by Ted Tayler
“You appear to think everything with Olympus is governed by money, Ambrosia,” he said.
Athena couldn’t remember Zeus using such a stern tone.
“We need money to achieve our goals,” wailed Ambrosia.
“As you’re so good with figures, can you quantify the benefits Phoenix has generated through his direct actions? He’s the only one around this table who has killed criminals that were bleeding this country dry with their activities. The country owes people like him and Rusty Scott a debt of gratitude, but they’ll never know of their deeds. If they die in service, as many of our agents have, they will not mark their graves with a record of what they achieved. Heracles left us with a shortfall. Those of us around this table will give what we can. I will continue to do what I had begun; to approach our silent partners for extra donations. Many support our cause but never come out of the shadows. They continue to give while the Project delivers on its promises. If the spirit Erebus engendered is diluted, the financial impact will be far greater than that which we’ve suffered in recent months. We stand or fall together, Ambrosia. They will oppose any disruptive influence with great vigour. Is that clear?”
The room fell silent; the message was plain. Ambrosia was silent; outside, the dark clouds lifted, but heavy rain lashed against the windows.
“Time to discuss the next round of missions,” said Zeus. “I have read the report from the security chief at Larcombe. We will wipe out the car gang that Miguel Fernando used to work for within the next seven days. If the opportunity arises to use the Irregulars available, we should do so, but I need as many as possible assigned to the county of Northamptonshire. Even from the preliminary report I received late last night, it warrants immediate action. I trust you can cope with the planning and execution of both missions, Phoenix?”
“The London mission will be brief,” replied Phoenix, “but there will be logistical problems with a large, rural county. Access to a band of Irregulars to gather intelligence will be vital.”
“Hugh Fraser gave me details of how many operatives we could put into the field in the next fourteen days,” said Athena. “I wish there were more than five, but Phoenix will select his targets with his customary precision.”
Ambrosia found something fascinating on the table in front of her, and her eyes never lifted to see Athena directing every word in her direction.
“We can’t wage outright war on the Grid’s gangs across the whole of the county,” said Phoenix. “The action will focus on taking out those criminals that will have the most damaging effect on their operations. The Grid will regroup. They always do, but even a few days will cost them a huge sum of money.”
“Safe home from your missions, Phoenix,” said Zeus. “Our next meeting in Curzon Street, London, will be on Wednesday, the eleventh of March. That will be your chance to welcome Chronos and Hebe to the Olympus hierarchy. We pray Aphrodite will feel ready to return. The timing of the meeting is deliberate. Heracles will have had his day in court by then and being amongst friends will prove a welcome distraction for our good friend, Elizabeth.”
With the meeting at an end, Apollo was the first to leave. He had more portfolio business to pursue in London. Phoenix wanted to thank him for leaping to his defence, but Apollo was a man on a mission. Phoenix saw Athena move to the end of the table to chat with Dionysus.
“We can drop you off in Moreton-in-Marsh, Dionysus,” said Athena, “it’s on our way home.”
“Many thanks,” replied Dionysus, “time to face the music, I suppose. My few days of freedom are at an end.”
This will be a fun journey, thought Phoenix. He noticed Zeus, deep in conversation with Hera. It was an attempt to steer her away from the clutches of Ambrosia. The diminutive Piya Adani was hovering, but Daedalus had noticed the situation too, he intercepted her and switched the light of his Gallic charm on full-beam.
Phoenix heard him congratulating her on the work of the Irregulars. What a great idea it had been. Daedalus told her not to fret over events this morning. The Olympians always had a healthy appetite for lively debate. It would be water under the bridge by the time they next met.
“Ever the optimist,” muttered Phoenix, but Daedalus achieved the desired effect. Zeus and Hera were gone. They escaped with Achilles.
“Are we ready?” asked Athena.
Phoenix nodded. They headed for the conference room exit with their passenger. Daedalus had manoeuvred Ambrosia towards the refreshment table, and she had her back to them as they escaped. Jean-Paul acknowledged Phoenix as he passed.
