by Ted Tayler
Thursday, 15th January 2015
“Any news on the children?” asked Artemis.
“We had to quieten them to get them to come with us,” replied Rusty. “Francis and Dyson were high as kites when we broke into the flat. The kids were asleep, locked in the spare bedroom. As soon as we’d incapacitated the two so-called adults, we busted open the door. You don’t want to know the state of their living conditions. It would turn your stomach. The kids cowered in their beds, the stench of urine was overpowering. We tried to calm them without resorting to the needle, but it was hopeless.”
“Where did you take them?” asked Artemis.
“To the police station on London Road. We did our usual drop-off, with a message. No big surprise. Nobody came outside to see what we had done. Giles put the CCTV camera on the fritz for one minute. Enough time for our visit to be undetected. Pray those kids are given the help they need.”
“Weren’t this bloke Francis and his accomplice ever on the radar from social services?”
“I think so, years back, but they didn’t have the resources to pursue the case. One of the staff went on long-term sick and the others couldn’t handle the extra workload.”
“A familiar story,” sighed Artemis.
“I love you,” said Rusty.
“I know you do, come back safe,” said Artemis.
“You OK, mate?” said Phoenix, overhearing the last exchange.
“We both want kids,” said Rusty, “and there’s no way we could ever treat a child as those two did. It’s the uncertainty that’s the problem. With trouble brewing, is it the wrong time to even be thinking of it?”
“Don’t wait,” said Phoenix. “It was the best thing that ever happened, both times. Enjoy every day while you can.”
Phoenix stood up and headed for the door.
“That sounds like our car being delivered to our door, Time to stop being morbid. Let’s find Don and Sandy. I want to get the guy responsible for these gangland shootings.”
Rusty drove them into Northampton. It felt better not having the van. They had used that when they were meeting up with Ben and Ross. As they entered Castle Ward at ten o’clock, they used the comms to set up a meet.
“Sandy can you and Don get across to Victoria Park?” asked Phoenix.
“We’re on our way,” replied Sandy.
Rusty parked the car and the two agents walked through the park. It was far from deserted despite the wintry day.
“There’s the Irregular couple,” said Rusty, spotting them up ahead.
“Or the odd couple,” said Phoenix. “They look scary, don’t they?”
“Right you two,” said Phoenix, calling them on his mike. “Sit on the bench twenty yards in front of you. We’ll stop here on the opposite side of the path, looking across to the stream. If anyone approaches, keep talking amongst yourselves. We’ll pick it up once they’ve gone.”
“Understood,” said Don Donovan, “we’ve got a name for you.”
“Kieran Freeman, a twenty-eight-year-old gang member,” said Sandy Nesbitt. “He’s been the enforcer for the main gang in the town for the past two years.”
“Freeman has three confirmed kills, two possible and two kneecappings,” added Donovan. “I half expected him to have emblems on the side door of his flash car, the same as fighter pilots in WWII.”
Sandy had a fit of the giggles.
“Is that for real or is she still playing a role?” asked Rusty, with his hand over his mike.
Phoenix shrugged.
“I’m not that worried. We have a name now. We can take care of business and move on to the next job.”
“You’ve got a plan, haven’t you?” said Rusty.
“I do. What’s Freeman’s MO, Don?”
“Every killing has been a drive-by, Phoenix,” replied Don.
“Happy days. You two can follow us back to where we parked. Your work here is done.”
CHAPTER 12
Once they had arrived in Kettering, the Irregulars showered and changed into regular street clothes. Four Olympus personnel then gathered in the kitchen.
Rusty prepared for an early lunch.
“Can you explain the plan to us now, Phoenix?” asked Rusty.
“You and Sandy will take Freeman off the streets for an hour. Don and I will take his car into Northampton for a drive. What I need you two Irregulars to come up with is a timeline for where Brantly Mason and Demarai Scott will be in the next thirty-six hours.”
Ten minutes later they handed Phoenix a schedule the pair of thugs had followed since they were on the ground.
