The Phoenix Series Box Set 2

by Ted Tayler

  Artemis glanced at Athena. Why take this trouble building a facility with three levels unless the other two were going to be just as vital as the upper floor?

  “Can we go to visit them?” asked Artemis.

  “Sorry, they’re off-limits,” replied Athena, “oh, there’s Giles Burke. How fortuitous. Giles, may I introduce your new operative Artemis. Artemis, meet Giles.”

  The two shook hands. Artemis saw that Giles resembled the archetypal computer geek; just as she did at school, at university, and in her early police career. Nervously both of them pushed their glasses up on their noses.

  “Welcome, Artemis. I hope that Athena has finished your tour and that you’re going to stay here with us now? There’s plenty to learn and the sooner we start the better.”

  “She’s all yours, Giles,” said Athena. “I’ll head back to the house and wait for Phoenix to return.”

  “Still no breaking news to report, Athena,” said Giles.

  “Artemis is one of us now, Giles, you can tell her what she needs to know about yesterday’s mission. I’m sure she had knowledge of what preceded it and why it became so necessary.”

  Giles nodded. Athena left them. Artemis began her induction programme in the command centre. It was lunchtime; her stomach told her that. Giles showed no signs of needing to take a break. They appeared to be in for a long afternoon. Her life as a huntress had truly begun.

  Athena walked back to the manor house alone. Her thoughts turned to Phoenix and her concerns over the baby and how he might react melted away as he held her last night. She thought too of Erebus. Just mentioning him and parts of his background to Artemis stirred many happy memories of her mentor. As she climbed the grassy slope to the patio and passed the table at which he always sat, she wondered how he was enjoying his retirement.

  Santa Eulalia, the third largest resort on the island of Ibiza is little more than twelve miles from the airport. A quiet, working town that welcomed William and Elizabeth Hunt with open arms when they honeymooned there. There had been changes in the decades that followed. Much of the attractiveness remained unadulterated. When he arrived in January, William Horatio Hunt had been more than satisfied with his choice of a spot in which to spend his retirement.

  Gavin, his crewman, and bodyguard had sailed ‘Elizabeth’ his yacht, from the UK to her new home in the exclusive marina. William had flown into Ibiza and taken a taxi past Eivissa, Ibiza Old Town and into the town on the river. The taxi driver dropped him at the marina; Gavin helped William carry his small suitcase on board. Everything else had travelled over on board ‘Elizabeth.’

  William adapted to the switch from the challenges of running things at Larcombe Manor to being retired with little to occupy his mind quickly. He walked along the tree-lined promenade after breakfast and admired the broad and sandy beach. There was no rush; the newspapers arrived mid to late morning; he picked up his copy of The Times from the kiosk at the top of the little Rambla and walked back to the seafront between flowering oleanders and hibiscus. Occasionally in the morning tables were erected and filled with craft items. As the weeks ticked by the street vendors recognised the arrival of an elegantly dressed elderly gentleman and call out a friendly greeting. William smiled and raise a hand in reply.

  He loved to walk along Calle San Jaime around lunchtime too; he watched and listened as the locals came together for coffee and conversation at the tables outside on the pavements. The town was at its bustling busiest on these occasions.

  When the weather was kind to him after lunch, and he needed the exercise from a ‘constitutional’ he walked from Calle San Jaime to the front. From there he’d stroll along the promenade to Mariner's beach, where the only river in the Balearics flowed into the sea. He took the peaceful river-walk that meanders up to the Roman bridge. He took delighted in finding that since his last visit with his beloved wife, the bridge had been carefully and faithfully restored. William spent several afternoons since his arrival sat on one of the stone benches that overlooked the slow-running river, reflecting on those happy days with Elizabeth.

  In the evenings, he was spoilt for choice, he could dine in a restaurant yards from his yacht’s mooring, or he could be in one of several hotels or restaurants on the promenade in less than five minutes. Occasionally, he crossed Calle San Jaime and visited Calle San Vicente, famously known as the street of restaurants’, or more commonly to the locals as restaurant alley.

