Chapter 21

SEVERAL HOURS AFTER Marta killed the forger, the four of us were staying in a no-star hotel on the outskirts of western Sarajevo. I handed the sisters envelopes that contained their passports and enough money to travel. Marta killed the forger, the four of us were staying in a no-star hotel on the outskirts of western Sarajevo. I handed the sisters envelopes that contained their passports and enough money to travel.

'Take separate taxis or buses to the train station. Then use completely separate routes to the address I put in your passports. In the alley behind that address, you'll find a low brick wall. Under the third brick from the left you'll find a key. Buy food. Go inside and wait there quietly until I arrive. Do not go out if you can avoid it. Do not be conspicuous. Wait.'

Marta translated and then asked, 'When will you get there?'

'In a few days,' I said. 'No more than a week, I should imagine.'

She nodded. 'We wait for you.'

I believed her. After all, where else were she and her sisters to go? Their fates were mine now, and mine was theirs. Feeling more in control of my destiny than at any other time in my life, I left the Serbian girls and went out into the streets where I found dirt and grime to further soil my torn, bloody clothes. Then I wiped down the guns and threw them in a river.

An hour before dawn I wandered up to the security gate at the NATO garrison, acting in a daze. I had been missing for two and a half days.

I gave my superiors and doctors vague recollections of the bomb that tore apart the Land Cruiser. I said I'd wandered for hours, and then slept in the woods. In the morning, I'd set off again. It wasn't until the previous evening that I'd remembered exactly who I was and where I was supposed to go; and I'd headed for the garrison with the fuzzy navigation of an alcoholic trying to find home.

The doctors examined me and determined that I had a fractured skull for the second time in my life. Two days later, I was on a medical transport: Cronus flying home to his Furies.

Chapter 22

AT FIVE MINUTES to four that Thursday afternoon, Knight left One Aldwych, a five-star boutique hotel in London's West End theatre district, and found Karen Pope waiting on the pavement, looking intently at her BlackBerry screen. to four that Thursday afternoon, Knight left One Aldwych, a five-star boutique hotel in London's West End theatre district, and found Karen Pope waiting on the pavement, looking intently at her BlackBerry screen.

'His secretary wasn't putting you off. The doorman says he does come for drinks quite often, but he's not in there yet,' Knight said, referring to Richard Guilder, Marshall's long-time financial partner. 'Let's go and wait inside.'

Pope shook her head, and then gestured across the Strand to a row of Edwardian buildings. 'That's King's College, right? That's where Selena Farrell works, the classical Greek expert that Indiana Jones wannabe told us to talk to. I looked her up. She has has written extensively about the ancient Greek playwright Aeschylus and his play written extensively about the ancient Greek playwright Aeschylus and his play The Eumenides The Eumenides, which is another name for the Furies. We could go and chat with her and then swing back for Guilder.'

Knight screwed up his face. 'In all honesty, I don't know if understanding more about the myth of Cronus and the Furies is going to help us get any closer to catching Marshall's killer.'

'And now I know something you don't,' she said, shaking her BlackBerry at him haughtily. 'Turns out that Farrell fought against the London Olympics tooth and nail. She sued to have the whole thing stopped, especially the compulsory purchase orders that took all that land in East London for the Olympic Park. The professor evidently lost her house when the park went in.'

Feeling his heart begin to race, Knight set off in the direction of the college, saying, 'Denton ran the process that took that land. She had to have hated him.'

'Maybe enough to cut off his head,' Pope said, struggling to keep up.

Then Knight's mobile buzzed. A text from Hooligan:

1ST DNA DNA TEST: HAIR IS FEMALE TEST: HAIR IS FEMALE.

Chapter 23

THEY FOUND SELENA Farrell in her office. The professor was in her early forties, a big-bosomed woman who dressed the part of a dowdy Earth child: baggy, faded peasant dress, oval black glasses, no make-up, clogs, and her head wrapped in a scarf held in place by two wooden hairpins. Farrell in her office. The professor was in her early forties, a big-bosomed woman who dressed the part of a dowdy Earth child: baggy, faded peasant dress, oval black glasses, no make-up, clogs, and her head wrapped in a scarf held in place by two wooden hairpins.

