by Ted Tayler
*****
Simon Gonzalez travelled to Bath by train from London Waterloo. He arrived in the Roman city at three o’clock in the afternoon, around the time that Phoenix, Athena and the others chose their desserts in the New Forest.
The sights of the city didn’t interest Gonzo, his presence had a more sinister motive. Tyrone O’Riordan wanted to know everything that happened at Larcombe Manor. Once Colleen made the connection between the characters at a posh wedding party and the charitable organisation, he had contacted him. Last Sunday morning he was asked to track a dark van back to its base.
Gonzo wanted to tell Tyrone he was looking for a needle in a haystack. If these men drove a distinctive vehicle, it could have saved him hours of work. On Friday, he isolated the only dark van to reach the relevant part of Bath on the night in question. As he ploughed through hour after hour of CCTV film from the M4 he learned one fascinating statistic. Forty per cent of the four million vans on UK roads were black or blue.
Gonzo wasn’t used to so much fresh air. His life centred on a screen a few feet in front of him in a darkened room. He had found the van and established the link between the citizens’ arrest of the moped gang and the Bath charity. That was usually enough for most people who employed him. Tyrone was different. He wanted Gonzo to put names to the two men in the photograph. Find out the numbers of employees at the Manor. How many patients they treated if that’s what they did. How much activity could be seen from the air?
Tyrone didn’t take no for an answer. Gonzo wanted to keep breathing, so he had taken the train for the first time since he left school. The pedestrianised streets near the centre of Bath thronged with people. Half of which walked somewhere at speed, while the other half idled, or stopped without reason. For someone unused to being outside it was a nightmare.
Gonzo checked the directions to Larcombe Manor on his phone. A physical street-map wasn’t something he’d ever buy. Simon saw plenty in the hands of foreigners surrounding him. They were the ones most likely to stop dead in the middle of the street.
The Georgian estate was too far out for Simon Gonzalez to walk. He checked for a bus service that would get him close. There was nothing. The bus offered anonymity. He wanted to avoid a taxi whatever happened. Taxi drivers had a habit of remembering lone strangers heading for uncommon destinations. Larcombe Manor wasn’t on every tourist’s radar, nor would locals be encouraged to wander into its grounds when they pleased.
Salvation lay just around the corner. Well, it was a Sunday. Nextbike had made it to Bath. He would cycle to the city outskirts and take as many photos of the buildings as possible. Then he planned to make good use of the drone in his backpack to overfly the whole estate.
By half-past four, Gonzo had turned into the minor road that led to the Manor. His map showed the winding lane ending at a farm which in the past must have been part of a large sprawling country estate. Halfway along the lane, he found the gateway to Larcombe Manor. Gonzo stopped his bike by the stone pillars. There were no high walls or secure gates, only a cattle-grid a few metres beyond the gate before you entered a curved driveway to the Georgian house.
He made a note of the registered number of the charity under the Olympus Project sign on the left-hand pillar. Visitors were discouraged. The Private signs on both pillars were reinforced by the cordoned-off areas by the gates on either side. Gas, electric, and water companies accessed meters on the left using their own keys. Waste bins were sited securely on the right. Gonzo imagined that the milkman, postman, and paperboy were redundant. Someone from the charity collected what had to cross this cattle-grid.
There were outbuildings visible from the lane, and the spire of a church almost hidden from view as the ground fell away into a valley beyond. What lay in the distance remained a mystery for now. The map showed an estate bounded by a series of wooded areas, which meant that this was the only vehicular access. Men on foot could enter from the sides or the rear, but their approach would be detected well before they got near to the main building.
It was time to deploy the drone. Gonzo had it aloft within minutes. He sent it in a large loop around the perimeter of the estate. He studied the ground below on his laptop, searching for men and machines, more outbuildings, and signs of activity that would interest Tyrone.
The lawns and the wooded areas were deserted. As he tightened the circle the drone was flying Gonzo saw a walled vegetable garden with several men at work. That made sense if these men were recovering from PTSD. Gardening was supposed to be good therapy. Maybe, Tyrone had got it wrong.
