by Ted Tayler
Hermes and Nemesis had been getting more brazen, believing themselves unstoppable. The cheeky monkeys had targeted two victims per night for tonight and tomorrow. Only four advisers, but Rusty could tell by their status they were key personnel.
The Titans had chosen well.
Phoenix checked the phones. He looked for the style of the message that passed between Hermes and Demeter. He knew they were brief and cryptic. He wanted to see whether there was anything specific relating to the deaths of people such as Harman and James. Something that gave him a clue how to phrase the one he needed to send.
Rusty returned from the penthouse.
“They had two planned for tonight, then two more tomorrow night.”
“Just as well we found that out,” said Phoenix, “who were they picking up after Atherton?”
“Margaret Hussein, the senior science adviser. She lives three or four miles further on from Fulham.”
“These messages that Hermes sent look simple enough to manufacture. Can you see anything in them to trick us?”
Rusty took the phone and had a look.
“Jokers to the left of me,” he read, “that’s Lenny James for sure.”
“Yes, but he’s deliberately used the right lyric from that annoying song. Unlike his mother did for him when she passed messages,” said Phoenix. “He left out the apostrophe that should be there to identify Lenny properly. Hermes was highly intelligent; he’d never make a grammatical error such as that. It’s another level of security; to confirm to Demeter it’s him sending it.”
“What do you propose to send then? Do the same messages go to both Demeter and Poseidon?”
“According to his phone log, Hermes only told Mummy. We’ll need to get Giles to check if, when and how she told Poseidon. Let’s get this first one sorted; if that goes pear-shaped they’ll be onto us anyway.”
Phoenix wrote down the names – Sir Basil Atherton; Margaret Hussein.
“Not a clue,” he said, puzzled, “for Harman, with his history of abuse in children’s homes, Hermes sent ‘The Kids Are All Right’. What’s he done there? Should it be ‘Alright’?”
“Yeah, that was The Who song, I think,” said Rusty. “The clue is in the surnames.”
“Sorry?” said Phoenix.
“I’m not surprised,” said Rusty, “considering your dislike of sport, mate. Atherton and Hussein are former English cricket captains, So, the song title or lyric needs to be cricket related.”
“Any ideas?” asked Phoenix, well out of his comfort zone.
“Try something from ‘Cricket Lovely Cricket’ the calypso,” said Rusty.
He Googled the lyrics to check his memory.
“Here we are ‘with those two little pals of mine, Ramadin, and Valentine’. Why not send ‘With those two little pals of mine’?”
“That could definitely work, Rusty. Brilliant. Hold on, I’d better stick the apostrophe in ‘pals’ to complete the subterfuge. What do you think?”
“I reckon it’s subtle enough and it’s got the content. Let’s give it a try.”
Phoenix checked his watch. It was 1.56 am. He pressed send.
“It’s obvious from the list you found in the penthouse, we need to stay here in London. We can search for Thanatos; move the four advisers to a safe-house, and send the appropriate message to fit the timeline. If tonight's message works, then we’re going to be composing one more. We know the targets now. We’ve got the rest of the day to get it right. If there were no more killings planned after Tuesday night, it looks as if Wednesday is when Thanatos will strike. We need to identify his target.”
“Where do we stay,” asked one of their colleagues, looking around the basement.
“No point sleeping in the cars,” said Phoenix, “and this place gives me the creeps. We’ll use the penthouse. I’m sure Hermes won’t object.”
They locked the door from the tunnel behind them and walked across the courtyard towards the apartment block.
“Just one thing still puzzling me, Rusty,” said Phoenix, “who the heck was Ramadin and Valentine?”
*****
Tuesday, October 15th, 2013
Demeter read the text message from Hermes when she awoke at nine am. Everything was still going to plan. By tomorrow afternoon, she and Poseidon could come out of hiding. They would have a great view of the future; their future.
