The Secret of Hades' Eden

by Graham J. Thomson

  Cold and tired, Ella perched on the back of the quad-bike. She no longer feared for her life, Hades’ intentions with her were clear. But she feared for her future, she feared for William’s fate and for the fate of everyone she knew and cared about. Still cuffed behind her back, she gripped the rear bar of the bike tightly. Inches in front of her, Hades drove, he raced along the farm track through the forest towards Rockcliffe Hall.

  They sped along the bumpy forest track, up the hill and past the ruins of the old Rockcliffe Castle. There was hardly anything left of it. All that stood were the remains of three high stone walls, the rest was a pile of rubble strewn over the forest floor and covered in wild plants. Before they had gone far, Ella saw Cossack following close behind on the other quad bike. She feared what he might have done with William.

  Past the castle ruins they sped and continued over the brow of the hill. Beyond, Ella could see Rockcliffe Hall. There was a white commercial helicopter in the grounds. Ella’s stomach clenched, she had a horrible feeling about it. They drove straight up to the helicopter, stopped and dismounted. The pilot was already in the cockpit waiting. He nodded when he saw Hades.

  ‘There’s no time to waste,’ Hades said to Cossack. ‘We have everything we need.’ He took Ella firmly by the arm and helped her off the bike. Then, without a further word, he frogmarched her to the door of the helicopter.

  ‘I’m not going,’ she shouted. She shook away from him and refused to move any further.

  ‘It’s where you belong,’ Hades snapped and tightened his grip. ‘You are one of us whether you like it or not. Get in or you will perish here like everyone else. Or perhaps you would prefer to spend your last moments with Cossack?’

  Reluctantly, Ella stepped into the helicopter and sat down. The small cabin was closed off from the cockpit. It was furnished with oak surfaces and soft light-brown leather seats. Ironically it was the first piece of comfort she had felt in a long time. Hades fastened her seatbelt for her. She avoided his gaze. The cabin was warm, as she settled into the seat she felt a wave of tiredness wash over her. She’d forgotten that she hadn’t slept properly in days.

  ‘You’ll like it, the place where we are going,’ he said as he sat down opposite her and fastened his seatbelt. ‘I call it New Eden.’

  Ignoring him, Ella stared out of the window at the mansion.

  ‘You’ll get used to us,’ he said shaking his head. ‘If you know what’s good for you that is.’

  The engines began to whine, the rotors gained speed and were soon a blur. From the arm of his seat, Hades pulled out a folding tray, he took a small thin laptop out from his briefcase and placed it on the tray in front of him. Ella looked out of the window, she winced when she saw Cossack leave the house with a large black bag and head for the helicopter. But after he stowed the bag in an external side hatch he climbed into the cockpit with the pilot.

  Slowly and steadily the helicopter rose into the air. It turned around, angled forwards and flew over the grounds of Rockcliffe Hall gaining speed as it went. Ella noticed how quiet it was in the cabin compared to the hold of the Chinook. When they passed over the old castle, Ella leaned into the window for a better look. She saw the bridge, there was black smoke billowing out from it. A thin column had risen high into the still morning air.

  Then, a few metres along from the bridge, there was an explosion. Soil and debris erupted upwards in a thick cloud of black and grey smoke. The cloud twisted and mushroomed as it rose, below it a fire raged. Ella watched in shock as several mini explosions continued after the main explosion. Thin trails of black smoke shot out of the blazing fire as the rest of the old ammunition succumbed to the intense heat.

  She shut her eyes and prayed. ‘I will see you again, William Temple,’ she said quietly under her breath. ‘In this world, or the next.’

  The helicopter banked steeply and headed away from the castle. Ella slumped back in her seat. As the tears welled in her eyes she looked over at Hades with a consuming mix of hate and disgust. He didn’t even look up from his laptop. She thought of William, she thought of Paddy and Sarah. She feared she would now never be rescued. All was lost.

  Then she remembered something; her eyes widened. How could she have forgotten, she cursed inwardly. Watching Hades carefully, she twisted her wrists and ran her fingers over the service watch; the plasticuffs dug into her skin. With some difficulty she felt her way along the side of the watch and pressed the winding dial in. Relief washed over her when she felt it click, silently, into place.