A converted stable block next appeared under the drone’s camera. An odd-shaped mound came into view which the hacker couldn’t identify. Beyond that stood a row of terraced cottages. The drone flew over the woods now, and suddenly the little church appeared. Gonzo soon had a great view of the rear of the main Georgian building. It was certainly impressive.
He decided on one more spin around the grounds to get a closer look at that shape on the rear left-hand side. What could it be?
There was a bang and his screen went blank. The drone wasn’t responding to his controls. Gonzo realised it had crashed to earth. Had someone shot it from the sky? If he had doubts about whether Tyrone was right to suspect this place, they disappeared.
It was time to get the bicycle to the nearest dropping-off point. As he cycled along the lane as fast as his legs would carry him he glanced back over his shoulder. Gonzo saw a small, white van on the driveway heading for the stone pillars. He kept going. At the end of the lane, he turned left and rode deeper into the countryside. He gambled his pursuers would follow him towards the city. When he reached the top of a small incline, he found himself looking down at a steep hill. The long, winding road ahead brought him close to the next village.
When he reached the bottom, he threw the bicycle over a stone wall into a field and walked the rest of the way. Despite the risk, he then phoned for a taxi to pick him up outside the only pub and take him to Bath Spa station. He had plenty to show Tyrone O’Riordan on his laptop when he got back to London. Who said it was the streets of the capital that were dangerous? It was bandit country out here.
*****
Monday 20th October 2014
Tyrone had received a brief message from Simon Gonzalez late last night. The computer hacker wanted to meet. As he made his way to the Glencairn at lunchtime Tyrone sensed someone shadowing him. He didn’t turn around. He waited until he climbed the steps to the large glass doors of the bank. The man behind him was in his early twenties. The ubiquitous hoodie, jeans and baseball cap signified he wasn’t a client. He didn’t look much of a threat either.
Tyrone told Gonzo to follow him to his office. Once inside, Gonzo confirmed he had established the link between the Olympus Project and the moped gang attack. He also showed Tyrone the drone film he had captured. When it suddenly stopped, Tyrone looked at him.
“What happened? Is that it?” he asked.
“That’s when someone shot down the drone,” said Gonzo. “I got the hell out as soon as I spotted the van heading up the drive. If I hadn’t, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
“They’re as secretive as we suspected,” said Tyrone, “what more have they got to hide, I wonder?”
“I can hack into their systems to get personal files, so you can identify the men you’re after,” offered Gonzo. “Those men working in the garden could be suffering from PTSD. Maybe they have a few on-site as part of their cover.”
“It was quiet yesterday afternoon, wasn’t it? I expected to see more people.”
“I didn’t anticipate losing the drone,” said Gonzo, “but we could try again at night? If we use a thermal imaging camera, we can gauge how many live and work on the estate. It will give us something to compare to the charity’s published personnel numbers.”
“Good idea,” said Tyrone, “but if they have security systems that can spot and neutralise a drone, surely they’ll realise someone has hacked into their systems?”
Simon Gonzalez reacted as if Tyrone had slapped him.
“I can hack into the Department of Defense in Virginia, stay inside for three hours, and then leave by a back door I created without them being any the wiser. Do you think this system will be anything but a walkover?”
“You could have a great future with the Grid, Simon,” said Tyrone, “cybercrime will be the biggest earner for organised crime in the future. Why burgle a property for a few hundred pounds worth of stuff you then need to fence when you can scam them out of thousands via their phone or computer?”
“I’ll start on the administration systems, for the personnel files,” said Gonzo, “and then I’ll see what other systems they operate. I noticed there were no high walls, or electrified fences guarding the perimeter. To an untrained eye, it looks normal. But I suspect they have high-tech security equipment somewhere in one of those buildings.”
“I can’t wait to learn what you find there, Gonzo. Well done. Keep it up but watch your back.”