“It’s difficult to read that man sometimes,” said Dionysus. “The French have a range of unique facial expressions, don’t they?”
“They do,” replied Phoenix, as they made their way downstairs to the car park, “but, in this case, I know what he said. I owe him one.”
“Well, what a lively meeting,” said Athena. They had delivered Sir Malcolm Dunseith to his large, country pile on the outskirts of the Cotswolds town he and his family called home. They saw no sign of his wife, Louise, which cheered up their passenger no end.
“I wanted to thank Apollo for his intervention,” said Phoenix, “but he was out of that room faster than a rat up a drainpipe. He stopped you from scratching Ambrosia’s eyes out, at least.”
“When she brought up your history, I thought that a low blow,” said Athena. “I can’t understand what Hera was thinking, handing information over without a word to Zeus. Ambrosia will use any trick in the book to wheedle her way to the summit.”
“Like father, like daughter,” said Phoenix. “He wasn’t averse to trampling on friends, or even relatives as he built his empire.”
“Zeus pulled no punches in his response either, did he?” laughed Athena. “I can’t recall him ever getting so angry.”
“Ambrosia might rein in her ambitions for a while,” suggested Phoenix. “The task ahead for Olympus looks difficult enough without wasting our efforts on fighting amongst ourselves.”
“These storm clouds remind me of the look on Ambrosia’s face when we left the room. How Daedalus kept chatting to her as if they were discussing the merits of different varieties of champagne, I’ll never know.”
“I’ll call him later,” said Phoenix, “to check he escaped without injury.”
An hour later Athena and Phoenix reached the gates to Larcombe Manor. They were home safe, for now.
*****
“I don’t like it,” said Colleen O’Riordan.
“I’m none too keen on the idea either, mother,” said Tyrone.
“Why did you get them involved? Surely, you learned your lesson with the other foreign mob? They ripped us off to the tune of at least ten million. The people with old money who don’t want the status quo threatened, now they’re a better bet. Even if they never mix with the likes of us.”
“These Russians are guys who you don’t say ‘no’ to,” said Tyrone, “but I can handle them. If they step out of line, I’ve got more than enough firepower to take eliminate them. Some jobs need particular expertise. The Albanians delivered more than enough cash to the Grid through the skills they brought to the party. Even if they stole a few million quid off the top, these Russians could help me take things to the next level.”
“I wish you hadn’t arranged to meet this Vasiliev here, in your apartment. Scum like him you want to keep at arm's length. Meet them on neutral ground. Tommy would never have let them into our home. He wouldn’t even have let them visit the social club, despite everyone inside being one of us.”
“I’m not my father,” said Tyrone.
“Don’t I know it; but please, be careful, Tyrone,” said Colleen. “These are dangerous people.”
Tyrone knew only too well that Leonid Vasiliev was a vital member of a ruthless gang of Russian criminals that ran brutal protection rackets and vice rings. Using violence to keep control of the trades they were involved in came as second nature.
In recent weeks, Tyrone had lost contact with Gonzo a
nd Miguel, the two young men he sent to carry out surveillance at Larcombe Manor. They had been in the countryside, on the outskirts of Bath, for heaven’s sake. Not in an inner-city, with a reputation for high levels of crime. Yet, they disappeared and were presumed dead — time for action.
“We can be dangerous too, mother,” Tyrone told Colleen. “We can’t sit on our hands while these Olympus people carry on their business as if we don’t exist. We gathered data before our watchers disappeared on people who came and went. They’re well-protected within the boundaries of the Manor. I plan to hurt them in other ways.”
Colleen went to the beauty salon to sulk her way through another day. Tyrone believed the Russians were a calculated risk. As for the other hidden approach he’d received after the two major robberies, that was another matter.
