by Ted Tayler
Hermes, the mobile phone genius was young, amicable and engaging. Phoenix had been cautious; when he talked about him, he might have been hinting to her that this amicable front hid a dark secret. Was he right?
That left four Olympians that they hadn’t met with before, during or after the meeting. What should she make of that; anything or nothing? She had recognised Heracles; the famous captain of industry. He appeared on television on many occasions. Whenever they needed a clear-headed opinion on the economic situation and its impact on the state of manufacturing in the UK, he was wheeled out for his views. He always gave good value for money. Heracles lived in his home country of Scotland and had flown himself south for the meeting by helicopter.
Athena’s upbringing and background gave her an appreciation of the standing in society of the next two who had been sat next to one another on her side of the table. Aphrodite’s was the daughter of a Duke and one of those people whose name appeared in the Top 100 in the line of succession to the throne. Unlikely to be called upon to be fitted for the crown, however; there were far too many in front of her.
Her companion Dionysus was a Privy Council member; Athena knew that there were currently six hundred privy counsellors. This included former prime ministers and cabinet ministers as well as leaders of the opposition. There were members of the royal family, senior clergy, senior courtiers, and senior judges. They met on average once a month and meetings were presided over by the Queen.
Details of its meetings, attendees and the matters discussed were published in the Court Circular, so it wasn’t a secretive organisation. The Privy Council's role was to advise the monarch of the day in exercising prerogative powers. Athena tried to recall where she had seen Dionysus; she was confident he wasn’t a former politician and absolutely certainly not a royal.
Athena’s time with the secret services had taught her not to make assumptions. Yet she found it hard to imagine Zeus and Hera at odds with this last two when they were palpably cut from the same cloth. She tried to recall any comments they had passed during the meeting, or in the refreshment break, that gave her any clues. She struggled to remember them contributing very much.
As the car motored into Wiltshire, Athena was perhaps unavoidably wrenched away from the Olympus meeting to the horrors that had occurred in Amesbury earlier in the day. She couldn’t bear to think of the pain the families of the victims must be suffering; as for the young children, well it didn’t bear thinking about.
Athena looked across at the slumbering Phoenix and knew that his thoughts on capital punishment were sure to be echoed across the nation, at least for a few days. Sadly, as he feared too, there was zero chance of our weak, liberal leaders ever grasping the nettle. The politicians uttered the trite banalities we had become accustomed to and hoped that in a week or two the families of the murdered men, women and children disappeared back into obscurity.
Athena thought that if she heard ‘We’re sorry for your loss’ or ‘Our thoughts are with the bereaved families at this time’ once more she might scream. She knew her parents wouldn’t appreciate hearing their privately educated daughter use such language. Athena longed to be able to go on TV and tell the public ‘Don’t worry, leave it to us, we’ll get the bastards.’
She smiled to herself; then she remembered one final Olympian that had briefly slipped her memory. Nemesis, the goddess of revenge and retribution. She had said very little. In fact, Athena could only remember that during the meeting she looked uncomfortable during Phoenix’s discussion with Zeus about the black book. When she left the room at the end, it had been with Aphrodite and Demeter. They looked decidedly uneasy in each other’s company.
So, who was Nemesis? Might Demeter be the odd one out in that trio? Was Nemesis another titled female who might be lined up with Zeus and Hera? She determined to research that when they got back to Larcombe; not just into Nemesis either, they needed to investigate the backgrounds of their fellow Olympians in their entirety.
As the car swung through the gates into the driveway that led to the old manor house, Athena thought of the suspicions that Phoenix had about several of the Olympus leaders and on whose side they were.
Athena reckoned that for the foreseeable future Larcombe Manor and its guardians should adopt an appropriate watchword.
Know your enemy.
CHAPTER 11
As the car drew up in front of the main door, Phoenix stirred.
“Are we home?” he muttered.