  Now and then he and Gavin took ‘Elizabeth’ for a sail; especially on very hot days. They would sail around the island and visit Majorca or Menorca. The two men called in at little coves or busy resorts where splendid eateries served some of the best fresh fish dishes available anywhere. The cuisine was varied and always excellent. Life was good.

  William had a favourite spot to sit and watch the world go by after lunch. With his copy of The Times under his arm, he headed back towards the marina and stopped at the Ring O’Bells on Calle de Mar. He would walk up the steps from the promenade and find a chair in the shade on the verandah. William never waited long before a friendly face appeared. He ordered his usual café con leche and then he began to read the newspaper.

  By the end of his first week in Santa Eulalia del Rio, the owner, and his wife had been on first name terms with him. When he folded his newspaper, ready to start the crossword, a voice would call out from the dark recesses of the bar behind him.

  “Ready for your second cup, William?”

  William would raise his hand in acknowledgement.

  “Many thanks.”

  Then he took his fountain pen from the top pocket of his summer jacket and take up the challenge. Before the coffee cooled, it would be finished. Erebus could well have been the pseudonym for a crossword compiler; William Horatio Hunt was a cruciverbalist par excellence.

  As Athena reminisced about her mentor at Larcombe on that Monday lunchtime in July, William Hunt sat sipping his first cup of coffee. It was a very warm day. Gavin had stayed in the marina washing down the decks and was preparing ‘Elizabeth’ for a sail around to Portinatx in the morning. The town’s hotels were comfortably full with holidaymakers and the bars and restaurants were busy. William had company in front of him on the lower patio; the wooden tables full of new sunseekers, pining for all-day breakfasts and the first ice-cold lager of the day. The happy voices of children filled the air.

  William sat on the verandah with his coffee and his newspaper. He hoped to read news from home about this terrible foreign gang terrorising the country. Surely Athena’s Olympus agents must be on their trail by now? He chided himself for caring about their progress on the matter; it was not his problem anymore. As he folded his newspaper to tackle the crossword, he thought of Phoenix. What a terrific find he had been.

  As he reached for his pen in his jacket top pocket, a shadow fell over the table where he sat. Someone loomed over him. He was about to raise his head when he felt a sharp prick in his neck. His attacker moved into the bar and pushed through the swing doors into the toilets. When he returned he walked quickly out of the bar, down the steps and got swallowed up in the crowds of holidaymakers.

  William sat in the chair, realising that he was finding it difficult to focus, even to move. He sighed, He took up his fountain pen and with a shaky hand filled in a handful of squares on the crossword.

  “Ready for that second cup, William?” called Hayden from inside the bar.

  William couldn’t even raise a hand in reply.

  Hayden and Yvette carried on serving customers for a while, then Yvette went outside to take an order from a family that had just sat at an empty table. She glanced at William on the verandah; she could only see the top of his straw fedora. It appeared the old man had dropped off to sleep. It was a hot day, and he was in his seventies after all. Bless him.

  “I think I’ll take a coffee out to William anyway,” Yvette said to Hayden when she returned indoors. She gently nudged William as she placed it on the table in front of him on her return.


  Commodore William Horatio Hunt OBE Royal Navy Retired (code name Erebus) slumped forwards onto the table. He was dead.

  CHAPTER 17

  Hayden telephoned for an ambulance. Then he went to the marina to find Gavin. The former naval officer ran up to the bar, but there was nothing to be done. He searched for any signs of foul play, however, nothing obvious came to mind. He knew he must call Larcombe Manor and inform them of his employer's death.

  It was likely to be natural causes. At seventy-three, despite apparently being in good health, you never knew what effect the heat might have had on William’s heart. Maybe there had been something else. A ticking bomb just waiting to end things. He looked at Hayden and shook his head.

  “The paramedics needn’t rush; he’s gone I’m afraid.”

