The Shadow Of Medea (Luke Temple Series Book 1)

by James Flynn

  Seona curled her feet up under her body. “What if we can’t find him, this Medea? What happens then? You can’t hold on to me forever.”

  Luke had an unexpected flutter in his stomach as Seona mentioned holding on to her forever. “Just have to make sure we do find him.”

  “Why is this happening to me, Luke?”

  “There are lots of reasons.” Luke was trying to remain logical.

  “I’m scared for my father. He hasn’t been the best father, but I haven’t been the best daughter … I lost my mother, I can’t lose my father as well.”

  The room fell silent; Seona stared intently at Luke, searching for reassurance. The distance between her and her father had grown over the years, and now she found herself constantly avoiding and dismissing him. It was all just anger and pain at her mother’s death; every time she had needed affection or love, her father just hadn’t known how to respond. He would buy her some clothes, or deposit money into her account to spend on anything she wanted.

  “I am sorry about your mother. Your father can’t be that bad, I mean how bad must it be having a billionaire for a father?”

  It was true. Seona could do anything, and routinely did. After so many years of having everything, it had become a replacement for love. She always saw herself as a strong independent woman, but it was all a lie which she clung to for comfort. The way in which she lived her life was in no way independent; she looked down on party girls and other heiresses that courted the spotlight, doing nothing with their lives except spending money and making sure the world knew exactly how much, but Seona had been kidding herself that she was any different. The bars she frequented were chosen for their high profile. If there were not cameras camped outside then there was no point in drinking there. Her friends only stayed around for hand-outs and free living.

  “Maybe it would be best if I was never found.” Seona slumped into the smooth leather.

  “I don’t think your father would want you to be talking like that ... or your mother.” The atmosphere was charged with emotion, it made Luke uncomfortable. Emotion was something he kept locked away.

  “I still miss her, every day.” Seona let the words tumble out, “Sounds crazy, I know, I was only six when she died.”

  Luke looked down to the floor. “It’s not crazy; it will probably never get any easier. Anyone who tells you that it will, or that it should, is lying.”

  Luke had been told so many times that things would get easier, that time was a great healer. It was rubbish. Time eased nothing, handling grief was like battling a monster, a monster that could not be killed, only tamed and caged.

  Seona walked across and joined Luke on his sofa; she stared deep into his eyes, and she noted the deep brown colour and feminine shape.

  “Who was it?”

  “Who was what?”

  “Who did you lose? You only speak like that if you know loss.”

  The emotions came bubbling up.

  “No one ...”

  Seona shifted to keep his gaze. “Must have been someone close.”

  Silence hung in the room.

  “It was my wife, she was killed. She was killed on 7/7 in the city; she was on one of the bombed trains.”

  Luke grimaced at the rush of pain. That disaster had touched many lives. At approximately 8.50 a.m. on 7th July 2005, one of the London terrorists detonated his homemade bomb on the number 204 Circle Line train between Aldgate and Liverpool Street. Sarah had been on the same carriage as the bomber.

  Luke never saw her again.

  “I am so sorry.” Seona didn’t know what else to say. The man sat in front of her had been responsible for her suffering and kidnap, but she felt his hurt. It defied logic.

  “It was a long time ago, in another life. I am a different person now.” It was true in more ways than one.

  “I was right about what I said in the plane; you don’t know who you are. But it’s not because you’re an animal, it’s because you’re running from the answer, aren’t you?”

  In many ways it was true, but the verdict was too simplistic. When he had awoken from the coma and been presented with the option for a new life, it was a choice he made, not to run but to move from the self-imposed isolation. The silence that the isolation brought was where the pain lay, silence that used to be filled by Sarah.

  He was being offered a chance to be proactive, to strike at the heart of what had taken her, in all its forms. Group 9 gave him operations and objectives to fill the silence. It had become his addiction; it was what had led him to take this job; Group 9 was finished and the silence had been edging closer.

  Luke went to stand but Seona grabbed his hand. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry, it’s just ...” she trailed off.

  “You did mean to pry, and I understand why. Faced with what you’ve been through I’d want to make sense of it ... of us.” Luke took a slow breath.

  Seona remembered reading and watching the endless reports and documentaries about 7/7, it had been horrific. More than fifty people had been killed and hundreds injured. It had rocked the city.

  Luke continued, “When she went, so did I ... nothing more to tell.”

  Seona leant in close and spoke quietly. “Who are you, Luke Temple?”

  Luke closed his eyes and paused; silence descended in the room. Eventually he spoke: “My name was Alex Rowland.”

  He hadn’t said the name out loud for many years; a weight shifted.

  “Alex Rowland … and what was your wife’s name?”

  Luke heard Sarah’s voice, distant and faint. “Sarah, her name was Sarah.”

  “How long were you together?” Seona asked delicately.

  “Six years.”

  The time was completely irrelevant to Luke, even if he had known Sarah for one week the loss would have been the same, that’s how completely he loved her. Seona edged closer, Luke could smell the citrus shampoo, and it was intoxicating in his emotional state.

