The Phoenix Series Box Set 2

by Ted Tayler

  He was to invite them to Portishead HQ for questioning. Olympus had to maintain the façade that they were a genuine charity. How could they refuse a request from an officer of the law? Date and time could be suggested. Once they were through the gates and heading to Portishead, Hermes would strike. This time, he was going to be successful.

  Honey B decided it was time for bed.

  No sooner had she switched off her light and settled under the covers than her phone rang.

  It was a message from Orion.

  ‘All set; visiting the manor first thing Monday’

  “Good hunting, Orion,” purred Demeter. She knew she would sleep well.

  *****

  Sunday, October 13th, 2013

  Giles Burke and his team had captured the film from the relevant CCTV cameras in Knightsbridge. Many hours of painstaking analysis had finally isolated the times that a dark van emerged from the narrow lane and when it returned.

  He and Artemis were comparing the times with what they knew or suspected.

  “They left at a few minutes after ten o’clock,” said Artemis. “The only event you logged as suspicious the following day was the apparent disappearance of the care home manager. He lived in Worcestershire; so if the Titans were involved they could easily have driven there, killed him, and returned by the next time we see the van.”

  “They turned into the side street at four fifty-seven,” said Gile,s “that’s plenty of time. There’s been no sign since of Harman. If there was any sign of foul play the police would have found it. Did they kill him somewhere else and dump the body? Did they bring the body back to dispose of it, or was he still alive and inside the van?”

  “Whichever scenario we’re dealing with it’s clear these two are cold-hearted, ruthless people. Something totally opposite to their public persona,” said Artemis.

  “I agree,” said Giles, “this next section shows the van leaving again. Once more it’s late at night. They are returning later this time, which might mean their victim lived further away.”

  “We haven’t got a likely suspect except for that washed-up comedian, Lenny James to fit that timeline. Where did he live?”

  “Sheffield was where he lived, but the budget supermarket he was opening was in Chesterfield. We found a Mr James booked in for one night at the nearby Premier Inn. That fits our timeline comfortably. I wonder what took them so long to get back?”

  The two colleagues continued to nag away at the scraps of information they had.

  “There are so many threads to follow,” sighed Giles.

  “Follow? That’s the obvious answer,” said Artemis. “Instead of reviewing the CCTV history, we need to use this new system of ours to tap into the live feed. We follow the van on its next journey and prevent any more killings.”

  “I’m sure Athena considered that,” said Giles. “We have to remember; Olympus has sanctioned direct action against people responsible for cases of historic abuse. She would be accused of going against the Project’s aims. The Titans could use that to remove her from control here at HQ. No, we have to tread carefully. I think we need to take what we know to Athena and Phoenix right away. They need to see this.”

  Giles rang the main house and Athena invited them to join her. After they had seen the data, Phoenix wanted to act without delay.

  “Why don’t we go straight to Knightsbridge and visit Nemesis? These two missing persons could still be alive. God knows what they’re doing to them. I’m fed up with sitting on my hands here. I need to be out there dealing with these people face to face.”

  “We have to be certain Hermes and Nemesis have taken the first steps in the battle for control of Olympus,” said Athena, calmly. Giles and Artemis shared a look.

  “As unpalatable as it may be,” she continued, “we must wait until they travel to strike again. We need to identify their target or targets; then confirm they are significant players in the corridors of power. If they are criminals from the Yewtree investigations, we stand back and let them get on with it. We can only act if we are one hundred per cent sure they have stepped over the line.”

  “I want to lead the crew we send to follow them,” said Phoenix, “and I want Rusty with me. Two more operators will be enough. We will use two cars and switch positions regularly so Hermes doesn’t suss they’ve got a tail. We don’t need to be too close. It will be easier to track them at night.”