“We are, darling,” said Athena, “please change your top before we meet up with the others. You’ve dribbled on that one. What am I going to do with you?”
“Just be thankful I changed out of my monkey suit.”
The pair went upstairs to their suite of rooms and threw their bags on the bed. Phoenix got a clean top out of a drawer and changed.
“Happy now?” he grinned.
“A little better. Let’s get to the meeting room and begin to plan your mission.”
When they entered Henry Case and Giles Burke waited. Minos, Thanatos, and Alastor watched and waited too.
“OK, what have you got for us, Henry?” asked Athena.
“Late this afternoon we picked up two dodgy car dealers from the London area we believe can perhaps help us with our inquiries. Our guests arrived twenty minutes ago. I normally leave them to sweat for a while and interrogate them over the weekend; this afternoon’s events in Amesbury have altered matters significantly, so I will have to speed up the process. They will undergo an initial softening-up programme, that is getting underway as we speak. I shall personally supervise the next stage once we finish up here; provided I have your go-ahead.”
“Whatever you need to do Henry, do it,” said Athena, “this gang must be apprehended as soon as possible. We can’t allow anything or anyone to delay us in achieving that result.
“Very well, Athena,” nodded Henry.
“What’s the latest from Amesbury, Giles?” Phoenix asked.
“There have been no further deaths so far. The speed and savagery of the attack stand out on this occasion. Can you believe they were in and out in a single minute? Hardly a chance for eye-witnesses on the High Street to identify the vehicles or the passengers. Nothing apparently relevant to the raid showed up on any CCTV locally. Although of course that opinion might be changed if we only knew what prey we hunted. The shooters must have been dropped off on the pavement outside, they dashed through to the beer garden, fired indiscriminately for twenty seconds then scrambled over the back fence. While the attack took place, their transport drove to the rear of the pub. It parked ready to pick them up as soon as they hit the ground on the other side of the fence. As I say, inside that first minute and a half, they had made their escape.”
“So we have nothing in Amesbury itself and even less in the pub,” said Phoenix dejectedly. “Just like the other raids they left no useful clues.”
“We don’t yet know what the police CSI personnel will find at the scene. It’s early days for us to be hacking into their systems to find out what they have collected. Perhaps one of the gunmen will have cut a knee on the way over the fence. If they can retrieve his DNA, then we can put a name to him. We’re unlikely to get anything from the ammunition. Just a name and a nationality will help us immeasurably to find the gang’s hiding place. Especially once Henry gets to work on our two informants.”
“I didn’t realise these two dealers were informants,” said Athena, surprised.
“Oh, they’re not, Athena,” said Phoenix. “What Giles is indicating is that they will be by the time ‘Head’ Case has shown them the delights of Hotel California.
Phoenix walked over to where Giles sat and put a comforting hand on his shoulder.
“We desperately need a break on your side of things, Giles. Keep plugging away mate,” he said.
Phoenix sensed that Giles was a little depressed, but sometimes gathering intelligence took time. With luck, they possessed the answer already, somewhere in the plethora of
data they collected over the past few weeks. If they did, Giles was the type to keep worrying away at the problem like a dog with a squeaky toy. On Christmas Day, the squeak got on your nerves; but it wouldn’t too long before the dog found the source and strangled it into silence. Giles was your man if you required the intelligence equivalent of a dog and a squeaky toy.
“Thanks, Phoenix,” said Giles, “I’ll get back to the ice-house if I may? I’ll run through the reams of stuff we’ve got one more time and start collating the new material we’ve gathered. Perhaps in the morning, we’ll be able to get a break.”
“I’ll get moving on finding out what my two guests are able to add to the mix,” said Henry. “May I be excused too?”
Athena told her two ice-house agents to report back at nine o’clock in the morning. There would be no free weekend. No rest for the wicked. Well, that was the aim.
Phoenix glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece over the elegant Georgian fireplace.