“This is only a brief snapshot, Phoenix,” Sandy cautioned. “We weren’t there long enough to gauge whether these few sightings were habitual or random.”
“How did it feel to you, Don?” asked Rusty.
“Most criminals are creatures of habit,” said Don Donovan, “especially if their stock-in-trade is violence. They’re thick by nature, so I’d bet these regular outings each day passes for normal in their world.”
“I’d take a gamble too on this occasion,” said Phoenix, “time isn’t on our side. Which of these three sightings do you think gives us the optimum window?”
The two Irregulars studied the options, and both pointed at the same one.
“When they leave this Caribbean restaurant at lunchtime,” said Don, “it’s always between one-forty-five and two-fifteen. A car picks them up and takes them to their next place of business. That varies…”
“We’re not worried about their destination,” said Phoenix, “only how long they spend walking from that doorway to the car.”
“A minimum of twenty seconds,” said Sandy. “But, if the car has to wait to pick them up because the traffic lights ahead are against them, it could be up to a minute.”
“We need an extra pair of legs,” said Phoenix. “Rusty, call Ben and Ross, get one of them on this street at one-thirty today. We’ll explain why, closer to the time. Whatever Freeman plans to do between those times must change. Is that clear?”
“Got it.”
After they had eaten lunch, Phoenix called Giles. It was time for another update.
“Bring me up to speed on events at the morning meeting, Giles,”
“The three Russians have been disposed of, with no problems to report.”
“Good, has the Grid learned of those deaths yet?”
“We may have another twelve to twenty-four hours on that score,” replied Giles. “Still no sightings of Vasiliev. If he’s out of the country, O’Riordan might not be on top of what the thugs on the low-hanging branches of the Russian’s gang are doing.”
“See if you can trace Vasiliev. It’s a low priority though. What do we know about the funerals for those agents that died at the weekend?”
“Athena has talked with Zeus. He and Hera will attend Hugh Fraser’s funeral in Scotland. They agreed to collect Ambrosia on their way north. That’s on Wednesday of next week. Athena is going to Bath Abbey for Orion’s funeral. Henry Case has agreed to attend the service on Friday next for the Larcombe-based agent who died at Orion’s home. The families of the agents who died in the same attack as Hugh learned of their deaths the same day. As is usual in these circumstances, the local teams will send representatives. Funerals will be low-key. With everything that’s going on with the Grid at present, Zeus advised Athena not to make any more public appearances than was necessary. That same message was passed to each of the senior Olympians.”
“That’s good, we must tread warily, but we owe it to our agents to have someone from the organisation at their funeral wherever possible. Have we received anything further from the Monitoring Service?”
“There was another message intercepted last night,” said Giles. “I’ll send it through to you.”
“Thanks, Giles, we’ll be back tonight if everything goes to plan. Oh, one last thing, did Henry have something to report this morning?”
“His two guests checked out,” said Giles, “and Cliff Barclay is on a tra
in heading for home. It doesn’t sound as if you need him anymore on this mission, am I right?”
“Yes, did Henry keep Cliff away from the action?”
“He did, but he relented early this morning. He added him to the duty roster for the trip to the pet cemetery. Henry said he’d never seen anyone so happy when he was told he had to dig a hole in the rock-hard ground in the dead of winter.”
“You can’t beat job satisfaction,” said Phoenix. “Cheers, Giles, I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Ross Anderson is moving into position for our mission,” said Rusty, “it will be good to get him away from the area. He said the dealers became increasingly suspicious of him being seen around the halls of residence. One made a half-hearted attempt to run him over last night.”
“OK,” said Phoenix. He fired up his laptop and searched for the new message the BBC service had thought worthy of being forwarded to its audience.
The four agents looked at the transcript on the screen as they listened to the message.
“Further confirmation that ISIS is on a major recruiting drive and Europe can expect ten terror attacks for each one we’ve suffered in the past,” said Rusty.
