Page 48 of Gates of Tartarus

I decline and wave him off, then head to shower. By the time he returns I’m already half-asleep in bed, wrapped in my robe, exhausted from the chaos of the day. I vaguely feel him pull the blankets up and around me, and he presses a tired kiss to my forehead.

“Oh Suge,” he says quietly. “What am I gonna do with you?”

But sleep is heavy on me and takes me before I can answer.

Peas in a Pod

Saturday, 10 November – Maela

Holy hell. I mean, holy, flipping hell. Which literally all broke loose this morning. I’d gotten up early and was in the kitchen, sipping coffee and debating the merits of strawberry versus raspberry jam, when my mobile rang.

“Maela? Is that you?” The low-pitched voice was strained, and I struggled to hear it over the noise of voices and PA announcements in the background.

“Elizabeth? Is everything OK?”

“I’m afraid not.” And she went on to explain. She was being driven into the office early, to prepare for a breakfast meeting with an investor, when a van came out of a side-street and rammed her car. Fortunately, she’d been sitting on the other side of the car, in the back seat, and the van had missed the driver by inches. They’d only had time to think it was an accident, someone texting and driving maybe, when two men had burst out of the van, training guns on the car. Elizabeth’s driver floored it as the men started to fire. “He’s not just a driver; he’s ex-military and a professional bodyguard – it’s why he’s paid so well.” Most of the bullets went into the chassis – the men must have been aiming for the wheels – but a stray one shattered the back windscreen. Some of the flying glass had caught Elizabeth, and she was at the hospital. “One of the cuts looks a little deep. It may need stitches.”

I gasped: “Oh my God! Can I do anything? Which hospital?” At that, Emlyn and Kavi looked at me sharply.

“You can tell Agents Ryder and Arend that I’ll speak with them this afternoon. I’ve already given a statement to the police, and I’ve no intention of repeating myself until I’ve had a rest.”

“But, Elizabeth –”I could see Emlyn opening his mouth and waved him down.

“Maela, please. I’m a bit shaken up, but I’m OK. This isn’t the first kidnapping attempt, and it won’t be the last. I knew the risks when I decided to make myself so high profile. It’s worth it – Gaia is doing so much good. The rich and famous can’t wait to get their check books out for a chance to be associated with us. But I could do without being grilled right now by Britain’s finest, attractive though they are.”

The little flicker of amusement in her voice reassured me. “Well, if you’re sure. But–”

“Which is why I’m not going to tell you which hospital. They’d have it out of you in under a minute, and I’d be answering questions while the doctor was sewing me up.”

“Elizabeth!” If she wanted me to keep the information confidential, I wouldn’t spill.

“You couldn’t help yourself. You and Kailani both.” I could almost see her smiling wryly. “Now, the nurse is coming over, so I’m going to get off the phone. I’ll call you later.”

“OK.” I hung up to face Emlyn, who, by now, was practically jaw to jaw with me in an attempt to overhear. To say he was annoyed by Elizabeth’s subterfuge would be an understatement.

“That fool! She knows Kronos is dangerous – they’re not going to give up after one attempt – and she’s going to leave herself wide open?” He strode to the door, already dialing. “No matter. I’ll find out which hospital from the police.”

But he didn’t. The police had taken a statement and let her go, intimidated, no doubt, by her effortlessly imperious air. I’m sure Jorge could hear the swearing all the way from the third floor.

And now, it’s mid-afternoon, and we’re still waiting. There’s been some news. The police found the van, burnt out. The registration matches one reported stolen a few days ago. And the attack was caught on CCTV, but the men were wearing balaclavas. They hadn’t spoken, so the driver, when questioned, couldn't even guess at an accent. Two men, of medium height, wearing dark clothing, faces obscured. That’s all we’ve got. When the phone finally rings, I leap for it.

“Elizabeth?”

“Maela! Sorry to keep you waiting. I ended up taking a luxuriantly long nap, and then, of course, a pot of strong tea and a hot bath were in order. I’m fine, and I’m at home.”

I sigh with relief. “I'm really glad to hear that. Umm, would you be up for–”

“Answering a few questions from two fine, upstanding members of law enforcement? Of course, that’s why I’m calling. Tell me, how did they like waiting?” The champagne amusement is back in her voice.

“Umm…”

“That well?” She laughs. “Well, let’s put them out of their misery. I assume you can come by?”

Elizabeth owns a surprisingly discreet terraced house on Ilchester Place in Holland Park. Of course, the elegant brick buildings with white trim, fronted by box hedges, sheltering under an avenue of trees that in summer will provide a softly dappled shade, cost around 14 million pounds apiece, so she’s not exactly slumming it. The interior matches the exterior: tastefully understated and expensive, all creams, slates, and ash. The ubiquitous Fallon answers the door and shows us to the living room, where Elizabeth is standing, an amethyst cashmere shawl draped loosely around her.

“Maela!” She smiles and gestures. “Please, have a seat. Gentlemen,” she adds politely.

“Ms. Cole,” Emlyn inclines his head. “I hope you’re feeling better?”