But it was the beauty mark that caught Knight's eye. Set above her jawline about midway down her right cheek, it put him in mind of a young Elizabeth Taylor and made him think that, given the right circumstances and manner of dress, the professor could have been quite attractive.

As Dr Farrell inspected his identification, Knight glanced around at various framed pictures: one of the professor climbing in Scotland, another of her posing beside some Greek ruins, and a third in which she was much younger, in sunglasses, khaki pants and shirt, posing with an automatic weapon beside a white truck that said NATO on the side.

'Okay,' Farrell said, returning Knight's badge. 'What are we here to discuss?'

'Sir Denton Marshall, a member of the Olympic Organising Committee,' Knight said, watching for her reaction.

Farrell stiffened, and then pursed her lips in distaste. 'What about him?'

'He's been murdered,' Pope said. 'Decapitated.'

The professor appeared genuinely shocked. 'Decapitated? Oh, that's horrible. I didn't like the man, but ... that's barbaric.'

'Marshall took your house and your land,' Knight remarked.

Farrell hardened. 'He did. I hated him for it. I hated him and everyone who's in favour of the Olympics for it. But I did not kill him. I don't believe in violence.'

Knight glanced at the photo of her with the automatic weapon. But he decided not to challenge her, asking instead: 'Can you account for your whereabouts around ten forty-five last night?'

The classics professor arched back in her chair and took off her glasses, revealing amazing sapphire eyes that stared intently at Knight. 'I can can account for my whereabouts at that time, but I won't unless it's necessary. I enjoy my privacy.' account for my whereabouts at that time, but I won't unless it's necessary. I enjoy my privacy.'

'Tell us about Cronus,' Pope said.

The professor drew back. 'You mean the Titan?'

'That's the one,' Pope said.

She shrugged. 'He's mentioned by Aeschylus, especially during the third play in his Oresteia cycle, The Eumenides The Eumenides. They were the three Furies of vengeance born from the blood of Cronus's father. Why are you asking about him? All in all, Cronus is a minor figure in Greek mythology.'

Pope glanced at Knight, who nodded. She dug into her bag. She came up with her mobile, which she fiddled with for several seconds as she said to the professor, 'I received a package today from someone who calls himself Cronus and who claims to be Marshall's killer. There's a letter and this: it's a recording of a recording, but ...'

As the reporter returned to her bag, looking for her copy of Cronus's letter, the weird, irritating flute music began to float from her phone.

The classics professor froze after a few notes had played.

The melody went on and Farrell stared at her desk, becoming agitated. Then she looked around wildly as if she was hearing hornets. Her hands shot up as though to cover her ears, dislodging the hairpins and loosening her headscarf.

She panicked and raised her hands to hold the scarf in place. Then she leaped to her feet and bolted for the door, choking: 'For God's sake turn it off! It's giving me a migraine! It's making me sick!'

Knight jumped to his feet and went out after Farrell, who clopped at high speed down the hall before barging into a women's loo.

'That set off something big,' Pope said. She'd come up behind him.

'Uh-huh,' Knight said. He went back into the office, headed straight to the classics professor's desk and plucked a small evidence bag from his pocket.

He turned the bag inside out before picking up one of the hairpins that had fallen before Farrell bolted. He wrapped the bag around the pins and then drew them out before dropping them back on the desk.

'What are you doing?' Pope demanded in a whisper.

Knight sealed the bag and murmured, 'Hooligan says the hair sample from the envelope was female.'

He heard someone approaching the office, slid the evidence into his coat chest pocket and sat down. Pope stood, and was looking towards the door when another woman, much younger than Farrell but with a similar lack of fashion sense, entered and said: 'Sorry. I'm Nina Langor, Professor Farrell's teaching assistant.'

'Is she all right?' Pope asked.

'She said she's suffering from a migraine and is going home. She said if you'll call her on Monday or Tuesday she'll explain.'

