pâté and an ’82 Lafite from the Rothschild estate in France.
They sit at the top, where thousands of years ago there was a monk’s retreat and then a sacred chapel. From here they can pick out Great Breach Wood, Polden Hills, Brent Knoll and West Mendip Hills.
But Owain and Jennifer see much more. They see the ghosts of Shamans, Druid priests and necromancers. They see St Patrick strolling the land looking for converts. Saxon hermits hiding in the hillsides. Celtic tribes massing. Roman armies marching. The roots of civilization growing.
And they see Arthur and his Queen arm-in-arm, the Knights of the Round Table assembling and the holy goddess Fortuna stretching her sword-holding hand up from the cold water of the lake.
For almost a minute, Jennifer watches her husband stare into the distance. Normally, being here relaxes him, helps him unwind. But today the tension is still there, etched in grooves across his head and in words unspoken. She intertwines her fingers with his. ‘What are you thinking?’
It takes him a second to return from distant thoughts. ‘Many things, but nothing for you to worry about.’
She tugs his hand. ‘Don’t patronize me. What’s troubling you?’
‘Josep Mardrid.’
She shudders at the mere mention of the name. ‘What has he done now?’
‘He and his corporation grow more ruthless by the week. Currently, his bankers are buying up huge stretches of land in the Democratic Republic of Congo, Niger and Togo. Among others.’
‘Why is that so bad?’ Jennifer asks. We’ve invested out there and a lot of the charities I support are busy there.’
‘He’s trying to create a slave trade just like his family did generations ago. In Togo he’s been paying armed gangs to terrorize farmers and destroy their crops. Hundreds of men and their wives and children have been injured, some killed.’
‘That’s terrible.’
‘The gangs rape teenagers of either sex. They break the bones of babies and children, then Mardrid has his suited bankers move in and make the beaten men derisory offers for their businesses. He is emerging as a third-world baron in cocoa, cotton and coffee. In time, he’ll do the same in cattle and will then control all the major food chains.’
‘What will you do about it?’
‘Anything and everything I can. If necessary, we’ll fight fire with fire. If we don’t, then nothing will be grown or raised without him getting his share.’ Owain puts his arm around his wife and kisses her. ‘Let’s not talk about him. He only makes my blood boil and we have so little time together. I have to leave for London tomorrow.’
She squeezes up to him. ‘I don’t want you to go.’
‘Neither do I. But I have so much to do. And so little time in which to do it.’
His words sting her. ‘Have you spoken to Myrddin? Is he worrying you as well?’
‘No, I haven’t. And no, he’s not worrying me.’ Owain doesn’t mention that the old man has already insisted on coming to see him. ‘But I really don’t need to speak to him to know something bad is happening. I feel what he feels. I always have done.’
Jennifer lifts his fingers to her lips and kisses them. She knows he’s right. Things are about to change. And not because of what her husband has said, or what Myrddin might believe, but because of the very thing that she is keeping secret.
26
JERSEY CITY, NEW YORK
The CTU rendezvous takes place at 0100 hours on the south side of Leonard Gordon Park, a six-acre spread of popular recreational land off Manhattan Avenue.
It takes Operational Commander Paul Bendon less than a minute to remind the six-man assault unit and two-man bomb-disposal team of the layout of the building and in particular where the four terrorists and their cache of explosives will be positioned inside it.
While Bendon speaks, a miniature drone hovers silently over the single-storey building. High in the starless night sky, it constantly relays thermal images formed from the
They sit at the top, where thousands of years ago there was a monk’s retreat and then a sacred chapel. From here they can pick out Great Breach Wood, Polden Hills, Brent Knoll and West Mendip Hills.
But Owain and Jennifer see much more. They see the ghosts of Shamans, Druid priests and necromancers. They see St Patrick strolling the land looking for converts. Saxon hermits hiding in the hillsides. Celtic tribes massing. Roman armies marching. The roots of civilization growing.
And they see Arthur and his Queen arm-in-arm, the Knights of the Round Table assembling and the holy goddess Fortuna stretching her sword-holding hand up from the cold water of the lake.
For almost a minute, Jennifer watches her husband stare into the distance. Normally, being here relaxes him, helps him unwind. But today the tension is still there, etched in grooves across his head and in words unspoken. She intertwines her fingers with his. ‘What are you thinking?’
It takes him a second to return from distant thoughts. ‘Many things, but nothing for you to worry about.’
She tugs his hand. ‘Don’t patronize me. What’s troubling you?’
‘Josep Mardrid.’
She shudders at the mere mention of the name. ‘What has he done now?’
‘He and his corporation grow more ruthless by the week. Currently, his bankers are buying up huge stretches of land in the Democratic Republic of Congo, Niger and Togo. Among others.’
‘Why is that so bad?’ Jennifer asks. We’ve invested out there and a lot of the charities I support are busy there.’
‘He’s trying to create a slave trade just like his family did generations ago. In Togo he’s been paying armed gangs to terrorize farmers and destroy their crops. Hundreds of men and their wives and children have been injured, some killed.’
‘That’s terrible.’
‘The gangs rape teenagers of either sex. They break the bones of babies and children, then Mardrid has his suited bankers move in and make the beaten men derisory offers for their businesses. He is emerging as a third-world baron in cocoa, cotton and coffee. In time, he’ll do the same in cattle and will then control all the major food chains.’
‘What will you do about it?’
‘Anything and everything I can. If necessary, we’ll fight fire with fire. If we don’t, then nothing will be grown or raised without him getting his share.’ Owain puts his arm around his wife and kisses her. ‘Let’s not talk about him. He only makes my blood boil and we have so little time together. I have to leave for London tomorrow.’
She squeezes up to him. ‘I don’t want you to go.’
‘Neither do I. But I have so much to do. And so little time in which to do it.’
His words sting her. ‘Have you spoken to Myrddin? Is he worrying you as well?’
‘No, I haven’t. And no, he’s not worrying me.’ Owain doesn’t mention that the old man has already insisted on coming to see him. ‘But I really don’t need to speak to him to know something bad is happening. I feel what he feels. I always have done.’
Jennifer lifts his fingers to her lips and kisses them. She knows he’s right. Things are about to change. And not because of what her husband has said, or what Myrddin might believe, but because of the very thing that she is keeping secret.
26
JERSEY CITY, NEW YORK
The CTU rendezvous takes place at 0100 hours on the south side of Leonard Gordon Park, a six-acre spread of popular recreational land off Manhattan Avenue.
It takes Operational Commander Paul Bendon less than a minute to remind the six-man assault unit and two-man bomb-disposal team of the layout of the building and in particular where the four terrorists and their cache of explosives will be positioned inside it.
While Bendon speaks, a miniature drone hovers silently over the single-storey building. High in the starless night sky, it constantly relays thermal images formed from the
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