  Hades looked up at her and eyed her suspiciously. She held his gaze nervously, then she sneered at him and shook her head in disgust. He looked back down at his screen and ignored her.

  Ella relaxed a little and looked of the window; there was still hope.

  Chapter 34

  0751hrs – London

  Dressed casually and pulling a black suitcase behind him, Albert Pinkerton pushed his way through the revolving doors and strode into F-Branch. As he swiped through the security turnstile he nodded a hello to the security guard as he went. Nonchalantly, the guard looked up from his desk and nodded back, he eyed the suitcase as Pinkerton made his way into an empty lift. When the lift doors closed, Pinkerton turned and examined himself in the mirror. Beads of sweat collected on his forehead, he wiped them off with a white handkerchief and adjusted his collar unnecessarily.

  He had passed the retinal scan to his office floor a thousand times before. But, for some reason, this time he was worried it wouldn’t work. Relief washed over him when the green light flashed on and he pushed the door open. As he’d hoped, the place was empty. There was always a duty operator in the office as a minimum, but Pinkerton knew that they spent most of their time either asleep in the ops room, or watching films in the lab. He sped past the blank computer screens, the tidied desks, and the empty meeting rooms, and headed straight to his own private office.

  At his desk he sat down and switched his computer on. Something dug into the small of his back, he reached down and pulled out his silenced SIG-Sauer P230. He placed the weapon on the desk. The PC prompted him to authenticate, he typed in his fifteen character complex password and pushed his ID card into the thin slot of the attached card reader. The PC continued its boot up sequence.

  Out of habit while he waited, he closed the blinds and then switched the wall mounted TV on. The muted news channel flashed up with a picture of an attractive, world famous super-model. Pinkerton recognised the young socialite, she was the daughter of an ageing rock star he had once met at an awards function in Buckingham Palace. The picture briefly switched to the teary eyed face of someone the caption described as a close friend of the model, then the story moved on to a scene outside a luxury hotel in Monaco. The hotel was familiar too, Pinkerton was sure he had stayed at it once. He recalled the memory, he had been there once, the hotel was part-owned by a former F1 racing driver. The camera switched from the hotel and focused on a blonde female reporter, the very kind that annoyed Pinkerton. She was all hair, teeth and make-up. Easy on the eye, but shamelessly one dimensional and hopeless at interviewing. In the scene behind the reporter were medical crews dressed in biohazard suits. When Pinkerton saw the words, “4th Victim dies: Ebola crisis worsens”, scroll across the bottom of the screen, he turned the volume up.

  ‘It is believed the model died on the floor of the hotel bar in the early hours of this morning. She had flown in from London late the previous night. As you can see, the place is crawling with military CBRN crews and armed guards,’ the blonde said, trying to sound overly worried. Her accent was American, Californian most likely. ‘The hotel has now been evacuated and the area has been secured. We can’t get any closer than this. Earlier we saw hotel guests and staff being taken away in ambulances by the military. According to a source they have been taken to a secure isolation facility as a precaution where they will be closely monitored for any signs of infection.’

  The screen switched back to the news room. A free-phone number was di
splayed on the screen below the white haired anchorman. The stone faced anchor looked up and began to read from the auto-cue.

  ‘Anyone who has been in close contact with any of the victims over the last two days is advised to call the emergency helpline,’ he read. He turned to his right and switched his attention to the news room guest, a professional expert on medical matters who was regularly wheeled out for comment.

  ‘What’s the risk of infection, Carol? Should we all be worried? What can we do to stay safe?’ he said in an affable tone.

  ‘Firstly, it’s only a suspected case of Ebola at this stage,’ Carole the expert explained with a smug, know-it-all smile. ‘But if it does turn out to be Ebola, as the case has been with the previous three victims, then as the virus is transmitted via bodily fluids, only those who have had close physical contact with the victim at the final stages of her infection should be concerned. Perhaps the hotel staff and the guests who tried to help her when she collapsed, certainly any sexual partners who were with her in the last few days.’

