A Frequent Peal of Bells Read online

  Mansouri and Harrack watched the cab disappear into traffic.

  “I can’t be sure,” said Harrack, “but a man in the subway lifted his phone as he passed. He may have been searching for a signal, or he may have photographed us.”

  “Has he followed us?” asked Mansouri.

  “He didn’t look back. He went to the lifts.”

  “Then, it is likely it was innocent,” shrugged Mansouri. “No matter, we won’t return until Friday. Our new friends from Lawrence Hill can look for evidence that the security services have been alerted. We will take extra precautions.”

  “Look,” said Harrack, “there’s a bus to Lawrence Hill. If we run, we can catch it.”

  Mansouri shook his head.

  “We don’t want to draw attention to us running. It’s unseemly for a Muslim wife. We shall walk to where our friends live unless another bus is due.”

  Mansouri asked directions from a street cleaner. Twenty minutes later they stood on the doorstep of the address on the piece of paper.

  “There are many Muslims in this part of the city,” said Harrack, “no one will find us in Lawrence Hill.”

  The terrorist trio had gone into hiding once more; the planning stage complete. Preparations for the bombs to be constructed had begun. One hundred hours remained before the heart of the Victorian station would cease to beat.

  *****

  Wednesday, 8th October 2014

  “What time is Biggles arriving?” asked Athena.

  “You’ve got twenty minutes to get ready, say your goodbyes to Hope, and run back to collect your dancing shoes.”

  “Biggles can wait,” said Athena.

  Phoenix could be so flippant. This hadn’t been the plan. They were to drive to London with Hope and drop her off with her grandparents. She and Phoenix would be free to enjoy the evening wedding party. Sometime tomorrow, depending on how late they arrived in Vincent Gardens, the three of them planned to travel home to Bath.

  The DLR bombing changed that. Her mother had died of a heart attack at the scene. Her father was staying with them at Larcombe Manor until he moved into that new home on the coast. Little Hope was to stay with her nanny, Maria Elena. They were to travel to London alone.

  Phoenix decided discretion was the better part of valour. He could drive up today in time for the Olympus meeting, but they were too busy to hang around in the capital until the effects of a hangover cleared tomorrow.

  “We’ll give Les Biggar a call at Filton,” he said yesterday lunchtime, after the morning meeting. “He can get us to Fairoaks airfield, and then a driver can take us to Curzon Street for ten o’clock tomorrow morning. On Thursday morning we’ll be collected from Marylebone at nine and taken to the airfield. Biggles can then drop us off on the lawn. We’ll be back in time to hear from Minos what happened at the meeting. Simple.”

  “How far have I got to walk in heels from the Dorchester?”

  “Two minutes, tops,” Phoenix told her, “it’s the same distance as from the meeting rooms to the wedding party venue.”

  “How do you know so much?” she asked.

  “Research,” he replied.

  It came back to her then, Erebus had worried over her mental state four years ago when terrorist bombers threatened central London. Soon after he joined Olympus, Phoenix had kept watch on her while she visited her parents. Erebus feared the nightmares she suffered following her fiancée’s death in 2005 might return to haunt her.

  This morning, Phoenix was itching to get out into the garden to watch the helicopter’s arrival. Athena was running late. Hope was dressed and already eating her breakfast with Maria Elena and Geoffrey Fox. The start of yet another busy day for the Olympus Project.

  As Athena bundled the last few items into an overnight bag, she heard the telltale noise of the helicopter. She ran to the kitchen, kissed her father and daughter, and thanked Maria Elena. Before she dashed into the garden, their transport had landed on the lawn. She prayed she wouldn’t slip on the wet grass, shielded her head against the rain and made for the open door. Phoenix sat inside, grinning.

  “All this fuss for a forty-five-minute flight,” he chuckled.

  “You can go off people,” said Athena, trying to rearrange her wet and windswept hair.

  Les Biggar landed at Fairoaks and an Olympus car pulled alongside. It was still raining hard. Before they left the dry interior, their pilot reminded them he expected them for a ten o’clock lift-off in the morning.

