With a nod to the two guards his host led him out to the lift. His hand hovered over the button for the third level.
“Well, we’ve come this far, you might as well see the rest” he sighed.
The final level was dark and eerily quiet; there was a long corridor to the left and low wattage security lighting highlighted them as they moved down past various rooms to their right. The old man pointed a bony finger and informed Colin that they were passing the cells, then a couple of interrogation rooms and at the very end where the quiet was joined by a slight odour that Colin was familiar with was a windowless room.
“In order to supplement the information we gather in our command centre, it is necessary on occasion, to invite some people to stay with us for a while. They arrive by the same means of transport as you did, with no knowledge of where they are; we suggest they answer our questions and many provide us with useful data so that they leave us unharmed and are returned to their loved ones.”
He began the long walk back to the lift and as Colin hurried to catch up with him the old man shook his head and glanced back down the corridor towards the final room.
Wearily he added “If they get that far then it’s unlikely they’ll see their families again; I’m afraid that those visitors’ final destination is a plot in the family pet cemetery that we have in the woods on the outskirts of the estate.”
“I wondered why there was a small card pinned to the door with ‘Hotel California’ printed on it” Colin muttered under his breath.
Colin and his host rode back up to the surface in silence. The sun was still shining brightly when they emerged from the ice house and Colin automatically headed towards the final group of buildings; the terraced cottages.
“We can give that place a miss! Everything is not as it seems. We converted the worker’s cottages to incorporate a staff canteen, a cinema and swimming pool.”
As he walked back towards the main house he added “of course!”
He laughed at his little joke at Colin’s expense. Colin drew level and saw that his host was smiling.
“I think you’ll fit in here very well Mr. Bailey. Let’s find a place to rest our weary bones; I’ll chase up a pot of tea and then I’ll tell you all about the Olympus Project.”
Their walk across the lawn to the house was watched from an upstairs window by the woman; no doubt the elderly gentleman knew she was there but he gave no sign. Colin, on the other hand, hung back a little as they were climbing some steps up onto the patio and gave her a little wave and a smile. The woman stepped back from the window and disappeared from view.
CHAPTER 4
Twenty minutes later the two men were in one of the elegant drawing rooms; they were seated in wing chairs and facing towards the enormous windows that gave full access to the sweeping panorama of the Larcombe Manor estate. The sun continued to beat down across the grounds, but here in this sanctuary, all was cool, peaceful and serene. Colin had almost forgotten the chill that ran down his spine as the old man revealed to him on their grand tour the lengths to which this organisation were prepared to go.
As soon as they had returned indoors and taken a chance to freshen up, Colin had sought out and rejoined his host. The old man had summoned a steward and they very quickly had cups of tea, tiny triangular sandwiches and a selection of fancy cakes to refresh them after their long walk.
“I know you are extremely eager to discover the nature of the work The Olympus Project carries out Mr. Bailey. Your patience has been tested long enough. My career was entirely in the Royal Navy as I’m sure you had deduced; I believe I served my country well but as each successive decade passed, each one quicker than the last, I stood by helplessly as my superiors lost their moral courage and meekly abandoned their comrades to political correctness. Governments of whatever colour have continued to shrink the fleet to a level that is totally unacceptable; the country is at the mercy of bands of brigands, let alone massive navies! My comrades in the army and air force have suffered the same humiliation. The quality of our armed forces is still among the highest anywhere in the world Mr. Bailey, have no doubts about that, but the numbers are far too low; we are vulnerable to attack as a nation in a way we haven’t been for almost five hundred years.
Meanwhile as our armed services are being stripped of their effectiveness in all four corners of the globe, back at home the police and judiciary are falling into the hands of the same weak, hand wringing milksops. They have progressively stepped away from tackling crime with a big stick and meaningful sentencing; as a result, they are now reaping the wind as organised gangs, drug cartels and people traffickers are operating carte blanche the length and breadth of this beautiful country of ours.
I had my own very personal reasons for wanting to redress the balance. One man alone could achieve very little, even one with a substantial family fortune such as mine, and so I placed an advert in The Times personal column about four years ago.
It merely stated: — ‘Help required; anyone eager to prevent Britain going to hell in a handcart. Write Box 1815 etcetera’.
After I had weeded out the time wasters, I found a handful of like minded people who had the intelligence, the will and the necessary access to additional funds to help bring my ideas to fruition. Some of our backers have chosen to remain as silent partners and they do not reside here at Larcombe Manor; the other four people you met at lunch today are the founder members of Olympus. What do you know of Greek mythology Mr. Bailey?”
“I’ve heard of the Gods like Zeus, Achilles and um…”
“No matter; there are just six names that you are interested in. While we are here at Larcombe we use these names and these names only when we speak of one another. Is that clear?”
Colin nodded.
“It’s for our protection old chap; if you were to fall into the hands of a terrorist group or the bumbling fools that pose as our police force while on one of our direct actions, then you can only reveal your own identity, any amount of interrogation or torture would be futile. You simply don’t know the names of your masters.
“Yet you all know that I’m Colin Bailey!” Colin blurted out.
The old man tapped his forehead “Think a little deeper young man! Have you seen the papers or the television today?”
Colin shook his head.
“As far as the police, the media and the world and his wife are concerned Colin Bailey, Colin Owens or Owen Collins take your pick, perished in the deadly waters of the Pulteney Weir last evening. His body hasn’t been recovered as yet; but no-one is looking for you, no-one believes you could possibly have survived. Miraculously, you did; which is why from this moment forward you will be referred to as the Phoenix. We will keep you here at the Manor for a few months, training you in new techniques and honing your existing skills, You will be treated in the medical unit on level one in order to alter your appearance a little; nothing too drastic, it doesn’t take much to fool the authorities on these shores. We will continue to identify targets for direct action and dossiers will be made available for you to study. I know the planning of an action gives you almost as much satisfaction as the endgame itself, so the future is a bright one for you, wouldn’t you agree Phoenix?”
“It would appear so.” Colin replied. He began to realise that this organisation was committed to tackling the cancer that was crippling his country by taking out the bad guys — permanently! This was his pathetic little Street Cleaner operation on a global scale! This was what he had started all those years ago with Scott Hall, Leroy Ambrose and their rotten little gangs; then followed up this summer with the evil Neil Cartwright who had murdered his sweet, innocent daughter Sharron.