by K. T. Tomb
Phoe tilted her head slightly and gave him a sarcastic smile. “Give that man a teddy bear! I tell you what… you can have one of mine. Oh, wait! All of my shit was destroyed in a fire!”
He nodded sympathetically at her outburst. “I understand and I am sorry for your loss, ma’am, but we’re doing everything we can to figure out exactly what happened.”
Ma’am?
She was about to blurt out that she knew what had happened. She was about to say that someone was out to get her, because she was stupid and opened her mouth like some trained dog at Simon’s targeted provocation. Then she thought better of it. She couldn’t say anything that would lead the police to think that it was arson. They would have to find that out for themselves.
Phoe showed her driver’s license to him and forced a smile. “I’m sorry, Officer. I know you’re just doing your job. I just need to get to what was once my bedroom for one thing. It looks like a bowling ball… except it’s different.”
***
“Welcome to Heathrow Airport,” the captain said, over the intercom as the jet came to a stop on the runway tarmac.
While Peter stood and stretched his limbs, Pam opened the door and let down the steps. A glance outside the plane window revealed that it was nighttime. He went to the storage closet and grabbed all of his bags, then headed for the door with a smile on his face. “Thank you for a most enjoyable flight, Pam. Please also thank the captain for me.”
She nodded as he stumbled a few times, but then regained his balance on the stairs. He saw the limo that waited for him. There was an extra body that he hadn’t counted on being there, leaning against it.
“Hello, Jonathan,” Peter said, half-heartedly.
“Hello, Peter!” Jonathan returned with an excited smile. “I just want you to know that I am honored to be here with you. Seems like old times, right?”
“Old times. Right,” Peter said under his breath, as Jonathan helped him load his bags into the trunk.
Jonathan must have been kept in a dark room since their last meeting, because he seemed overanxious to be out at all. “Where to, Peter?”
Peter sighed. “If it’s still open, we need to go to Ashburnham House, in Westminster.”
Jonathan’s smile faded, and his face took on a grave look. “Hey Peter, do you think that when you talk to her, you could give my best to Ms. Phoenix. My father and I…” He trailed off, as he realized any way that he finished that statement would have sounded like an excuse for what his father had done. “She won’t return our calls. Please just let her know that if she needs anything…”
Peter nodded as he stared out the car window with his thoughts being consumed by Phoe, while Jonathan gave the driver the destination.
Chapter Seven
Peter’s frustration grew as he re-entered the limo with Jonathan not far behind. Jonathan tried to comfort him as he patted Peter on the back. “There, there, Peter. How could you have known that they only see people by appointment?”
“I might have found out, if I would have checked my resources,” Peter huffed. “All I had to do was go on the internet to find out. This entire trip has been a waste of time! First, I forgot my passport—”
“You forgot your passport?” Jonathan interrupted, trying unsuccessfully to hide his amusement.
Peter said nothing as he glared at the historic multi-room building that sat on Little Dean’s Yard in Westminster, London. As he searched for a way to salvage the trip, his smile suddenly widened. “Jonathan! Whichever way we look at it, this has to be the first piece of the puzzle, the first stop on the road; it all started here in that house. After the fire ruined the original Beowulf manuscript in 1731, there was a whole lot of debate over who owned the house. At some point, the surviving manuscripts were moved but there must be something left behind in that library that can get us started.”
Jonathan looked puzzled. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying, Peter?”
“Quite possibly, my dear partner in crime,” Peter replied, as he lowered his head and gave Jonathan a devilish smile. “I know the house is closed at the moment, but let’s go in… anyway!”
***
It took about three weeks for Simon to pull the necessary strings to get Peter and Jonathan out of HM Prison Wandsworth, a Category B men’s prison operated by Her Majesty’s Prison Service; the largest prison in London. The prison had been built in 1851 when it had been known as the Surrey House of Correction. Peter and Jonathan had been sent straight to Wandsworth, because breaking into a historic landmark was seriously frowned upon.
