The Secret of Hades' Eden

by Graham J. Thomson

  Towering over the motionless body, William pulled the pistol from Cossack’s limp hand and took aim at the man’s head with it. He began to squeeze the trigger.

  ‘No,’ Ella screamed from a few metres away. ‘What are you doing? He’s unconscious.’ She bounded over to him and placed her hand over the pistol. She frowned at William and shook her head.

  Hesitant, William lowered his hand. ‘Where the hell did you get that from?’ he said pointing to the small smoking revolver in Ella’s hand.

  Looking down she seemed surprised to see that it was still there. ‘It was the policeman’s,’ she admitted guiltily. ‘I took it from the car after the crash and put it in my handbag. I don’t know why. I’d forgotten about it, sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be,’ William said taking the weapon from her shaking hand. ‘You did well, I owe you one. Let’s go before he wakes up.’

  They ran to the car. Ella hesitated before she jumped in. ‘Oh, wait. What about the headstone?’

  ‘I found what we were looking for, jump in and I’ll explain. But now we have a bigger problem.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘The Russian. Somehow he knew my name.’

  Chapter 24

  1630hrs – London

  After checking in with the office, William had driven directly to central London. Pinkerton had insisted on an immediate face to face debrief and had signed off a special exception to allow Ella into the restricted F-Branch building. But to conceal the location, William was instructed to drive to the secure car park and take the underground tunnel into the building. From there it was virtually impossible to tell where the building actually was.

  ‘What would you have done back there?’ Ella asked as they drove along the Embankment next to the River Thames. ‘If I hadn’t stopped you.’

  William narrowed his eyes and accelerated away from a set of traffic lights. He chose not to reply fearing she wouldn’t understand his world. It was a simple equation and one he often went over in his mind: better to be tried by twelve than to be carried by six.

  ‘You would have killed him, wouldn’t you?’ she persisted.

  William turned and glared at Ella. She could feel his hard eyes burning into her. She looked away.

  ‘We’re not far now,’ William said changing the subject. ‘But I have something I need you to do. Remove the battery on your phone please.’

  ‘No,’ she said defiantly and folded her arms. ‘How dare you.’ The comment had brought back recent memories she would much rather forget.

  ‘You can keep the phone. It’s just a security precaution while we’re in the building.’ He could tell that Ella was fuming. ‘They won’t let you in with it. But you can call whoever you like from the office phones when we get there.’

  Reluctantly, Ella complied.

  William pulled into a side street and drove into the secure car park. The camera at the entrance read his number plate, verified him, and the barrier lifted. They parked up and walked through the long tunnel into the F-Branch offices. After signing Ella in at security, the two made their way to the Greenfly for a quick bite to eat before joining the rest of the team in the briefing room.

  When William entered the room he found Pinkerton, Sarah and, to his horror, Paddy, already in the midst of a session. Papers and case files were untidily spread across the table. A laptop sat next to a laser projector at one end, its fan spun noisily.

  ‘Agent Temple,’ Pinkerton screamed enthusiastically. He shot up and strode across to shake William’s hand. ‘Great work, well done indeed.’ He turned his attention to a bewildered Ella. ‘And you must be Ms Moore. Very pleased to meet you. If there is anything you need from us, anything at all, just ask. You are in good hands now.’ Pinkerton smiled as he guided her to a comfortable leather chair.

  Flummoxed, William took a seat next to her and gave Sarah a questioning look. Sarah raised her eyebrows and mouthed the words, ‘Well done.’ From the opposite side of the table, Paddy eyed Ella with interest. She had turned a few heads as they navigated through the quiet corridors of F-Branch. William noticed that Pinkerton had also kept staring at her. The team quietened when Pinkerton rose and walked to the front of the room.

  ‘Our primary objective is the safety of Ms Moore,’ he began. ‘We need to protect her. But this is also a matter of national security, we must identify those who are behind it. We must find out what they are doing and disrupt their operations. Who are they, where are they? What are their objectives and motives? Unfortunately, we know so little. Except, of course, that it all seems to revolve around you, Ms Moore.’