'Explain what?' Knight demanded.

Nina Langor appeared bewildered. 'I honestly have no idea. I've never seen her act like that before.'

Chapter 24

TEN MINUTES LATER, Knight followed Pope up the stairs into One Aldwych, looking questioningly at the hotel doorman he'd spoken with earlier and getting a nod in response. Knight slipped the doorman a ten-pound note and followed Pope towards the muffled sounds of happy voices.

'That music got to Farrell,' Pope said. 'She'd heard it before.'

'I agree,' Knight said. 'It threw her hard.'

'Is it possible she's Cronus?' Pope asked.

'And uses the name to make us think she's a man? Sure. Why not?'

They entered the hotel's dramatic Lobby Bar, which was triangular in shape, with a soaring vaulted ceiling, pale marble floor, glass walls and intimate groupings of fine furniture.

While the bar at the Savoy Hotel along the Strand was about glamour, the Lobby Bar was about money. One Aldwych was close to London's legal and financial districts, and exuded enough corporate elegance to make it a magnet for thirsty bankers, flush traders, and celebrating deal-makers.

There were forty or fifty such patrons in the bar, but Knight spotted Richard Guilder, Marshall's business partner, almost immediately: a corpulent, silver-haired boar of a man in a dark suit, sitting at the bar alone, his shoulders and head hunched over.

'Let me do the talking at first,' Knight said.

'Why?' Pope snapped. 'Because I am a woman?'

'How many allegedly corrupt tycoons have you chatted up lately on the sports beat?' he asked her coolly.

The reporter grudgingly made a show of letting him lead the way.

Marshall's partner was staring off into the abyss. Two fingers of neat Scotch swirled in the crystal tumbler he held. To his left, a bar stool stood empty. Knight started to sit on it.

Before he could, an ape of a man in a dark suit got in the way.

'Mr Guilder prefers to be alone,' he said in a distinct Brooklyn accent.

Knight showed him his identification. Guilder's bodyguard shrugged, and showed Knight his. Joe Mascolo worked for Private New York.

'You in as backup for the Games?' Knight asked.

Mascolo nodded. 'Jack called me over.'

'Then you'll let me talk to him?'

The Private New York agent shook his head. 'Man wants to be alone.'

Knight said loud enough for Guilder to hear: 'Mr Guilder? I'm sorry for your loss. I'm Peter Knight, also with Private. I'm working on behalf of the London Organising Committee, and for my mother, Amanda Knight.'

Mascolo looked furious that Knight was trying to work around him.

But Guilder stiffened, turned in his seat, studied Knight and then said, 'Amanda. My God. It's ...' He shook his head and wiped away a tear. 'Please, Knight, listen to Joe. I'm not in any condition to talk about Denton at the moment. I am here to mourn him. Alone. As I imagine your dear mother is doing, too.'

'Please, sir,' Knight began again. 'Scotland Yard-'

'Has agreed to talk with him in the morning,' Mascolo growled. 'Call his office. Make an appointment. And leave the man in peace for the evening.'

The Private New York agent glared at Knight. Marshall's partner was turning back to his drink, and Knight was growing resigned to leaving him alone until the next morning when Pope said, 'I'm with the Sun Sun, Mr Guilder. We received a letter from Denton Marshall's killer. He mentions you and your company and justifies murdering your partner because of certain illegal activities that Marshall and you were alleged to have been involved in at your place of business.'

Guilder swung around, livid. 'How dare you! Denton Marshall was as honest as the day is long. He was never, ever involved in anything illegal during all the time I knew him. And neither was I. Whatever this letter says, it's a lie.'

Pope tried to hand the financier photocopies of the documents that Cronus had sent her, saying, 'Denton Marshall's killer alleges that these were taken from Marshall & Guilder's own records or, to be more precise, your firm's secret secret records.' records.'

Guilder glanced at the pages but did not take them, as if he had no time for considering such outrageous allegations. 'We have never kept secret records at Marshall & Guilder.'