The Phoenix Series Books 10-12 (The Phoenix Series Box Set)

by Ted Tayler

  “I’ll get Henry involved tomorrow at the morning meeting. If Minos and Alastor have sourced the potential accommodation, we need to find the bodies to fill it. Athena won’t have any difficulty getting the funds released.”

  “Will Athena be able to give her full concentration on Olympus matters while she’s dealing with her father and helping to arrange her mother’s funeral?” asked Hugh.

  “With my help, she’ll cope,” said Phoenix, a little disturbed that others had noticed his wife buckling under pressure. He knew they would work together to get through this.

  Phoenix left Hugh Fraser’s room and returned to the main building. In the morning, he could increase the pressure on these bombers. The hunt must start now. Time slipped away, like sand through your fingers.

  The next attack might be only hours away.

  CHAPTER 9

  After Phoenix left him, Hugh Fraser called Ambrosia.

  “Phoenix was just here,” he told her. “He knows I jumped the gun on commissioning the first set of Irregulars. The bombings in Edinburgh have brought forward plans for getting them into the action.”

  “I told you not to worry,” she replied, “it was the right decision. We can’t sit back and wait for Phoenix and Athena to decide on the best way forward. Losing her mother has left her on the verge of a breakdown. I have mentioned this to Hera. While Athena’s been pre-occupied, I have got closer to Zeus’s wife. She will convey our concerns to her husband. Little drops of water every day will wear down the hardest stone. By the time they meet in London next month, we will be in a much stronger position. You have done well, Hugh.”

  “Thank you, Ambrosia,” said Hugh, “will you be visiting Larcombe Manor soon?”

  Ambrosia smiled to herself. Hugh wished to see her; that was good news.

  “I must check my diary to see if I can drive south for a day. I should love to meet you in person. Can you be free to entertain me?”

  “Without a doubt,” said Hugh.

  “In that case, I’ll make the arrangements tomorrow,” Ambrosia purred. “Goodnight, Hugh. Sweet dreams.”

  Hugh Fraser replaced the phone; exciting times lay ahead. He turned on the TV and switched to the news channel. The warm feeling of talking with Ambrosia soon left him. The death toll from Edinburgh Waverley was now at eighty-five and could rise higher. Many of the three hundred people injured in the blasts remained in hospital.

  There would be no sweet dreams tonight for the families concerned, nor for the emergency services as they hunted the culprits. Hugh hoped his new bunch of Irregulars could provide a vital clue. That would only reinforce the position he and his ally currently held. From there, it was onwards and upwards.

  Monday, 8th September 2014

  The morning meeting began at nine o’clock as usual. Phoenix had made sure Athena got her father up in time to help Maria Elena organise Hope’s morning. The young nanny was tired after her weekend in Devon with Giles.

  Sea air and long walks along sandy beaches had contributed. Meeting her boyfriend’s family had been another ingredient. The major excitement came on Saturday night when Giles had asked her to marry him. Maria Elena had longed to accept outright, but she told Giles that he must ask her father’s permission first.

  Giles made the call to the Urbano family home in Estepona on Sunday morning.

  Senor Urbano had given Giles his blessing. Giles and Maria Elena broke the news of their engagement to his parents in the pub restaurant as they sat for lunch. On the way home in the car later that evening, she had promised her fiancée the best night of his life.

  As soon as they arrived in the stable block, Giles saw the message from Artemis. A night of passion cancelled. He was bound for the ice-house.

  When Phoenix and Athena arrived at the meeting room, the others were already there. Henry and Giles were deep in conversation. Artemis and Rusty looked relaxed and at peace with the world. Minos and Alastor were as impassive as ever.

  “I’m sure you appreciated the seriousness of the terror attack in Scotland yesterday,” said Athena. “Many thanks to those of you who put in extra hours helping the cause. Now, straight to business. Giles, what’s the latest on the bombers?”