  “That will be arranged,” said Athena, “you travel to London today and wait. Giles, you need to tap into the live feed on the street cameras in the vicinity. Please take every precaution. As soon as they leave the underground car park, we need to learn where they’re headed. Phoenix and his team will follow. When they reach their destination, Phoenix, relay that information to Giles. We may not be quick enough to save their victim…”

  “No,” said Phoenix, “but if they’ve crossed the line than we take them out. We return to London and pay a visit to a penthouse flat and a mews cottage. I can’t wait to find out what secrets they hold.”

  “Right, that’s as much as we can do today,” said Athena.

  “I’ll fetch Rusty from the stable-block. He’ll know two agents who would be right for this mission. Do you want to walk with me Artemis? You might not see him for a while.”

  Artemis blinked and pushed her glasses up her nose.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  Athena watched as Giles left the room.

  “Oh, by the way, Artemis, Minos informed me we have another follow-up visit from the police in the morning. It concerns the query you raised from the Charity Commissioners last year. It seems so long ago. I thought they’d forgotten it.”

  “Who are they sending?” asked Artemis. “I’ll be underground tomorrow morning, so there’s no chance of them seeing me. Nobody from my old life knows I’m here at Larcombe.”

  “I didn’t get a name,” said Athena. “I’ll ask Minos later.”

  Athena gave Phoenix a quick hug.

  “Take care,” she said. Phoenix and Artemis left for the stable-block.

  *****

  In London, the four Titans were plotting their next moves. Poseidon had travelled to London by cab from Surrey. The tail he had spotted as he was dropped off in Mayfair was soon lost. He rang Demeter on a throwaway pay-as-you-go mobile. There were perks to having a son in the business.

  He and Demeter arranged to meet in Westminster. Fifteen minutes later they were next to the London Eye, looking across the Thames towards the Houses of Parliament.

  “Olympus has set the dogs on us,” he said. “I had someone follow me into town. We must assume they are tapping our registered phones and hacking into our computers. Going forward we need to ask Dominic to supply us with ‘burner’ phones. Our only contact must be through secure channels.”

  “I agree,” said Demeter, “we are so close. The purge of the government’s main advisers begins tomorrow tonight. They both stay in London during the week. As soon as this action begins, we have to act swiftly. We will only have hours before the disappearance of members of the emergency response committee causes panic. The public has read or heard about COBRA, but they don’t fully appreciate the vital work it does. In essence, it’s a get-together of ministers, civil servants, the police, intelligence officers and others that suit the matter in hand. When the government announces it has convened a meeting, it implies it’s tackling an issue of immediate national significance. The loss of those non-ministerial members will effectively strangle them. They won’t have anyone to tell them what to do.”

  “Our man from Larcombe is ready to go, I believe,” said Poseidon.

  “He is,” replied Demeter. “He has a few hurdles to cross on Wednesday before he can deliver our next message, but he’s confident of success. It will be the loudest Prime Minister’s Question Time in history. It has a reputation for being rowdy, of course, but this week it will be exceptional.”

  In Knightsbridge, Hermes and Nemesis were in the basement of her house. Lenny James had b
een disposed of and the equipment she used had been cleaned and stored away.

  “I want to start on a fresh painting this afternoon,” said Nemesis. “What shall I do with my guest upstairs in my studio?”

  “Now everything is clear, we could offer the basement to him as his workplace perhaps?” replied Hermes.

  “As long as he realises he needs to be finished before we return early Tuesday morning,” said Nemesis.

  Hermes left her tidying. He climbed the two flights of stairs to her studio. Chris Rathbone was already hard at work.

  “It seems odd you went to the trouble of stealing high explosives in easy to handle blocks and then dismantle everything,” said Hermes.

  Chris Rathbone stared at him.

  “Do you honestly believe I could wander into Westminster with a few blocks of C-4 in my back pocket? Even with an authentic pass for the public gallery? No, security is as tight as at any international airport these days. I had to dream up a special method to transport the explosives right inside the chamber.”

