by Ted Tayler
The Olympus Project
(The 1st novel in ‘The Phoenix’ series)
By
Ted Tayler
Smashwords Edition
Copyright © 2014 by Ted Tayler
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person please purchase an additional copy for each person.
All rights are reserved. You may not reproduce this work, in part or in its entirety, without the express written permission of the author.
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.
Cover Design: ©Melissa Alvarez at Book Covers.US
Cover Art: ©Depositphotos.com, ©Nomadsoul1, ©billperry
Other books by Ted Tayler
We’d Like To Do A Number Now (Aug 2011)
The Final Straw (May 2013)
(Quality Reads UK – Best Book Ever winner Sept 2013)
A Sting In The Tale (Oct 2013)
Unfinished Business (Mar 2014)
Where to find him
Website & Blog: - http://tedtayler.co.uk
Facebook Author Page: - https://facebook.com/EdwardCTayler
Twitter: - https://twitter.com/ted_tayler
About The Author
Ted Tayler was born in Corsham, Wiltshire in 1945 and moved to Melksham in 1950. He began singing with local bands in 1963 and managed to combine travelling around the country with holding down a full time job. His love of all types of music spans over fifty years.
Ted is now semi retired and lives with Lynne, his wife of over forty years. They have three children in their thirties and four grandchildren. His book of memories from those years singing with bands 'We'd Like to do a Number Now' (Aug 2011) sold moderately well and reunited the members of the last group he sang with. It also led to a reunion gig (Nov 2012) which due to the others musical and work commitments proved to be a ‘one-off.’ One month later, Ted decided to occupy his mind elsewhere and wondered whether he could write fiction, as well as a good yarn about the old days!
His first novel 'The Final Straw' contained murders, music, sex and comedy and explored the dilemma - could YOU love a serial killer? 'The Final Straw' was voted 'Quality Reads UK - Best Book Ever' (Sept 2013) and Ted was inducted into the Hall of Fame by Orangeberry Book Tours.
While his first book was ‘on tour’ during that summer Ted produced a collection of a dozen short stories entitled 'A Sting in the Tale' (Nov 2013) and which included stories from different genres, all with a twist in the final pages.
As his first work of fiction received such a positive response, the sequel to ‘The Final Straw’ just had to be written and ‘Unfinished Business' duly arrived (Mar 2014). This continued the story of Colin Bailey the stone cold killer as he returned to the UK with more scores to settle.
Ted started on two new series this autumn (Oct 2014). ‘The Olympus Project’ is the first book in a series where the main character will be 'The Phoenix' whose adventures cover the activities of a secret organisation which sends its operatives across the world removing anyone who poses a threat to political or economic stability.
‘The Phoenix’ has been identified as having the perfect skill set for the organisation and when he is pulled barely alive from a watery grave, his rescuers provide him with a new identity and purpose in life.
The second series will feature the main male & female police officers from 'Unfinished Business'; Phil Hounsell and Zara Wheeler will be working in the West Country under the banner 'Cat and Mouse'. Their first case will be available early in 2015 and is called “Odd Woman Out”.
Acknowledgements
The love and support of my family; without them this would have been impossible.
CHAPTER 1
On the far bank of the river everything was bathed in late evening sunshine. The man in the water was barely breathing; his right arm was hooked over a lower branch of one of many overgrown bushes and trees scattered along the waterline.
He could see a thinning group of people peering across the water, shading their eyes; they were blinded by the glare of the sunlight as it was almost disappearing behind the roofs of the nearby buildings. Although they continued to gaze across to the opposite bank, searching and searching for a glimpse of their quarry, they saw nothing. He was too tired to move. The bushes and tethered barges strung along that stretch of water below the Pulteney Weir provided the perfect shelter.
The man rested; in safety for now, letting his mind drift back over the events of the previous hours. All his plans had gone out of the window when that stupid female copper had recognised him and started shouting! A bullet had shut her up but an old bag, probably her mother, had chased after him and started lashing out at him with her handbag. He remembered running down the steps to the towpath in a blind panic; trying to calm his nerves and gather his thoughts.
He had thought that he could make it back to the Land Rover and get the hell out of this city, but then he had spotted a uniformed policeman running towards him. He had had no choice but to turn and sprint back towards the steps. He remembered running alongside the weir and being only a few strides from the spiral steps which would have led him up to the street again and at least a chance of escaping among the city crowds.
Suddenly he had heard a shout, just feet away. As he glanced over his shoulder, he spotted his nemesis. That meddling policeman, who had pursued him relentlessly the length and breadth of the country, had been at his heels and had suddenly launched himself towards him and they had both fallen headlong over the railings and into the murky waters of the river. Both men surfaced, gasping for the air that had been knocked from both of them because of the force of the impact.