  “When Artemis handed over late last night, my priority was to find Mansouri and Harrack somewhere in Edinburgh. I waded through hours of CCTV data with little luck. I searched for the two of them travelling either alone, or together, but apart from unconfirmed sightings, I drew a blank. They disappeared on Princes Street at around half-past three. I found no trace of them after that.”

  “So, we’re no further forward?” said Athena.

  “Well, I asked another guy to check the Glasgow Queen Street cameras while I trawled through Edinburgh. He found our suicide bomber getting onto the train. The image was full-frontal, clear as a bell. We identified her in minutes; she was in the newspapers in Scotland last year; Amina Badour was an ISIS bride. She ran away from university to join up with other young people radicalised online. They entered Syria through Turkey. It appears she returned last month via Belgium.”

  “Was she on a watch list?” asked Henry Case.

  “It’s possible,” said Giles, “but there’s no record of her coming back to the UK by legitimate channels. Mansouri was in that region before joining up with Harrack. My guess is they smuggled Badour across the channel at the same time. Badour then travelled north and laid low until the Canary Wharf bombing brought her from hiding.”

  “Mansouri is the brains behind this operation,” said Rusty, “he wanted something more dramatic than the DLR derailment. The delay between the blasts was deliberate.”

  “The public would have been appalled by the deaths of innocent civilians,” said Artemis. “Although they moan about the emergency services at times, when they get murdered while they’re doing their utmost to save lives, that stirs emotions.”

  “That emotion is then directed towards the Government to act,” said Henry, “not merely to hunt the terrorists. The bombings are not solely to generate widespread fear. ISIS wants worldwide recognition for their cause by attracting headlines in the media. The TV and the newspapers filled with little else for a week. Until they are found and eliminated, then further scope exists of extra publicity for the ISIS struggle.”

  “I talked with Hugh Fraser last night,” said Phoenix, “we have a skeleton crew of Irregulars available to carry out surveillance at the most likely railway stations. It could give us precious minutes to prevent the next attack.”

  “I didn’t realise you had sanctioned that move yet?” said Athena.

  “Hugh made an executive decision,” said Phoenix. “Rusty and I were in the north of England last week. Hugh thought it best to start the ball rolling. Think of it as me delegating at last.”

  “As long as he doesn’t make a habit of it,” said Athena. “Executive decisions are designed to be made by the executive committee around this table.”

  “Point taken,” said Phoenix. “Minos, can you confirm that you and Alastor have identified a significant number of places where we might house these Irregulars?”

  Minos nodded.

  “If you needed two hundred rooms from next Monday, somewhere in the UK, that wouldn’t be an issue.”

  “Unless they were in the one place, Milton Keynes, for instance,” added Alastor.

  “Good. My next question then is to you, Henry,” said Phoenix, “how can we speed up the release of more recruits into the system?”

  “If we could get together after this meeting, I’ll take you through the numbers. Between us, I believe we can fast-track twenty or thirty today.”

  “Brilliant, Henry,” said Phoenix.

  Athena shepherded the meeting through the remaining items on the agenda.

  “Was there any other business?” she asked.

  Giles Burke coughed nervously.

  “Well, I have news. Maria Elena and I got engaged yesterday. We plan to marry next year in Estepona. Both of our families are delighted.” />
  It made a pleasant change to have good news to bring the meeting to a close.

  Phoenix and Henry left together, to continue their discussions in the orangery.

  Minos and Alastor headed back to the administration section to resume the daily grind.

  Giles Burke walked out with Rusty and Artemis. He hoped to persuade her to start her shift early, so he could finally get to bed. He had been awake since eight o’clock yesterday morning.

  Athena returned to their apartment alone. Her father was sitting, reading the paper when she arrived. Maria Elena was in the kitchen preparing lunch. Hope was crawling on the floor, inspecting the tiles and the cupboard doors.

  “Hello, darling,” said her father, “I heard from the funeral director this morning. We have a date and time. It will be at the West London Crematorium, Kensal Green. Next Monday morning, at eleven-thirty.”

  “We should ring around this afternoon, to make sure as many friends and relatives know the details then,” said Athena. “How far is that from home?”