  Hayden rang the policia municipal too; better to get everything moving as soon as possible. Things can move terribly slow at times on a holiday island. Yvette did her best to comfort the remaining customers and pacify a couple of enthusiastic drinkers who didn’t seem keen to move on somewhere else. It would take a while to get this sorted. It might be wise to close for a few hours. Customers dying on the premises had never been a great advert.

  Yvette looked over to the now covered body on the verandah. William Hunt had become a regular and a favourite; a real gentleman. She would miss him.

  Gavin came up the steps into the bar. He made the call to Larcombe Manor.

  Athena answered.

  “Athena? It’s Gavin. I’m the bearer of bad news I’m afraid. It’s William, he sat drinking coffee and completing The Times crossword in a bar near the marina. It was very sudden. We’re waiting for the emergency services, but he’s dead.”

  Athena’s lip quivered.

  “Are you sure? Oh, the poor, sweet man. He didn’t have long enough away from here. He deserved so much better. Life can be so cruel. Phoenix and I will fly out straight away; we’ll make arrangements to bring the body home.”

  Gavin reminded her of the law on the Iberian Peninsula and out here on the islands. Repatriation needed plenty of hoops to be negotiated to get authorisation; but no matter who you were, the body had to be embalmed within forty-eight hours and could not be transported home otherwise.

  “Are you certain it was natural causes?” Athena asked.

  “The paramedics have just arrived; I’ll keep on top of things here and inform the consulate in Ibiza town. When you arrive here, come to the marina and I’ll meet you onboard ‘Elizabeth’. You can sleep on board for the nights you’re here. I’ll be able to pick up a UK-style death certificate from the consulate in due course. If the local forensic doctor certified William’s death as ‘normal’ there may well be no autopsy or inquest. The body will be removed to a tanatorio, a funeral parlour and we need to get the relevant paperwork to them quickly. The embalming will go ahead, but we can inform them that the body will be returning to the UK for interment.”

  “He will be reunited with Elizabeth in the family plot; the arrangements are in place for that. This is so sad.”

  “When will you be able to get here do you think?” asked Gavin.

  “Phoenix isn’t back from a trip yet. As soon as he arrives, we’ll book our flights. Things are hectic in mid-July, so it might need shopping around. I’ll be in touch. I’ll let you get on with things out there. Goodbye, Gavin, I’m glad you’re out there with him. I’d hate to think of him being alone.”

  Athena sat down in a chair. The tears came but the memories of William here at Larcombe were all happy ones. Phoenix walked in an hour or so later.

  “I’m glad that’s over,” he said, “I hope I don’t have to do another one of those for a while. Are you okay, Athena?”

  “It’s Erebus. He’s dead. Gavin rang an hour ago to say he passed away suddenly. We need to get out there to bring him home.”

  “That might be tricky,” said Phoenix, “I don’t have a passport remember. I was born Colin Bailey in 1968 and never needed a passport until I had to make myself scarce in 2001. I changed my name a year later after I married my second wife Sue. I returned to the UK as Colin Owens early in 2010 and brought here on July first. The next day Erebus christened me Phoenix and none of my Olympus missions has ever taken me overseas. Erebus kept me on UK soil, not just because he had a soft spot for me, but because travel would be likely to throw up problems.”

  “Erebus told us everything he thought he needed to about you when he collected you from the river,” said Athena. “There aren’t many things I didn’t learn about your past, and you know everything there is to know about mine. A lot of the smaller details have been overlooked during the past three years. There’s a way around this, surely?”

  “Is there any chance I might travel as Garry Burns? Although he’s missing, presumed dead in Africa as far as Olympus is concerned, his status with the UK authorities is still intact isn’t it? They must still have him registered as being here at Larcombe recovering from PTSD. We told the police officer, formerly known as Zara Wheeler last year that he’d left us and gone travelling. Giles covered our tracks with a false backpacker’s trail if I remember rightly, in case anyone followed up the story. If he set a false trail, that never got followed, then he can remove it just as easily with no-one ever being the wiser. Fingers crossed. I’ll get on to Henry Case to see whether they can furnish me with documents that will get me out to Ibiza and back. Garry Burns won’t be on a ‘no-fly’ list or wanted for questioning anywhere will he?”