  ‘But it does beg the question, how could she, or the other three victims, have contracted Ebolavirus?’ asked the anchor with a degree of exaggerated incredulity. ‘Are they all linked in some way? Will we see more cases emerge?’

  On cue, the expert’s facial expression changed to look very serious. ‘The police and the World Health Organisation are urgently looking into all the possibilities,’ she said nodding solemnly. ‘But we do know that three of the victims worked in the entertainment industry. A model, a presenter and a comedian. From the press reports we know that at least two of them knew each other socially. But oddly, the fourth victim, a city lawyer, had been overseas on business until last Wednesday. The only obvious connection is that all four lived in London. What we don’t know is if they had all met each other in the last few days, maybe at a party, a meal or an industry event.’

  ‘Of course there is the possibility that this was a deliberate and targeted attack, perhaps by anarchists, or terrorists,’ the anchor proposed with raised eyebrows. Using leading questions aimed at creating a stir was a particular favourite of his.

  The expert frowned and tilted her head slightly, unsure of how to respond at first. ‘It is a possibility,’ she eventually conceded with a nod.

  Pointing the remote control at the screen, Pinkerton switched the TV off. From the depths of his wallet he took out a tiny USB stick and plugged it in to his PC. He opened the only file stored on it, highlighted the text from the document and copied it. Then he double clicked on the icon for the Intelligence Management System. As he waited for the application to open he looked towards the door nervously; he was sure he had heard something outside. He jumped up and walked over to the door; stuck his head out and scanned the office. It was still empty. When he returned to his seat the IMS was ready, a list of the latest intelligence headlines from around the world was listed on the front page like a news reel. He grabbed the mouse and clicked on the tab to create a new report. Once the blank document was open he pasted the text he had copied into it. He clicked to save the file, it prompted him for a name, he typed FB-9005 Ebolavirus Source and classified it as Top Secret: Echelon. Once he had quickly reviewed the text, he clicked on the publish button. A moment later it was live on the network, the entire intelligence community would be crawling over it within minutes.

  Reaching for his desk phone, he put the handset to his ear and pressed a pre-set number. ‘I’m ready for my car now,’ was all he said before replacing the handset.

  He walked over to the wooden cabinet by the wall and opened the smoked glass doors. Inside was his prize bottle of Louis XIII Cognac. The crystal carafe, with its intricate artwork and solid gold collar, was simply exquisite. For years he had been saving it for a very special occasion. It was still cradled in the velvet lined case it had come in all those years ago. Carefully, he took the bottle out and placed it on his desk next to his pistol. He returned to the cabinet and picked up his medals, there were four of them in a black frame. Smiling at the memories of the postings, he put them back down and closed the cabinet door. He had no need of such things; they would only remind him of the life he had left behind.

  There was a definite noise from outside his office. Pinkerton’s head snapped around towards the door and he drew a sharp breath. He froze on the spot and listened carefully. There were footsteps. They stopped. Then his office door flew open.

  ‘Oh! Sorry, sir,’ Sarah said, her eyes were wide and her eyebrows were raised high. For a moment she was lost for words. Half in and half out of the room, she held onto the door handle as if it were a walking aide.

  ‘I . . . I didn’t know you were here,’ she stammered, forcing a smile. On the floor she noticed the black suitcase, then she saw the Cognac and the gun on the desk. Confused, she looked back over to Pinkerton with a frown.

  ‘Are you off somewhere?’ she asked, instantly regretting the question.

  For a moment Pinkerton didn’t know what to say. His mouth hung open. ‘What are you doing bursting in here?’ he barked. ‘Who else is in the office?’

  Sarah was taken aback by his tone. ‘I had to finish some research off. It’s just me, I think,’ she said hurriedly. She felt awkward and a little frightened. ‘I’ll leave you to it. See you on Monday, sir.’

  ‘Wait,’ he said. He paused, unsure of what he was going to say next. ‘I need to speak to you. It’s about Agent Temple.’

  ‘Oh,’ Sarah said, she relaxed a little but stayed by the door.

