shows it, but he's rattled as all hell.'
'And the Minotaur? Is it OK?'
'Pining,' said Mahmoud. 'Sits in his pen, eats just enough to keep going, but he looks so sad all the time. Bereft. He tolerates me feeding him, but he'd rather it was you.'
'It's a he now?'
'I'm kind of fond of him. And with privates like those — I mean, how can he not be a he?'
'Ah, they're not so impressive,' Ramsay quipped. 'I've seen bigger. In the shower this morning, as a matter of fact.'
'Oh?' said Sam. 'So who were you sharing the shower cubicle with?'
'Oof! The Akehurst slam dunks another one!'
Sam did not smile. 'Nobody else quit? It was just me?'
'You upset about that?'
'No. I just thought, once you all knew who Zeus really is and why Landesman wants to topple the Olympians so badly…'
'…we'd turn our noses up and walk away?' said Mahmoud. 'I can't say the idea never crossed my mind. But having sat and thought about it, I decided Landesman's motives aren't so different from my own. It'd be hypocritical for me to pull out just because he turns out to have a personal involvement in the campaign too.'
'Also, he upped our pay,' Ramsay said, 'and I'm sorry but I don't have your high standards when it comes to money, Sam.' His quick glance round her modest but well-fitted kitchen was a kind of footnote: We don't all have terraced houses in central London with no mortgage.
'Fred did almost bail,' Mahmoud added. 'He was in two minds for a while, but then he said something like, 'Leaving won't change anything. Staying, I can still do some good.' I think, like the rest of us, he hasn't got a lot to go back to. Bleaney's as much home to him as anywhere.'
'Landesman hired himself a bunch of drifting ships,' said Ramsay, 'and gave us fuel for our tanks. Whatever his flaws, whatever kind of a man he really is, we owe him for that. Myself, I still want to see this thing through to the end. I couldn't stand to leave the job half finished. That'd be harder for me than pulling out. I respect what you did, Sam, and I know you did it 'cause you felt you had to. But I'm here — we're both here — to ask you to reconsider. As a friend,' he said, 'and I think we are friends if nothing else, I'm asking you to get back with us and give Titanomachy II a kick-start to get it going again.'
'You seriously think Landesman will have me back?' Sam said. 'After the way I dealt with him?'
'I seriously think he doesn't have a choice. He's waiting for you. That's why nothing's happening. He knows the Titans aren't half as good without you. We could try but it wouldn't be the same, and it'd probably only lead to another New York. He'll swallow his pride if you come back, I know he will. He's a pragmatic man. One eye on the bigger picture and all that.'
'What if I can't swallow my pride?'
'You don't have to. Just come waltzing in to base, swagger around a bit, make as if you own the place — you'll get a hero's welcome, and no one'll even mention about you being gone, they'll just be so damn glad to have you there again and to have things return to normal.'
'No.'
'That's it? Your final answer?'
'You wouldn't like to phone a friend?' said Mahmoud. 'Ask the audience?'
'Zaina, I can't carry on working for a man without conscience or scruples — a man who's planning on killing his own son, for God's sake!'
Ramsay had had enough. 'This is not the time to come over all pious!' he snapped. 'We Titans are the best — the only — chance mankind has got against the Olympians. And thanks to you, we're about to blow that chance for good.'
Mahmoud shot him a look. 'What Rick is trying to say is we appear to have them on the back foot still. Plus, we've got global goodwill behind us. Everyone wants us to win, and we can, the eight of us, still. Especially with Hermes out of the running, no pun intended. The eight of us, including you. It's still not too late.'
Sam knew what lay behind Ramsay's outburst. He was hurt by how easily she'd been able to leave Bleaney, how casually she'd been able to turn her back on them, the two of them, as an item. It was clear he hadn't managed to compartmentalise the way she had. She felt sorry. Guilty, too, which suggested that her own compartmentalisation hadn't been entirely successful.
'Look,' she said, 'I've no wish to fall out over this. I just don't believe in Titanomachy II any more. I don't believe in what we were doing, because we were doing it for all the wrong reasons. We were misled from the start. We were even misled into thinking that revenge would make us feel better. Does it? Has it, Rick? Now that the Lamia is dead, is your life complete? Are you calm at heart? Has your pain over Ethan gone?'
'It ain't any worse,' he mumbled.
'If we've managed to give the Olympians a bloody nose,' Sam went on, 'and if, as a result, they're going to behave more leniently, as they seem to be doing right now, then maybe we've done all we can and all we needed to. We've restrained them. Under the circumstances, I'd call that a win.'
'I can't believe you're saying that. You're no better than your prime minister.'
'There's no call for insults. I'm only making the point, Rick, that killing all the Olympians, even if we could, isn't going to help us and might not help anyone else either.'
'All right then,' said Mahmoud, nodding. 'We go to Plan B.'
'And what's Plan B? Clonk me on the head and drag me back to Bleaney kicking and screaming?'
'Nope,' said Ramsay. 'From what you've just been saying, I reckon Plan B might be right up your alley.'
54. THE LOTUS EATERS
T he black cab dropped them off in the southern part of Mayfair, between Piccadilly and Pall Mall, outside a Georgian building with a discreet brass plaque that read The Hellenium — Members Only. A white-gloved doorman greeted them with a tip of his top hat, polite because they looked the part. Ramsay wore a Savile Row suit and hand-stitched shoes. Sam and Mahmoud were in Donna Karan evening gowns cut in the fashionable Doric chiton style and accessorised with Louboutin ribbon sandals and Givenchy clutch bags. To the casual passer-by they certainly were dressed like people who would belong to a club like the Hellenium, or at any rate be friends with someone who did.
'We're guests of Mr D and Miss A,' Ramsay said.
The doorman's expression altered a fraction, just perceptibly hardening. 'Welcome,' he said, part opening the door for them, but not all the way.
A clerk at a desk in the foyer likewise stiffened as Ramsay repeated the code phrase. 'This way,' the clerk said, leading them a private lift which he summoned by turning a key chained to his belt. 'The basement.'
Creaking downwards in the elderly lift, the three Titans exchanged apprehensive glances.
'Into the lion's den,' said Sam. 'They could kill us at any moment.'
'I don't think so,' Ramsay replied. 'My gut says they're on the level. The offer's genuine.'
'In any case, we're carrying protection,' Mahmoud said, tapping her clutch bag. 'We just have to be quick enough with it. By the way, Sam, rocking that dress.'
'True that,' said Ramsay appreciatively.
A bell dinged. The lift halted. The cage-like metal doors concertinaed open.
Another doorman waited to check them over. This wasn't a courteous old retainer like the one upstairs. This was a thick-necked bouncer type, ex-military to judge by his razor-edged crew cut, who made little effort to hide the shoulder holster he wore beneath his jacket. He frisked them from top to toe and rummaged through the women's bags. Both bags contained, among other requisites, plastic tampon holders. Sam and Mahmoud exchanged a quick glance of concern, but the man could barely bring himself to touch the tampon holders, let alone open them to check inside.
'Right,' he said, jerking a thumb. 'I don't recognise you, so that means you must be them. The special visitors. Go on in.'
