by Ted Tayler
“What? Yeah, vaguely. Why?”
“We’re off to Hotel California.”
At 9.00 am, Athena met with the few members of the elite that were still on site at Larcombe. Giles, Minos, and Alastor were sat together when she arrived.
“I’ll keep it brief this morning,” she said. “Minos, do you have that list of potential targets? I need to forward them to Phoenix.”
“I’ve reduced it to a potential sixteen names, Athena. If we lost those in a very short space of time it seriously limits the response the government could give in a crisis. Of those names, almost all of them live in, or close to the capital. Either full-time or they stay in the city, Monday to Friday.
The most senior people are three men and a woman. They are advisers on security, economics, science, and terrorism. I have addresses for everyone; what car they drive; which stations they use if they’re travelling across London by tube. If Phoenix needs more, I’ll dig further.”
“This is excellent, Minos,” said Athena, taking the file he handed over, “I’ll get this to Phoenix and Rusty later.”
“If the Titans follow their normal pattern, they won’t strike until tonight at the earliest,” said Giles. “There was nothing on the CCTV footage overnight. Hermes had left for work in his sports car just before I left the ice-house. The others are still keeping out of sight. As for Thanatos; no sightings whatsoever.”
“Thanks, Giles. Alastor, where are the likely targets for an attack using the explosives Thanatos stole?”
“I wasn’t able to isolate any specific targets I’m afraid. The usual suspects have to be considered. Airports, train and bus stations, busy public thoroughfares, government buildings, and sporting venues. There’s only one significant Royal event scheduled. Prince George is being christened on Wednesday week in a private ceremony. Most of these possible targets have counter-measures to prevent attacks of this nature. Whatever Thanatos has planned it will have to be something audacious, to make a devastating PR impact for the Titans. Minos has provided a list of significant people the government relies upon in a tough spot. The government might stumble along in the dark without their advisers, and avoid a catastrophe, relying on their own wits. The Titans won’t want that. No, it makes sense to me that Thanatos will direct his attack towards the PM and his Cabinet.”
“To attack the heart of democracy inside the Houses of Commons?” asked Minos.
“Alastor is right, any attack on a prime location will need to be audacious,” said Athena. “We’ll send extra agents from across the city to keep watch on Westminster. We’ll continue to hunt for Thanatos and eliminate the threat when we find him. If he avoids detection until he breaks from cover to strike we must do everything in our power to prevent him from reaching his target. What news from the ice-house, Giles?”
“Artemis and I have been working on what to do when Hermes and Nemesis carry out their next attack. If their target is on the list Minos prepared, we have to hope Phoenix and Rusty prevent a murder. Either way, if this is indeed one of the advisers, we can confidently expect this to be their last killing. What will Demeter and Poseidon do next?”
“They’ll go to ground and take Thanatos with them,” said Minos.
“What did you and Artemis come up with?” asked Athena.
“We convince his parents their son has returned to Knightsbridge safe and sound.”
“Give me the full details of your plan and I’ll pass them on to Phoenix. They can take things on from there. Well done.”
“Where’s Henry this morning,” asked Giles.
“In the ice-house with a prisoner. We detained Mr Hounsell for his own good. He had clearly been sent here to flush us out. As well as his other targets, no doubt Demeter wished Hermes to murder Phoenix and me in the next day or two. Of course, she couldn’t have known that Phoenix was already in the capital, or that Artemis worked here. The poor man walked right into a trap.”
“I’d better add a couple of other items to my list,” said Giles. “We want Demeter to continue to believe her Orion is in the game.”
“I do believe we’ve passed the tipping point, gentlemen,” said Athena. “For the first time in a while, we’re one step ahead of our opposition.”
The meeting ended. Athena rang her partner and updated him on the meeting. She sent the files containing names and addresses, potential locations and proposed ‘misinformation’ to his laptop. It was now 10.00 am.
In the ice-house, Henry Case read his daily newspaper. There was no rush. His guest wasn’t going anywhere.
