The Phoenix Series Box Set 1 Read online

  The Phoenix Series

  Boxed Set #1-3

  By

  Ted Tayler

  Table of Contents

  Book One. The Olympus Project

  Book Two. Gold, Silver, and Bombs

  Book Three. Nothing Is Ever Forever

  Copyright © 2019 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: - www.thecovercollection.com

  A Harmsworth House publication 2019

  Other books by Ted Tayler

  We’d Like To Do A Number Now (2011)

  The Final Straw (2013)

  A Sting In The Tale (2013)

  Unfinished Business (2014)

  The Olympus Project (2014)

  Gold, Silver, and bombs (2015)

  Nothing Is Ever Forever (2015)

  Conception (2015)

  In The Lap Of The Gods (2016)

  The Price of Treachery (2016)

  A New Dawn (2017)

  Something Wicked Draws Near (2017)

  Evil Always Finds A Way (2017)

  Revenge Comes in Many Colours (2017)

  Three Weeks in September (2018)

  A Frequent Peal of Bells (2018)

  Larcombe Manor (2018)

  Where to find him

  Website & Blog: - http://tedtayler.co.uk

  Facebook Author Page: - https://facebook.com/EdwardCTayler

  Twitter: - https://twitter.com/ted_tayler

  Instagram: - https://instagram.com/tedtayler1775

  Ted Tayler’s Email Sign-up

  Want to keep up to date with all the latest news?

  Sign up here – http://tedtayler.co.uk

  I promise never to share your email with anyone else and I’ll only contact you when I have something new to share. I never send more than twelve newsletters a year.

  Book One

  The Olympus Project

  Table Of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty One

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Chapter Twenty Four

  CHAPTER 1

  On the far bank of the river, everything was bathed in the 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.

  A thinning group of people peered across the water, shading their eyes. They were blinded by the glare of the sunlight as it disappeared behind the rooftops of the nearby buildings. The group continued to gaze across to the opposite bank, searching and searching for a glimpse of their quarry, but 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. Safe, for now, his mind drifted back to the events of the last few hours. His plans had gone out of the window when that stupid female copper recognised him and shouted out. A bullet shut her up but an old bag, no doubt her mother, chased after him and lashed out with her handbag. He remembered descending the steps to the towpath in a blind panic, trying to calm his nerves, and gather his thoughts.

  He thought he could make it back to the Land Rover. Get the hell out of this city. Then he spotted a uniformed policeman running towards him. He had no choice but to turn and sprint back towards the steps. The man remembered running alongside the Weir. He was only a few strides from the spiral steps leading to the street. At least there he might see a chance of escaping among the city crowds.

  He had heard a shout, feet away. As he glanced over his shoulder, he spotted his nemesis. It was that meddling policeman, who had pursued him the length and breadth of the country. He had been on his heels and with a warning shout, launched himself towards him. They both fell headlong over the railings and into the murky waters of the river. Both men surfaced, gasping for the air knocked from them by the force of the impact.

  The man struck out towards the opposite bank, with confidence 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 futile. The two men grappled and while both concentrated on gaining the upper hand they drew closer and closer to the Weir and its lethal foaming waters. The nature of the water altered around them as they fought, and both men realised the danger they faced. They disappeared under the surface and were tossed around under the Weir like a pair of socks in a washing machine.

  The water clutched at the man’s legs, dragging him further under the waters. 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 resumed their battle at once but as their struggle took its toll their actions grew more and more laboured. Both men soon reached the end of their tether. Neither man knew which way was up any longer. Battered and winded, each swallowed large quantities of water. The man sensed the policeman as he released his hold and watched as he drifted away.

  The man didn’t know whether his nemesis had sunk to the river bed or escaped to the surface and safety. He felt happy he no longer needed to fight and was prepared to resign himself to his fate. He sensed his lungs giving up the ghost as an excruciating pain built within his chest. The man broke through the surface and took a desperate breath. The pain increased. Successive breaths brought little relief, but he willed himself to press forward, away from the direction the policeman had gone.

