by Ted Tayler
“He’s got a way to go to catch up with Dr Death,” grunted Rusty.
“I think it’s high time we closed his little shop of horrors, don’t you?” said Phoenix.
“Not so fast, Phoenix,” said Henry Case, “it won’t be that simple. In Brentwood, you could collect your target, and bring him here so we can dispose of him. Arjun Krishnan is a slippery devil; he evaded the law in Mumbai, and Baltimore, don’t forget.”
“Giles began this report with ‘we’ve found our man’,” said Rusty, “well, have you or haven’t you?”
“We know he carried out these murders; but he’s not been seen at the surgery, or the clinic, in the past few days.”
“Has he travelled overseas?” asked Athena. “Please tell me you’ve checked border control?”
“There are no records of Dr Arjun Krishnan leaving the UK by train, plane or sea crossing,” said Giles.
“He may have used a fake passport and changed his appearance. He’s not short of funds. We’ve got surveillance agents hunting for him, both on the ground in the West Midlands, and in the ice-house. We just need time to locate him.”
“Make him your priority, Giles,” said Athena.
“I think we may have covered enough ground this morning,” she continued. “Minos, and Alastor, please take these four files. We need as comprehensive an investigation into these people as you did for me on our fellow Olympians, last year. We need to know every scrap of information about them, from the day they were born. No matter how insignificant. There can be no slip-ups with this vetting procedure. If they are to be added to our number, they must be ‘squeaky clean’.”
“Leave it with us, Athena,” said Minos.
Phoenix and Athena went upstairs to their apartment. Athena wanted to spend time with Hope, before returning to work this afternoon. Phoenix was keen to start work on removing the threat of Arjun Krishnan; but until he knew where to base his plans, his hands were tied.
“We can’t let this guy slip through our fingers,” Phoenix seethed, “perhaps I should go to the ice-house myself?”
“Let Giles and Artemis do what they’re employed to do, Phoenix,” said Athena.
Along the corridor, Rusty Scott was also seething. It was frustrating, not having a location to go with the name of the killer they sought. Artemis had returned to the ice-house with Giles and Henry. He hated waiting. It didn’t help that Artemis wouldn’t be finishing her shift for another six hours. Rusty decided to use up his pent-up energy in the swimming pool. One hundred lengths of the pool used to be a routine session for him in the old days; when he was still unattached and required to train new recruits in addition to direct actions when they arose. As he gathered up his swimming shorts, and his towel, he wondered whether he could even manage fifty lengths now.
Athena was feeding Hope. Maria Elena had gone into the kitchen to prepare lunch. Phoenix decided he wasn’t hungry.
“I’m going for a swim,” he said, “ask Maria Elena to put my grub to one side, I’ll eat when I get back.”
“Okay, darling,” said Athena, “have fun, but don’t forget what I said. Leave the ice-house staff to carry out the search for Arjun Krishnan.”
Ten minutes later Phoenix was at the poolside. Rusty powered up the middle lane. It took him back to the early days at Larcombe. Three years on, and Rusty was blowing harder than Phoenix remembered. The years were finally catching up with him. They were catching up with each of them. Rusty saw his pal towering over him and stopped.
“I’m here because I’m frustrated with the wait,” he said.
“Me too,” said Phoenix, “there are only two weeks until the wedding. I want this mission planned, executed and tied up with a ribbon, well before the big day.”
“There’s not much we can do, mate. Why not get changed and join me? I hoped to do a hundred lengths, but what do you say to each of us doing forty?”
Phoenix swallowed hard.
“I’ll do my best.”
“I’m knackered,” said Rusty, almost an hour later, as they made their way painfully back towards the manor house.
“You can take a nap. Artemis won’t be home for ages. I’ve food waiting for me, and Hope will be awake. Maria Elena deserves a break. I’ll probably nod off thirty minutes after Athena gets back. That will be popular. Remind me never to go swimming with you again.”
In the ice-house, Giles and the surveillance team scoured the country for signs of the fake doctor. There continued to be no sightings of him at international airport terminals, railway stations, or seaports. Comparing the image of every sixty years old man, to the photo of Arjun Krishnan retrieved from his offices in Solihull, was left to Artemis. It was going to be a long day.
