He stood high in the stands at the north end of the venue, using binoculars to scan the crowd. He was tired, his head aching, and was feeling overly irritated by the lingering heat and the sound of the trumpets launching the closing ceremony. As it stopped, the screens around the stadium jumped to a feed showing a medium-range view of the Olympic cauldron high atop the Orbit and flanked as it had been since the opening ceremony by the ramrod-straight Queen's guardsmen.

The guardsmen on the raised platform above the roof shouldered their guns, pivoted through forty-five degrees and marched stiff-legged, their free arms pumping, in opposite directions towards two new guardsmen who climbed up onto the roof from hatches on either side of the observation deck and moved towards the platform and cauldron. The guards passed each other exactly halfway between the cauldron and the stairwell. The guards who were being relieved of duty disappeared from the roof and the new pair climbed the platform from either side to stand rigidly at attention beside the Olympic flame.

Knight roamed the crowd for the next hour and a half. As the summer sky began to darken and breezes began to stir, he was buoyed by the fact that despite the threat Lancer still posed, an incredible number of athletes, coaches, judges, referees and fans had decided to attend the closing ceremony when they could just as easily have gone home to more certain safety.

The affair had originally been planned as a celebration as joyous as the opening ceremony had been before the death of the American shot-putter. But the organisers had tweaked the ceremony in light of the murders, and had made it more sombre and meaningful by enlisting the London Symphony Orchestra to back Eric Clapton who delivered a heart-wrenching version of his song 'Tears in Heaven'.

In that same vein, as Knight moved south inside the stadium, Marcus Morris was now giving a speech that was part elegy to the dead and part celebration of all the great and wonderful things that had happened at the London Games in spite of Cronus and his Furies.

Knight glanced at the programme and thought: We've got a few more speeches, a spectacle or two, the turning over of the Olympic flag to Brazil; and then a few words by the mayor of Rio and ...

'Anything, Peter?' Jack asked over the radio. They'd changed security frequencies in case Lancer was trying to monitor their broadcasts.

'Nothing,' he replied. 'But it still doesn't feel right.'

That thought was paramount in Knight's mind until the organisers broke from the scheduled programme to introduce some 'special guests'.

Dr Hunter Pierce appeared on the stage along with Zeke Shaw and the four runners who'd won marathon gold. They pushed Filatri Mundaho in a wheelchair before them, a sheet over his legs. Medical personnel followed.

Mundaho had suffered third-degree burns over much of his lower body, and had endured several excruciating abrasion procedures during the past week. The co-world-record holder in the 100 metres should have been in agony, unable to rise from his hospital bed. But you'd never have known it.

The orphaned ex-boy soldier's head was up, proud and erect. He was waving to the crowd, which leaped to its collective feet and began cheering for him. Knight's eyes watered. Mundaho was showing incredible, incredible courage, along with an iron will and a depth of humanity that Lancer could not even begin to fathom.

They gave the sprinter his gold-medal ceremony, and during the playing of the Cameroonian national anthem Knight was hard pressed to find someone in the stadium who wasn't teary-eyed.

Then Hunter Pierce began to talk about the legacy of the London Games, arguing that it would ultimately signify a rekindling of and rededication to Pierre de Coubertin's original Olympic dreams and ideals. At first Knight was held enraptured by the American diver's speech.

But then he forced himself to tune her out, to try to think like Lancer and like Lancer's alter ego Cronus. He thought about the last few things that the madman had said to him. He tried to see Lancer's words as if they were printed on blocks that he could pick up and examine in detail: AT THE END, JUST BEFORE YOU DIE, KNIGHT, I'M GOING TO MAKE SURE THAT YOU AND YOUR CHILDREN WITNESS HOW I INGENIOUSLY MANAGE TO SNUFF OUT THE OLYMPIC SPIRIT FOR EVER AT THE END, JUST BEFORE YOU DIE, KNIGHT, I'M GOING TO MAKE SURE THAT YOU AND YOUR CHILDREN WITNESS HOW I INGENIOUSLY MANAGE TO SNUFF OUT THE OLYMPIC SPIRIT FOR EVER.

Knight considered each and every word, exploring their meaning in every sense. And that's when it hit him, the seventh to last word in the sentence.

He triggered his radio microphone, and said, 'You don't snuff out a spirit, Jack.'

'Come back with that, Peter?' Jack said.

Knight was already running towards the exit, saying, 'Lancer told me he was going to "snuff out the Olympic spirit forever".'

'And?'

'You don't snuff out a spirit, Jack. You snuff out a flame.'

Chapter 112

LOOK AT ME now, hiding in plain sight of a hundred thousand people and cameras linked to billions more. now, hiding in plain sight of a hundred thousand people and cameras linked to billions more.

Fated. Chosen. Gifted by the gods. I am clearly a being superior in every way, certainly superior to pathetic Mundaho and Shaw and that conniving bitch Hunter Pierce, and the other athletes down there on the stage inside the stadium, all of them condemning me as a ...

The wind is picking up. I shift my attention into the wind: north-west, far beyond the stadium, far beyond London. Out there on the horizon dark clouds are boiling up into thunderheads. What could be more fitting as a backdrop?