In the first interrogation room on the third floor, Phil Hounsell sat alone. He had marvelled at the engineering that hid so much of this operation from view’ despite his predicament. He had seen how long the dark corridor had stretched beyond where he had stood while Henry Case unlocked the door.
If the floors above were as large, then they must contain something vital to the Olympus Project. What could it be? A charity was off the cards after this. What had he stumbled upon? Was he ever going to see his wife and children again?
One question kept nagging at him? Why was Honey B, a fading star, interested in what went on here at Larcombe Manor? Why had it been so important he persuade the two people in that blessed photo to drive to Portishead? Thirty years as a copper and he didn’t have a clue.
In London, Phoenix and Rusty were bored to tears. Surveillance can be mind-numbingly boring. After hours of sitting in the car waiting for something to happen, it wasn’t just their minds that became numb. Even having the other agents to spell them in two-hour shifts through the day wasn’t a great help.
“Athena has just updated me on the morning meeting,” said Phoenix, with a yawn. “I’ve got details on our likely victims. Giles has had a few good ideas too. We could be busy tonight.”
Rusty turned on the radio. It was tuned to that heavy metal channel again. Oh well, it stopped him from falling asleep.
*****
Hermes finished work at six o’clock. He travelled back to the underground car park. The van was fuelled and ready to leave later. He thought he should check on the progress Chris Rathbone had made with his wheelchair conversion. He called Nemesis. She opened the outside door a few minutes later.
“Come in,” she said, “I’ve got something to show you.”
They walked through the tunnel to the basement. The wheelchair was resting against one of the chest freezers.
“He finished everything,” she said, “we’re set for tonight.”
“Good,” said Hermes. “I’ll get off home for a bite to eat.”
“No, I’ve got something upstairs for you to see,” Nemesis insisted.
When they were in her studio, Hermes saw her latest painting on the easel.
“A Study in Scarlet?” he asked.
“That title’s been used before,” she said, “but Arthur and Lenny contributed so much to it I may call it ‘The Blood Donor’ and risk the accusations of plagiarism.”
“Where’s your guest?” asked Hermes.
“In the bathroom. He needed to remove traces of his having handled the explosives. He’s shaving his head too. Before Wednesday he wants to alter his appearance as much as possible. Why don’t you stay? We can eat together. I’d feel more comfortable with you here.”
Hermes nodded.
“I’ll go home, wash and change into the clothes I’ll wear tonight, then pop back. What are we having?”
“Don’t worry, nothing from the freezers downstairs. I’ll knock up a spaghetti carbonara while you’re gone. Let’s say we eat at eight o’clock?”
“That’s fine with me, I’ll see you later.” With that, Hermes trotted along the tunnel and made his way back to his penthouse.
At ten o’clock, Chris Rathbone was alone in the mews cottage. He had enjoyed the meal, and the company was welcome, even if the atmosphere was strained at times. They were an odd couple. He had been told to expect them back at two o’clock. They said they wouldn’t disturb him.
> In the ice-house, Giles and his team were on the alert.
“The van has pulled out of the side street. Check every street camera in the area to see which way they are going. Phoenix, did you get that?”
“I did Giles, at last, we can be doing something positive. We’re both moving into position now. Give me a heads-up as soon as you spot them.”
Two minutes later.
“They’re in Brompton Road, heading for Cromwell Road.”
“Rusty, who do we have that’s out this way on our list?” asked Phoenix.
“Several, depending on how far we’re travelling.”
“Giles, we have them in sight. They’re turning onto the Earl’s Court Road. What’s that, the A3220?”
“Yes, Phoenix, you’re just around the corner from Stamford Bridge.”
Phoenix kept an eye out for a bridge but saw nothing.
“They’re turning off again,” said Rusty, “we’re in Fulham. This road takes us to where Sir Basil Atherton has a flat. He’s a chief security adviser.”
The van pulled up at the side of the road. Phoenix and Rusty parked one hundred yards behind them. Their colleagues in the other car drove on past the van and found a place to park in the next cul-de-sac.