  Confused at what he was getting at, Ella was about to speak out when William jumped in. ‘Ella is merely the heir to a painting,’ he said. ‘It’s not about her. It’s about the painting and something called the Biblos Aletheia. We can only assume they are valuable. Ella doesn’t know the people behind this anymore than we do.’

  Paddy flashed a look from Ella to William and winked. William fought the urge to lean across the table and punch him.

  Pinkerton took his seat and put on his reading glasses. ‘Of course, my point exactly,’ he said. ‘But the painting is safely locked away in the Fitzwilliam Museum. It’s not going anywhere, that avenue of investigation is closed.’

  ‘We’ve been working on a copy,’ William added. ‘But it’s revealed nothing of significance so far.’

  Sarah frowned and looked at William. His face told her not say anything. She bit her lip.

  ‘Good, keep on it,’ Pinkerton went on. ‘As for Ms Moore, she is safe here with us for now, but we’re not bodyguards. We need to discuss getting her into appropriate protective custody after her debrief.’

  Ella opened her mouth and looked at William. He noticed that her cheeks were red.

  ‘Sir, Ella has proved to be a lot tougher than she looks and is proving to be a very useful asset,’ he explained. ‘We still have a lot to work on. We need her help, she’s all we have at the moment.’

  ‘I’m not going anywhere until I find out what’s going on,’ Ella snapped. She folded her arms and glared at Pinkerton who removed his glasses and chewed on the end thoughtfully.

  Sarah, who had been quiet so far, made a suggestion, ‘sir, perhaps I should show them what we’ve found about her father before we go any further?’

  Nodding agreement, Pinkerton motioned for Sarah to go ahead. She took her place by the side of the projection screen and pressed the remote, the slides began. The first was a colour photograph that filled the screen. In it were two rows of men in smart suits, one row stood while the other was seated. All the faces except one were blurred out.

  ‘This is the passing out photo of squad 154, MI6. And this is James Davidson,’ Sarah directed the laser pointer to the man’s face. ‘A Russian speaker, for his first posting he was sent to the British Embassy in Moscow. He spent five years there before being sent back to base for further operational training.’

  Sarah pressed the remote for the next slide. Another photograph, this time a close up of James transitioned into view. A few years older he was still youthful with handsome features and curly blond hair.

  ‘This was taken just before an undercover assignment some years later,’ Sarah continued. ‘You would have been about six years old at the time, Ella.’

  ‘Around the time he left us,’ Ella said wondering if the two were linked somehow.

  ‘Records show that his mission brief was to get close to a British businessman who was believed to be buying and selling Russian arms to rogue states,’ Sarah explained. ‘The job took him back to Russia, then onto the middle-east. He spent over a year on the case but never found anything conclusive. Soon after the mission ended he handed his notice in and left the service shortly after.’

  Another click on the remote, another photograph of James, but this time he was much older. Unshaven and dishevelled, he held a placard with a number on it. It was a police mugshot. Pinkerton watched Ella’s face for a reaction.

  ‘Why d
oesn’t that surprise me,’ Ella snorted. For some reason she felt quite embarrassed.

  ‘This was taken just three months ago by the police at Heathrow Airport. An allegation of theft had been made against him by a businessman in France. James was arrested as he came off the plane. The interview notes make for an interesting, if not bizarre, read.’ Sarah picked up a manila folder from the table and slid it along to William. ‘It’s all in there, but the long and short of it is that he stole a five-hundred year old manuscript from a private collector. He tried to smuggle it back into the UK, but was caught red handed. The wealthy owner lives on a vineyard in France, where he keeps his private museum. When he was given his manuscript back, he dropped the charges. James was released. Two months later, James was dead.’

  ‘Murdered,’ William corrected.

  Ella stood up and walked over to the screen for a better look of her father’s mugshot. Paddy checked her out as she went; he looked back at William and showed his approval. William’s blood boiled.

  ‘See the ring on his finger?’ Ella pointed to the gold band around her father’s signet finger. ‘Can you zoom in on it?’

  Using the mouse, Sarah expanded the photo and zoomed in on the part of the hand that was exposed as James held up the arrest placard.