*****
“Henry,” said Athena, “what happened yesterday?”
“I visited Sarah Gough,” replied the security officer, “we’ve had the news we were waiting for that Sarah’s new parish has been agreed. She can transfer from Surrey in a month’s time. St Mary’s has been without a vicar for a period, and her group of parishes can cover her departure until a permanent replacement is found.”
“St Marys? That’s north of Bath isn’t it?” asked Minos.
Henry nodded.
“I didn’t return to Larcombe until this morning,” he continued. “I read the report from the team on duty yesterday just before I came to the meeting. It appears someone flew a drone over the estate yesterday afternoon. Kelly Dexter and Hayden Vincent were alerted when it crossed by the stable block.”
“Why did they decide to shoot at it?” asked Athena.
Henry cleared his throat.
“I believe Kelly to be out of sorts at present. I would have said hormonal, but that might be unwise.”
“She’s pregnant, and plagued by morning sickness,” said Artemis, “I would have been mad if a kid buzzed my apartment on a Sunday afternoon.”
“Are we sure it was a kid?” asked Rusty.
“Kelly blasted it out of the sky as it hovered over the ice-house,” said Henry. “There wasn’t enough left to learn the purpose of the flight, or who controlled it. The security team patrolled the perimeter, and a van went to intercept an intruder, but they found no-one.”
“Increase the patrols and review our security protocols, Henry,” said Athena, “this may have been a one-off, but we mustn’t underestimate the Grid.”
“Understood, Athena,” said Henry.
“Before we move on, Henry, will this earlier move influence your wedding plans?”
Henry cleared his throat again.
“Sarah is phoning you tonight. Athena,” he said, “I believe the twenty-second of November is her preferred date. She starts at St Mary’s on the first of December.”
“Sarah wants to avoid her congregation finding out she’s living in sin at Larcombe by becoming Mrs Case before she starts work,” said Phoenix, “is that what you mean?”
“Straight to the point, as usual, Phoenix,” said Henry.
“I see no problem, Henry,” said Athena. “When we chat this evening, I’ll get the number of the friend who will perform the ceremony. I can arrange for the banns to be read here in the church.”
Athena moved on to Giles Burke. He looked tired. The poor soul had been working double shifts in the ice-house this weekend. Artemis was in Hampshire, and Maria Elena had returned to Estepona to visit her family.
“How did your weekend go?” she asked.
“I gave up the hunt for the car, I’m afraid. I wasted at least six hours on Saturday trawling through camera footage. If the car with the three robbers was on that main road, they must have removed their disguises before they left the scene. I concentrated on make-up artists instead. Their work volume is intermittent. They both had short periods of high activity with money transferred into their bank accounts, followed by weeks when they seem to do next to nothing. Julian Kneiss, a forty-six-year-old, native New Yorker, moved to London in 2001. His last celebrity assignment was for a music video featuring one of the top girl groups back in 2013. Last month, with no fanfare on his social media advertising who he worked for, JK as he is known, had a sudden twenty-five thousand pounds credited to his account.”
“Nothing out of the ordinary on the other candidate?” asked Athena.
“No,” said Giles, “she has been flying to and from the continent working with catwalk models in Paris and Milan. Her income has been more regular. When I dug into her background, the occasions when she appeared to be out of work coincided with spells in rehab.”
“Time for a talk with JK,” said Phoenix, “who do we have that can collect him?”
“I’ll send a team,” said Athena, “Henry, you can expect a guest tomorrow.”
Henry nodded.
“This morning we have learned that Henry and Sarah will marry in November,” said Athena, “over the weekend there was another pleasant surprise. I’m sure you will want to congratulate Rusty and Artemis on their engagement.”
Minos, Alastor, and Henry accepted the news was pleasant, but it didn’t come as a surprise.
“I think we’ve hoped you would make an honest man of him before much longer, Artemis,” said Alastor.
“Is this likely to be a long engagement, Rusty?” asked Minos.