He struck out towards the opposite bank, confidently at first, despite his lack of experience and the policeman followed. He soon realised his adversary was a much stronger swimmer and any thoughts of a quick escape were futile. The two men had grappled and while both were concentrating on gaining the upper hand they were drawn inexorably towards the weir and the lethal foaming waters below it. The nature of the water around them as they fought suddenly changed and both men realised the danger they were in; they disappeared under the water and were tossed around under the weir like a pair of socks in a washing machine.
The water had seemed to clutch at the man’s legs, dragging him further down and down. He cracked his knees and elbows on the concrete buttresses of the weir. He continued to punch and kick at the policeman as they both tried to swim back towards the surface. When they did, the respite was brief. A second to take in an invaluable lungful of air, then the water snatched them back under the churning waters. They immediately resumed their battle but as their struggle took its toll their actions grew more and more laboured. Both men were soon at the end of their tether, neither man knew which way was up any longer and battered and winded, each having swallowed large quantities of water, the man felt the policeman suddenly let go and watched as he slowly drifted away from him.
The man had no idea whether his nemesis was sinking to the river bed or escaping to the surface and to safety. He was just happy that he no longer had to fight; he was almost prepared to resign himself to his fate. He sensed his lungs must finally be giving up the ghost as an excruciating pain began to grow within his chest. He broke through the surface and desperately breathed in. The pain increased! There was little relief with successive breaths but he willed himself to press forward, away from the direction the policeman had gone.
As he briefly surfaced again he realised that he was close to the far bank. He drifted silently behind a barge and forced himself against all his instincts, t
o swim under the nearside of the hull of the barge, keeping the river wall at his fingertips. When he surfaced once more, he continued to breathe; each breath becoming a little easier but he was exhausted.
With a supreme effort he got his right arm over a branch and rested; he had to stay focussed though, because if he slipped under the water again he knew there was no chance of him saving himself.
From his place of sanctuary the man could see people running to and fro on the towpath; he could hear sirens blaring somewhere nearby. He tried to check himself over. His knees and elbows were bloodied but he didn’t appear to have any broken bones. He was bitterly cold. He was probably suffering from shock as well, but he had no time to worry about that. He heard the sound of a helicopter throbbing overhead; he knew that as night fell a searchlight would probably be probing the little nooks and crannies trying to find him. If only he could evade capture long enough for them to believe he had drowned in the weir and his body had been carried downstream, maybe, just maybe he would be able to get out of this mess.
An hour later the towpath was all but empty; all the armed response men were being withdrawn, the paramedics and onlookers had disappeared. The man looked across to the opposite bank, where a distinguished looking elderly gentleman stood in the shadows of a bridge talking on his mobile phone. The man looked directly at him; it was as if he knew instinctively where his hiding place was! Had he just called the police? Was this how it was all going to end?
The old man smiled briefly, then he spoke loudly, as if he was still talking on the phone to someone who was in a crowded room and was struggling to make out what he was saying:-
“Hold on for a few minutes more Mr Bailey; there’s a good chap. Our people will be along in a tick to get you out of there. You’ll be perfectly safe; I can assure you that where you are going you will be among friends.”
Still hidden on the opposite bank Colin Bailey had been almost afraid to breathe; he exhaled raggedly and allowed himself the briefest of smiles; he had no idea who the well dressed man was, but he oozed class both in the cut of his suit and the way he spoke. Colin wasn’t sure what lay ahead for him, but he was convinced the police weren’t involved and friends were always welcome.
Moments later an inflatable dinghy appeared from downstream and silently inched its way close into the bank; two pairs of strong arms hoisted Colin Bailey from the icy river. Without a word the men stripped him of his wet things and helped him don multiple layers of dry warm clothing; there was even a really warm skiing hat and socks too to help the warming process. He managed to get these on with some difficulty and then one of the men offered him a warming drink that he had poured from a thermos flask.
The other man had returned to the wheel and slowly he turned the craft around and sticking to the far side of the river away from the odd dog walker on the towpath, the dinghy carried the three men away from the centre of the city; away from Pulteney weir where Colin had cheated a watery grave.
They had travelled for no more than a minute when the driver turned the wheel quickly and they darted across the river to the opposite bank. Under the weeping willow trees, only yards from the water’s edge was an ambulance, its rear doors open, the engine idling.
His two companions grabbed an arm each and lifted him up onto the towpath where a man dressed in the uniform of a paramedic was waiting. Colin’s legs almost buckled as his feet touched dry land for the first time in several hours; the man took hold of him firmly as he stumbled and with surprising ease swept him up in his arms and carried him bodily up into the ambulance. He lay Colin down, covered him with a heavy blanket, and then closed the doors behind them. With that the ambulance drove away into the night.
In the Royal United Hospital, DCI Phil Hounsell was resting after his own ordeal in the water. His wife Erica had visited him and was now safely tucked up at home with their children. DS Zara Wheeler was enjoying a drink with her two male colleagues in a popular Bath hostelry; hers was non-alcoholic as usual, but the two young policemen were heading for a hangover.