  ‘It’s the ring with the symbol, I’m sure of it,’ Ella said.

  ‘Pity the photo isn’t clearer. But it looks like the right dimensions,’ William concluded.

  Ella returned to her seat, took out the gold ring from her handbag and slid it across the table to Pinkerton. After taking a good look at it, he nodded and passed it along for the rest to study.

  ‘Was he wearing it in the passing-out photo too?’ Ella asked.

  Retrieving the photo, Sarah zoomed in. It was even less clear, but a gold band of some sort could be seen on the signet finger of his right hand. ‘Interesting,’ she remarked. ‘Good spot, Ella. What does everyone think it means?’

  ‘It could be the sign of a secret society, or it could be nothing. But the professor said they were, “a secret society so old and powerful that it defied belief,”’ William recalled.

  ‘What professor?’ Ella asked, directing the question at William.

  Regretting revealing more than he wanted to, William leaned over to Ella. ‘I’ll explain later,’ he whispered. Then he took her hand and pushed the gold ring into place. He turned back to Sarah.

  ‘Do you have the details of the burglary?’ he asked.

  ‘It was late at night. Entry was through the front door. The police assumed that either the lock was picked or the door was left open. James returned home from an evening out and disturbed the burglar. There was a brief struggle and he was stabbed in the heart. He died almost instantly. There were no witnesses.’ Sarah’s eyes flicked to Ella who appeared to be unfazed by the gory details.

  ‘Any suspects?’ William asked.

  ‘None,’ Sarah quickly replied. ‘No forensics either. The weapon was left at the scene. There were no fingerprints and no DNA.’

  ‘A little convenient for a common burglar, don’t you think?’ William pointed out cynically. ‘Who was the investigating officer?’

  Sarah picked up another folder from the table and took a moment to flick through it. She looked up: ‘It was a Detective Constable Anthony Pepper.’

  ‘Ha! Well, that stinks,’ William exclaimed.

  ‘Perhaps so,’ Pinkerton agreed glancing at Ella who was aghast.

  ‘You think this was set-up?’ Ella said, astonished. ‘I mean deliberately killed? Assassinated, and the police covered it up?’

  ‘It’s a distinct possibility, I’m afraid,’ Pinkerton conceded. ‘And that is exactly why we must find out more about the manuscript he stole.’

  Confused by Pinkerton’s logic, William beheld him questioningly. ‘Sorry sir, but I don’t see the connection.’

  Pinkerton sighed deeply and leaned forward. ‘To understand our enemy, we must understand his victim. Just read the interview notes, you will understand what I mean. Tomorrow, I want you and Paddy to go to France and pay a visit to the owner of the manuscript. Find out everything you can about him and the document, then come straight back here for a debrief. Any questions?’

  ‘What about Ella, sir?’ William was quick to ask. ‘Her knowledge of history may be of some use to us. There could be connections that we might miss.’

  Pinkerton glared at William, he shook his head. ‘Very caring of you, but don’t worry, she will be in good hands at one of our safe houses.’

  ‘No way, I’m not staying anywhere. I want to go with William,’ Ella demanded looking directly at Pinkerton. Then she tried a different approach. ‘Maybe the collector will be more willing to talk to me openly. I’ll tell him I’m trying to understand my father better, understand why he behaved as he did.’

  Exasperated, Pinkerton sighed and spread his hands out to Ella. ‘I’m now responsible for you. I can’t take any risks, you must understand.’

  Paddy, who had been unusually silent throughout the briefing, piped up: ‘Look sir, visiting some posh knob on a vineyard for a chinwag about some museum piece is hardly high risk, is it? Let William take the girl, at least she’ll be out of harm’s way. In the meantime I’ll get to work on this Cossack geezer and anyone else the geeks find. They’re making some good progress on that, sir, and they need someone to deal with the output.’

  William frowned at Paddy, had he just done him a favour?

  ‘Paddy’s right, sir,’ Sarah added. ‘Technical Support have created a map of the communications links. The suspects all use the same encrypted Internet link to talk. Although we can’t listen to the calls we can see who’s contacting who and from where. It’s an impressive lead, look, I’ve mapped what we have so far.’