  “My colleague says you can construct whatever you plan to use on Wednesday in her basement. It’s imperative you’ve finished by the early hours of Tuesday. Will you complete things by then?”

  “Have you collected the wheelchair?” asked Chris.

  “It’s in the van, but I can bring it inside now if you want to move your kit downstairs. I’d give you a hand, but I don’t want to lose it. This stuff gives me the shivers.”

  “You fetch the chair; I’ll move my gear.”

  “Good,” said Hermes, “Nemesis wants to have access to the studio. She’s feeling the urge to paint.”

  “Something else, aren’t they?” said Chris, pointing to a stack leant against the wall, “you want to try sleeping in here. It’s as if the room’s haunted.”

  Hermes looked at the canvases.

  “They are pretty dark, I suppose and not to everyone’s taste.”

  “I tried to see what others might see in them, but I found the exercise draining,” said Chris, with a shudder.

  “Exactly,” said Hermes, as he made for the stairs. “I’ll get that chair from the van. See you below in a few minutes.”

  Chris collected his materials together and made his way carefully downstairs. He met Nemesis as she appeared from the basement.

  “You will be finished by midnight tomorrow, won’t you?” she asked.

  “Don’t worry,” said Chris, “it won’t take more than a few hours to finish the modifications I have in mind. What are you painting this afternoon, a still life maybe?”

  Nemesis was halfway up the stairs to her studio by now; the sound of her laughter echoing around her living room. Chris Rathbone hurried into the basement.

  Hermes was waiting for him. He wheeled over the lightweight wheelchair.

  “Tada,” he said, “intriguing; how do you intend to use it?”

  “While I was at Larcombe and planning for this operation, I applied for a pass on behalf of a Falklands veteran. It’s usual for disabled ex-servicemen to be helped by a charity. Olympus and ‘Help for Heroes’ were set up within months of one another. The authorities didn’t question a request from a charity caring for people suffering from PTSD, needing access for a disabled veteran. These lightweight versions are tubeless steel-framed; which gives me the opportunity to create a bomb on wheels. I shall take my place in the public gallery, where they have step-free access and a space set aside especially for wheelchair users. When the action below is at its busiest and rowdiest I’ll be miraculously healed. I’ll get up, activate the bomb’s timer, rest the chair against the bullet-proof glass screen and make my escape.”

  “How long will the delay be?” asked Hermes

  “Fifteen seconds,” said Chris, “at a quarter past twelve there will be a very big bang.”

  CHAPTER 18

  Monday, October 14th, 2013

  Athena had been up early today. She had spent a restless night. Phoenix was in London with Rusty and the others. She missed him being beside her when she awoke. Phoenix waited for any sign of movement in Knightsbridge.

  Late last evening Athena had remembered to call Minos. Artemis must have been asleep when she rang the stable-block to tell her the name of the policeman who was arriving soon. She was forced to leave it until Artemis got to the ice-house, to start work.

  It was time. Athena made the call at 8.00 am.

  “Artemis, the name of that policeman is DS Hounsell,”

  “Well, we both know he isn’t a policeman any longer. He’s been working for Honey B. If he’s arriving at Larcombe with questions, then we have to assume he’s been persuaded to work for her alter ego Demeter.”

  “I’ll carry on and see him. I’ll ask Henry Case to join me. We’ll find out what he wants and go from there.”

  “Have you heard any news from London yet,” asked Artemis.

  “Nothing yet,” said Athena, “they’ll be okay, they’re together. I wouldn’t want to be fighting against them. I’d better get ready. I’ll talk to you later.”

  Athena ended the call and contacted Henry. He was only too glad of the prospect of a visitor to the interrogation cells, in the ice-house. Things had been so quiet of late.

  Phil Hounsell drove over to Larcombe Manor from his home in Bath. It had been great to have a weekend at home with Erica and the kids. Okay, his boss was in his ear every few hours, but he was working, and getting well paid for it.