Giles was alerted by another agent trawling through CCTV images from Birmingham New Street station. If he had left the West Midlands, then this was his most likely starting point.
“Got him; Krishnan caught a train on Monday lunchtime. Just checking… at that time, from that platform, it was to Liverpool Lime Street.”
“That will cut the numbers you’re sifting through, Artemis,” said Giles, “concentrate on Liverpool as a departure point.”
“How many stops does that train make?” asked Artemis.
“Eleven, in total,” the agent answered, “I’ll check that he didn’t get off along the route.”
“Where might he have gone to from Liverpool, I wonder?” said Giles.
“We can’t assume he isn’t planning to flee the country,” said Artemis, still continuing to flick through images. “He may have travelled north, to throw the police off the scent; if he suspected someone was on to him. He could be heading to Scotland, or to Ireland. Can we get someone to check whether he changed trains at Lime Street, or left the station?”
Giles assigned another agent to that task.
“I’ll check his financials,” he said to Artemis. “If he felt the time was running out, he may have just panicked and made a run for it; but if he had a few days to prepare, he might have transferred funds to wherever he plans to set up in business next.”
The next hour was productive, if not conclusive. Krishnan had spent the entire ninety-minute journey on the train he boarded at New Street. When he left the carriage at Lime Street, Artemis spotted him in the street outside the station, hailing a taxi.
“Our man might have gone towards the city centre, I suppose. My guess is he’s taken the Birkenhead Tunnel. Let’s search for him at the ferry terminal.”
The agents soon discovered that Krishnan had left on the Dublin ferry in the middle of the afternoon on Monday. He had a four days’ head start on his pursuers. Giles found that twenty thousand euros in large denominations had been withdrawn from the doctor’s bank account on Monday morning. The balances on his various accounts were being transferred to the Central Bank of Ireland from Tuesday morning.
“We lost him after he climbed into that taxi,” said Artemis, “But we know he was spooked either by concerned relatives of his victims, the local police, or our agents. He secured enough cash to make his initial escape, and to find a remote hideout in the Republic. That’s where our search needs to concentrate now.”
“With his money being moved to Dublin, it suggests he’s setting up a clinic in the city,” said Giles. “We could scupper his plans by an anonymous tip-off to the Garda. They would freeze his bank accounts, denying him access to funds. You’re right, though, he has plenty of cash to stay off-grid for days, even weeks.”
“Freezing his bank accounts would only confirm his suspicions that the authorities are on to his little game,” cautioned Artemis. “He would use the cash to alter his appearance and fly further overseas. Perhaps, even back to India. It will be tough to track him in a city of half a million. A nightmare on a sub-continent with one and a half billion people.”
“Fair point, Artemis,” said Giles. “Our best hope is that Krishnan is hiding out in one of the small country towns within a fifty-mile radius of the capital.”
&
nbsp; “Good luck with finding him on CCTV in the outback, Giles,” said Artemis, “we need people on the ground.”
“We have only a handful of agents in the Irish Republic,” said Giles, “nor do we have the same access to CCTV as we do for the UK. We need to contact Fintan O’Sullivan in Wexford. He will have the contacts we require to search effectively.”
“Fintan’s only two hours away,” said Artemis, “he could set up a central command post in Dublin. From there he can direct operations. He can keep in constant touch with us at Larcombe, plus coordinate the search patterns for the agents already in the country. Where are the nearest agents?”
“The few we have are scattered around the major coastal towns,” said Giles. “We’ll get them to carry out swift surveillance in their own region, then head towards Dublin. Fintan can give them new information as either we or he receives it. If they keep advancing, without a sighting being confirmed, then the noose will be tightening. If the Gods are with us, Arjun Krishnan will be trapped in whatever hidey-hole he’s chosen for now.”
“Poor Rusty,” sighed Artemis, “he’ll be disappointed yet again. I can’t see us finishing on time tonight.”
“Someone else will be disappointed too,” Giles said, somewhat embarrassed.
“Oh? Were you meeting you know who?”