She relayed the message to Poseidon. Then she got up and took a shower. As the water cascaded over her surgically enhanced breasts she thought of Orion. He hadn’t called her yesterday after his meeting. Perhaps everything wasn’t going to plan after all. She stepped from the shower, dried herself and dressed.
She rang Orion. It went straight to voicemail.
“Family emergency; off to Scotland for a few days. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you.”
“Bloody inconvenient,” she yelled and started planning what to do with Phoenix and Athena. They had to be eliminated before Wednesday if possible. Hermes and Nemesis were busy. Could this Thanatos that Hermes recruited be her saviour? How could she contact him? Might it be too much of a risk, sending him back to Larcombe? He might not get back by Wednesday afternoon. No, it was no good. They would have to tackle Larcombe later.
When hotel staff visited Honey B in her apartment that day they were reminded of what a bitch she could be when the mood took her.
*****
In the ice-house, Henry Case was with Giles and Artemis. They discussed the news they had received from London.
“An excellent night’s work,” said Henry, “two of the Titans killed, both of their targets saved from a dreadful death. By lunchtime today the four senior advisers will be tucked away in our maisonette in Park Steps, St. George’s Fields. We don’t want them roughing it in Chiswick, I suppose.”
“Demeter contacted Poseidon and passed on the false message from Phoenix,” said Giles. “That seems to have done the trick for now. How have you been getting on with your guest?”
“I’m convinced he was just a pawn. He doesn’t have a clue what Honey B is up to on her darker days. He told me everything I needed to know. I got him to record a new voicemail message to delay any concerns for forty-eight hours. I can’t imagine Honey B will come west to check up that her hunter is where he says he is.”
“Poor Phil,” said Artemis, feeling sorry for her former boss and lover, “what will you do with him now?”
“He’s not a candidate for the pet cemetery, I can put your mind to rest on that score. We’ll hang on to him, then release him into the wild when it’s over. I need to decide how to persuade him to keep his mouth shut.”
“It’s probably best if you stay clear of him, Artemis,” said Giles. “There’s no reason for him knowing where you are living and working now.”
“Come on,” said Henry, “Athena will be waiting. We’ve just got enough time to make the morning meeting. It’s already five to nine.”
The atmosphere in the meeting was both electric and optimistic. Olympus had gained a definite advantage overnight. Athena had talked with Phoenix and was up to speed with developments. The main topic this morning had to be how to find Thanatos and prevent him from carrying out a bombing.
“If he was in Knightsbridge, as Phoenix and Rusty believe, where would he go after they disturbed him?”
“He would hide in plain sight, on the streets,” said Alastor, “or at least, that’s what I would do, with his training.”
“What is his target?” asked Athena.
“It has to be somewhere significant. We’ve been down this road before,” said Minos. “If the removal of the advisers was a significant step in their campaign, then logic suggests members of the government are his target. So, it could be Downing Street, Westminster, possibly even Whitehall, somewhere like that. Places that have existing security measures designed to prevent an attack. The situation requires a strike that delivers a huge blow to the centre of power. The more audacious the better as far as the Titans are concerned. We
need to apply our resources in and around these buildings to prevent Thanatos from getting through our cordon. Do we have sufficient numbers of agents on the ground in London to achieve that?”
“It’s a fine balance, Minos,” said Athena. “We can’t commit too many agents and give the impression Olympus is a private army. I’ll defer to Phoenix and Rusty’s experience. If they need extra crews drafted in, we’ll get them.”
Athena ended the meeting. Her people returned to their posts. The clock ticked on. She checked with Phoenix on progress on the advisers. They were on their way to the safe house. She asked if they had any sightings of Thanatos. Rusty and the others were scouring the nearby streets. Nothing as yet. Giles had told Phoenix they were monitoring live CCTV feeds to help him.
Athena asked if he needed more operatives.
“I wouldn’t mind Brad and his crew from Milton Keynes if they’re available. Other than that, we’re fine. We don’t want to be tripping over one another.”
“Take care, darling,” she said, “by the way, I felt the baby move for the first time this morning.”