  “Do what you can, Phoenix,” replied Athena, “but make it quick, because we need to get out there pronto. I would have preferred to leave this evening, but that’s out of the question by the sound of it. Ryanair flies out at half-past six tomorrow morning from Bristol. We both need to be on that flight. Provided I can get us on it at such short notice.”

  Phoenix set off walking towards the ice-house. He suddenly thought of Artemis. He had to steer clear of her; they couldn’t risk his being recognised as Garry Burns or Colin Bailey. Not on her first full day. He went to his old lair in the orangery and called Henry and asked him to join him.

  Athena started to pack a few items in a bag and dug out her own passport. If Phoenix got his details ready this afternoon, they could still be in Santa Eulalia by mid-morning tomorrow. She wanted to see the body for herself. She prayed that she could get there before the embalmer had done his work.

  Why was she not convinced that Erebus’s death resulted from natural causes? Did the impressions they had gained from the meeting with the other Olympians in London last Friday have anything to do with it? Were there indeed dark forces at work? Or was it that she just couldn’t believe that the old gentleman she had admired so much had actually gone?

  As she studied her passport, another thought crossed her mind. How would she ever be able to get married if she and Phoenix decided to go ahead? He was a non-person, as he had reminded her. His true identity could never be uncovered if she wanted to keep him by her side whether as her husband, partner or colleague.

  As for any future birth certificate for their yet to be confirmed child, would she be forced to put ‘unknown’ in the space reserved for ‘Father’? God, what a nightmare. She laughed hysterically. Please spare me from going through life as Mrs Annabelle Burns, she thought.

  Henry Case was his usual efficient self. After checking whether they had the details necessary to supply Phoenix with a serviceable passport to hand, the two men compared the latest photographs for Garry Burns and Phoenix. The latter had been taken in his first few days at Larcombe.

  “There’s a passing resemblance, I suppose,” said Henry.

  “Burns’s picture comes from almost ten years ago,” said Phoenix. “If I wear glasses to alter my appearance a little, it should be good enough to get me through customs at Bristol. Nobody looks like their passport photo, anyway. At the other end, they barely glance up from the desk, let alone scrutinise the document and verify the image. Our biggest headache might be on the way home; they’re more alert
on your way back.”

  “Leave it with me, Phoenix, I’ll have everything ready later today. Is there anything I need to do in the meantime?” asked Henry.

  “Pass the details, including the number, to Athena so she can secure our flights. Could you bring the finished article over to the main building when it’s ready, please? Oh, by the way, how is Artemis settling into things here?”

  “I haven’t met up with her yet,” said Henry. “Athena gave her the guided tour and Giles set her to work as soon as that finished. No doubt we’ll bump into one another in time. Safe journey tomorrow, Phoenix. I’ll get back to the coal face now and pass on the awful news to Giles and the team about Erebus.”

  “Thanks, Henry,” said Phoenix. “I must find Rusty and get him up to speed too before we leave in the morning.”

  The rest of Monday was a whirlwind of mini-meetings, to be sure that Minos and the others could assume control in their brief absence. Time needed to be spent getting Phoenix’s things ready for the trip too. Plus the sad task of letting people at Larcombe know of their former leader’s demise. Like every good jigsaw, the pieces finally fell into place, and at six-thirty the following morning, their crowded plane taxied on the runway, cleared for taking to the air.

  “Well, we successfully negotiated phase one,” said Phoenix as the plane arrowed its way through the light cloud base and headed for the Mediterranean.

  Fifteen minutes later, Athena was reading an article on her laptop.

  “Cyanide,” she whispered.

  “Not sure this budget airline serve cocktails,” said Phoenix.