The Phoenix Series Box Set 2

by Ted Tayler

  “I’ve finished with that nonsense. I’d left school eighteen months before, only a rubbish YTS stint in a bakery, then I was on the dole. We were angry young men. We had to find something to do to let off steam.”

  “Who recruited you?” Henry had asked.

  “A bloke who called himself Leo; he must have been pushing forty. A bit snooty. Turned up in a suit and tie. Marcus joined up the same week as I did.”

  “Marcus?”

  “Sarjeant, he was sentenced to five years the next summer for firing blanks at the Queen in The Mall, remember? We were just kids, messing around, you get me? Rest of the summer I spent handing out leaflets and sticking up posters.”

  “Did you hand out leaflets at any big public events?”

  “Loads in London; music festivals and concerts, that type of thing.”

  “Summer In The City?”

  “Yeah, places similar to that every weekend. Leo took us around in a van, then paid us to hand out leaflets.”

  “So Leo was with you at Crystal Palace?”

  “Yeah, he was there throughout the day. He ran us back home at the end of the gig.”

  “When did you last see Leo?”

  “During the Peckham riots in ’85. He was stirring things up from the sidelines as usual. He never got his hands dirty. He was too posh for that, but he spread his money around to get a few of us tooled up, so we could cause aggro.”

  The food had arrived and it was still repeating on Henry as he continued to make his way to the M4 and home.

  CHAPTER 13

  Saturday, October 5th, 2013

  Phoenix and Athena were up early. Yesterday had been a day full of revelations. They had fifteen minutes before they were due to start their scheduled meeting with their senior agents, Giles had arrived from the ice-house. They now had a far better appreciation of who comprised the Titans, what the links were between them and why they were plotting to overthrow the democratic government.

  They didn’t have all the answers, but they had enough to arm them when they confronted the conspirators in Nottingham next Wednesday. Of the ten others who sat with them around the table, they knew eight of them were true Olympians. Only three were confirmed as being against them. One name was still under investigation.

  There was no meeting this morning. Rusty had called Athena yet again to ask for a get-together. He wanted to report what he observed during the past twenty-four hours. Athena hoped Artemis could have had time off to keep him occupied. Giles was obviously loading more of the general surveillance back onto her now the top-secret investigation was ending.

  “Let’s get along to the meeting room to hear what Rusty has discovered,” said Athena. “Then we need to start preparing our strategies for Nottingham.”

  “Three hours up the M5 works for me,” said Phoenix, receiving a dig in the ribs for his levity.

  The couple walked hand-in-hand downstairs and met Rusty and Henry in the hallway.

  “Henry,” said Athena, “welcome back. How was your trip? I hope you picked up news that could be helpful?”

  “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” said Henry.

  Once in the meeting room, Athena summarised the latest information for Henry and Rusty’s benefit.

  “Philomena Alexander had an illegitimate child, Dominic Perkins in 1982. We believe the father was Leopold Andrews. The boy took his stepfather’s real surname. This confirms a tangible link between three of our main conspirators. We’re happy that Troy Gardner is not aligned with them, although he does have a skeleton in the closet. One he would not wish to be allowed to escape.”

  Henry added the details he gathered yesterday.

  “Leo Andrews was at Summer In The City in the summer of 1981. He was involved in an anarchic organisation and the Anti-Royalist Movement at the time. He employed local unemployed lads to distribute leaflets at public events throughout the summer. That’s why he was at Crystal Palace that day. It cements your belief that he met Philomena there and a one-night stand resulted in young Dominic. Another gem I uncovered was that Perkins is a highly accomplished sailor. According to one of his school chums, he’s a modern-day C. B. Fry. My first interview yesterday revealed the tragic reason behind Lady Primrose and her transformation from a beautiful young girl into an oddball recluse. She was the victim of a randy Russian professor. She was too scared of him at the time to report it to the college or the police. An interesting footnote to this was that his abandoned car was discovered on the edge of the New Forest nine years ago. His body was uncovered in 2006. No doubt when we check this fact we’ll discover it lay within a short distance of the Charmbury family home. It wouldn’t surprise me if Lady P took her revenge.”