  “No worries,” said Phoenix, “we’ll be here.”

  They arrived at the hotel fifty minutes later. After they checked into their room, they walked to Curzon Street, Mayfair. The rain had paused. In truth, it hadn’t stopped for days.

  “Bags of time,” said Phoenix, as they arrived at the London Executive Offices building. It was now ten to ten.

  “I remember the first time we came here together,” said Athena.

  “Hard to forget the atmosphere,” said Phoenix, “let’s hope those dark days are behind us.”

  When they arrived at the suite Olympus had reserved, Athena saw that several of the other senior Olympians had arrived before them. Zeus was talking with Apollo; Hera sat on the other side of the room with Ambrosia.

  “You two look as if you’re on the naughty step. Has Zeus ordered you out?”

  They turned to see Ludovic Tremayne had arrived.

  “Achilles,” said Phoenix, “good to see you again. No, we were just checking who was inside.”

  “Who was aligned with whom, I suspect?” asked Achilles, with a smile.

  “You know us so well,” said Athena, opening the door.

  Zeus came towards them at once. Phoenix thought Ambrosia seemed reluctant to let Hera follow her husband.

  “We were devastated to learn of your mother’s death,” said Hera, hugging Athena.

  Zeus shook Phoenix by the hand.

  “We’ll discuss our response to that later, Phoenix,” he said.

  When the commiserations and greetings were complete Sir Malcolm Dunseith and Jean-Paul St Clair breezed through the door.

  Dionysus, the Privy Counsellor oozed class and entitlement. Phoenix imagined he learned at a preparatory school how to enter a room. No social or business occasion, however important, flustered people such as him.

  Daedalus, the French industrial designer was so laid back he was horizontal. It was difficult to imagine them as friends in any other setting, and yet neither man betrayed any distaste for the vast gulf between their backgrounds. They must have met outside the building, or in the lift and they were deep in amicable conversation as they joined the small crows surrounding their leader.

  “It appears our newlyweds have overslept,” said Zeus. Hera now stood by his side.

  “They still have a minute, dear,” she said.

  “We’ll get the formalities out of the way, while we await their arrival,” said Zeus. “Can I ask you to check you have switched off your mobile phones? This room has been swept for any listening devices before we arrived. Security remains paramount as I’m sure you appreciate.”

  “Here they are,” cried Hera, scurrying to the door. Sir James Grant-Nicholls and his bride, Elizabeth, the Duchess of Lochalsh had appeared at last.

  “Sorry we’re late,” said Heracles, “we dropped into tonight’s venue on our way here. Elizabeth wanted to check the arrangements were perfect for tonight.”

  “How was the honeymoon?” asked Hera.

  “We had a lovely time on Martinique, and cruising in the Caribbean,” said Aphrodite.

  It helps when your husband owns a yacht half the length of a football pitch, thought Phoenix. He was keen to get on with the meeting. Zeus must have been of the same opinion, as he soon encouraged people to take their seats. Ambrosia sat next to Hera. Phoenix and Athena were in their usual spot at the opposite end of the table to Zeus. For the first time, Heracles and Aphrodite sat side by side.

  Phoenix was pleased to see that Daedalus grabbed the chair next
to him. The Frenchman was becoming a trusted ally. With Ambrosia cosying up to Zeus and Hera, he and Athena needed every bit of support they could get around this top table.

  Zeus updated them on the Project’s progress around the globe. Foreign missions were fiendishly difficult to undertake and often their cost was punitive. He proposed Olympus scaled back their activities overseas and concentrated on the threats they now faced at home.

  “I’m concerned over the latest actions attributed to the Grid,” he said, “Athena has briefed me on last week’s events. Under Hugo Hanigan’s leadership, they sought to eliminate the competition and control every aspect of criminal activity in the UK. His progress may have proved too slow for someone in the organisation, who knows? What we must accept now is that the new leadership is far more brutal. That poses a headache for Olympus.”

