that the great Homer once described as the "mysterious folds of Olympus". It was such a long time since I had been here on the peak of the mountain with the world spread out beneath me. Everything I could see, and more, could all be mine. I knew that, yet I didn't want it, at least, not that way.
About a third of the way down the mountain part of the view was obscured by swirling clouds that were being threshed about by the Anemoi: the combined north, south, east, and west winds that had so worried the fat little concierge. The Anemoi were a force that I needed to tame eventually if we, Demeter and I, that is, were to save the mortal world. But not yet, not now. Nevertheless, I made a mental note to have a strong word with Aeolus, god of the winds.
I turned back to the temple. It was much the same as I remembered: tall columns, a massive brass studded door, statues galore – many of them rather flattering sculptures of me, I have to say, as I used to be that is – and my beautiful Demeter, of course, as well as all the others.
However, there was one thing that I had not expected to see here: guarding the door was a large, marble statue of a dog. This was not any dog, you understand, this was Kuon Khryseos, Greek for "Golden Dog", yet always KK to me. KK had been given to my mother, Rhea, to protect me when I was very young and living on Crete, the island of my birth. KK was the biggest dog in the world. When standing on all fours, he almost reached my shoulders, and I am well over six feet, 184 centimeters, tall in mortal terms – or as tall as I need to be.
I gently stroked the smooth stone, which was sensuous to touch. As I fondled the cold marble, it slowly began to morph into gold. I continued caressing the dog until the gold gradually dissolved into soft gold/brown fur. As I continued caressing him, KK became alive again, and he was clearly pleased to see me. He was not a recognizable breed by mortal standards, being somewhere between a Great Dane and a St Bernard. Nevertheless, KK had two talents that would be very useful to me in the days to come: he always caught his prey, and he always protected my back. It was written.
'KK open the door,' I commanded.
KK turned and barked three times at the massive door, which slowly began to dissolve before my eyes as the dog continued to growl at it. When the door had completely disappeared, KK stopped growling, and I strolled into the temple with him at my heels, or I suppose, at my shoulder would be more accurate.
The temple was still in superb condition. In fact, it looked unused. The marble floor was immaculately polished, while giant statues of the twelve Olympian gods, including Demeter and me, lined the walls – no one was going to forget who we were in a hurry – Poseidon, Athena, Apollo, Artemis, Dionysus, Hermes, Aphrodite, Ares, and Hephaestus, were all there and so too was Hera, my former wife, although, to my shame, I hoped that I could avoid seeing her.Surprisingly, the Grand Vestibule was otherwise as quiet as a tomb.
I knew that Demeter was inviting some other, non-Olympian, gods to our great meeting. We had previously discussed and agreed on certain gods that we considered would be helpful to the success of our mission in the mortal world.
At the far end of the temple stood the magnificent red upholstered, gold encrusted throne of the king of the gods – my throne.
I nodded once at KK. He barked and a Hermes Mobile Pod immediately appeared. We stepped inside.
'Take me to my apartment,' I said, knowing full-well that the Pod would immediately recognize my voice patterns, the aura of my spirit, and know the location of my apartment. The algorithms used in the mortal world have so much to learn. KK was with me and, therefore, automatically accepted.
The Pod immediately delivered us to my apartment, although time has little meaning here – nanoseconds, minutes, hours all merge into the present.
The vast, luxurious apartment could not have been improved upon by even the very best of Hollywood's set designers. I was so eager to be reunited with Demeter and our beautiful daughter, Persephone, that I was deeply disappointed to find my wonderful apartment, my old home, empty.
A diaphanous curtain gently wafted across an open, full-length window through which I caught glimpses of the lower mountains of the Olympus range in all their magnificent glory.
'Where is the Lady Demeter?' I asked the room.
Demeter's desperate voice answered immediately: 'Darling, that ghastly Priapus has taken Perse. I've gone to rescue her. Come quickly.'
Chapter 3
President Conway Posey finished his tenth lap of the White House’s outdoor swimming pool, and then pulled his massive, flabby frame up the steps at the cabana end of the pool. He snatched a soft towel from his personal valet, the appropriately named John Small, who was waiting patiently with towel and robe at the ready. Posey toweled himself dry, threw the wet towel back at the valet, grabbed the robe from him and struggled into it.
Posey was a big, ungainly man with a mop of untidy fair hair tinged with gray that always seemed to fall over his deeply furrowed brow. His saggy jowls, thick lips, and uneven teeth gave him a bulldog appearance, while his penetrating dark-blue eyes had, over the years, intimidated many an unwary foe.
‘Your breakfast is ready for you in the cabana, sir,’ John Small said. His announcement was greeted by a cursory grunt and a nod. Rarely did the diminutive John Small get a thank you.
The outdoor pool was built by President Gerald Ford in 1975, and the cabana was added to shield the pool from West Wing eyes. An underground passage connected the pool to the White House.
As soon as Posey had finished his eggs benedict – made the way he liked it: a lightly toasted English muffin, crispy bacon, poached egg, and hollandaise sauce, all washed down with freshly squeezed orange juice – he grabbed his cell phone and stabbed in Jake Jefferson’s number. The fact that it might be inconveniently early for his chief of staff didn’t cross the president’s mind.
‘Jake, can you find a fifteen-minute gap in my schedule today for me to have a private chat with the vice president?’ he asked, when Jake eventually picked up.
‘I’ll see if the vice president is available, sir,’ Jake replied trying to stifle a yawn.
‘Oh, she’ll be available – trust me,’ Posey said.
**
Later that morning, the operations room in the FBI’s headquarters in Pennsylvania Avenue was eerily quiet.
A Chinese young woman and an Indian man, prized examples of modern America’s supposed multiculturalism, busily manipulated the computers that controlled the giant curved screens that covered one entire wall of the darkened room. Director Ari Kratos and Special Agent Carl Rutter watched the progress of the Tesla on the screens. The car had eventually been picked up by some CCTV cameras that were still operating in downtown Washington. The Tesla suddenly turned into a side road not covered by CCTV, and then immediately disappeared.
‘And that’s all we have thus far,’ Rutter said.
‘Get a house-to-house going in that street. Someone must have seen something,’ Kratos growled.
‘Already in hand,’ Rutter replied.
‘How old is that?’ Kratos asked, pointing at the screens.
‘Two hours, just over.’
‘Hell! They could be miles away by now.’
There