  As he surfaced again for a moment he realised, he was near the far bank. He drifted in silence behind a barge. The man forced himself against his instincts, to swim under the near side of the barge’s hull, keeping the river wall at his fingertips. When he surfaced once more, he continued to breathe, each breath becoming easier, but they exhausted him.

  With a supreme effort, he got his right arm over a branch and rested; he needed to stay focused, though, because if he slipped under the water again he understood there was no chance of him saving himself.

  From his place of sanctuary, he saw people running on the towpath. He heard sirens blaring somewhere nearby. He tried to check his condition. His knees and elbows were bloodied, but he didn’t appear to have any broken bones. He felt bitterly cold. He was suffering from shock. There was no time to worry. A helicopter throbbed overhead. As night fell, a searchlight would soon probe the little nooks and crannies trying to find him. If only he could evade capture long enough for them to believe he drowned in the Weir. To assume his body had floated downstream. Maybe, just maybe he could yet e
scape this mess.

  An hour later the towpath had emptied. The armed response men had withdrawn; the paramedics and onlookers had disappeared. He looked across to the opposite bank where a distinguished-looking gentleman stood in the shadows of a bridge talking on his mobile phone. The elderly man looked right at him; as if he knew where he was hiding. Had he called the police? Was this how it ended?

  The old man smiled to himself. Then he spoke aloud. As if he was talking to someone in a crowded room. Someone who struggled to hear what he said: -

  “Hold on for a few minutes more Mr Bailey, there’s a good chap. Our people will be along in a tick to remove you. You’ll be safe then, and among friends.”

  Still hidden on the opposite bank Colin Bailey had been afraid to breathe. He exhaled raggedly and allowed himself the briefest of smiles. He didn’t know 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 convinced himself the police couldn’t be involved and friends are always welcome.

  Moments later an inflatable dinghy appeared from downstream and inched its way closer to 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. They even supplied a cosy ski hat and thick socks too, to help with the warming. He struggled to get these on while a man offered him a hot drink he poured from a thermos flask.

  The other man returned to the wheel and manoeuvred the craft along the river. The dinghy stuck to the far side. Out of sight of the odd dog walker on the towpath. It carried them further from the city centre. They moved clear of the dangerous Pulteney Weir where Colin escaped a watery grave.

  They travelled for a minute and then the driver deftly turned the wheel and they darted across the river to the opposite bank. Under the weeping willow trees, only yards from the water’s edge an ambulance waited, 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 waited. Colin’s legs buckled under him as his feet touched dry land for the first time in several hours. The man took a firm hold of him as he stumbled, and with surprising ease swept him up in his arms and carried him into the ambulance. He laid Colin on the stretcher, covered him with a heavy blanket, and then closed the doors behind them. With that, the ambulance drove into the night.

  In the Royal United Hospital, DCI Phil Hounsell rested after his own ordeal in the water. His wife Erica had visited him earlier. Now she lay tucked up at home with their children. DS Zara Wheeler was enjoying a drink with her two male colleagues in a popular Bath hostelry. Her drink 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 soon drove out of the city towards a large Georgian manor house, ten miles away. The only clue to his destination, the unmistakable sound of a cattle grid. He experienced the distinctive rattle when they drove between the stone pillars at the entrance to the property.

  Satisfied to be in safe hands, Colin closed his eyes and fell 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. Then yesterday’s events came flooding back. He remembered the ride through the countryside in the ambulance and a gradual warmth returning to his body. He must have fallen asleep because he couldn’t recall being taken from the ambulance, into the building and reaching this magnificent bedroom.

  The bright sun shone outside and from its height in the sky he deduced it to be late morning. He had slept for just short of twelve hours. The bedroom had two large sash windows, and the sunlight allowed him to view his surroundings with growing admiration.

  The white painted solid timber bedstead and woollen or flax filled mattress had been ultra-comfortable. He brushed the pristine white sheets with the palms of his hands. Colin 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 to perfection.

  “Someone is going to an awful lot of trouble,” he thought, “considering they know exactly who and what I am. I wonder if I’ve missed breakfast.”