“Put your feet up this afternoon; nothing’s going to happen until tomorrow. We’ll keep searching for Thanatos, but other than that I’ve just got to compose a message before two o’clock tomorrow morning.”
“How are you getting on with that?” she asked.
“The two advisers on the list for tonight were Neville Kennedy-Smith and Thomas Courage; they cover economics and terrorism. How the heck do I find a cryptic clue for a song title or a lyric from those two?”
“Ask Henry Case, he’s the expert on beers and lagers. Smith’s and Courage are well-known brewers. There has to be a drinking song out there somewhere. Get your heads together and use your initiative. Good hunting today. Call me if there’s any news. I’ll text you if Brad can come to London for a day or two.”
Athena ended the call and did as Phoenix suggested. She rested.
Phil Hounsell sat in splendid isolation in the ice-house, wondering what was going to happen to him.
*****
Chris Rathbone sat on a bench in Hyde Park. He had decided being outside in the open was better than skulking around side streets trying to avoid CCTV cameras. These wide-open spaces gave him a clear view of anyone hunting for him.
Later he would drop his backpack off at Paddington left luggage; the gun and knife had to be stashed before tomorrow. He was going to return to the mews house in the early hours to try to retrieve the wheelchair.
Demeter was at Chelsea Harbour annoying the staff. Poseidon was lunching at his favourite restaurant in Elmbridge. He would walk home in a while. There were no insurmountable problems facing them before tomorrow.
Phoenix and Rusty sat in a café, with a bacon roll and a mug of coffee. It was their turn for a break. The others searched for any signs of Thanatos. Brad had rung ten minutes ago to say they were on their way. Olympus would have another team of four agents in Knightsbridge tonight. Where they needed to be tomorrow remained a mystery.
The watching and waiting continued.
At midnight, Phoenix, Rusty, and the others rested in the penthouse. Brad’s crew took the first watch from ten o’clock until two. As soon as the text message to Demeter had been safely delivered, the Larcombe boys would resume their search.
The hunt for Thanatos would continue through the streets of the Borough of Kensington and Chelsea.
“This place looks better since we took the paintings off the walls and stacked them in the one-bedroom,” said Rusty.
“As long as I don’t have to sleep in there, I’m fine,” said Phoenix. “Right, let’s use the information Henry has passed us to compose our next text. He’s suggested ’99 Bottles of Beer.’
I reckon we need something that links the supposed victims’ surnames with the fact they’re no longer with us. That’s been the essence of the earlier messages.”
Rusty thought for a while, but couldn’t come up with anything.
It was one of the others that had a brainwave.
“This was due to be the last of the killings, wasn’t it? They both have surnames of brewing families. Why not use Last orders at the bar?”
“Genius,” shouted Phoenix, “that will do nicely, mate.”
There was a knock at the door just before two o’clock. It was Brad and his team. Phoenix sent the text, adding the apostrophe in the word ‘orders’. The four Larcombe men descended in the lift. They set out for another corner of the Borough from where Brad’s team had just completed a fruitless search.
Chris Rathbone stood in the shadows in the cobbled lane outside the mews house. It looked deserted. He let himself in and without turning on any lights, crept across the living room.
The place was deserted.
He went downstairs to the basement. It smelled worse than it had when he stayed here. He flicked the light switch. The room was flooded with bright light.
The bodies of Hermes and Nemesis lay on the table, their vacant eyes staring at the ceiling.
Chris shivered. He was right, their mission had failed. He gave the table as wide a berth as he could and sought out the wheelchair. There it was, leaning against the wall near the door to the tunnel. Chris grabbed hold of it and hurried back upstairs. He turned off the lights. He didn’t look back.
Chris paused by the front door and steadied his breathing. The lane was quiet. He slipped outside, closing the door quietly behind him. As soon as he could find a level surface, he would unfold the wheelchair and take his seat.