  “We can apply pressure on the Grid with our increased number of agents,” Athena reminded him. “We have regular programmes at Larcombe training new recruits and retraining agents redeployed from overseas. The Irregulars are being fed into the system as quickly as is practical. We approved eighteen men for action in the field in the past few days. I believe our biggest headache is security.”

  “Rusty and I were followed for a brief period on our last mission,” explained Phoenix. “We lost them on a series of roundabouts on the outskirts of London, but the threat is real. With their competition eliminated, the Grid has the facility to have eyes everywhere. One slip and a safe house might be exposed, agents identified, and a concrete link with Larcombe Manor established.”

  “How do we combat that?” asked Hera.

  “How to handle that, and increased terrorist activity?” asked Zeus. “Two successful bombings with a significant loss of life. A third major attack foiled. All within two weeks.”

  “The next strike is imminent,” said Phoenix. “Our Logistics Officer received a call from an Irregular on his second day in the field at Bristol Temple Meads. The images he captured were next to useless because of a poor signal underground. Our people only determined they showed two men and a woman. The clothing suggested they were Muslims, but Bristol has a diverse ethnic population. They may easily be locals, not terrorists.”

  “Have we increased our surveillance?” asked Heracles.

  “We are unable to add further resources for a while,” said Athena. “I’ve confirmed the Irregulars have updated photos of our main suspects from the previous bombings.”

  “I hope you post more people outside the station rather than on the platform,” said Apollo, “because if they’ve reached that far the attack will be underway. It will be too late.”

  “Our team in the ice-house switched their focus from the blurred images in the subway to the CCTV on the bus and taxi ranks outside,” said Phoenix. “We flew here before we heard the results of that search. Our preference is to trace where the bombs are being manufactured and eliminate the threat. If these three were our bombers, they must have gone to safe houses in the city. How long they will remain in hiding is anyone’s guess.”

  “I would be happier if the Irregulars weren’t exposed to the level of risk they faced at New Street,” said Hera, “these homeless veterans have suffered enough.”

  “Every Olympus team has received a set of updated protocols from Hugh Fraser, both for working with, and for protecting Irregulars,” said Phoenix. “I told you last time how valuable an asset he might be.”

  Ambrosia sat higher and straighter in her chair when her lover got a pat on the back.

  Athena thought it amusing.

  “Ambrosia has been working closely with our Logistics Officer on the Irregulars project,” said Phoenix. “I’m sure the hands-on support of a senior Olympian helps to produce the best results.”

  Athena watched for a response from the diminutive Indian woman at the far end of the table. She hoped Phoenix didn’t catch her eyes; he would have turned to stone.

  “I think it confirms we made another good choice when we appointed Ambrosia,” said Hera, squeezing her companion’s hand.

  “If I can follow up on that subject,” said Zeus. “I’ve reached a shortlist of three candidates for the vacant twelfth seat around this table.”

  He passed photographs and histories around the table for the others to study.

  “Will you carry out due diligence on these three, Athena? I’ve checked as much as I can, but I don’t possess the skills of Minos and Alastor. If they pass that final hurdle we will vote on the matter at our next meeting in Birmingham on Wednesday, the seventh of January. I wish to bring the meeting to a close now. Then we can relax and enjoy the refreshments arriving in fifteen minutes. You can assess the three candidates as we wait but remember that they may not survive the final cut.”

  “Zeus and I agreed we should call an early halt to this meeting,” added Hera. “I’m sure you wish to have sufficient time to prepare for tonight’s party.”

  Phoenix and Athena skipped through the backgrounds of the candidates.

  “The three candidates look to be billionaires from IT,” said Phoenix, “and every one of them is younger than me.”

  “I can see the logic behind targeting men and women who have made their fortunes from new technology. We question the efficiency of our surveillance equipment at Larcombe when we struggle to locate our enemies. If we added someone from the cutting edge of the computer business it can only improve our performance, can it not?”

