'But think about it,' said Landesman. 'The Olympians have picked off every dangerous religious- fundamentalist leader there is. They've eliminated every single tyrant and tinpot dictator, not least the ones with nuclear ambitions. Warmongers, oppressors, right-wing extremist cells, despots, jumped-up paramilitary lunatics everywhere — all gone. Assassinated. Eradicated. Only democratically elected politicians remain in power, and they're all too cowed to start any kind of trouble, knowing it would bring the wrath of the Pantheon down on their heads. They've even handed over the keys to the world's nuclear arsenals to the Olympians, so the spectre of Mutually Assured Destruction, or of even a limited nuclear skirmish, no longer hovers over us.
'And the funds originally earmarked for war budgets have been diverted to schools, hospitals, care homes, civil engineering projects, research into renewable energy, just as the greens and the peacenik brigade have been campaigning for for ages. Isn't this the kind of society we're supposed to have been working towards? The end- point of the human narrative? Every nation in harmony. Rogue states under control. Planet-wide detente. Better use of natural resources. Isn't this paradise? Utopia? We have gods in charge of us now. Surely that's desirable, preferable to being at the whim and mercy of mere, fallible men?'
'They ain't gods,' said Sparks with a vehement nod.
'Are they not, Miss Sparks?' said Landesman. 'They certainly look that way to me. The Ancient Greek pantheon, in the flesh.'
'I read somewhere they're aliens,' said Mahmoud.
'Do you believe that?'
'That's what some people say. Not just the barmpots, some scientists even. They've come from outer space and taken on a recognisable humanoid shape and are using their powers to save us from ourselves.'
'Only they don't have powers,' Harryhausen chimed in. 'Just incredibly advanced technology made to look like godlike powers.'
'And there's another theory,' said Tsang. 'It goes that the Olympians are creations of Mother Earth. They have sprung up from the collective consciousness. I can't remember it but there's a specific word for them.'
'Avatars,' said Chisholm.
'That's the one. Avatars of nature. You've heard that one too?'
'Oh yes,' said Chisholm. 'I've studied the Olympians in great depth. They've become quite a little hobby of mine. I've scoured the internet, read the books and newspaper articles, watched the documentaries. The Gaia Self-Defence Mechanism Hypothesis, that's the name for what you're talking about. Essentially, the Olympians are the planetary ecosystem's response to our species' rapacity and destructiveness, a kind of environmental failsafe. They've manifested from the pool of our dreams, conforming to a pre-existing set of archetypes, and the purpose of their presence is to curb our violent tendencies and steer us off the path of self-annihilation that we're on.' Chisholm laughed hollowly. 'I think it's a load of tosh, myself. But this kind of wild supposition is only to be expected. In the absence of any hard facts about the Olympians, there'll inevitably be crackpots coming out with harebrained ideas.'
'You have your own theory about them, then?' asked Barrington. 'All that research you've done, you've got to.'
'Sorry to disappoint, but no. Frankly I have no idea who or what they are. Nor do I think it matters. Knowing the truth of the Olympians' origins wouldn't lessen my contempt for them one little bit. Yours either, I'd imagine.'
'So it seems we all hate the Olympians, Mr Landesman,' said Therese Hamel, 'apart from you. Are you here to try and convert us? Is that what all this is about? You're some kind of emissary? An evangelist? You want to help us, cure us of our loathing somehow?'
'Did I say I approved of the Olympians, Miss Hamel?'
'You appear to.'
'Equally I might merely be advancing an argument, putting a positive spin on their achievements, showing how their arrival and intervention has unquestionably had some benefits. After all, their avowed intent has always been the protection and nurturing of ordinary people. Zeus himself has said so, hasn't he? On numerous occasions. I recall his speech to the United Nations, the day the Olympians first made themselves known to the world. 'We have come here, incarnate again, in order to save you from the worst among you. We are here to liberate you from fear and the shadow of war. We want nothing more than for the human race to be free to live lives of contentment and mutual prosperity.' A noble goal, without a doubt. As a mission statement, it can't be faulted.'
'Oh yes it can,' said Sam.
'Miss Akehurst?' Landesman raised his eyebrows, inviting her to expound.
'Well, it's self-evidently flawed,' Sam said, after a moment's pause to collect her thoughts. 'There's implied coercion. Between the lines, there's a threat. It's not an offer, it's an order. 'Behave, or else.' And that's how the Olympians have been ruling us: we do as they want, or suffer. And if we fail to toe the line they back up the threat with violence, or else send one of their monsters to do their dirty work for them. All of which you know perfectly well, Mr Landesman. I think you detest the Olympians as strongly as any of us, maybe more so. This grand speech of yours has simply been a way of gauging how the twelve of us feel — a test, of sorts — as well as a way of stoking us up so that we'll be all hot and bothered and keen to find out what it is you actually want from us.'
Landesman smiled broadly. 'Ladies and gentlemen, Miss Akehurst was until not so long ago a detective sergeant with the London Metropolitan police force, on the fast track, well on her way to becoming one of the Met's youngest ever detective inspectors, before her career was, shall we say, diverted. Clearly in the intervening period her mind has lost none of its acuity and deductive capability. She is entirely right. I have been leading you up the garden path somewhat. I have been testing you. Brava, Miss Akehurst. I am most impressed.'
Sam could not detect even a hint of a patronising tone in Landesman's voice. To all appearances his comments were sincere, his admiration genuine.
Not that she liked flattery much, either.
'Then while I'm your star pupil, Mr Landesman,' she said, 'let me tell you something else I've figured out.'
'Go for it,' murmured Ramsay.
'We each of us have a personal reason for wanting to get back at one or more of the Pantheon. Rick spotted that almost from the off. But my feeling is there's something else, an additional criterion for us being selected by you.'
'Namely?' Landesman looked very pleased with her — and with himself.
'We have training. We all do, or used to do, jobs that require giving and receiving orders, jobs that rely on discipline and a chain of command.'
'Go on.'
'Fred here' — she gestured at Tsang — 'was a Hong Kong cop. I was a cop. I'm looking at Miss Mahmoud over there and I'm pretty sure she is or was a cop as well.'
Zaina Mahmoud's eyes widened. 'How the bloomin' heck did you…?'
'Instinct. Takes one to know one. I call it copdar. And how you wear your hair, that short plait of yours, very WPC. Greater Manchester Police?'
The eyes widened still further.
'You're Mancunian.' Sam shrugged. 'It wasn't rocket science. Therese is also police. Royal Canadian Mounted, yes?'
Hamel nodded.
Sam nodded at Ramsay.
'Rick I reckon is American military. If you pushed me to narrow it down, I'd have to go with navy.'
Ramsay twisted up the corner of his mouth. 'US Marine Corps. Not bad.'
'It's the way you stood on the boat,' Sam said. 'You looked at home. And the way you stand generally.'
'Good to know you've been studying my physique so closely.'
'As for Soleil, she told us herself she's a guerrilla fighter. Maybe you don't need formal training for that but it still means working within a hierarchy, understanding the need for a command structure. Dez, you said something about thirteen years of taking orders, or rather not taking orders. I don't think you meant waiting tables. That tattoo on your neck, poking out above your shirt collar, is another clue. Kangaroo, crown, crossed rifles… Looks like a regimental emblem to me. Australian army?'
Barrington fired off an ironic salute at her. 'Infantryman, Eighth Battalion, Royal Australian Regiment. Never
