her desk and coming to him. They kissed and embraced. Phoenix turned to look at the desk.
“Will it muck up your filing system if these files end up on the floor?”
Athena shook her head. She dragged him with her and sat on the edge of the desk. Phoenix lifted her skirt. The phone by Athena’s right hip emitted an urgent ringing sound.
“Olympus business,” she gasped. “I’ve got to get it.”
“You were going to,” groaned Phoenix. The ringing became more insistent.
Athena answered the call. It was Hayden Vincent, reporting in from Shrivenham.
“Good morning, Athena. I’ve established contact with Orion. As soon as Phoenix can confirm the information he gave us proved beneficial, you can authorise payment. Just to let you know too, Kelly and I are ready to move to Larcombe at the end of. The checks on the agents replacing us in the Shrivenham house came back today. They have been cleared for duty.”
Athena was in control of her breathing now. Phoenix slouched in her chair, waiting for the conversation to end. The moment had passed.
“Thank you, Hayden,” she said, “the information proved to be every bit as valuable as Orion hoped. I’ll transfer a suitable sum into the HSS bank account later. We look forward to having you join us, at the start of next month. Give Kelly my love. Bye for now.”
Athena kept the distance of the desk between her and her partner.
“Shall we go to relieve Maria Elena, spend time with Hope, and have lunch together?”
“Is that your best offer?” Phoenix replied.