  “The only link we haven’t established then, is between Lady Primrose and the others,” said Phoenix.

  Nobody could come up with a suggestion based on the data they had gathered so far.

  Rusty took advantage of the lull.

  “I’ve continued to watch the general staff and the others on your list, Athena. The past twenty-four hours have been the same as the earlier part of the week. There’s nothing to suggest more than one mole at Larcombe.”

  Henry sat up and took notice.

  “We have a traitor in our midst? Who do you think it is? Bring him to me in the ice-house. I haven’t had a visitor book into Hotel California for weeks.”

  Athena tried to diffuse the situation.

  “Rusty meant we don’t have an infestation of moles. We need absolute confirmation of a single mole’s existence first; then we will take action against that person.”

  Phoenix gestured to Athena for permission to bring Henry into their confidence. She nodded.

  “Look, Henry, this can’t go outside this room. Not even to Giles and Artemis. This group we suspect is plotting to take control of Olympus to appear to know more than they should. In particular, things we’ve only discussed here at HQ. That implies they have someone on the inside. We have a suspect. Rusty was asked to watch them closely and make sure they acted alone. This now appears to be the case. After the meeting on the ninth, we shall know how to proceed. We’ll keep the lid on things here at HQ for now. The time for action though is fast approaching.”

  “Understood, Phoenix,” said Henry.

  Athena decided there was little more to be gained from Henry and Rusty.

  “Enjoy what’s left of the weekend; we’ll see you first thing on Monday. Phoenix and I will stay here for the rest of the morning to prepare for Wednesday. Olympus business continues despite this internal friction. There are other missions to plan and to undertake. We must not take our eye off the ball. I can rely on you to ensure that doesn’t happen.”

  “I’ll pass on the reminder to Giles and the others in the intelligence section, Athena,” said Henry, and briskly marched out of the room.

  “Artemis is working; I guess?” asked Phoenix.

  “Another long day with Giles. They’re catching up on surveillance reports that came through while she was on ‘special ops’. We’re hoping to get together tomorrow.”

  Rusty left them and wandered off to the stable block.

  Athena and Phoenix started planning. Nottingham was only four days away.

  Sunday, October 6th, 2013

  Athena and Phoenix were in their apartment enjoying a late breakfast.

  “If you’re feeling up to it, why don’t we take a trip to the coast?” asked Phoenix. He was feeling hemmed in by the four walls of Larcombe Manor. The London mission seemed so long ago.

  “To Lymington, do you mean?” Athena replied. “Well, we do need to make a decision, one way or another, whether to keep her or sell her. Perhaps a day aboard her without leaving port might help us make up our minds.”

  “I just want to get away from here for a while,” said Phoenix.

  Athena’s phone rang. She sighed. “This might scupper our plans.”

  It was Henry Case. Athena switched to speakerphone so Phoenix heard what he had to say.