“Can you access the other messages your man at Larcombe accessed?” asked Don Donovan.
“I can get them, Don,” said Phoenix, “why do you ask?”
“If I can listen to the others, I can confirm my suspicions,” Don replied.
After they had listened to each of the messages, Donovan shook his head.
“There’s something fishy here,” he said. “Dozens of regional dialects exist which hamper translators who want to get a precise interpretation. I studied several at university, but when I was stranded in bandit country, I became attuned to the more delicate nuances. Those messages have been distorted. ISIS threatens to continue attacks in Europe and they are asking young Muslims to join them, but that’s it. It’s just the same twisted rhetoric we’ve heard for ages. There’s no talk of escalation.”
“Are you sure?” asked Phoenix.
“Positive,” said Donovan.
“The people behind the hostile propaganda Minos and Alastor collated must have someone on the inside at Caversham,” said Rusty. “These messages have been manipulated to suit their purpose.”
“Only a handful of people in the country could unscramble those messages if they were ever broadcast,” said Donovan. “A news bulletin wouldn’t relay it in full without a commentary over the top to mask the true meaning.”
“Are you saying it’s a conspiracy,” asked Sandy Nesbitt.
“We avoid the word,” said Rusty, “but it smells like it, doesn’t it, Phoenix?”
“I’ll call Athena at once. We need to act on this before they get enough ammunition to commit this country to a conflict it can ill-afford and would struggle to win.”
“What time do we leave?” asked Rusty.
“Freeman is at home,” said Sandy Nesbitt, “his car is parked out front. He hasn’t surfaced yet today. When he’s not working, he’s a night owl.”
“How do you know?” asked Phoenix.
“He lives in a first-floor flat on a street with two CCTV cameras. I’m watching his pad now on my tablet. We can get over there now. Rusty and I will look after him.”
“Right, let’s load up the car and get on with it,” said Phoenix.
Thirty minutes later they were in the lane behind the row of shops. It was a quarter to one. Sandy moved onto the street to ring the doorbell for the first-floor flat. She relayed her movements to Rusty. He was in the rubbish-strewn space at the rear of the newsagents and had clambered onto the pitched roof of the outbuilding. When Freeman answered the door he prepared to enter through the window.
Rusty heard the bell. Sandy kept pressing it. He heard Freeman cursing and stomping across the floor. Rusty levered open the wooden window and slipped inside the flat. Downstairs, Freeman was cursing Sandy. What the hell did he care if her cat was on the roof? The voices grew louder as Freeman had been convinced the only way this woman was leaving was if he leaned out of his window to rescue her bloody cat.
He stepped through his flat door and Rusty whacked him over the head with a cosh. Freeman kissed the floorboards and was unconscious.
“Car keys?” asked Sandy.
“On the table by the door,” said Rusty, “let’s get those to Don.”
Sandy went to the open window, whistled and Don Donovan peered over the fence.
“Can you throw straight?” he asked.
Sandy lobbed the keys at him. He caught them in one hand. “Not bad for a girl,” he grinned and disappeared out of sight. He and Phoenix needed to be elsewhere.
“Put your feet up,” said Rusty, “we’ve got to babysit for a while.”
“Do you mind if I keep this window open? Maybe open a few more?” asked Sandy. “Freeman must love his weed, if I stay in here too long I’ll be off my head.”
“Chill,” said Rusty, relaxing on the leather sofa.
Sandy sat by the window, hoping Freeman stirred.
Don Donovan was driving into town, heading for the restaurant.
“We can park just along here,” he said. “I spotted it when we were on surveillance.”
“Are you in position yet, Ross?” asked Phoenix.
“I’m on the opposite side of the street to the restaurant. It’s one forty-three by my watch.”
“Agreed. Don and I have parked on that side of the road. We have a visual on the doorway.”
“Me too,” said Ross. “I know what to do.”
The early afternoon traffic kept moving in a steady fashion. Shoppers crossed the street at random places, sometimes they even resorted to using the light-controlled crossing. Phoenix kept an eye on the door.