  “Half an hour, perhaps?” her father replied.

  Athena went to him and hugged him.

  “It will be a difficult day, but maybe once it’s over, we can try to move forward.”

  “I was thinking, sat here this morning, while Hope was playing on the floor in front of me. Our place in London is far too big for me to rattle around in on my own. I’m not sure I could ever get used to not having Grace there too. Maria Elena was telling me her news when we had coffee together. She said Giles’s parents have a bungalow on the North Devon coast. I might investigate moving this way. Somewhere closer to Larcombe, out towards Weston-super-Mare, or Burnham-on-Sea.”

  “Don’t rush into any decisions yet, Daddy,” Athena said. “We would love to have you closer, but make sure it’s the right thing for you to do. You have friends in London, and the house is full of happy memories.”

  “I suppose you’re right, but the money would come in handy,” her father said.

  “Since when did you need to worry about money?” asked Athena.

  Geoffrey Fox didn’t elaborate. He had mentioned the failing investments to Phoenix, but he didn’t want his daughter to know. Things weren’t too tricky, not yet. He decided to change the subject.

  “Where’s Phoenix, anyway? Why didn’t he come back with you after your meeting?”

  “He’s chatting to Henry. They’re getting ex-soldiers off the streets and back into the housing that the charity has organised.”

  “Oh, very commendable,” said Geoffrey. “It’s disgraceful that the system allows young men and women who fight for their country to fall through the cracks. They should be first in the queue. Don’t get me started.”

  “Olympus does what it can,” said Athena, having said as much as she dared.

  “Phoenix is with Henry, you say? How are the two lovebirds getting on? Will Sarah be able to make it next Monday, I wonder?”

  “I’ll ring her this afternoon,” said Athena. “While we eat lunch, I want you to think of the people we need to call this afternoon.

  Phoenix returned ten minutes later, and Maria Elena left them to devour the lunch she had prepared. She hoped Giles was in the stable block and had energy left after working through the night. The loud snores that greeted her meant she would be disappointed.

  In London, Tyrone O’Riordan was listening to his mother, like any good son.

  Colleen was talking to Frank Rooney, the South Yorkshire gang lord. Rooney had been a staunch supporter of the Grid ever since Hugo Hanigan offered the services of the Glencairn Bank to any crime outfit that needed their ill-gotten gains laundered. He could recognise a good thing when he saw one.

  The positives from a network of gangs that dominated the country’s criminal activities hadn’t diminished with the death of the Irish madman. That was the gist of the argument Colleen put to Frank Rooney. He was old school and wasn’t overly pleased to learn what was best for him by a woman. As the conversation ebbed and flowed, Tyrone could tell Frank Rooney realised Colleen O’Riordan was no ordinary woman.

  “The king is dead, Frank,” Colleen had said, “the queen is in charge now. Nothing has changed; the primary focus of the Grid remains the same.”

  “You can’t expect to walk in and take control without people having questions,” said Rooney, “what makes you think you have the right credentials?”

  “You wouldn’t have asked my late husband, Tommy, that question, Frank,” replied Colleen. “We were married for over thirty years. He was already running with a street gang when I met him. Tommy treated me like many men did in those less enlightened days. I was a trophy to be shown off if we went out with his gangland friends. He wanted me in the kitchen and the bedroom when we're at home. It wasn’t advisable to speak out unless you wanted a fat lip, but I listened. Tommy talked when he’d had a drink. I listened every day for over thirty years, Frank. I learned what to do when he got it right; and what not to do when he screwed up. Since he died, I’ve found that putting that learning into practice was easier than Tommy made it sound.”

  “I’ve heard the stories,” said Frank, “you’ve been tidying house. Anyone who opposed Hanigan and flat-out refused to accept you taking over paid with their lives.”