  “Good morning. I have an interesting update. My interview with Paul Trevelyan was rewarding, as you know, and revealed a good deal of the schoolboy Dominic Perkins. His work colleagues in the city, on the other hand, were very backward in coming forward. When they did, what they told me was vague and of little use. I began to suspect his business style included payments to secure non-cooperation with any reporters and so on, who come visiting. However, I received a call back from one such colleague this morning. She was most insistent none of what she told me ever got back to Perkins. It was just over three years ago after his company had acquired a major contract which virtually doubled the size of the business overnight. He invited a small group of his senior staff back to his flat after they had been for a meal in Knightsbridge to celebrate. This is what she had to say, ‘The penthouse apartment was ultra-modern and must have cost an absolute fortune. Dominic lived there alone. I don’t think he entertained very often, if ever. It felt empty as if we were sat in a showroom. He’s cold and calculating by nature; those of us who worked for him would tell you that. He wouldn’t have made the fortune he has unless he had that hard edge, but that flat was creepy. He showed us around the rooms. I believe he had drunk more than he was used to because it was unlike him to be so sociable. The walls were an off-white colour. All the curtains were black. The only hint of decoration was in the paintings on every wall. You know when you look at a face in a picture and the eyes follow you around the room? I couldn’t wait to get out of there, I wanted to get into the lift and find a taxi. They were so gloomy and disturbing. Every one of them featured dark colours and with heavy use of, what’s that colour called? Carmine, that’s it. Everything had this dark red background. Glimpses of it appeared everywhere. Every door Dominic opened, you saw another slash of red across the wall. When he closed the door to move on to a bathroom or another bedroom, it wasn’t the same as when the eyes are following you. It was as if someone was screaming ‘Don’t leave me here alone.’ It was horrid. We left after an hour or so. Dominic was half asleep on a black leather settee. I don’t think any of us wanted to stay any longer. Nobody spoke in the lift. There were lots of hugs on the pavement outside and we each made our way home. I always thought the hugs were for reassurance more than anything else. I left the company a month or so after that night. I couldn’t see Dominic without remembering those paintings. I quit the mobile phone business altogether. I’m a wedding planner these days.’

  “We didn’t need to hear the last bit, Henry,” Phoenix called out, “but the rest was pure gold. Thanks.”

  Athena thanked Henry Case for the update and ended the call.

  “Another piece of the jigsaw. I can’t see where it fits, can you?”

  Phoenix scratched his head.

  “So you’re saying that Nemesis is the artist? She sells her stuff to Hermes and whoever bids on the items she takes to auction. That’s a leap isn’t it?”

  “Why so? Lady Primrose paints dark and depressing paintings she sells at auction. She’s a recluse; yet she is the person we know as Nemesis, one of the original financial backers of the Project. She sits at the top table beside Hermes. The description of the paintings his former work colleague described is too similar not to be a tangible link between them surely?”

  “We haven’t found a link between Nemesis and Demeter, nor between her and Poseidon,” said Phoenix introducing a note of caution. “The artwork could well prove to be the link between her and Hermes; but what ties her in with his parents? Let’s get off to the coast. We can chat as we drive, find somewhere for lunch, and then do our final planning for Wednesday on board ‘Elizabeth’.”

  “You’re on,” said Athena.

  As the sun was setting they drove home towards Larcombe Manor. They had spent a pleasant day in the autumn sunshine discussing the paintings, the meeting and the future. They had agreed to hold onto the yacht. Olympus might have a use for it one day. Agents joined them from each of the services, so men with the same skills as Gavin could be sourced to sail her. She could prove to be a useful acquisition on a direct action that required men to be brought ashore under the cover of darkness.

  “As we’re driving through the New Forest,” said Athena, “why don’t we drive over to where Lady Primrose’s family live? Call Giles and get the address, then ask him where the professor’s abandoned car was discovered.”

  With Phoenix at the wheel, they drove through Lyndhurst and headed for Brockenhurst.

  “There’s a dark van behind us,” he said, “three cars back. I think it’s been with us since we left the Boat Haven.”

  “Why should anyone be following us?”

  “Maybe they’re out on a quiet Sunday drive the same as us,” said Phoenix.

  Her phone rang, and Athena jumped out of her skin and swore. It was from Giles.

  “Leave this road at Cadnam,” she said after he’d rung off, “turn right towards Bartley. That’s where Lady Primrose’s father lives. A little further on we’ll find Netley Marsh, where they eventually found the mortal remains of Anton Sokolov. Once we’ve been there we can join the A36 near Totton and shoot up to Salisbury. It will be quicker.”

  Phoenix checked his rear-view mirror as he turned off onto the narrow road through the Forest.

  “He’s turning to follow us,” he said, accelerating away as soon as he rounded the corner.

  As Phoenix concentrated on the road ahead, Athena called Giles and relayed their position. The closest Olympus cell was in Southampton. They were scrambled at once. Giles sent a detailed road map to her laptop. Athena removed it from her handbag.