“We were going to have dinner together, and then she was coming to my quarters.”
“They always say the quiet ones are the worst,” said Artemis. “Actually, they used to say that of me, so I’m a fine one to talk. I’m pleased, Giles; you’re a good man, you deserve to find someone.”
“It’s early days,” said Giles, “but it’s going well, so far. The difficult part is keeping it from Henry. He was keen on Maria Elena too, as you know. He doesn’t realise that we’ve been seeing one another.”
“Ah, I see,” said Artemis, “well, he won’t hear a thing from me, I promise you. Poor Henry, all that money on cologne went to waste.”
The two colleagues ploughed on with the search routines. The rest of the team were due to go to the surface, but the night crew was beginning their shift. They would soon discover it was not going to be a quiet Friday night.
Over in the Republic, Fintan O’Sullivan was driving towards Dublin on the M11. He had phoned ahead to book himself into a hotel overnight. In the morning, he would head to the internet café in Grafton Street. It would serve as his base until the other agents converged on the city. Fintan was used to carrying out surveillance on criminals for Olympus, but the direct actions were always the responsibility of a high-up official from Larcombe Manor. He never carried a weapon; nor did his fellow agents. Fintan prayed this doctor they were chasing wasn’t a violent man.
Artemis had asked one of her colleagues going off shift to call Rusty when they reached the surface. Her partner was lounging on the settee, with his aches and pains, watching TV, when his phone rang. After listening to the message, he slammed the phone onto the table. He poured himself a large whisky.
“Looks as if it’s supper for one again,” Rusty groaned, “let’s hope this overtime pays dividends.”
Athena and Phoenix were relaxing in their rooms too. Hope had been put to bed an hour earlier. Athena heard from Giles that the trail had led them to Ireland. If things went well, they would have better news soon.
“How soon?” asked Phoenix tersely.
“We’ll have an agent in Dublin from first thing tomorrow keeping Giles informed of progress. The Irish agents are moving in to prevent Krishnan from escaping. As soon as he’s located, someone needs to be flown in. Rusty can go if you prefer.”
Phoenix levered himself awkwardly from the chair.
“What on earth is up with you tonight?” asked Athena.
“Rusty and I went swimming this afternoon. I think we overdid it.”
Athena laughed, “No doubt, you pushed each other further than was good for you. You two are so competitive, and I bet the frustration of not being able to get after Krishnan was a contributing factor in the over-ambitious exercise.”
“I’ll be okay tomorrow,” said Phoenix, “how do I get over there?”
“Olympus has a helicopter at Cardiff airport. Why don’t I drive you over now; I called to warn Biggles, and he can fly you tonight. You can carry whatever weapons you wish to take for the mission. He won’t bat an eyelid. Biggles has flown more missions in hostile territory than you’ve had hot dinners. I’ll get him to log a flight plan from Rhoose to Dublin. He can land at the airport as scheduled, after dropping you off further along the coast. Nobody will be any the wiser, I promise you.”
“How am I getting out again afterwards?” asked Phoenix.
“As soon as you call him, he can schedule a return trip. You need to be at the rendezvous point so he can move in, hover, pick you up, and fly out in less than a minute. Have you decided what to do with Krishnan?”
“Biggles won’t be picking two people up, that’s a given,” said Phoenix, “if we’re leaving soon, what do we do with Hope?”
“I’ll ring Maria Elena; it’s not that late. She should still be up. I’ll ask her to babysit.”
Athena rang their nanny. There was a tap on the door two minutes later. Maria Elena entered.
“Everything alright?” Athena asked. She thought Maria Elena looked glum.
“I hope so,” she replied. “I was looking forward to going out tonight, but it was cancelled. He is always so busy.”
Phoenix sussed who she meant. If Giles was still underground, Artemis was too, and Rusty would be spitting feathers. It didn’t seem his pal was needed on this mission, though.
Thirty minutes later Athena was driving them towards the M4. Phoenix had packed a bag with a change of clothes, passport, maps, compass, combat knife, pistol, and ammunition. Phoenix hadn’t been able to plan for this job as he was used to; even now, he had no idea where his quarry was located. The gun might be impossible to use. The knife could be the best option. As they sped past the lower volume of vehicles on the motorway at such a late hour, Phoenix worked through possible scenarios.