Colin Bailey wasn’t heading for a hangover or an NHS hospital though; his ambulance was soon driving out of the city towards a large Georgian manor house about ten miles away. The only clue to where he was being taken was the unmistakeable sound of a cattle grid when they drove between the stone pillars at the entrance to the extensive grounds of the property.
Satisfied he was in safe hands, Colin closed his eyes and was sound asleep before the ambulance negotiated the long arc of the driveway to reach the main house.
CHAPTER 2
Colin sat up in bed; he was suddenly wide awake.
“Where am I?” he wondered briefly; then the events of the previous day came flooding back. He remembered the ride through the countryside in the ambulance and a gradual, very gradual degree of warmth returning to his body; he must have fallen asleep at some point because he couldn’t for the life of him recall being taken from the ambulance, into the building and eventually delivered to this magnificent bedroom.
The sun was shining brightly outside and from it’s height in the sky he deduced it was late morning; he had slept for almost twelve hours! The bedroom had two large sash windows and the sunlight allowed him to view his surroundings with a growing admiration.
The white painted solid timber bedstead and woollen or flax filled mattress had been ultra comfortable and he almost affectionately brushed the pristine white sheets with the palms of his hands. He gazed around the room and took an inventory; bedside cabinet, check; cheval mirror, check; a double wardrobe with drawers at the bottom, check. The sage green walls, intricate ceiling swags and moulded cornices complimented the idyllic scene perfectly.
“They appear to be going to an awful lot of trouble” he thought “considering that they know exactly who and what I am. I wonder if I’ve missed breakfast.”
He was no longer wearing the layers of clothing his rescuers had provided him with for the short dinghy trip; in fact, when he checked as he finally got out of his all too comfortable bed, he was wearing a night shirt that wouldn’t have been out of place around the time this house was built!
Colin tiptoed to the window and looked outside. Behind him the door opened and someone crossed the floor slowly to stand beside him. It was the elderly gentleman from the towpath.
“Good morning Mr. Bailey; I trust you slept well?”
“Like a log thanks; what is this place, who are you and what am I doing here?”
“All in good time old chap; all in good time” the old man chuckled “what’s the rush? Your en suite is through the door to the left of the mirror. Once you’ve completed your ablutions you’ll find some casual clothes in the wardrobe. Please don’t insult me by asking if they’ll fit. I’d like you to join us for a light luncheon on the ground floor and then I’ll give you the grand tour.”
Sensing that Colin was about to ask where the meeting was to take place, or who ‘us’ were, the elderly gentleman stopped briefly at the bedroom door, with his hand on the door handle and said “I fully appreciate you have questions Mr. Bailey. Sometimes we need to shelve our curiosity and take things on trust. Just follow your nose and the excellent food will bring you to the right door. If you’re found wandering around like a lost soul in an hour or so we’ll have selected the wrong man to join our enterprise. If I were a betting man I’d say you’ll be tucking into a plateful of excellent English fare inside twenty minutes.”
The bedroom door closed. Colin stood at the window a little longer; then he checked the second sash window and confirmed that both were securely locked, with no signs of a method of releasing them. As he gazed down onto the perfectly manicured garden and lawns he should have felt at his ease in these gracious surroundings; yet he couldn’t help thinking that he was going to be left with very little option other than to join this ‘enterprise’, whatever it was. To refuse might lead to a rather unpleasant outcome and Colin was clever enough to let things proceed at their own pace for now; anyway, apart from a
nything else, he was starving!
It came as no surprise to Colin that the en suite bathroom was as extremely well appointed as the rest of his new accommodation; he lingered in the refreshingly hot shower for a moment or two longer than usual and speculated on what might lie ahead for him in the days and weeks to come. He imagined he would discover what he had let himself in for in due course; what he did with that knowledge would take some serious thought and meticulous planning.
Colin Bailey had made a career out of doing just that. He towelled himself dry and walked back through to the bedroom; opening drawers and wardrobe doors to reveal a variety of shirts, tops and trousers, plus several pairs of shoes and socks and assorted styles of underwear. He made his selection and everything fitted him perfectly, as predicted by his host; minutes later he stood in front of the cheval mirror and nodded with satisfaction.
“You cool bastard!” he exclaimed and then with a hearty laugh he assumed the time honoured position favoured by the inimitable Commander James Bond and said “the name’s Bailey; Colin Bailey!”
The corridor and staircase he discovered outside his door didn’t disappoint. He descended to the ground floor, admiring paintings of naval battles and personnel with each successive step. He strode purposefully along the pale marble floor towards the nearest door on the lower level; the delicate aromas that enticed him on further only served to heighten his appetite. He entered the room to find the elderly gentleman, whom he assumed to be his host, in conversation with three men and a rather striking looking woman.