  Pinkerton waved her in and, despite her instincts telling her otherwise, she found herself naturally obeying the order. At the desk the silenced pistol caught her attention once more. Pinkerton followed her worried gaze.

  ‘My P230,’ he announced, ‘fitted with a custom made silencer.’ He picked the weapon up and turned it over in his hands. ‘An excellent assassin’s tool, don’t you think?’

  Sarah frowned. Her instincts were on full alert, but her legs were rooted to the floor. ‘I really need to be getting back to things,’ she said awkwardly.

  ‘Of course you do,’ Pinkerton said. ‘But there’s just one thing I need you to do.’

  Tilting her head slightly to the side, Sarah regarded Pinkerton quizzically.

  In one swift move, Pinkerton raised the weapon towards her and pulled the trigger twice. At point-blank range, the two bullets were coughed out directly onto their target. In an instant Sarah’s legs gave way and her body collapsed to the ground. On the way down her head smashed onto the desk with a loud gut wrenching crunch. A thin cloud of blood and saliva exploded out of her mouth and splattered onto Pinkerton’s face and shirt. Pinkerton stood motionless with the weapon outstretched and stared, wide eyed, as Sarah’s dying body twitched on the floor of his office. Wisps of white smoke oozed out of the end of the silencer. He looked at the weapon, his hand began to shake. Sliding his personal phone out of his pocket, he tapped on the Skype application and selected a contact.

  ‘It’s me, Kerberos,’ he said quietly, almost whispering. ‘It’s done. I’m on my way now. I’ll see you at the Ekranoplan.’

  Working fast, Pinkerton wiped the blood off his face with a handkerchief and pushed the pistol into his waist line at the small of his back. He stowed the Cognac in a side pocket of his suitcase and, after a quick glance around his office, he grabbed the handle and left.

  The lift took what seemed like an age to arrive at his floor, he fidgeted nervously and kept looking over his shoulders. When the lift finally came it was empty. He walked in, his legs felt like jelly, he cursed at himself for being so pathetic. He pressed for the ground floor and the lift descended. In the mirror he looked himself up and down. There were tiny spots of dark red blood on the collar of his shirt, he flicked his blazer collar up to try to hide it. At ground level the doors opened and he strode out towards the exit. The grey haired security guard eyed him as he swiped through the turnstile. Pinkerton ignored the guard and dragged his suitcase speedily to the revolving doors.

/>   Ear piercing alarms went off. Pinkerton recognised the tone instantly: it was a lockdown, an invacuation. All the external doors of the building would lock automatically, the lifts would ground. No one would be allowed in or out of the building until the all clear was given. He feared someone had found Sarah. Feigning ignorance he continued towards the exit.

  ‘Sorry, sir. They’re all locked,’ the guard shouted over the noise of the alarm. ‘We need to go to the invac room downstairs. Armed police will be here in three minutes to check the place.’

  ‘Do you know who I am,’ Pinkerton barked desperately. ‘I need to leave right now for a Cabinet Office meeting.’

  The guard frowned and hesitated, but this old soldier was no fool. ‘No one leaves, sir,’ he said firmly. ‘This way please.’

  Pinkerton ignored him and pushed the revolving door. But it stood firm. Enraged, the guard paced over to Pinkerton. Putting his arm behind his back, Pinkerton turned to face the guard.

  ‘I won’t ask again, sir,’ the guard began as he approached.

  Pinkerton swung his arm around to his front and grabbed the pistol with both hands. Taking a brief moment to aim, he fired off a single shot. The guard never saw it coming. He clutched his chest and fell to his knees in silent agony. Pinkerton carefully aimed the weapon and finished the job with a single shot to the dying man’s head. He turned to the glass panels of the revolving door and fired into it three times. The glass shattered.

  ‘Don’t move or I’ll shoot,’ someone shouted from behind Pinkerton.

  Squinting over his shoulder, Pinkerton saw Paddy crouched in a firing position by the lifts. After slowly raising both his hands up above his head, Pinkerton cautiously turned to face the exit.

  ‘Don’t shoot,’ Pinkerton shouted back. ‘I’m going to drop the weapon now. Just take it easy, whatever you saw, I will explain.’