Looking up into the thundering dark sky that is now spitting lightning and hurling rain, I cry, ‘For you, Gods of Olympus. I do this all for you!’
Chapter 120
KNIGHT WAS ALREADY well beyond the exhaust vent, up on the raised platform surrounding the cauldron, and now charging at full tilt through the pouring rain.
Before the madman’s thumb could hit the mobile’s send button, Knight hit Lancer low, hard, and from the side, a stunning blow that caused the crazed Olympian to lurch and fall to the floor of the platform. His automatic weapon skittered away.
Knight landed on top of Lancer, who was still clutching the mobile phone. The former decathlon champion was some ten years older than Knight. But he quickly proved bigger, stronger, and more skilled as a fighter.
Lancer backhanded Knight so hard that the Private London agent was thrown off, and almost slammed his face against the searing wall of the cauldron. The infernal heat and the drenching rain revived him almost instantly.
He twisted, seeing that Lancer was trying to regain his feet. But Knight kicked viciously at the madman’s ankle and connected. Lancer howled, stumbled to one knee and was rising again when Knight got his right forearm around the man’s bull neck from behind, trying to get a choke hold on him and seize the mobile before the gas bomb could be triggered.
He squeezed Lancer’s throat and grabbed at his thumb, trying to pry loose his grip on the phone. But then Lancer jammed his chin down on Knight’s forearm, twisted his torso, and threw elbow punches that struck Knight hard on ribs still bruised from the Fury’s attempt to run him down.
The Private London agent grunted in dire pain but held on, thinking of Luke and Isabel before taking a cue from his son. He bit brutally at the back of the insane man’s head, feeling a chunk of thick scar tissue tear away from Lancer’s scalp. Lancer screamed in agony and rage.
Knight bit again, this time lower, his teeth sinking into neck muscles as a lion might try to cripple a buffalo.
Lancer went berserk.
He swung and bucked, bellowing in blind primal fury and throwing meaty fists over his shoulder, hitting Knight in the head before pummelling his torso with elbow blows again, left and right, blows so hard that several of the Private agent’s ribs cracked and broke.
It was too much for him.
Knight’s breath was knocked out of him and the pain in his side erupted with such force that he grunted, releasing both his bite and the chokehold that he’d had on Lancer’s neck. He fell to the platform in the rain, groaning and fighting for air and a relief from the agony that now consumed him.
Blood dripping from his bite wounds, Lancer turned and glared down at Knight in triumph and in loathing.
‘You had no chance, Knight,’ he gloated, backing away and raising the mobile phone towards the sky again. ‘You were up against an infinitely superior being. You had no—’
Knight flung the Leatherman at Lancer.
It flew end over end before the narrow prongs of the pliers struck Lancer and pierced deep into his right eye.
Staggering backwards, still clutching the mobile, reaching futilely for the tool that had sealed his fate, Lancer let out a series of blood-curdling screams worthy of some mythical creature of doom, like Cronus after Zeus threw him deep into the darkest and deepest pit in Tartarus.
For a second, Knight feared Lancer would find his balance and manage to trigger the bomb.
But then thunder exploded directly over the Orbit, throwing a single white-hot jagged bolt that ignored the lightning rods fixed high above the observation deck and struck the butt end of the Leatherman tool protruding from Lancer’s eye, electrocuting the self-described instrument of the gods and hurling him back and over into the cauldron where he was engulfed and consumed by the roaring Olympic flame.
Epilogue
Monday, 13 August 2012
ON THE THIRD floor of St Thomas’s Hospital, sitting in a wheelchair, Knight smiled stiffly at the people gathered around the beds that held Luke and Isabel. While the effects of what turned out to be a concussion had mellowed to a dull thumping in his head, his broken and bruised ribs were killing him, making each breath feel like saws working in his chest.
But he was alive. His kids were alive. The Olympics had been saved and avenged by forces far beyond Knight’s understanding. And Inspector Elaine Pottersfield had just entered the room carrying two small chocolate cakes, each adorned with three lit birthday candles.
Never one to miss the chance to sing, Hooligan broke into ‘Happy Birthday’ and was joined by the twins’ nurses and doctors, and by Jack Morgan, Karen Pope, and Knight’s mother. Even Gary Boss, who’d arrived early to decorate the hospital room with bright balloons and bunting, joined in.
‘Close your eyes and make a wish,’ the twins’ aunt said.
‘Dream big!’ their grandmother cried.
Isabel and Luke closed their eyes for a second, and then opened them, took deep breaths and blew out every one of the candles. Everyone cheered and clapped. Pottersfield cut the cakes.
Ever the journalist, Pope asked, ‘What did you wish for?’
Knight’s son got annoyed. ‘Lukey not telling you. It’s secret.’
But Isabel looked at Pope matter-of-factly and said, ‘I wished we could have a new mummy.’
Her brother’s face clouded. ‘No fair. That’s what Lukey wished for.’
There were soothing sounds of sympathy all around and Knight felt his heart break once again.
His daughter was staring at him. ‘No more nannies, Daddy.’
‘No more nannies,’ he promised, glancing at his mother. ‘Right, Amanda?’
‘Only if they are under my direct and constant supervision,’ she said.
‘Or mine,’ Boss said.
Cake and ice cream were served. After several bites, Pope said, ‘You know what threw me about Lancer, kept me from ever considering him as a suspect?’
‘What’s that?’ Hooligan asked.
‘He had one of his Furies try to run him down on day one,’ she said. ‘Right?’
‘Definitely,’ Knight said. ‘I’ll bet he had that planned from the beginning. I just happened to be there.’
‘There was another clue if you think about it,’ Hooligan said. ‘Cronus never sent you a letter detailing the reasons why Lancer should die.’
‘I never thought of that,’ Knight said.
‘Neither did I,’ Jack said, getting up from his chair and dumping his paper plate into the wastebasket.
After they had finished eating and had unwrapped the presents that everyone seemed to have brought, Knight’s children were soon drowsy. When Isabel’s eyes closed, and Luke started to rock and suck his thumb, Amanda and Boss left with whispered promises to return in the morning to help see home Knight and the twins.
His sister-in-law was next to depart, saying, ‘Hiring a war criminal as your nanny was not your finest hour, Peter, but ultimately you were brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. Kate would have been so proud of how hard your fought for your children, for the Olympics, for London, for everyone.’
Knight’s heart broke yet again. ‘I’d hug you, Elaine, but—’
She blew him a kiss, said she was going to check up on Selena Farrell and James Daring, and walked out the door.
‘I’ve got a present for you before I leave, Peter,’ Jack said. ‘I want you to have an obscene raise, and I want you to take your kids to somewhere tropical for a few weeks. It’s on Private. We’ll work out the details after I get back to LA. Speaking of which, I’ve got a jet to catch.’