  “Then I guess we are both alone.” Seona ran a hand through Luke’s curled mop of hair. She moved his head to face hers, locking onto his feline eyes; they held a lot of pain.

  “Would you still kill me?”

  The question caught Luke off-guard. He paused.

  “No.”

  Seona leant in and pressed her lips against his. Electricity shot through Luke’s body, he pressed back. His head was spinning, physical feelings crashed against images of Sarah, Sarah, Sarah, Sarah. Luke pulled away sharply.

  “I can’t …” Luke leant away.

  Seona wiped her lips in response. “It’s ok, I’m sorry. I don’t know what … I ... sorry.”

  Luke was human, and a man. He was flattered and aroused – being wanted by a beautiful younger girl. But his heart just couldn’t let him do it. Seona stretched her legs over the side of the sofa and rested her head on Luke’s shoulder; relenting, he rested back and Seona nuzzled her head under his arm. They both lay there, not speaking. Neither of them could describe it, they both felt drawn to each other, a heady mixture of isolation, jeopardy and empathy.

  Luke’s mind screamed at him: The priority must always be the next objective. “Seona, I need to ask you some questions again and I need straight answers, ok?”

  Seona nodded, she could have been asked anything at that moment and she wouldn’t have cared. She felt safe, closer to him. She had never met anyone so capable of protecting her.

  “I need to know about your relationship with Sir Peter Villier.”

  48.

  Sunday 24th July

  “Now come on, I take no pleasure in this. Why don’t you just answer me truthfully?” His grey eyes shone.

  The sun had finally found a way to beat through the clouds; it was strong and cast warm beams through the closed blinds. The small office trapped the heat and it was stifling. The windows had been shut. The small box room was actually part of a larger open-plan office, but it had been sectioned off with a pane of glass and a thin door. The place was empty at weekends, only the
hardcore Exlit Energy Accounts employees would be working, and their number was small, consisting of one: Natasha Taylor.

  Natasha had gained her accountancy qualifications in her twenties. Now, at the tender age of fifty-two, she had worked for Exlit Energy for the last nineteen years. She had been chosen to head up the Russian company’s UK accounts department; it was a demanding role and her boss Prussias Latvik had been incredibly hands-on in the first few years, but Natasha had relished the challenge and had thrown herself into it in her usual obsessive way. The joke around the office was always that she would be dead by fifty. She had outlived the predictions but now she doubted she would be living much longer.

  “I honestly don’t know, I swear.” Natasha backed into the corner of the office, away from the mystery man who had broken in.

  Natasha was only in this weekend because it was her wedding anniversary and she wanted to forget it. She had lost a marriage to the job; her husband had lost the will to keep fighting her commitment to her work. To others accountancy was boring but to Natasha it was her passion. Since the global recession hit, that passion had been severely tested; Exlit had been hit like every other company and with the collapse of Europe’s financial strength and economic power, it was up to her department to balance the books and find new and more creative ways to avoid expenditures. Not an easy task with a company the size of Exlit Energy.

  “Natasha, Natasha. Why are you being so awkward?” The calculation with which he spoke was terrifying.

  Through her dedication to the job, Natasha had met Prussias’s daughter, Seona. She had been six then, a little blonde ball of energy. Natasha had never had children, she didn’t have time, and watching Seona grow up had been the closest she came. She could honestly say that she loved Seona in a motherly way, the poor little thing had lost her own mother. That is why the past twenty-four hours had been torture, the news stories were constant. The phone call yesterday had left her shaking; Seona was alive, and in the UK. It had taken all of Natasha’s will not to call the police, fearing it may put Seona in even more danger. Instead, she had adhered to what Seona had said and was in the office awaiting her call. Now she feared she would never get the chance to take it.

  The man loomed over her.

  “I don’t want to hurt you, Natasha, I really don’t. I am going to ask you again very nicely … what did Miss Latvik say?” He grabbed her tight with one of his gloved hands, causing Natasha to scream.

  She tried to swipe away his grip on her hair, and was sent sprawling across the floor. “I don’t know … I don’t know.” She crawled to the nearest wall; now the man stood between her and the exit. “Why would I know? She has been kidnapped … It’s all over the news, I don’t know where she is.”

  The man sighed; he was in no mood for games. He had not managed to grab much sleep since touching back down in the UK and jet lag was tugging at him.

  “Natasha, we have intercepted a call to this office, made yesterday. Seems odd, doesn’t it? A phone call to a closed office? Plus, that phone call did not originate from a company; it came from a personal residence.” He again tightened his hand around her hair, there was already a team heading to the origin of the call awaiting his arrival.

  “Natasha, we know it’s her, we know where she is, but what I want you to tell me is what she said.”

  It felt as though her hair was going to be ripped out. “I didn’t speak to her.”

  The operative lifted a chair with his spare hand and jammed it down hard so that Natasha’s legs were pinned in. He let go of her hair and sat on the chair, staring down on her. “Here is the dilemma I have: Miss Latvik was meant to be in our care and we somehow misplaced her. Now I need to get her back otherwise it’s bad news for everyone. So I will ask you one more time ... what did she say to you?”

  Natasha winced from the pain in her legs. What am I meant to do?