“I think we’ve gone as far as we can on this today, Athena, I suggest we finish, get a bite to eat, and have an early night.”
The Three Amigos looked miffed. Minos decided he should be their spokesman.
“We understand the reasons for this emergency meeting regarding the Amesbury shootings and totally agree with everything that’s been decided so far; however we hoped for a debriefing on your first session with the rest of our superiors.”
“It was both boring and revealing in equal measure,” said Phoenix with an exaggerated sigh. “Our financial position is very healthy, we have achieved significant successes with direct actions carried out by our agents in lots of different foreign places. We have several enemies around the table there who, without a doubt, will do us harm if they ever get given licence to pursue their ambitions. It might have seemed a good idea sitting with your backs to the window for meetings here at home. It’s more sensible if we jointly kept our eyes peeled in every direction over the coming months. There are dark forces at work; we need to be on our guard and ready to defend ourselves against attack from three-hundred and sixty degrees.”
Minos and the others turned their heads to Athena, seeking reassurance or a rebuke for Phoenix for misleading them. She smiled back at them benignly.
“What he said. We’ll see you in the morning. Sleep well.”
Saturday, July 20th, 2013
The morning’s newspapers and TV news bulletins were full of reports covering the Amesbury shootings. ‘Outrage’ was commonplace word across banner headlines and the news channels.
The image that featured most prominently that of a smiling, chubby-faced infant. A picture of little Kassie Paget, the youngest victim in the beer garden at fifteen months old.
Much smaller images of the beer garden after the bodies of the dead and injured had been removed tucked away on the inside pages or shown on-screen very briefly. These were chilling enough; the full horror of the carnage deemed too much to be seen by the nation’s readers and viewers as they ate their breakfast on this glorious summer Saturday.
Millions of people saw the reports and a tremendous outcry swelled up on social media. Understandably people were angry; they wanted answers. What were the police doing about these attacks? What were the government doing? Where could anyone be safe?
Dimitar Marinov was content. He woke up to the furore that his orchestrated reign of terror provoked. Dimitar wanted this country on its knees, begging for these attacks to be stopped. Did he wonder if now was the time to make his financial demands? Perhaps another attack might be required to seal the deal?
Dimitar attended to his breakfast and scanned the newspapers. He didn’t read about the Amesbury shootings; he scanned the entertainment section, wondering which of Britain’s favourite stars should be killed. Who might be missed the most?
He poured himself another cup of coffee and turned to the sports pages. Decisions, decisions; what a tough life. A Premiership footballer perhaps? Dimitar had a busy morning ahead of him.
Meanwhile, in Bath DS Phil Hounsell also sat having his breakfast, Erica, and the kids seated around the table with him. He had anticipated a quiet family weekend. With great weather forecast, they planned a trip to the coast followed by a barbeque with friends this evening. Sunday morning set aside for a few household chores, followed by a lazy afternoon in the garden and then an evening meal on the patio. A bottle of wine to be chilled ready to soften the dark thoughts of returning to work in the morning.
“How does this affect you, darling?” asked Erica, turning the newspaper headline towards him.
Phil heard the breaking news at Portishead before he left for home last evening. As he forecast, his superiors had breathed a huge sigh of relief that the latest strike didn’t happen on their patch. They had scaled back the motorway patrols for the weekend as they didn’t imagine many prospects of any further attacks for a few days. The force’s bean counters always kept an eye on the dwindling budgets.
“Personally, it affects me deeply. I can’t imagine what those families are suffering. This gang is ruthless. The swine have to be stopped. Professionally, I don’t imagine I’ll be called back to Portishead. There’s no emergency on our patch. The bosses will send messages of support to the Wiltshire police, of course, you wouldn’t expect anything less. I told them this would be bound to happen, Erica. I told them this gang had to be based in west London. Nobody wanted to listen.”