“Stand by, there’s no movement inside the van as yet. Does this property have a side or rear access? I don’t imagine they’re going to go in via the front door.”
“There’s a passageway between the properties I spotted as we drove past,” said the driver from the other car.
“Sit tight and await further instructions,” said Phoenix.
It was now 10.20 pm.
Demeter and Hermes got out of the van. They disappeared into the dark passageway. At the far end, they found the conservatory to the rear of Sir Basil’s ground-floor bolt-hole.
Hermes slipped off his shoulder bag and got out the tools he required. Nemesis was poised, with her syringe ready to strike. The first of their victims would be paralysed and tucked up in the van by eleven. Then they could drive across the city to collect Margaret Hussein. Unless there were any delays they could be back home before two. Every extra hour of sleep was vital over the next forty-eight hours.
The door to the conservatory was open. They slipped inside. Hermes started work on the back door. Inside the flat, Sir Basil was reading before bed. He thought he heard a noise. It was probably a cat. His neighbours seemed to have a dozen that called their place home. He tried to concentrate on his book again.
Hermes and Nemesis were inside the house.
“That’s far enough,” called Phoenix, as he and Rusty crashed through the conservatory and into the flat.
Nemesis screamed and lunged at Phoenix. Her face was twisted with rage as she stabbed wildly at him with the syringe.
Rusty took aim and fired. Lady Primrose was hit in the throat and chest. She fell to the floor, mortally wounded. Hermes had pulled a gun and rushed towards Sir Basil, intending to use him as a hostage. Phoenix got off three shots. His trusty Sig Sauer didn’t fail him. Hermes never reached his target.
Phoenix calmly stepped past the body of Nemesis and approached the adviser’s bed.
“Sorry for the intrusion, Sir Basil,” said Phoenix, as he checked Hermes was dead, “we’ll be out of your hair in no time. I’d advise stronger security in your conservatory. Proximity lights would help too. You never know who’s creeping about these days.”
“What the hell’s going on?” Sir Basil blustered, “who are these people and who are you?”
“We’re the good guys,” said Rusty.
The other two Larcombe agents now stood in the conservatory. Rusty beckoned for them to help remove the bodies.
“Goodnight, Sir Basil,” said Phoenix, as he pulled the conservatory door closed, “sweet dreams.”
The nation’s most senior security adviser sat in bed and watched Phoenix leave. He caught himself thinking ‘Who was that masked man?’ and realised he could never tell anyone what had happened tonight. They would think him quite mad.
Three miles away, on the far side of Ravenscourt Park, Margaret Hussein, a senior science adviser, slept on undisturbed. She would have thanked Phoenix and Rusty for saving her life… if she had been aware of it.
“We’ll get you home then, Hermes. Sorry, if this isn’t the night in town you kept hankering after.”
Rusty had pushed Hermes onto the back seat of their car. He relieved him of his mobile phones. He wasn’t surprised he had more than one. He found the van’s keys in Hermes’s pocket and threw them to one of the other agents.
“Follow us back to Knightsbridge,” he called. “We’ll finish things off, then get back home.”
The small convoy retraced their earlier steps. They pulled into the courtyard at ten forty-eight.
“I want to check inside the van and then go through the house later,” said Phoenix. Rusty shrugged; the rear doors of the van were opened. The agents stared at the interior.
“Out of interest, what did the syringe contain?” asked one of the agents.
“Something to incapacitate their victim,” said Phoenix, “those floor restraints are to secure them while they travel back here. The killings must have taken place inside the house.”
“Can you check if the lady was carrying her house keys, please?” asked Phoenix.
They were retrieved from the front of the van.
Phoenix opened the door to the tunnel. The agents entered. When they emerged in the basement, they stood in silence. A low whistle passed the lips of one of the agents.