  Another picture opened up on the screen. It showed little icons of mobile phones with thin lines that connected them to the phones they had communicated with. The ends of the lines had little arrows which showed the direction of the calls, who called who.

  ‘From this we have assessed that the contact known as Hades is at the highest command level. These here are his mid level lieutenants.’ Sarah circled a handful of phones with her laser pen. ‘These, in turn, command two or three foot soldiers each by the looks of it.’

  The screen switched to a world map, icons of the phones were superimposed onto it. ‘This shows the geographic locations of the phones we’ve traced so far. Most of the phones used have GPS modules in them, so some of these locations are down to the nearest ten metres.’

  The phones were spread across the globe, William recognised most of the locations. There were icons over New York, London, Bordeaux, Shanghai and Sydney. Some locations were less obvious.

  ‘Where’s that one, the northernmost one that’s in the middle of nowhere?’ William asked.

  ‘Glad you asked, it’s a weird one. An Internet call was traced to a satellite phone,’ Sarah admitted. ‘The location had me baffled too, so I researched it. Turns out that the only thing there, other than ice and barren mountains, is NordGen.’

  ‘And what’s that exactly?’ asked William.

  ‘The Nordic Genetic Resource Centre. It’s essentially a colossal seed bank, a library of living samples of almost every crop in every variety from all across the globe. If ever a crop species was to become extinct, NordGen could use their genetic library to reintroduce the plant back into the wild. They also hold genetic samples from all sorts of farm animals too. It’s located in Svalbard, deep under a mountain.’

  ‘A seed bank?’ William frowned and looked questioningly at Pinkerton.

  ‘Sounds like Noah’s ark to me,’ Paddy joked. But no one laughed. Slowly, and uncomfortably, the jigsaw pieces were assembling together in their minds.

  ‘As for the other locations,’ Sarah said, getting back on track, ‘thanks to the accuracy of the GPS, we have even assessed where some of these people live. Research is being conducted on them as a matter of urgency. That’s everything for now, s
ir.’

  Pinkerton thanked Sarah and summed things up. ‘So, we have our suspects. We don’t know who they are or what they’re planning, but we have to assume the worst. Thoughts?’

  ‘Port cities,’ William stated. ‘Most of the locations are at or near coastal cities.’ The team all looked at the map and nodded agreement with the connection. ‘Sir, has this been passed to the other agencies yet?’

  Pinkerton rubbed his tired face with his hands. ‘It’s in hand William, don’t worry. You have your orders, I have mine.’ He looked at his watch. ‘In fact, I have a call with the Intelligence Committee now. Sarah, wrap up here. Paddy, liaise with Technical Support and get pro-active on these targets. Watch, but do not engage, got that?’

  ‘Got it, sir.’ Paddy raised his right hand to his head in a half hearted mock salute.

  ‘And William,’ Pinkerton glanced at Ella with a strange, disappointed look, ‘go with Ms Moore to France, see what you can dig up with the collector.’ He pushed his seat back and stood up. ‘Good luck everyone. I will see you all here, same time tomorrow.’

  *

  With Pinkerton gone, Sarah took a seat at the table and continued the briefing in a less formal manner. She clicked through the slides until she found the picture of Elisabeth Davidson’s gravestone.

  ‘When William sent in the photos of the gravestone we went straight to work on the research. I searched the military archives and it wasn’t long before I found a hit. When the war began, Elizabeth Davidson initially served as a WREN in the Navy. But her talents in languages were quickly spotted, she was fluent in French and German. Turns out she became an SOE agent.’

  Paddy raised his eyebrows and William nodded his approval.

  Ella merely frowned. ‘A what, sorry?’ she asked.

  ‘The Special Operations Executive. It was a highly covert military organisation formed during the Second World War,’ Sarah explained. ‘Their main role was to infiltrate occupied Europe, disrupt Nazi operations and assist, among others, the French resistance. They recruited and trained both male and female agents in the art of espionage and sabotage. Your grandmother was one such agent. By the spring of 1942 she was deep in occupied France working undercover with the Free French. She remained there for two years until she fell pregnant and was exfiltrated back to Britain.’