  “I’ve taken the necessary decisions and issued the orders. I employ people to clean house for me. They’re efficient. If you want to keep the law away from your door, you must keep a distance. Hugo kept detailed records of occasions where the Grid’s leaders failed to remember not to get their own hands dirty. He might have passed that information on to the authorities if he wished to remove a problem; or he could have used that knowledge to blackmail people such as yourself, Frank. Do you remember, Tim Hancock? He was a minor irritation to the police until the thirtieth of August, back in nineteen ninety-one.”

  Tyrone smiled to himself at the silence that gem had caused on the other end of the phone. He was glad Hanigan was dead, but the madman had collected valuable information.

  “I came up the hard way,” Frank blustered, “I didn’t get it handed to me on a plate. You talked your way into taking over Tommy’s old gang in Kilburn, but that’s an Irish mob. You lot stick with your kind. Then, as soon as you have Hanigan killed, you calmly announce you’re replacing him at the head of the whole organisation. It’s only natural people have doubts.”

  “Careful, Frank,” said Colleen, “you never know who’s listening. They might think you’re challenging my position. That would be foolhardy. Almost as foolhardy as shooting Tim Hancock in the head all those years ago because he did a few drug deals on housing estates you controlled.”

  “Yeah, well times were hard back then. Tommy O’Riordan would have done the same, I bet. Look, we might have got off on the wrong foot,” said Frank Rooney, realising he could sign his death warrant if he went up against Colleen. “The Grid has been good for everyone financially. If it continues that way, then we’d be stupid not to keep on the right side of whoever’s in charge.”

  “Now you’re learning, Frank,” said Colleen. “Tommy chose me from all the girls who chased after him because of my good looks. He never gave a thought whether I had a brain. What you and the other leaders need to grasp is that with me in control, we will only get stronger because I have brains and a ruthless streak. Hanigan ignored the cracks in the network. Hugo dismissed the deaths of Grid personnel as natural wastage or the result of petty disputes between rival gangs.”

  “I attended that secret meeting in Surrey,” said Frank, “I heard what was said. Hanigan explained why he did what he did. There have always been rivalries, especially between local gangs. It’s no big surprise when someone gets rid of the opposition. No idea how Hanigan found out about that scrote Hancock, but he deserved what he got.”

  “I suspect you didn’t hear everything, Frank,” said Colleen. “Many leaders left to drive home before the explosion in the car park. I ordered that surprise by the way. I had the room bugged. Hanigan’s security men were
too dumb to do a thorough check. Listen to this conversation.”

  Colleen let Frank Rooney hear the comments made by the late Shabbir Shah.

  ‘I believe we are under attack from a secret government unit; a security force not known to exist by the public. They appear from nowhere and then vanish like smoke. They are too well-organised to be a small rival gang. The deaths of Grid members were too widespread. No individual gang has that reach.’

  “That was Shah, from Cardiff, wasn’t it?” asked Rooney. “He’s no longer with us I heard.”

  “Shah was among a group of men including Klimenko, McGrath, and Quinn who sat together drinking and chatting after you had left.”

  “They’re dead too,” said Rooney.

  “The decision to move forward without them was mine,” said Colleen, “but Klimenko posed a valid question earlier that evening. The attack on the helicopter carrying that judge’s family was a mistake. Surely you agree? Someone not attached to any gang associated with the Grid killed those attackers. Listen to this and then tell me what you think.”

  Frank Rooney listened to the voice of Artem Klimenko.

  “What of those men here who lost valuable personnel since that ill-fated decision? Were the same people responsible for the London deaths, in Selhurst, and Park Royal? What of Handsworth, Solihull, Manchester, and Portsmouth? Is this a series of one-off attacks on the Grid by rogue elements from the criminal fraternity, or is a separate highly organised group responsible?”

  “Aye, it stinks.” It was the Scotsman McGrath who had spoken next. “The next question hangs over what occurred at Rayleigh. Almost on your doorstep, Artem. Who killed Tommy O’Riordan, and the others?”

  “Now, that’s something that’s bugged me ever since it happened,” said Colleen. “I even wondered if it had been my brother, Sean. There were several reasons Hugo had to die. He had Sean killed, and I wondered whether it was him who had got rid of Tommy too.”