The phone didn’t ring. Phil, Erica, and the children prepared to get on with their weekend. It’s not easy though to relax when your thoughts are constantly interrupted by visions of Kassie Paget and the other victims.
Each successive hour’s media bulletin reported the same almost static status. Just one of the drawbacks to 24-hour news.
Amesbury had been a one minute attack. The police made zero progress in the first twelve to twenty-four hours after. This left the public hankering for a time when the news came on only four times a day. You got to hear what went on in the world in bite-sized chunks crammed into a thirty-minute slot. The only escape from the continuous loop these days was to change the channel or switch off the television.
In Maidenhead, Georgi Bonev was not having a good day. He had returned to the farm with the other gang members and dropped off the Land Rovers after the Amesbury raid. He had been sick to his stomach with what happened. Georgi never imagined that Dimitar would go so far as to slaughter innocent children.
When he had asked Boris Tsankov about events in the beer garden, even he had been affected by it, he could tell. As he talked of the green grass being turned red with the blood, just for a few seconds the steel shell of the hardened assassin fell away.
Dimitar had roared off in his car to a party somewhere, leaving the others to travel back to their homes in a couple of cars. The same joviality that followed the other attacks seemed to have evaporated.
Iliya Todorov offered to drop Georgi off at the end of his street, but Georgi told him he wanted to make his own way home. He said he would probably stop off on the way for a drink. He didn’t fancy an evening alone before he tried to wash away the memories of what they had done.
Georgi took one of the cars from the pool in the outbuilding. Dimitar wouldn’t approve, but he wouldn’t find out. He would be able to return it over the weekend. No problem.
As Georgi sat in the prison cell he tried to recall what had happened. His head thumped. He remembered driving towards Maidenhead and stopping at a pub in the countryside. He had only drunk a few beers there. A pretty barmaid served him and seemed keen to chat. Georgi had eaten something there too, but he couldn’t remember what he had ordered. A bar snack perhaps, the trip to Amesbury had robbed him of any real appetite.
He had left the pub by eight o’clock, or perhaps it had been half-past because it was still light. He’d got back into town and parked in the car park behind a bar he and the lads sometimes used. It was busy, but none of the gang had gone there. He stopped drinking beers and switched to vodka.
The
bar had closed at two o’clock; Georgi was almost sure he had been the last to leave. If you had asked the door staff if that was true, they would have told you they practically poured him out of the door he was so full of alcohol. Georgi was a big solid man and not easy to shift.
When he stood on the pavement outside, he had started to stagger off in the direction of his house, and then he had found a set of keys in his pocket. What was this, he had thought? These weren’t his door keys. Of course, he had driven a car to this bar. He had then made his way unsteadily to the car park and swayed as he pressed the button on the key fob. One of the cars replied with a flash of light and unlocked doors. He had stumbled to the car and fallen into the driver’s seat.
Within a minute of him steering the car gently out of the car park, crossing the road and heading towards home at no more than ten miles per hour he had seen the light. Not a religious experience, just the local police doing an early morning sweep of the late-night drinking places to make sure peace and quiet reigned.
Georgi sat in the cell now and his head thumped harder as the rest of last night’s events came back to him. Shit. He was in trouble. He thought he remembered someone say he had been four times over the limit. What do they know? He could have drunk more if the bar had stayed open. Limits are for pussies. Georgi felt sick. He threw up in the toilet. His head thumped even more.
At Larcombe Manor, the team assembled at nine o’clock for the meeting. Everyone was eager to get on with the job at hand. The task of identifying, locating and eliminating this murderous gang.
Athena and Phoenix had arrived early. They were already seated when Minos, Alastor, and Thanatos trooped in together. Henry and Giles made it just before the clock ticked around to nine. As Athena started proceedings Rusty entered the room.
“A meeting on a Saturday morning? It must be about Amesbury I’m guessing; I spotted Henry and Giles trotting across the lawn from the ice-house with a load of files, so I thought I’d better put in an appearance.”