As they left the motorway and weaved down the country road that led to the airport, his mind turned to other matters.
“Why on earth is this pilot called Biggles? Is he a throwback to the Thirties?”
“I knew you would ask me that,” she replied, “it’s embarrassing. No, he’s not a square-chinned hero with an old leather flying helmet; but he’s quite mad. Flying with him will be an experience, by all accounts; but men who have talked of how he rescued them from hell-holes across the world swear he’s the best damn pilot that ever flew a chopper.”
“I get that bit, and I’ll steel myself for a few bumpy moments; so what’s embarrassing?”
“His name is Les Biggar, he’s from Aberdeen, and in his early fifties. His nickname when he was in the RAF was Big Les. It morphed into Biggles over the years, as he became the legendary pilot he is today. The big part didn’t come from his surname.”
Phoenix laughed, “Barrack-room humour; boys will be boys. I can’t wait to meet the guy.”
“You won’t have to wait long; here we go.”
Athena drew the car to a halt. A tall, rangy looking man loomed out of the dark. He pointed to a gate to her left.
“Follow me through here, ma’am.”
He swiped a passkey over the panel on the gate and it swung open. Athena drove through and Les Biggar pointed to where she should park. The helicopter sat on the tarmac, yards from its hangar.
“It looks tiny,” muttered Phoenix, as he grabbed his bag and got out.
Athena kissed him on the cheek and wished him a safe journey.
Les Biggar didn’t want to waste any time chatting. He took the bag from Phoenix, stowed it behind the passenger seat and told him to get in and belt up. He spoke briefly to Athena, and then she drove through the gate, and back to Larcombe.
“Call me Biggles, Phoenix,” the gruff Aberdonian said as he climbed on board, “let’s get this thing
airborne.”
CHAPTER 12
Saturday, 5th April 2014
“Flight time will be around forty-five minutes,” Biggles shouted.
“No rush,” replied Phoenix, regretting having agreed to sit next to the pilot. He could have sat in the rear seats, with his eyes tight shut. Then he wouldn’t have had to endure the ‘seat of the pants’ flying style this madman favoured.
“Right, let’s get this straight,” shouted Biggles. “I’m dropping you in the grounds of Shanganagh Park. It’s twelve miles south of Dublin. When I tell you it’s time to leave, grab your bag and get the hell out. Crouch low, until I’m clear. I will only be on the ground for five seconds. Then I’m up and away to the airport. Got it?”
“Got you,” replied Phoenix. “This shouldn’t take long. I’ve got people to help me find a fake doctor called Krishnan. He’s a killer. I’ll call you when I’ve completed the mission and need a ride home.”
“Not so fast, Phoenix. I’m not flying in daylight; I don’t need anyone clocking the details of this chopper. You find this guy, carry out your mission, then get back to the exact spot where I drop you. I’ll scoop you up in the same fashion at eight-thirty tonight. I’ll be with you in twenty minutes from Collinstown. So, I expect to hear confirmation that the pickup is on at least twenty minutes before that.”
“I’ll be there,” said Phoenix.
“You’d better,” said Biggles. “I can only stand so much of Dublin’s bonhomie. This job needs to complete by tonight.”
“No pressure,” said Phoenix.
“Not for me,” said Biggles.
The rest of the flight was spent in silence. As they neared the coastline, Phoenix could see the lights of houses, dotted here and there, and the lights of cars on the motorway. The chopper came in low skimming over tall trees bordering the estate. It was dark, very dark.
“Grab your kit,” shouted Biggles. Phoenix retrieved his bag from the back of the helicopter. With a bump, they landed. Phoenix didn’t wait to be told; he opened the door, rolled out onto the grass, and slammed it shut behind him. As he curled up in a ball on the grass, he heard the twin engines roar and Biggles was up and away. Phoenix waited. The sound of the chopper’s rotors was already fading as Les Biggar continued his flight north to the airport. No one there would be any the wiser that the logged flight plan had included an unscheduled detour.