“Two o’clock,” said Don Donovan.
“Any sign of their ride?” asked Ross.
A stretch limousine eased into the street. As it rounded the corner it brought traffic in the opposite lane to a standstill due to its length. Donovan switched on the engine of the Mercedes. He edged out of the parking space and inserted himself into the nearside lane forcing a car to brake. He raised a hand in apology. Donovan moved into the far lane. They were right in front of the limo. The limo’s need for negotiating the corner had created a gap that played right into their hands.
The door to the restaurant opened and Mason and Scott strolled onto the pavement. Arrogance in every step. They stopped and waited for the limo to travel the next thirty yards. Ross Summers stood at the crossing. He pressed the button. The limo was now yards from the restaurant door.
Don Donovan and the Mercedes were preventing them from reaching it.
The lights turned to red. Pedestrians got the green light to walk. Ross raised his phone to his ear and walked.
Don had slowed for the lights, but there was plenty of room for him to move up and allow the limo to park. He stopped. Mason gave the Mercedes a disdainful sneer. Scott raised the middle finger.
“Get out of the way, fool,” he shouted.
Ross Summers had crossed onto the pavement and aimed his phone up the street.
Rusty lowered the passenger window. Mason and Scott’s eyes widened as a man inside the car opened fire with the Skorpion machine pistol.
Ross Summers started to film with his camera.
The lights changed. Don Donovan accelerated away.
“Drive straight to Freeman’s place,” ordered Phoenix. “Ross, send that film to Giles Burke at Larcombe Manor. He’ll get it posted on social media and make sure the police know it’s there. It won’t be traced to you. They’ll be flooding this street in the next few minutes. You get back to the halls of residence. Lie low for the next twenty-four hours and then you and Ben can return to your digs. Olympus will contact you when we need you again. Good job.”
“Thanks, Phoenix. I won’t be sorry to get out of this town. Those dealers scare me rigid.”
Rusty and Sandy still babysat Kieran Freeman when they reached the kill
er’s flat. He was awake now and not happy.
“Everything went like clockwork, I take it?” asked Rusty.
Phoenix nodded.
“What now?” asked Sandy Nesbitt.
“Don’s valeting the car, free of charge. As soon as he’s finished, we’ll be on our way. Mr Freeman can then get on with his day. We need to incapacitate him for an hour.”
Sandy opened her bag and removed a zipped wallet. Inside was a needle and an ampoule. Rusty held Freeman as she injected the drug.
“Night, night,” she said.
The thug was in a deep sleep within fifteen seconds. Rusty removed the restraints from his hands and feet and ripped the duct tape from his mouth. Phoenix and Rusty lifted him onto the bed.
Don Donovan appeared at the door.
“Did I miss the fun? Everything’s done downstairs. Where were the keys when you found them?
“On the table there, by the door,” said Rusty.
“Do you want me to tidy up that window?” asked Donovan. “If we nail it shut, the police will dismiss it as a security measure. They’ll not look too closely at what’s up here considering the evidence they’ve seen with their own eyes. But it’s one less worry.”
“I think I may have underestimated you, Don,” said Phoenix. “Don’t take too long. We need to be on our way.”
It was after four when they reached the safe house in Kettering.
“I’ll call the local team leader and tell him he can have his car back,” said Rusty. “How far is the station from here?”
“A ten-minute walk, Rusty,” said Donovan. “Do we have much to carry?”
“Nothing that will give us a problem blending in with the other travellers,” said Phoenix.
“If we get short of space, Sandy can fit it into that voluminous bag of hers,” said Don.
Sandy giggled and dug him in the ribs.
Phoenix gave up trying to understand women.
“A walk to the station then,” said Phoenix. “We’ll be in Bath by ten at the latest. Do you two have far to go to get back to your digs?”
Sandy looked at Don.
“My place is in Corby,” she said.
“I’m in the opposite direction, Rugby,” replied Don.