  “I have given you several chances, Natasha, but I’m out of patience.” He stood and threw the chair to one side. In a flash he picked her up by her hair and threw her across the desk, sending items sprawling across the floor.

  “What are you doing ...? Please don’t!” Natasha had never known fear like it.

  He pushed down on her throat with his forearm. “You are doing her no favours, what did she say!?”

  Natasha knew she had to be strong. Seona’s safety is at stake.

  The pressure was increased on her throat, she was fighting to get a breath, and she wriggled her body to try and slip under his arm. In one violent movement he lifted her slightly from the desk and smashed her head back down. Dots swam across her eyes; before she could take a full breath he jammed his forearm back down on top of her throat and cut off the air supply.

  Natasha knew she didn’t have long left; her head felt as though it was going to explode, her vision was blurring. I am so sorry Seona. Natasha didn’t want to die. “She ... she ....” The man let off slightly and she gulped down the air. “She said they were moving her to London tomorrow, she didn’t know where ... that’s all she said, I swear, I swear!”

  The operative had seen many defiant people, seemingly brave, but they had always weakened at the point of death. The human instinct to survive was an extremely powerful thing.

  He straightened up, pulling his gloves tight down over his hands. “There you go, wasn’t so difficult, was it?”

  Natasha broke down. “Don’t hurt her, please don’t hurt her ...”

  “Thank you, you have been very helpful.” The operative moved his gloved hands and gripped Natasha’s throat. He gripped tightly, feeling the windpipe compressing. She wriggled and fought for a brief time, and then she was still.

  49.

  Sunday had passed by quietly. Luke had been glued to the news stations absorbing as much information as possible, primarily reading between the lines as the stations had a habit of embellishing or falsifying information to win the ratings war. Seona seemed to have been lost in melancholy all day, not saying much and walking airily around the house, vacantly staring at the floor or into nothingness.

  There had been no mention of the kiss; it had stayed with both of them since the previous evening. Neither had slept well, both wanting to creep into the other’s bedroom to find solace and to escape reality.

  Luke was honest with himself and he had wanted to follow Seona up to bed, to kiss her again and to make love to her. He could have, it didn’t take a genius to figure out that Seona was crying out for intimacy and affection. But the urge was suppressed by the sense of guilt that he felt; the guilt was strong on many levels. Direct guilt at being the one responsible for throwing Seona into the nightmare to begin with, and on a deeper level, guilt at the feeling that he was betraying Sarah. He guessed he couldn’t stay single forever but his life after Sarah’s death had not been crossed with women and certainly none that were sexually interested in him.

  He had used his curiosity about Seona’s relationship with Sir Peter Villier to divert their attention elsewhere. Unfortunately, she had not been overly enlightening on the subject; she confirmed what Aubert had already mentioned. Sir Peter and her father Prussias Latvik were close friends and had been since she was a child. She didn’t have any details on Sir Peter’s current activities, but Luke was all too aware what Sir Peter’s current position was; he was Director General of MI6 and ever since Aubert had mentioned his name, Luke’s stomach had been tight with apprehension. Sir Peter would be moving heaven and earth to find her. Luke felt his world closing in.

  Where is Prussias Latvik?

  It was a niggling thought. Nothing seemed to fit into place, to have had no comment from Prussias Latvik just felt wrong. There was an outside chance that Sir Peter was advising against it. It was a sure bet that Sir Peter would be attempting to control everything about the investigation.

  Luke’s mind rolled back to a story he had heard back on his first tour of Afghanistan, he was new to field duty and his first week had coincided with a visit from the Prime Minister and senior army off
icials, Sir Peter being one as Major. The party stayed for four hours talking and chatting to the men, getting a tour of the facilities. After they left, a story was whispered around the barracks about Sir Peter. After some probing and several drinks one of the NCOs let out that Sir Peter had discreetly asked to be shown the prisoner compound, a prisoner compound that, to the rest of world, didn’t exist.

  According to the NCO Sir Peter had been very complimentary about the particular techniques being employed to extract information from the prisoners, but he did have some concerns; apparently he felt that it was still taking too long to get any useful information. He made demands to improve efficiency through a variety of harsher and more explicit methods. The NCO stated that Sir Peter left them in no doubt that if the interrogations and extraction techniques didn’t improve, then he would personally make sure that there would be a change of officers.

  Something Seona had said on the plane about the Greek character of Medea wouldn’t leave him. To take revenge, she killed their children. He couldn’t put his finger on why it stuck.

  The weather had been warm all day and Luke had been strolling around the front gardens. He now stood by the fountain, staring out into the surrounding fields. He checked his watch, it was 8.15 p.m. It would be dark within the next hour. They would leave at 10 p.m. to make their way to Cockfosters station at the end of the Piccadilly Underground line, aiming to get the last train into the city. He would then use Aubert’s money to book into a fleapit bed and breakfast for the night.

  Luke had spent the whole day working through different options; everything seemed to lead back to the same conclusion. He was a realist and he knew things had got to the point of no return. There wasn’t a scenario that seemed to offer him a way out. The coverage alone penned him in, the grainy CCTV image replayed in his mind.