  Colin no longer wore the layers of clothing his rescuers provided him with for the short dinghy trip. He got out of his far too comfortable bed. As he did so, he discovered he wore a nightshirt not out of place around the time this house had been built.

  Colin tiptoed to the window. Before he could look outside, behind him, the door opened, and someone crossed the floor. The elderly gentleman from the towpath came to stand beside him.

  “Good morning Mr Bailey. I trust you slept well?” he said.

  “Yes, thank you. What is this place, who are you and what am I doing here?”

  “Time enough for questions, old chap,” the old man replied, with a chuckle, “what’s the rush? The en-suite is through the door to the left of the mirror. Once you’ve completed your ablutions, you’ll find a choice of casual clothes in the wardrobe. Please don’t insult me by asking if they’ll fit. I invite you to join us for a light luncheon on the ground floor and then I’ll give you the grand tour.”

  Sensing that Colin would soon ask where the meeting was to take place, or who he meant by us, the elderly gentleman stopped at the bedroom door. With his hand on the door handle, he said, “I 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 the corridors in an hour, 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 while longer, then he checked the second sash window and confirmed that both were locked. There were no signs of a method of releasing them. As he gazed out at the manicured garden and lawns, he should have been at his ease in these gracious surroundings. Yet he couldn’t help thinking he had little choice other than to join this ‘enterprise’, whatever it might be. To refuse might lead to an unpleasant outcome and Colin was clever enough to let things move along at their own pace for now. Apart from that, he was starving.

  It didn’t surprise Colin when he found the en-suite bathroom as well-appointed as the rest of his new accommodation. He lingered in the refreshing hot shower for a moment or two longer than usual and speculated on what might lie ahead for him. He imagined he’d discover what he had let himself in for in due course. What he did with that knowledge involved serious thought and meticulous planning.

  Colin Bailey had made a career out of doing just that. He towelled himself dry and walked back to the bedroom. He opened drawers and wardrobes to reveal a variety of shirts, tops, and trousers. There were several pairs of shoes and socks and assorted styles of underwear. Colin made his choice, and everything was a perfect fit as predicted by his host. Minutes later he stood in front of the cheval mirror and nodded with satisfaction.

  “Cool bastard,” he exclaimed. 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. Colin strode along the pale marble floor towards the nearest door on the lower level, the delicate aromas that enticed him on further only heightened his appetite. He entered the room to find the old gentleman, whom he assumed to be his host, talking with three men and a striking lo
oking woman.

  Four faces turned towards him. The elderly gentleman approached Colin and taking his arm he led him back to join the group.

  “We can dispense with formal introductions for now. Your reputation precedes you, old chap, so we know who you are and how efficient a killer you have been. That’s why you’re here. There will be plenty of opportunities to discuss that side of things in due course. For now, what you need to know is that we share a common goal, and this estate is the centre of our operations. We selected you as the ideal candidate to join The Olympus Project. We will train you to bring a swift end to any direct action we decide is necessary in the cesspit that passes for a civilised world outside this estate.”

  While the old man talked, waiters slipped into the room. They carried the contents of the dishes from the long side table to serve up a sumptuous luncheon for the six potential diners. Colin couldn’t help noticing that the waiters on duty were men in their late thirties to mid-forties and each had a military bearing. In fact, they moved and conducted themselves in a manner that suggested there wasn’t an ordinary seaman, airman, or plain squaddie among them. Colin was sure every one of them had been marines or even ex-SAS before leaving the services.

  Just what nature of outfit was this Olympus Project? An inflatable dinghy on-call at a moment’s notice, a fake ambulance, their own protection squad working in the kitchens. Crikey, this lot may well have former guardsmen mowing the lawns and digging the vegetable patches. Heaven help any burglar who thought this Georgian mansion had a few trinkets worth stealing.

  Everything was ready. His dining companions took their places and Colin found his seat at the end of the table, opposite his host. The formidable-looking lady sat at the old man’s right-hand side, her three male companions sat on Colin’s right.