When Hugo Hanigan ran the Grid, he concentrated on the money over everything else. He wanted vast personal wealth but shunned personal relationships. He still related everything he achieved to those seven bloody streets in Dublin where their dirt-poor Irish families had lived. Hugo never thought of what his money and the connections it made available might achieve.
Tyrone knew his mother didn’t have a vision either. He did. Tyrone wanted people to know who he was, what he was. He needed to influence higher places than the gutter where his criminal fraternity spent their lives; first things first. The Russians would help him hurt Olympus. When he scratched that annoying itch, he could move on to the next phase of the game.
Thursday, 8th January 2015
While Athena, Phoenix and the others gathered for the morning meeting in the main house, Orion parked his car after an eventful drive from home. The weather was dreadful. High winds buffeted him throughout the eight-mile journey. A journey that took twice as long as usual, due to minor accidents and the caution of younger drivers unused to handling extreme weather.
He didn’t envy Erica tackling the school run this morning. The roads were tough enough to negotiate with the pot-holes that littered the surface of the city’s streets. When you added in torrential rain, gale-force winds and the threat of falling branches, it became a whole new ball-game.
Orion battled his way to the door to the stable block and made for the relative calm of his office. In the corridor, he met Hugh Fraser. Hugh sensed the weather wasn’t Orion’s only concern. That worried frown had been on his face since Monday.
“Do you want to talk about it?” asked Hugh.
“Come on in, Hugh,” said Phil Hounsell, “it may be nothing, but my ex-copper’s nose tells me something’s wrong,”
“Are you still thinking of your former colleague?” asked Hugh, “I passed that information on as soon as you told me. Rusty Scott promised to act as soon as possible.”
“No,” sighed Phil, “not poor Wayne and Bridie, although their deaths are still on my mind. Since we came back after New Year I’ve suspected I’m being tailed. I spotted a dark saloon car, three vehicles behind me this morning. You had to be a mug to be out driving in this unless you had to. The car joined the traffic behind me approaching Cleveland Bridge and then turned off half a mile before the turning into the lane leading to the Manor. I had to stop twenty yards further on because a wheelie-bin blew into the road. I looked back, to see the car exiting the side road and indicating to turn left, back towards Bath.”
“Had you spotted this same car earlier?” asked Hugh.
“Maybe, on Monday evening,” said Phil, “hard to be sure in the dark. There was a dark-coloured van behind me on the way in on Tuesday, which I then noticed following me home the same night.”
“I’ll arrange for someone to follow you this evening when you leave here,” said Hugh, “better safe than sorry.”
“We may need to keep tabs on Erica, my wife too,” said Phil. “She saw someone sat in a car a hundred yards up the road from our house yesterday morning. She reckoned the same car had been there every day this week.”
“Leave it with me. I’ll talk to Henry Case.”
“You won’t know this, Hugh,” Phil Hounsell continued, “but, when I was still a copper, a killer kidnapped my wife. Snatched her right off the street, here in Bath. I can’t let her go through that again.”
“Of course not,” said Hugh, “look, let’s take this one step at a time; it might be nothing. We’ll look after you, and your family; it worked out last time. How did you get her back? Was it a ransom he wanted?”
“He treated her well. No, there was no ransom demand. He wanted me to stop chasing him, so he could carry on killing the criminals he’d targeted. He was on a one-person vigilante crusade.”
“What happened?” asked Hugh.
“Good police work found the place he held Erica captive. We rescued her while he was away in London. When he returned to Bath that evening, we caught up with him. I tackled him, but after a fight in the water, he drowned in Pulteney Weir. I was lucky to survive. My DS saved my life.”
“I had no idea. What an ordeal that must have been for you and your family.”
“It’s funny how things turn out,” said Phil, “my DS just got married. After she left the police, she came here to work. She used to be Zara Wheeler. You know her as Artemis.”
“You’re kidding me? Who was this killer? Have I heard of him?” asked Hugh.
“Colin Bailey? I doubt it. He was responsible for over fifteen murders. I never had enough to bring him in for questioning, let alone charge him. I knew he had done them and why. For most of those deaths, I would have held his coat while he did the deed, but it was still murder in the eyes of the law.”