He called in favors that he hadn’t thought about for years and Simon certainly wasn’t pleased to do so. He and Symone Armette waited outside the prison in a limo along with Symone’s brother, Hamilton. Hamilton made it a point to help himself to any wet bar within a 100-yard radius of his location at any particular time and the limo was apparently no exception. His drinking problem made him somewhat of an embarrassment to the rest of his family, especially to his younger sister.
Hamilton had the refinement of a feral cat and took full advantage of his wealth. He didn’t care about his public image and was just as harsh when the photographers snapped away, as when he was surrounded by just a few friends or family. He was a necessity, because nobody knew about Armette Transportation better than Hamilton.
Despite his affinity for drinking to excess, Hamilton kept himself in excellent condition and was his private club’s tennis champion, three years running. He had slightly bushy eyebrows that he called his sexy sticks, and always smiled through the left side of his mouth. His light green eyes were a stark contrast with Symone’s more exotic look and darker eyes, and he kept his hair cut short and parted on one side, which could change, depending upon his mood. Hamilton preferred to wear khaki shorts and an Armette Transportation polo shirt of a random color and his shoes of choice were usually made by whichever company just so happened to pay enough for him to advertise their footwear.
He and Symone made it a point to avoid questions concerning their nationality. They both spoke with no accent and their family had always been secretive when it came to their country of origin. The fact that Symone and Hamilton looked as if they came from two different families spurred those same questions even more.
The limo door opened as Simon prepared to deliver his initial choice of words for his son and Peter. Both men solemnly entered the vehicle.
Hamilton immediately started laughing. “Hah! It’s about time that the black sheep gets overshadowed by an even blacker one! How does that feel, future son-in-law?”
Symone slapped her brother’s arm. “Not now, Hamilton. This is for Simon to deal with. It is his concern.”
Peter and Jonathan waited with their heads hung in shame. “Three weeks,” Simon began.
“I’m sorry, Dad,” Jonathan said quietly. “But you see—”
“You were in jail for three weeks,” Simon interrupted. “Every day you were in prison was another day wasted. Another day without any information concerning the lair of Beowulf.”
“Beowulf?” Hamilton queried. “If that’s all you wanted, I can help you with that.”
Symone’s eyes widened. “Hamilton! No!”
Hamilton smirked. “I have a Beowulf in my shorts! Do you want to see the lair? Ha-ha!”
No one but Hamilton laughed, although Jonathan hid his chuckle in a cough.
“Maybe you should just find Phoe and hire her to finish this one,” Peter suggested. “I apologize for—”
“I don’t want apologies,” Simon returned. “I want—no, I need—to find the lair as soon as possible.”
Symone bit her lower lip in frustration. “That’s not important, my love.”
Simon’s eyes locked with Symone’s. It was as if she were trying to telepathically persuade him onto another topic. “You’re right, of course, Symone,” he replied.
Jonathan looked at his father in shock. He had never seen him that restrained in his life.
�
�Besides,” Simon continued, “Phoe has dropped off the grid.”
Peter perked up. “What do you mean, dropped off the grid? What do you know about the way she was acting? I mean, besides the whole embarrassing her at her award ceremony.” Peter knew exactly what he was doing by addressing the elephant in the limo. Simon glared at Peter.
Peter couldn’t take all of the cloak and dagger talk anymore. “Out with it, Simon! I don’t like to be the one not dancing in a room full of eligible ladies. I would say that it’s time to explain about Beowulf, once and for all!”
***
Peter was speechless as the limo drove off and left him standing on the side of a road in a country he barely knew with no way to get back home.
Chapter Eight
Kadan Alexander was fast asleep with half of the sheet covering his otherwise naked body in the Officer’s Suite at the Hotel Skeppsholmen. There were empty pizza boxes and clothes thrown all over the apartment. Two men about Kadan’s age were sleeping on the floor and there were three women lying in different areas of the apartment as well.