For the next ten hours, he was going to be the disabled ex-serviceman who had requested a pass to the public gallery in the House of Commons.
A former soldier who was wounded in the Falklands and had always wanted to attend PMQ’s to feel the atmosphere in the bear-pit of British politics.
Wednesday, October 16th. 2013 – 11.00 am
The Olympus crews were on standby in the Borough, waiting for a call that told them the target had been identified, or that Giles Burke had finally spotted Thanatos.
Demeter had received the final text message from Hermes earlier this morning. She had told Poseidon the good news and arranged to meet him on the South Bank. They were to take a trip on the London Eye. A panoramic view of the city, but a front-row seat of the Palace of Westminster. What a view it would be today.
Athena was restless. She didn’t want to wait around in her rooms. She strode across the lawns to the ice-house. She wanted to be at the sharp end of the surveillance, alongside Giles, Henry, and Artemis. She joined them in the control centre.
“Please tell me we’ve got good news?” she asked.
“The activity around both Houses has been busy, Athena. There’s nothing to report so far. Downing Street and Whitehall are quiet.”
“Can we access any cameras closer to the action?” asked Athena.
“This shows one of the access points,” said Artemis. “When visitors arrive they are funnelled through check-in, rather like at an airport. There’s a queue forming. That’s for the public gallery. There’s no sign of our man or either of the Titans as yet.”
It was eleven-forty-five pm. Prime Minister’s Questions time was due to begin in fifteen minutes. The Chamber was crowded.
Chris Rathbone had reached the access point for disabled visitors. He had a visually-impaired woman in front of him. He had deliberately cut it fine. He wanted to use the sympathy card if he needed it. He made sure his progress was laboured, suggesting he was tired and weary. The security staff started to check the woman’s documents. He checked his watch.
“Don’t panic mate, we’ll get you inside before the fun starts,” said one of the guards.
“Is that him?” cried Giles.
He had spotted the shaved head of the man he had sat across the table from for so many meetings.
“That’s him,” said Athena, “why is he in the wheelchair?”
“He’s not carrying the bomb on his person,” said Henry, “he’s bloody sitting in it.”
Giles alerted Phoenix. Both crews sped towards the House of Commons.
They were eight minutes away.
Demeter and Poseidon had arrived on the South Bank. She had booked their tickets online. As noon approached they would take their places in the pod. They would be at the top when the explosion came, perfectly placed to see the beginning of the end of democracy.
The cars containing the Larcombe and Milton Keynes’ crews threaded their way through the midday traffic. Six men exited the two cars in Abingdon Street. The drivers left the area and circled around Whitehall and The Mall. They were in radio contact with the men on the ground and Giles in the ice-house.
“Where is he now, Giles?” asked Phoenix, leading Rusty, Brad, and the other agents towards the visitor’s entrance.
“He’s being vetted now. The process has only just started. You need to hurry. The time is eleven fifty-six. He’s chatting and smiling. These guys will have received training on how to approach and handle disabled visitors. His behaviour will be designed to put them at ease and distract them. The security staff has checked his pass and ID; they’re patting him down. They’re not paying any attention to the chair. He’ll be through in thirty seconds. Can you see him yet?”
“Yes,” shouted Rusty.
“Stop that man,” yelled Phoenix.
The security staff turned around. In front of them were five armed men in army combat uniforms. Moving up slowly behind them came Brad. He was wearing a bomb suit.
Chris Rathbone heard the shout. He recognised the voice. The timer was in his underpants. The guards were polite enough not to rummage around down there.
Thirty seconds and he would have been in the building. Phoenix had bettered him yet again. He spun the wheelchair around and rolled towards the Olympus agents. He thrust his hand inside his trousers to activate the timer.
He was going to die but at least he would take out the cream of the Olympus agents. Phoenix realised what Thanatos was planning and opened fire. The sound of the six shots from his silenced P226 was drowned out by the traffic noise. The wheelchair rolled aimlessly towards Phoenix and Rusty. Its occupant was dead.