  “How long?” shouted Phoenix as the car bounced along at sixty miles an hour. There were too many potholes, blind corners, and bends that needed to be taken carefully. The van behind them was closing despite his best efforts. The van’s headlights were getting bigger in his mirror.

  “Twenty minutes, at a pinch,” said Athena, hanging on for dear life with one hand, while trying to access the file.

  The van rammed the back of their car. Phoenix tried to remember everything Rusty had taught him. The second collision came before he had a chance to react. The car slewed from side to side. He thought he had lost control on the grass verge, but he managed to correct it. Phoenix accelerated again, even though it was a risk. This guy meant business. He was trying to force them off the road.

  “We have to keep them occupied long enough for the cavalry to arrive, Athena,” he shouted. “I don’t suppose you brought a weapon?”

  “Don’t shout at me, but it’s in the boot. In a recess under the carpet by the right rear wheel. It’s a Smith & Wesson MP Shield and it’s loaded.”

  Phoenix looked in his rear-view mirror again. The van was closing in for another hit. These humps, bumps, and bends were a hindrance to their pursuer. One trick Rusty had taught him three years ago during his training surfaced from what was left of his scrambled brain. All he could think was that Athena sat next to him carrying their unborn child.

  He could hear Rusty’s words as they careered along a windy track in a wooded area on the Larcombe estate. “One of the best ways to put distance between you and the chasing vehicle is to reverse directions after a curve on a narrow road. Either the pursuer will miss a place to turn and have to back up or need to go a long way to another one.”

  Rusty had executed the manoeuvre perfectly. They were soon speeding back along the track in the opposite direction. If there had been a chasing car it would have been history. Of course, Phoenix was a novice driver back then, and he struggled to master it. Phoenix could remember the sequences, but could he get them in the right order this time?

  “What’s ahead of us, Athena?”

  “One hundred and fifty yards, a sharp right-hand bend, a concealed farm road on the right at ninety yards. No more exit roads for a mile.”

  This was their only chance. Was the van far enough back? How many passengers was it carrying? How could he protect Athena? He pressed the accelerator to the floor. How he took
that bend he had no idea, he heard the car’s squeals of protest ringing in his ears. His headlights caught the edge of the angled circular mirror on the left that identified the presence of a concealed turning.

  Phoenix stood on the brakes and wrenched the wheel to aim the car for the as yet unseen farm road. The car shot into the entrance to the narrow track. He killed the engine and his lights. He looked in his mirror and saw the van’s lights catch the circular mirror opposite. It wasn’t slowing. The van shot past the entrance and barrelled along the road towards Bartley.

  He leapt out of the car and opened the boot. The gun felt good in his hand despite it being relatively small. At least the first part of that turn had worked okay. Now they had to reverse out of the hedge and follow the van. He jumped back inside and they set off in pursuit.

  “Why are we going this way?” asked Athena.

  “It makes more sense to head towards the cavalry as opposed to extending the gap between us,” Phoenix replied, “have you heard from them yet?”

  “If the van keeps going at the speed he was travelling when he passed us, they’ll meet head-on in seven or eight minutes,”

  “We don’t have that long I’m afraid,” said Phoenix grimly. He could already see the van’s headlights in the distance. The driver had sussed they had turned off and turned back.

  “Get down,” he shouted.

  The driver’s side window was open.

  As the two vehicles drew closer, the driver’s right arm appeared from inside the van. Phoenix saw flashes from the muzzle of a gun. He slammed on the brakes, throwing the car into a spin and dived for cover, throwing his body across the cowering Athena. They left the road and ploughed up the grass verge and into the bushes on the opposite side of the road.

  Phoenix drew the handgun from his waistband and got slowly out of the car. He had the bushes at his back as he stood against the driver’s door. Athena was still in the passenger seat; she appeared uninjured but winded. Their car faced back the way they had come and the passenger side was exposed to the gunman.