Suddenly, there was a loud knocking on the door. Kadan rolled over and mumbled, “Not now baby.” The knocking grew loud and persistent and Kadan’s guests started to stir and groan in response to the intense noise. One of the young men on the floor staggered to his feet and wandered past Kadan’s open door. He barely opened his eyes as the man raised one hand to signal that he would answer the door.
Kadan sat up and shook his head, then ran his hands through his hair and realized he had to go to the bathroom. He picked up a beer bottle from the bedside table and swallowed the last drop, then licked his lips and dragged himself to the bathroom, closing the door behind him.
The young man yawned as the knocking became pounding. “Hold on, man. I’ll be there someday soon.” He turned and smiled at one of the women. She was dressed only in her underwear and a shirt and leaned unsteadily against the wall in the hallway. She smiled back at him as he opened the door. He started to laugh at his own joke as he turned to face a man dressed in black with a ski mask on. He was armed with an AK-47.
The masked man sprayed the room with bullets, hitting the young man who answered the door at point blank range. He was dead before he hit the floor. The young woman also fell victim to the barrage and dropped to the floor with multiple gunshot wounds. The remaining two women and the third man tried their best to run away from the gunman.
Kadan had one hand propping him up against the wall while he finished his business when the automatic weapon fire startled him. Instinctively, he fell flat on the floor, then panicked and pulled himself into the bathtub. He pulled the shower curtain down as if to try to protect himself with it.
A total of five armed, masked assassins entered the apartment. The last one in stood guard by the door, while one of them stood by the window. They moved with a cohesiveness that made it obvious they had been a team for a while.
Two of them went after the man and the two women. The other two entered Kadan’s bedroom and riddled the bed with bullets. The two in black cornered the man and women in a corner of one of the other bedrooms. In one sweep, the man and one woman were dead.
The remaining woman dropped to her knees and cried hysterically. “Please… I don’t want to die. What… do I have to do?”
The masked assassins looked at each other then one of them turned back to the woman and grabbed her by the hair. He dragged her over to the balcony door, while his teammate opened it. A stiff breeze filled the room and the woman screamed as she was pushed onto the balcony and over the railing. She managed to find the ledge and crawled onto it. One of the assassins leaned out of the window and aimed his assault rifle at her.
He was about to open up the AK, when something hit him and knocked him back into the room. He fell backward, dropping his weapon onto the street below and hitting a wall as he sailed past one of his friends.
A thin female figure vaulted into the room from the window, letting the cable that she held with one hand fall to the floor. She did a standing front jump up and over the lone assassin, until she landed behind him. She grabbed his weapon with one hand and pulled his body in front of hers as his teammates opened fire in the hopes of killing this new player to their game. All they succeeded in doing was instantly killing the man in black. The woman kept a hold of his AK as he dropped to the floor.
As she stood in the middle of the room, the two in black could see that she wore a blue one-piece bodysuit that completely covered her from her neck to her feet. She had knee high black leather boots and wore a pair of black fingerless gloves. Her shoulder length black hair was all they could see, before she unloaded the remainder of the clip into their shocked bodies.
***
Kadan heard the bathroom door being kicked open as he started to whine under the shower curtain. The curtain was pulled away from the cringing computer expert. The man closest to Kadan pulled him up and out of the bathtub by his arm. Kadan tried to put his hands over his face as he struggled. “Not the face! Not the face!”
“What does being a computer programmer have to do with your face?” asked the puzzled man in black.
Kadan smiled and stopped squirming. “You’re absolutely correct, sir!” He then punched the man in the throat and kneed him in the groin. The man dropped as Kadan jumped toward the other assassin. He started to rapidly punch him in the gut, followed by an uppercut. As the last man fell, Kadan saw the woman in the bodysuit stand at the bedroom door with an AK-47. He raised his hands as she dropped the weapon.
