Artemis File , livre ebook

Troubador Publishing Ltd - Adam Loxley

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191 pages

English

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Description

A national newspaper publishes a crossword, a catastrophic event that reveals covert intelligence known only to the security services. And a defected CIA officer, long thought dead, suddenly reappears in London, passing an envelope to a total stranger in St. James's Park. An envelope which is completely empty... Cue panic in London, Tel Aviv and Langley, Virginia - before a desperate chase is launched to preserve a secret kept hidden for over 20 years; a real-life conspiracy so breathtaking, it threatens to bring down governments and change the balance of world power for ever.Who is threatening the establishment, what do they want, and crucially, who or what is Artemis?

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Publié par	Troubador Publishing Ltd
Date de parution	28 août 2019
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781838599423
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	1 Mo

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0200€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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Also by Adam Loxley
The Teleios Ring

Copyright © 2019 Adam Loxley

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

The opinions expressed are those of the characters and should not be confused with the author’s.

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ISBN 9781838599423

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For Oliver & Guy

“A nation can survive its fools, and even the ambitious. But it cannot survive treason from within. An enemy at the gates is less formidable, for he is known and carries his banner openly. But the traitor moves amongst those within the gate freely, his sly whispers rustling through all the alleys, heard in the very halls of government itself. For the traitor; he speaks in accents familiar to his victims, and he wears their face and their arguments, he appeals to the baseness that lies deep in the hearts of all men. He rots the soul of a nation, he works secretly and unknown in the night to undermine the pillars of the city, he infects the body politic so that it can no longer resist. A murderer is less to fear. The traitor is the plague.”

Marcus Tullius Cicero
Contents
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Thirty-One
Thirty-Two
Thirty-Three
Thirty-Four
Thirty-Five
Thirty-Six
Thirty-Seven
Thirty-Eight
Thirty-Nine
Forty
Forty-One
Forty-Two
Acknowledgements
One
George Ambrose Wiggins was a tall, stick-insect of a man, as high as a hop pole and as thin as a rake, the only concession to his otherwise lean and angular frame being the large, round spectacles that perched on the end of his nose; two bright and polished circles on either side of his face, like a pair of luminous headlamps on a vintage Bentley.
By his own admission, George was a creature of habit, and tonight was no exception. Every other Thursday was when Margaret went to her book club; a regular get-together with a few girlfriends to share a couple of bottles of wine, catch up on the latest gossip and discuss books that she hadn’t read. George used to worry that they’d catch her out but of course they hadn’t read them either. Still, whether they were pretending or not the arrangement suited George fine. It gave him the opportunity to drop into The Red Lion on the way home from work, have a bit of banter with Ron the landlord and enjoy a couple of pints of real ale before wandering home to a microwave meal and some undisturbed time in front of the telly. A bit of peace and quiet before Margaret came rushing through the door, all flushed and talkative from the evening’s entertainment.
The Red Lion was something of an old fashioned establishment, in fact in George’s opinion it was the only proper pub left in Tenterden which hadn’t been turned into a trendy wine bar or even worse, some kind of child-friendly, food-hugging monstrosity. All the other so-called watering holes were full of under-aged kids swigging tasteless, expensive lager out of designer bottles, or else they were soulless, half-empty bistros frequented by tired, aspiring families who thought that the height of fine dining was eating some sort of pre-prepared meal cooked in a box. Still, thank God for the Red Lion , thought George as he slurped the top off his pint of bitter. He nodded to a couple of locals who had congregated at the end of the bar and then wandered over to his usual seat, crossing his daddy longlegs into a comfortable position before settling himself into a pint of Harvey’s and the evening paper. Satisfied that here at least the world was still as it should be he munched his way through a packet of crisps, swilled a mouthful of beer around his gums and then spent the next five minutes sucking his teeth as he read the day’s news, completely oblivious to the comings and goings on around him.
It didn’t take long for the pub to fill up, Thursday being a popular night for people to get a head start on the weekend. Within minutes a seemingly endless procession of customers had come through the door, most of them in twos or threes, all looking forward to a well-deserved drink and a good night out. The bar was soon packed with a loud and lively crowd, creating a real buzz about the place. Tenterden might have been a small, traditional market town but The Red Lion was definitely the place to be on a Thursday evening.
‘You alright George?’ asked Ron, as he walked past, clearing up the empty glasses and straightening a few chairs. ‘How’s life in the fast lane then?’
George looked up and gave him a half-hearted smile. Ron Stebbings always had been a sarcastic bugger. ‘Not bad,’ he replied. ‘You know, scratching a living.’
Ron shrugged and wandered back behind the bar. He’d known George for four or five years now but wasn’t exactly sure what he did for a living. He knew that he worked in London somewhere but beyond that he hadn’t got a clue. Not a high paid city slicker, that was for sure. George was much too ordinary for all that financial services malarkey. Maybe he works in a post room somewhere, thought Ron before turning his attention to the crowd of locals who were waiting patiently to buy another round.
George went back to his paper and immersed himself in the evening news. It was always quality time as far as he was concerned. A precious moment of rest and relaxation in an otherwise hectic week. A chance to slowly unwind after all the machinations of commuting up and down to London every day. He was still engrossed in the paper, still enjoying his slow, leisurely pint when he became aware of a sudden movement in the chair opposite, the furniture clattering with the impact of someone sitting down hurriedly and then a distinctive waft of perfume floating across the table towards him. He looked up startled, wondering what the hell was going on.
‘Oh my God, I think he’s coming in. Do something, quick!’
George looked at the woman in complete bewilderment and not without some annoyance. The last thing he wanted was to be interrupted by some excitable female. She, on the other hand was still talking but wasn’t looking at George at all, her gaze fixed firmly over his shoulder towards the front door and on someone about to walk in.
‘Oh for God’s sake, I don’t believe it! He looks like Toad of Toad Hall!’
George twisted around and raised an eyebrow as he looked at the man coming through the door. Whoever he was he certainly did look a bit like Toad of Toad Hall. The guy must have been about forty-five, maybe pushing fifty years of age and the combination of an over-elaborate moustache, a loud and flamboyant bow-tie and a large-checked waistcoat stretched tight over a round and portly frame gave him a rather pompous appearance, all of it embellished by a large pink carnation proudly displayed in his lapel button-hole.
Suddenly the penny dropped. ‘Blind date?’ asked George, turning back to look at his uninvited guest.
The woman ignored him for a second, her attention still fixed on the man who was now standing at the bar, checking out the room, trying to find the person he had arranged to meet. She turned and looked at George properly for the first time and then nodded, rather sheepishly. ‘Internet. Monamour dot com.’
George pulled a face, not sure what to think about that. He didn’t know much about Internet dating but assumed it could all be a bit sleazy and not without some risk. ‘Don’t you have to post photos of yourself?’ he asked, ‘so you know what each other looks like?’
‘I don’t think his photo was taken very recently,’ replied the woman with a rueful smile. ‘Mind you, luckily for me neither was mine. Hopefully he won’t recognise me.’
‘I wouldn’t be so sure about that,’ said George, ‘I think he’s coming over...’
The woman looked up in panic, just in time to see Mr. Toad wandering slowly through the bar, clutching what looked like a double whisky and surveying the crowd of customers, hoping to spot his intended victim.
‘Oh my God!’ she whispered, leaning across the table as if George was now her new-found confidant. ‘He looks even worse close up. Quick, do something. Talk to me.’
‘Talk to you? What about?’ asked George indignantly, still wishing that the wretched woman would just go away.
‘I don’t know...anything. Just act like we’re a normal couple and start talking for God’s sake!’ And with that she leant forward ag