Chris Rathbone had been unable to sleep. The new painting smelled more than a little, the subject matter disturbed him as usual. He couldn’t relax knowing the others would be returning at two o’clock. He was in the living room, sitting quietly when he heard a sound.
It was far too early for them to be back yet. Something must have gone wrong. He grabbed his backpack and escaped into the cobbled lane at the front. He had to forget the wheelchair for now. With luck, he could return to get it later.
In the basement, the freezers were being opened. The stainless-steel table was being examined. The collecting trays and knives uncovered and inspected.
“A genuine house of horrors,” said Rusty.
“I wonder what’s upstairs?” asked Phoenix.
Leaving the two agents in the basement, he and Rusty climbed the stairs. The place was empty, as they had expected. The living area was tidy enough. There were smells of cooking. The dishwasher hadn’t been emptied.
“Looks as if there were three for dinner,” said Rusty, checking the cutlery, plates, and glasses inside. “Let’s look upstairs.”
The bed hadn’t been occupied; the artist’s studio was cluttered and smelt odd. Phoenix turned on a light. The painting in front of him made him gag.
“All those collection trays downstairs,” he gasped, “the knives; Nemesis used her victim’s blood in her paintings. No wonder those employees Hermes entertained in his penthouse were so disturbed. They’re spooky.”
“Come in here, Phoenix,” called Rusty, from the bathroom.
“I don’t think Lady Primrose produced that much hair shaving her legs, do you? The colour doesn’t match either. Does it remind you of anyone?”
“Thanatos? He was here in London; no wonder we couldn’t trace him on the streets. So he’s cut his hair very short or shaved off the lot. I wonder when he left and where he went?”
“What do we do now?” asked Rusty.
“Bring the bodies in. Leave them on the table in the basement for now.”
“We’ve got over two hours before we need to send our messages to Demeter and Poseidon to notify them of a successful mission.”
“So, we can get off home?” asked one of the agents.
“Check these phones,” said Phoenix, “even the ‘burner’ has got GPS, I bet. Hermes will have supplied his parents with similar pieces of technology. We need to send the message from here in the basement, not from the M4 near Chippenham.”
<
br /> Rusty shook his head. Phoenix never missed a trick. He half wished the Titans weren’t so technically ‘savvy’ because another two hours with these body parts wasn’t something he fancied.
There were so many horrific items in plain sight that none of the Olympus agents gave the lightweight wheelchair folded-up against the end wall a second look.
CHAPTER 19
Chris Rathbone checked his watch. It was midnight.
It must have been Phoenix downstairs, perhaps with other Olympus agents. Hermes and Nemesis must have been caught. He had no way to contact the people with whom Hermes worked. Until Chris had arrived in London and moved into the mews house, the only person he knew was his handler, Hermes.
He knew it might be hours before the agents left. He had to stick to the plan. If the wheelchair could be retrieved from the basement before Wednesday, he could still carry out his part of the deal. He had to disappear. It was time for another two nights in doorways on the city streets.
Inside the basement, the four men chatted about what lay ahead.
“Do the Titans have other assassins beside these two we neutralised tonight?” asked one of the Larcombe agents.
“Good question,” said Rusty. “There’s been no sign of anyone else, but we cannot discount Thanatos. Whatever he has planned is imminent, so the removal of the advisers must have been scheduled for this week. Tonight was the first attack. The others were due to follow in quick succession if we’ve got this right. I think we’d better search both places for any hint as to who came next on the list. Then we can continue to spread misinformation until we catch up with Thanatos and the others.”
“Well, that gives us something to do, while we’re waiting,” said Phoenix. “If we do find a list, those whose names are on it, including Sir Basil, will have to be taken to a safe-house. Twenty-four to forty-eight hours should be enough. We need to make the Titans believe their targets really have been taken by Hermes and Nemesis. One of you two check upstairs; Rusty and I will check the penthouse.”
The next two hours were productive. Rusty found a file on a laptop in the penthouse that provided them with the names and addresses of the targets. He spotted Margaret Hussein’s name. She was one of the targets for tonight.