“Certainly not,” said Artemis, “in fact, when Henry started to share his and Sarah’s news I feared the worst. I talked with my parents last night, and we’re hoping to get them to Larcombe for the twenty-ninth of November.”
“Is Sarah available to do the honours?” asked Rusty, “or are you whisking her away on honeymoon, Henry?”
“We’ll be moving her stuff into our new apartment here during the week following the wedding. The honeymoon has been postponed until next Spring when we originally planned to marry.”
“Giles, you’re quiet,” said Phoenix.
“I’m pleased for the four of you,” he said, “our wedding plans have been disrupted.”
“What happened?” asked Athena.
“Maria Elena flew home to see her family, as you know. Her grandmother’s condition was worse than her father told her on the phone. She is unlikely to make it to Christmas. Her family wish her to return to Spain. Maria Elena is desperate for her grandmother to see her get married.”
“How sad,” said Artemis, “does this mean you will leave soon?”
“They have procedures to go through in Spain much as we do here in the UK,” said Giles, “the earliest practical date will be the fifteenth of next month.”
“I don’t believe this,” said Phoenix, “it reminds me of London buses. Nothing for ages, and then three arrive at once.”
“It will be difficult for any of you to attend,” said Giles.
“I shall fly out to join you,” said Henry, “we agreed to be one another’s best man. I’m not backing out.”
“We’ll return by the following Saturday for your wedding,” said Giles. His concerns were being eased by the minute.
“We should like to celebrate your wedding with you in some way,” said Athena, “have you considered a blessing here at Larcombe? I’m sure Sarah would love to be involved.”
“Planning is supposed to be my strong point,” said Phoenix, “and my social calendar is suddenly more crowded than it’s ever been. Why don’t we have a blessing for Giles and Maria Elena in the morning, and Artemis and Rusty’s wedding in the afternoon of the twenty-ninth?”
“It fits into the calendar,” said Minos. “Is there anyone we’ve missed out?”
“I think we’ve exhausted our supply of eligible couples,” said Athena. “Several of us have got personal matters to arrange, on top of our Olympus duties. I suggest we close this meeting today.”
&nb
sp; As they made their way along the corridor to their apartment Athena grabbed Phoenix by the arm.
“Isn’t it wonderful the others are getting settled at last? Despite the number of ceremonies that means we’ll have in our little church?”
“Terrific,” said Phoenix, “my worry is the drone on Sunday, and what that means for the future. If the Grid plans to attack Larcombe, several of us may not survive next year. Is that the real reason for this rush to the altar?”
A sombre couple arrived at the door to their apartment. When they entered, Geoffrey sat with Hope and Maria Elena. The nanny looked up to see if she could learn something from their faces. She misinterpreted their mood.
“You are unhappy Giles and I must go to Spain soon,” she said.
“That’s not true,” said Athena, giving the young girl a hug, “we wish you both all the best. We were sorry to hear your grandmother is so ill. Henry will be Giles’s best man as arranged. He will be free to fly out to Estepona for the weekend of your wedding. In fact, Giles will tell you later of other celebrations ahead when you return as Senora Burke. I won’t spoil the surprise. Run along now and see your fiancée. We’ll look after Hope this afternoon. You have much to do, I know.”
Maria Elena left the family on their own. Athena told her father what had been arranged at the morning meeting.
Hope watched and listened.
Everyone had gone mad around here. Love was in the air.
CHAPTER 13
Orion had travelled north to Musselburgh on an overnight train from Temple Meads to Edinburgh Haymarket. The twelve-hour journey involved only one change. It necessitated a detour from Waverley due to ongoing reconstruction work following the devastating bomb attack in September.
Orion explained to Hayden what his mission entailed on Friday morning. He asked for assistance from Olympus operatives in the area. Hayden took him along the corridor and introduced him to Hugh Fraser. Hugh was a Logistics Officer, a role that would never be explained in full to Orion, but it helped to have someone different to engage in conversation.