  As for Wayne and the lads, it looked as if they were off on another tour. Wayne was meeting up with the managers of an early Seventies group later, to talk business. They were touring around the UK from November until January. Wayne had emailed him a group photo. Phil vaguely remembered the name, but from the photo, it looked as if the original members had left over the intervening decades. As long as they knew the songs and could still get into their trademark stage gear, he guessed the fans would be happy.

  Phil had to stop at the cattle-grid; there was a security barrier. He’d never driven along this road. He had heard of the charity, of course. He’d seen the cars and vans with their logos featuring Mt. Olympus around the Roman city at odd times. It was a ‘no through road’ and he had never needed to visit the Manor or the farm further up the road. A guard raised the barrier after he had identified himself. He was directed to the front of the main building. It certainly seemed an impressive place. Phil saw a few military types working in the gardens. He parked his car and walked to the front door.

  He was met by a burly individual, built like a rugby second-row. His grip was firm and Phil was thankful when he let go of his hand.

  “Good morning, I’m Henry Case, Head of Security. Please follow me. Ms Annabelle Fox, our CEO is expecting you.”

  Phil was shown into a bright well-appointed office. The clock on the wall ticked around to 8.30 am. The woman facing him was tall, attractive and around five months pregnant, if memory served from when Erica had been expecting their children. It wasn’t the only thing that struck him. She was definitely the woman he had seen at Glastonbury, back in June, with the man that he had mistakenly believed had been Colin Bailey.

  “Good morning, Superintendent. I’m Annabelle Fox, of the Olympus Project. You have questions I understand. How may we help you?”

  “My former colleague, Detective Sergeant Zara Wheeler came here last September. She was following up on a query raised through the Charity Commissioners. At that time, she returned to Portishead with a photograph of one Garry Burns. Burns had been a patient here; I understand?”

  “We don’t refer to the men who come here as patients, Inspector,” said Henry.

  “My mistake. Ms Wheeler was informed Burns had disappeared after leaving Larcombe. It was suggested he might have gone backpacking.”

  “We haven’t seen or heard from former Warrant Officer Second Class Burns,” said Henry Case, “he discharged himself. He is no longer our concern.”

  “Perhaps you could explain this then,” said Phil, producing the photo taken
outside the Curzon Street venue in the summer.

  Athena picked up the photograph.

  “That is you and Burns is it not?” asked Phil. “I might point out, we three have met before. I believe I saw the two of you together at the Glastonbury Festival.”

  “What if this is that man Burns and myself?” asked Athena, “neither of us has ever been accused of any wrongdoing. Maybe, Garry Burns has a perfectly legitimate reason for wanting people to believe he left the country. Maybe after his slow and taxing recovery from PTSD he wanted to drop out of the rat race and live a simple life here, helping others.”

  Phil was struggling. This woman had all the answers. How could he insist they attend a meeting at Force HQ on the strength of what he had got so far? He didn’t really know why that was important anyway. Honey B hadn’t mentioned why she wanted these two out in the open. Until he sat here now, up against it, he had only thought of the money she was paying him for his services. He realised what a mug he had been, but he ploughed on regardless.

  “Where is Burns now? I should like to interview him alone. To see if his story matches yours.”

  “Well,” said Athena, “if we’re talking about story-telling, you’re here under false pretences, are you not? You are no longer a policeman. You run a security firm called HSS from a small office in the city. You have been working for the singer Honey B for the past month. She sent you here, didn’t she? What were you supposed to achieve? Most likely, she wants to flush us out into the open. Well, you’ve failed. I’m afraid you’re going to have to go with Mr Case now. He has questions for you. It would be best to answer them quickly and honestly. Goodbye, Orion.”

  Henry hovered over him. Phil wasn’t stupid. He knew he stood no chance. He was confused. How did this woman know so much about him? How did she know Honey B’s nickname for him? Who the hell were these Olympus Project people?

  “This way, Mr Hounsell,” said Henry, “do you remember a band called The Eagles?”