Fated, I think, before I hear a roar go up in the stadium.

What's this? Sir Elton John and Sir Paul McCartney are coming onto the stage and taking seats at opposite white pianos. Who's that with them? Marianne Faithfull? Oh, for pity's sake, they're singing 'Let it Be' to Mundaho.

At their monstrous screeching, you can't begin to understand how much I want to abandon my stance of attention, rub my scar and end this hypocritical pap right now. But, with my eyes locked dead ahead into the approaching storm, I tell myself to stay calm and follow the plan to its natural and fated ending.

To keep the infernal singing from getting to me, I focus on the fact that, just a few minutes from now, I will will reveal myself. And when I do I'll be able to rejoice in their shared horror: McCartney, John, and Faithfull too. I'll watch them all trampling over Mundaho as they run for the exits and I joyously make one final sacrifice in the name of every true Olympian who ever lived. reveal myself. And when I do I'll be able to rejoice in their shared horror: McCartney, John, and Faithfull too. I'll watch them all trampling over Mundaho as they run for the exits and I joyously make one final sacrifice in the name of every true Olympian who ever lived.

Chapter 113

HEARING THE CROWD in the stadium singing 'Let it Be', Knight raced towards the base of the Orbit, seeing Jack already there ahead of him, interrogating the Gurkhas guarding the staircase that wound its way up the tower's DNA-like superstructure towards the circular observation deck. in the stadium singing 'Let it Be', Knight raced towards the base of the Orbit, seeing Jack already there ahead of him, interrogating the Gurkhas guarding the staircase that wound its way up the tower's DNA-like superstructure towards the circular observation deck.

When Knight arrived, legs cramping and head splitting, he gasped, 'Was Lancer up there?'

'They say the only people who went up after three-thirty were some SAS snipers, a dog team, and the two Queen's guardsmen protecting the-'

'Can we alert them, the men on the roof?' Knight said, cutting Jack off.

'I don't know,' Jack said. 'I mean, I don't think so.'

'I think Lancer plans to blow up the cauldron, maybe this entire structure. Where's the propane tank and feeder line that keep the flame alight?'

'It's over this way,' called the strained voice of a man hurrying them.

Stuart Meeks was head of facilities at the Olympic Park. A short man in his fifties who sported a pencil-thin moustache and slicked-back hair, he carried an iPad and sweated profusely as he used an electronic code to open a door set flush in the concrete floor. The steps beneath the door led down into a massive utility basement that ran beneath the western legs of the Orbit and out under the river and the plaza towards the stadium.

'How big is the tank down there?' Knight asked as Meeks lifted the door.

'Huge five hundred thousand litres,' Meeks said, holding out the iPad, which showed a schematic of the gas system. 'But as you can see here it serves all the propane needs in the park, not just the cauldron. The gas is drawn from the main reservoir here into smaller holding tanks at each of the venues and in the athletes' village, of course. It was designed, like the electrical station, to be self-sufficient.'

Knight gaped at him. 'Are you saying if it blows, everything blows?'

'No, I don't ...' Meeks stopped. He turned pale. 'I honestly don't know.'

Jack said, 'Peter and I were with Lancer ten days ago up on the observation deck shortly after he'd finished inspecting security on the cauldron. Did Lancer go down into this basement during that inspection, Stu?'

Meeks nodded. 'Mike insisted on looking at everything one last time. From the tank and up the line, all the way to the coupling that connects the piping to the cauldron. It took us more than an hour.'

'We don't have an hour,' Knight said.

Jack was already on the steep ladder, preparing to climb down to inspect the giant propane tank. 'Call in the dogs again, Stu. Send them down as soon as they get here. Peter, trace the gas line up to the roof.'

Knight nodded before asking Meeks if he had any tools with him. The facilities director unsnapped a Leatherman from a pouch on his hip and told Knight he'd send the schematic of the gas-line system to his phone. No more than twenty yards up the spiral staircase that climbed the Orbit, Knight felt his phone buzz, alerting him to the arrival of the schematic.

He was about to open the link when he thought of something that made the diagram seem irrelevant at this point. He keyed his microphone and said, 'Stuart, how is the gas line to the cauldron controlled? By that I mean is there a manual valve up there that controls the gas flow that will have to be moved for the flame in the cauldron to go out, or will it be done electronically?'

'Electronically,' Meeks replied. 'Before it connects to the cauldron the line runs through a crawl space that's part of the ductwork in the ceiling above the restaurant and below the roof.'

Despite the pounding in his skull and his general sense of irritability, Knight was picking up the pace as he climbed. The wind was strong now. In the distance he thought he heard the rumble of thunder.

'Any way to get on the roof?' he asked.

'There are two hatches with retractable doors and staircases on opposite sides of the roof,' Meeks said. 'That's how the guardsmen have been climbing up and down for their shifts. There's also an exhaust grate in the ductwork several feet from that valve you asked about.'

Before Knight could think about that, he heard Jack say, 'Main tank appears clear. Stuart, we know the max volume and what it's holding?'

