Chapter 115

BLOW, WINDS, BLOW.

Lightning flashes and thunder blasts north-west towards Crouch End and Stroud Green, not far at all from where my drug-addled parents gave birth to me. It is fitting. It is fated.

Indeed, as the jackass who runs the International Olympic Committee prepares to have the flags lowered, declare the Games over, and order the flame extinguished, I fully embrace my destiny. Breaking from my stance of rigid attention, I gaze into the black wall of the oncoming storm, thinking how remarkable it is that my life has been like a track oval, starting and finishing in much the same place.

Pulling out a mobile phone from my pocket, I hit a number on speed dial and hear it connect. Pocketing the phone, I take up my rifle, take two strides forward and pivot to my right. Towards the cauldron.

Chapter 116

A FEW MINUTES earlier, Karen Pope trudged out into the west stands of the Olympic Stadium just as IOC President Jacques Rogge, looking haggard and grave, walked to the lectern on the stage. The reporter had just filed her latest update to the earlier, Karen Pope trudged out into the west stands of the Olympic Stadium just as IOC President Jacques Rogge, looking haggard and grave, walked to the lectern on the stage. The reporter had just filed her latest update to the Sun's Sun's website, describing the escape of Knight and his children, the death of Marta and her sisters, and the global manhunt for Mike Lancer. website, describing the escape of Knight and his children, the death of Marta and her sisters, and the global manhunt for Mike Lancer.

As Rogge spoke over the noise of a rising wind and against the building rumour of thunder, Pope was thinking that these cursed Games were finally almost over. Goodbye and good riddance as far as she was concerned. She never wanted to write about the Olympics again, though she knew that was an impossible dream. She felt depressed and lethargic, and wondered if what she was feeling was as much battle fatigue as the desperate need to sleep. And Knight wasn't answering his phone. Neither was Jack Morgan, or Inspector Pottersfield. What was going on that she didn't know about?

As Rogge droned on, preparing to declare the Games at an end, Pope happened to look up at the cauldron atop the Orbit, seeing the flame billow in the wind. She admitted that she looked forward to seeing it extinguished while feeling somewhat guilty about the- The Queen's guardsman to the cauldron's left suddenly lifted his gun, threw off his bearskin hat, walked out in front of the Olympic flame, pivoted and opened fire. The other guard jerked, staggered, and fell to his side and off the platform. His body hit the roof, slid and slipped off the Orbit, plunging and then gone.

Pope's gasp of horror was obliterated by the screams of the multitude in the stadium rising into one trembling cry before a booming voice coming over the public address system drowned it out: 'You sorry inferior creatures. You didn't think an instrument of the gods would let you off that easily, did you?'

Chapter 117

I CLUTCH THE mobile phone in my left hand, speaking into it, and hearing the power in my voice echo back to me. 'All you SAS snipers out there in the park, don't be stupid. I'm holding a triggering device. If you shoot me, this entire tower, much of the stadium, and tens of thousands of lives will be lost.' mobile phone in my left hand, speaking into it, and hearing the power in my voice echo back to me. 'All you SAS snipers out there in the park, don't be stupid. I'm holding a triggering device. If you shoot me, this entire tower, much of the stadium, and tens of thousands of lives will be lost.'

Below me, the crowd erupts and turns as frenzied as rats fleeing a sinking ship. Seeing them scurry and claw, I smile with utter satisfaction.

'Tonight marks the end of the modern Olympics,' I thunder. 'Tonight we snuff out the flame that has burned so corruptly since that traitor de Coubertin came up with this mockery of the true Games more than a century ago!'

Chapter 118

KNIGHT HEARD THE gunshots and Lancer's booming threat through an exhaust grate in the ceiling of the ductwork several feet beyond the gas line and the triggering device. gunshots and Lancer's booming threat through an exhaust grate in the ceiling of the ductwork several feet beyond the gas line and the triggering device.

He didn't have time to try and defuse the trigger, and for all he knew Lancer had booby-trapped it to go off if it was tampered with.

'How about cutting off the tanks?' he asked over his radio.

'It's a disaster, Peter,' Jack shot back. 'He's welded the valves open.'

Above him, Lancer launched into a longer tirade, beginning with the doctors in Barcelona who had drugged him to prevent him from winning gold in the decathlon, from being named the greatest all-around athlete in the world. And in the background, Knight could hear the petrified crowd trying to escape the stadium. He understood he had only one chance.

He pushed the blowtorch forward and crawled after it, past the gas line and the triggering device, until he lay beneath the exhaust grate.

Through the slats he saw flashes of approaching lightning and the billowing glow of the Olympic flame still burning.

Four bolts held the grate in place. All of them looked sealed in some kind of chemical resin. Maybe he could melt it.

Knight grabbed the blowtorch and ignited it. As fast as he could, he heated the resin until it melted. Then he grabbed the nearest bolt head with the pliers on the Leatherman tool that Meeks had given him and wrenched at it. He felt thrilled when it gave.

Chapter 119

LIGHTNING INSCRIBES THE sky and thunder booms like close cannon fire as I bellow at the crazed crowd trying to escape the stadium, 'For these reasons and a thousand others, the modern Games must end. Surely you understand!' sky and thunder booms like close cannon fire as I bellow at the crazed crowd trying to escape the stadium, 'For these reasons and a thousand others, the modern Games must end. Surely you understand!'

But instead of screams of terror, or even calls of agreement, I'm hearing something I did not expect in return. The monsters are booing me. They're catcalling, and casting filthy slurs on my genius, my superiority.

These are the final indignities of a martyr for a just cause stabbing, hurtful. But nothing like a roadside bomb, or even a rock, nothing that can stop me from seeing my fate fulfilled.

Still, this rejection is enough to raise a wave of hatred in me like no other, a tsunami of loathing for all the monsters in the stadium before me.

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. 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. 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.'