“Hey!” Kadan shouted. “You had me dead to rights!”
The woman walked up to Kadan and put a hand on his shoulder. He tried to look past her shoulder into the living room. “Are all my friends…”
She nodded.
Kadan cleared his throat. “I don’t like to be underestimated because I’m a geek. Those guys in the bathroom underestimated me. Hah! Well then, I guess you’re my new friend. I’m Kadan Alexander.”
She extended her hand and smiled. “I know who you are, Kadan. I need your help. My name is Thalia Phoenix.”
***
All was silent as Phoe and Kadan quickly left through the front door. No one could hear the woman out on the ledge, calling, “Hello? Is anyone there?”
Chapter Nine
Several hours passed as Peter Kellerman waited patiently at Heathrow airport for his flight back to the States. His first solo mission after teaming up with Phoe had been a complete failure and he wasn’t sure if he could ever show his face around her again. With Peter, failure had a way of not only crushing any future efforts that he could make, it also made him doubt the things he knew for sure before the failure.
He tried not to make eye contact with anyone around him. He just wanted to be alone. His cell phone prevented that from happening. The ring startled him. The name on the caller I.D. was Phoe.
He took a deep breath and then answered it. He prepared himself for the condescension that he was sure he would get about his failure. “Hello, Phoe.”
“Wow!” responded Phoe on the other end. “Who died and took you with them, Peter?”
He did his best to get the conversation over with quickly, so he could back to his pity party of one. “What do you want, Phoe? I’m busy.”
“No, you’re not,” she replied, with an annoyed tone in her voice. “You’re sitting at the airport with your head hung down between your legs. Are you checking to see if you still have balls, Peter?”
Peter made no attempt to hold in his frustration. “Look, I said I was busy! If that means I’m sitting here waiting for a plane and feeling sorry for myself, then that’s what I’m doing! Now please leave me alone!”
There a brief silence and then Phoe said calmly, “I don’t care about what you did before. Go to where Simon’s jet was located. I’ll be there.”
There was a click as she ended the call. A chill went through Peter’s spine. How could she see him?
***
Peter s
truggled with his bags as he dragged them to the spot that Simon’s jet had been. It was gone, but there was another jet. It wasn’t as big or as opulent as Simon’s was, but it was transportation. He cautiously walked around to where the steps were. The door was open and he could hear a man’s laughter coming from inside. Hamilton Armette. He angrily turned around and started to leave.
“So, you don’t like the jet?” a familiar female voice said from behind him.
He turned and saw Phoe. “Phoe? But I thought I heard Hamilton Armette. I heard—”
“My other male guest,” she interrupted. “Now, do you want a trip back to the States or not?”
***
Peter sat back in his seat as the jet took off. He sniffed the air. Smelled new. It could only seat six people and there were no computers. When it reached cruising altitude and leveled out, Phoe got up and walked over to Peter. Kadan came out of the bathroom waving his hands behind him. “Whoa! You are safer out here! Believe me!”
The confused look on Peter’s face intensified when he saw her hair. “Phoe? Did you cut your hair?”
She smiled. “Yep. A lot of things have changed. This jet for one. It’s a Beechjet 400A and doesn’t hold a lot of bags, so you just made it. It’s one of the lightest and best-priced ones available. We do have to refuel a lot more if we’re planning on going outside of the States and it’s not recommended for overseas flights, but it’s a great one.”
Peter rubbed his hands over his face in disbelief. “Wait! What do you think going from England to the U.S. is? It’s overseas, Phoe! Do you own this jet? Ah, no Phoe! Did you sell the Head of Olmec?” He started to panic.
“It’s okay, Peter,” she said reassuringly. “Kadan knew some people who had this modified one for sale. They upgraded the gas tank and some other things to make us overseas worthy. No one wanted to buy it, even though it was new, because of the specs not being in accordance with the FCC or something like that. It’s really great for avoiding radar and things like that. Kadan is even going to add computers!”