There was long pause before the Olympic Park's facility supervisor said in a hoarse voice, 'It was filled again at dawn, day before yesterday, Jack.'

Two hundred feet above the Olympic Park, Knight now understood that underground between the Orbit and the stadium was a mega-explosive device certainly capable of toppling the tower, but also of causing tremendous damage to the south end of the stadium and everyone seated there. Not to mention what might happen if a central explosion set off other detonations around the venue.

'Evacuate, Jack,' Knight said. 'Tell security to stop the ceremony and get everyone out of the stadium, and out of the park.'

'But what if he's watching?' Jack said. 'What if he can trigger it remotely?'

'I don't know,' Knight said, feeling torn. His personal inclination was to turn around and get the hell out of there. He was a father. He'd already almost died once today. Could he dare tempt fate twice?

Still climbing, Knight toggled on the schematic on his phone, looking for the digitally controlled cauldron valve that was somewhere between the roof and the restaurant ceiling. At a glance, he felt almost sure that that control valve was the most likely place for Lancer to attach a triggering device to the main gas line.

If he could reach it, he could defuse it. If he couldn't ...

Chapter 114

LIGHTNING FLASHED IN the near distance and the wind began to gust as Knight reached the entrance to the observation deck of the Orbit. Samba music blared from inside the Olympic stadium as part of Brazil's tribute to the 2016 games. the near distance and the wind began to gust as Knight reached the entrance to the observation deck of the Orbit. Samba music blared from inside the Olympic stadium as part of Brazil's tribute to the 2016 games.

Though they'd been warned that he was coming, the Gurkhas at the entry insisted on checking Knight's ID before allowing him to enter. Inside he was met by the senior SAS man, a guy named Creston, who said that he and his team and the skeleton television camera crew had been on the deck since roughly five o'clock when the restaurant had been closed to everyone but the Queen's guardsmen who were using the gents' inside to change in and out of uniform.

Queen's Guard, Knight thought. Lancer's regiment served in the Guard. Hadn't he said that?

'Get me in that restaurant,' Knight said. 'There might be a triggering device tied into the gas line above the kitchen.'

In seconds, Knight was running through the restaurant towards the kitchen with the SAS man in tow. Knight looked over his shoulder at him. 'Are the roof hatches open?'

'No,' Creston said. 'Not until the end of the ceremony. They're timed.'

'No way to talk to the guardsmen up there?'

He shook his head. 'They aren't even armed. It's a ceremonial bit.'

Knight pressed his microphone. 'Stuart, where do I go up through the ceiling?'

'In the kitchen, left of the oven hood,' Meeks replied. 'The kitchen is past the toilets and through the double doors.'

As Knight went into the hallway towards the kitchen, he saw the gents', remembered that the guardsmen got changed there, and had a sudden strange intuition. 'When did the relieved guards leave?' he asked the SAS man.

Creston shrugged. 'Right after their shift. They had seats inside the stadium.'

'They changed and left?'

He nodded.

Still, rather than barge on into the kitchen, Knight stopped and pushed on the door of the ladies' toilet.

'What are you doing?' Creston asked.

'Not sure,' Knight said, seeing it empty and then squatting to peer under the stalls. All empty.

He quickly crossed to the gents' and did the same, finding a black man's naked body stuffed into the farthest stall.

'We have a dead guardsman in the men's loo up here,' Knight barked into his radio as he headed towards the kitchen. 'I believe Lancer has taken his uniform and is now on the roof.'

He looked at the SAS man. 'Figure out how to get those hatch doors open.'

Creston nodded and took off, with Knight going in the opposite direction, bursting into the kitchen and quickly spotting the trapdoor in the ceiling left of the restaurant's oven hood and vent. Dragging a stainless steel food-preparation table over beneath the trapdoor, he triggered his mike and said, 'Can we get a visual on the guards to confirm that one of them is Lancer?'

Listening to Jack relay the request to snipers high atop the stadium, Knight noticed the padlock on the trapdoor for the first time. 'I need a combination, Stuart,' he said into his radio.

Meeks gave it to him, and with shaking hands Knight spun the dial and felt the lock give. He used a broom to push the trapdoor open, then looked around the kitchen one last time to see if there was anything he might be able to use or might need to shut down a gas line. A self-igniting blowtorch of the kind that chefs use to caramelise sugar caught his eye. He snatched it up.

Knight tossed the torch up into the crawl space, and then swung his arms twice to loosen them before jumping up and grabbing the sides of the trapdoor frame. He hung there a second, took a deep breath, and raised his legs in front of him before driving them backward with enough force for him to be able to lurch his way up into the cavity between the restaurant ceiling and the roof of the Orbit.

Knight pulled out a slim torch, flipped it on and, pushing the blowtorch in front of him, wriggled towards a piece of copper pipe that bisected the ductwork about six feet away. Knight didn't have to get much closer to see the bumpy black electrical tape wrapped around it, securing a mobile phone and something else to the gas line.

'I've got the trigger. It's a small magnesium bomb taped to the gas line,' he said. 'It's not on a timer. He's going to blow it remotely. Shut down the entire gas system. Put out the Olympic flame. Now.'