  The first candidate was Byron Paterson, forty years old. Born in California, he taught himself computer technology in high school. The family was poor. His mother had separated from his father and raised Byron and his two younger sisters alone. He got a job as an engineer with a web services provider. His rise to the top was rapid as his skills were spotted by one internet giant after another. Three of his business-related applications featured in the top twenty favourites for seven consecutive years. His net worth was 7.6 billion dollars.

  Raymond Ferreira, was just a boy, at thirty-two. His Portuguese grandparents emigrated to southern Ireland in the 50s. An only child, he grew up in a village outside Wexford, in the province of Leinster. To occupy his spare time, with few children to mix with, he taught himself to code from the age of eight. It may be normal for some, thought Phoenix, as he studied the photograph of the smiling Ferreira; I got a comic to read once a week.

  Raymond left Dublin University with a First-Class Degree in Computer Sciences. His first job was with Google. A decade later the internet giant became a client of his own company. With a net worth of 1.8 billion euros, he sold up in 2013 to lead a humanitarian charity. It focussed on disaster emergency and in times of crisis, its role was to provide effective and swift assistance anywhere in the world.

  Athena was keen to read about the lone female candidate. It had been suggested the balance of male to female at the top table should alter. If Lily Chan proved to be the right candidate, then she must persuade Phoenix to vote with her and the other women to increase her chances of selection. They would need only one more convert.

  Lily was now thirty-six, married with two small children. Her husband, Shinji was an investment banker. The family lived in a townhouse, a stone’s throw from the River Thames in Fulham, London. Lily had held various IT positions in financial services firms in the city. Her husband spotted the investment potential in developing a mobile payments service. Lily struck gold. The firm they set up together now held a value of thirty billion pounds. Her net worth was around three billion.

  “What a terrific asset,” Athena whispered to Phoenix.

  “A computer geek who’s clever with numbers?” asked Phoenix, “my money is on Ferreira. He’s made his fortune, and now he’s quit the rat race to head up a charity. I’m impressed.”

  “You aren’t keen on the American?” asked Daedalus.

  “I can’t deny the money he brings isn’t welcome,” replied Phoenix, “but we need people who wish to help others. I see no evidence of that in this brief biography.”

&nb
sp; “He came from a poor background, and fought his way to the top,” said Daedalus.

  “He’s not alone in that,” said Apollo, sat on Daedalus’ left, “both Phoenix and I did the same. I too prefer the look of Ferreira.”

  Athena knew it would be a tough ask to persuade the men to vote for Lily Chan.

  Perhaps the final decision depended on what Minos and Alastor found when they dug deeper into their histories.

  CHAPTER 6

  Once the refreshments arrived, the Olympians put to one side thought of the upcoming vote in January. It was time to unwind. The conversation centred on the newlyweds. Phoenix and Athena moved to a side table to watch. Daedalus joined them.

  “Talk of a wedding and a honeymoon doesn’t interest you, no?” he asked.

  “You’re right, no,” said Phoenix, attempting a Gallic shrug.

  Zeus left Heracles and Aphrodite chatting with Hera, Ambrosia, and Dionysus. He took Phoenix by the arm and led him back to the main table. He picked up the three profiles he had distributed. They were merely a cover for what he was to say.

  “Athena will have told you I have questions regarding the disappearance of Sir James’s first wife?”

  “She did,” replied Phoenix, “and we have a man working on it at Larcombe. If there’s dirt to find, Orion will find it. He’s like a dog with a bone.”

  “I hate to pressure you, Phoenix, but time is of the essence. Hera and I are fond of Aphrodite, we should hate something to happen to her.”

  “Do you believe her life is in danger?” asked Phoenix.

  “Until a body is found, and the death confirmed to be natural causes or self-inflicted then it remains possible that Heracles killed her.”

  “I’ll make sure Orion learns of your concerns, Zeus, and that he gives this investigation the highest priority.”

  “Thank you, Phoenix,” said Zeus, “now, we should rejoin the others.”

  Over the next fifteen minutes, people took their leave. Everyone at today’s meeting received an invitation to attend the wedding party tonight. Nobody had said they were unavailable.