“At least he’s dead. You needn’t worry that he’s tailing you and your wife.”
Hugh looked as if he was leaving, but Phil stopped him.
“You don’t have to answer this,” said Phil, “but why are people here assigned a code name, while others carry on with their given name? Why did it become necessary for Zara to become Artemis, for instance?”
“When the Project started, it was important to protect the identity of the people who contributed to and operated within the organisation. The connections those people had in the outside world included a large proportion who would have disapproved of their motives. So, the founder, Erebus, hid the identities of those who wanted to sever connections with their old life by naming them after Greek deities.”
“Are you saying Artemis wanted that?” asked Phil.
“You would have to ask her that question,” replied Hugh.
“I never had a choice,” said Phil. “When I agreed to work from Larcombe, instead of from my office in Bath, I automatically got dubbed Orion.”
“It works both ways, Orion,” said Hugh, with a wry grin, “to the outside world you are still Phil Hounsell, former DCI of the Avon and Somerset Police. Your colleagues wouldn’t approve of the tasks you perform for Olympus. So everything you do for the Project is under the banner of your code name. That guarantees there’s no paper trail or digital record to connect you to a criminal act. A police check would only uncover that you liaise with family members of ex-servicemen treated here for PTSD and trace relatives where our patients have lost touch.”
“I had no idea my cover was so elaborate,” said Phil.
“Erebus was a highly intelligent man,” said Hugh. “I never met him, but he was a stickler for those protocols he established at the outset. There must have been something special in Phoenix’s case. None of the agents I’ve worked with know what he did before he arrived. Even the code name Erebus gave him suggests a rebirth. The older man took Phoenix under his wing and mentored him. The rumour mill says he opposed the relationship with Athena at first. Once it blossomed he promoted the couple as a team to the senior levels of the Project. They are next in line to assume total control. Phoenix is a born leader, brave as a lion. He got me here to help plan Olympus missions, but he’s far better at the job than I’ll ever be. He doesn’t miss a trick.”
Hugh Fraser realised he had said more than enough. Ambrosia was keen to pre
vent automatic succession from taking place. Hugh wanted to hear from her, to discover how yesterday’s meeting went and whether she’d made any progress. It surprised him not to have heard from her last night.
“Anyway,” said Hugh, “I’ve taken up enough of your time. I’ll let you get on with your work.”
With that, he left Phil alone in his office staring at the trees blowing in the wind.
Phil Hounsell’s mind raced. His crazy one-night fling with Zara couldn’t have influenced her decision to go into hiding at Larcombe Manor. That night had been inevitable ever since they met in Durham. So, why did she become Artemis? Was it only to mask the fact she lived with Rusty Scott? She understood he didn’t have a problem with that. Was it another person at Larcombe that need protection? Somebody who persuaded her to adopt a code name?
That made Hugh’s admission of his confusion over the origins of this Phoenix character more interesting. Phil had realised that the layout of this office prevented him from seeing what went on here. Hayden Vincent was his only real point of contact. Hayden fed him enough information to tackle the tasks he passed on to him but offered little else. Was it to prevent him from meeting someone from the past?
Hugh’s comments triggered a memory.
That niggle he experienced when he spotted Phoenix unloading the car by the front door as he drove home one time; something that haunted him ever since. Of course, he’d bumped into Phoenix at Glastonbury, which muddied the waters. Phil didn’t recognise the face then, so why did it seem familiar that evening? It had been enough to mention it to Wayne when they talked only days before he died.
Phil went through the possibilities. Could it have something to do with him and Zara? The idea it might relate to a case they worked on together seemed impossible. No way could Phoenix ever be Colin Bailey. They never found his body. How could he discover when this Erebus chap introduced Phoenix to the Project? When did he arrive here at Larcombe Manor? Had his facial features altered so much that he was unrecognisable from the man he knew?
