Guests at the Knightsbridge Paradise Hotel took no notice of the five men gathered in a quiet corner of the Shangri-la Bar Restaurant, as they sipped on expensive drinks and made polite conversation. The hotel staff, however, watched them closely, alert for any sign that one of them might want something. Failure to anticipate the needs of this particular group could cost them their jobs.
The man in the leather armchair facing the main foyer was Hamilton Lonsdale, owner of the Paradise hotel chain. He was in the hospitality business and it showed. His large frame and double chin bore witness to how much he enjoyed sampling the cuisine in his own establishments. In front of him was a glass of the hotel's most expensive brandy; in his chubby fingers a fat cigar. He raised this to his lips, drew deeply and exhaled with relish.
Lonsdale figured he deserved these luxuries. He'd built up the exclusive Paradise chain from one downmarket hotel in Earl's Court, into which he'd invested all his savings thirty years ago. Now, there were Paradise Hotels all over the world, all upmarket and expensive.
The man to Lonsdale's right turned his head away, trying to hide his distaste at the smell of smoke. He was twenty years younger than Lonsdale and of considerably slimmer build. His fine hair was starting to show signs of grey. His lean, well-muscled body suggested he kept himself in shape. 'Oh, my apologies, Stephen,' Lonsdale said, brusquely and insincerely. 'I forgot. You don't like smoke, do you?'
'It's not good for you, taking all that crap into your lungs,' Stephen Ellis replied. 'It causes cancer.'
'I wouldn't complain, dear boy, especially not if your people come up with the miracle cure,' Lonsdale boomed. 'You'll be laughing all the way to the bank.'
Ellis, newly appointed Managing Director of Eurochem, the biggest pharmaceutical company in the country, gave a wan smile. 'I'm not in this for the money, Hamilton,' Ellis said. 'I want to find a cure for the horrible disease which took my wife from me, so other people won't have to suffer like she did. If you'd watched someone you love die in agony I'd like to think you'd feel the same. Not that I'd wish it on anyone.' Since Ellis had taken over the Directorship, most of Eurochem's profits were channelled into cancer research. He was painfully aware that a cure was still a long way off. He probably wouldn't live to see it. Lonsdale could tell Ellis didn't share his jovial mood; in fact, he was a positive wet blanket. His predecessor had been a lot more fun. Lonsdale turned instead to the man on his left.
Llew Powell was a more convivial companion. The youngest member of the party, he had none of Ellis' serious demeanour. His black, curly hair and swarthy skin suggested Latin ancestry somewhere along the line. Powell lived life to the full; the fortune he'd made from the highly successful Nefertiti Entertainments Group helped fund his daring escapades – like climbing K2 and floating above Niagara Falls in a hot air balloon. Not even a young wife and family had curbed his adventurous spirit. If the public recognised any of those present, Llew Powell would be the one, as his high profile lifestyle and feel-good business interests gave him plenty of media visibility. Nefertiti Records had recently signed one of America's rising rock and roll stars; Nefertiti Radio was giving the BBC a run for its money. Several top DJs had defected to Nefertiti as they believed it had its proverbial finger on the pulse of the younger generation. The older generation were well catered for, too, with Nefertiti Bingo Halls. There were rumours Nefertiti was going to make a bid for a floundering travel agency and start a new line in exciting and innovative tailor-made holidays. If it looked like fun, Llew Powell bought it.
'Your glass looks a little empty, Llew, old chap,' Lonsdale boomed. The words had no sooner left his mouth than a waiter appeared at his side, pen hovering expectantly over an order pad.
'Gin and tonic, if you don't mind,' Powell said.
'Anything else, Sir?' The waiter glanced at Lonsdale but his glass was full. 'Another mineral water?' he asked Stephen Ellis.
'Please.' Ellis drained his glass and handed it to the waiter. Lonsdale's cigar was making his throat burn, and now old Titus was lighting up as well.
Looking at Titus Kingston-Parker, Ellis wondered if they might be wrong about smoking after all. The man was well into his eighties and by no means failing. His hair was pure white and his face creased, but he was still an imposing figure with his bushy eyebrows and handlebar moustache. 'I'll have another scotch, please, my man,' Titus gestured. He drank a lot, too – as he'd not handed his glasses back it was plain to see he'd already downed three large scotches – yet seemed no worse for wear. Titus Kingston-Parker was a formidable figure in the business world. He'd made his immense fortune from oil, and was arguably the richest man present.
The final member of the group was William Teague, a thin, unassuming man in his fifties, who, despite his mild mannered, quiet appearance was a ruthless businessman like the rest. Insurance and financial services was his field. His company, Safety Nett, was the most successful company of its kind. Teague had a keen eye for financial trends and his gambles almost always paid off. Teague said little, but he was always analysing everything.
These men were generally known as five of the 'Big Six', the owners and controllers of the six richest corporate bodies in Britain. 'What I'd like to know,' Kingston-Parker boomed, immediately commanding the attention of the others, 'is why you called us all here.' He looked at Lonsdale. 'We normally hold meetings of the Big Six at the Highgate Club. I mean, this place is very swish, but not as private; and the scotch is better there.'
Lonsdale's brow furrowed at the implied insult to his hotels. He was about to open his mouth to answer, but before he could, a voice spoke up behind them. 'There is a very obvious answer to that question, Mr. Kingston-Parker.' Madeleine Earnshaw slid elegantly into the vacant chair and crossed her black-stockinged legs. 'The Highgate Club does not admit women.' Her tone was scornful and dismissive. 'Since I have now taken over as Managing Director of the Hyperion Engineering Company, meetings of the Big Six must change their venue.'
'Yes,' Titus muttered, gruffly. 'Damned inconvenient, that.' Madeleine frowned. Titus Kingston-Parker was a conservative old codger – not unlike the ones at Hyperion who'd blocked her career path for so long. She'd beaten them, and if Titus Kingston-Parker gave her any trouble, she'd walk over him, too. At his age, he could hardly be a problem. She swept back her dead straight, chin-length hair, with its designer white streaks straight from a bottle in a Bond Street Salon, and lit a slim French cigarette.
'Cognac,' she said to the waiter and lifted the cigarette to her lips between manicured fingers.
Madeleine Earnshaw had set her goal in life when she was the only female on the engineering course at university. Most women in that position would have to fight off countless suitors, but Madeleine had been so plain that none of the men on her course looked twice at her. She once overheard one say, 'Date Madeleine Earnshaw? Don't be ridiculous. Nobody's that desperate.' From that day on, she'd set out to beat the lot of them and get to the top. Not for her the distractions of home and family, or even friends. Her life was her career, frustrating as it often was when she continually hit her head on the so called 'glass ceiling'. However, she'd now reached her goal. Managing Director of Hyperion.
Now her sights were set on her next challenge – to be the richest and most powerful member of the Big Six. She looked at them now and wondered if it would be much of a challenge at all. Kingston-Parker had one foot in the grave, Lonsdale was a fat old fool, Teague wouldn't say boo to a goose, Ellis was a miserable, self-righteous prig.
Powell posed the biggest threat, partly due to his youth and vitality, but even more because Madeleine, despite being fifteen years older than he was, found him devastatingly attractive. Llew Powell didn't know it, but if he chose, he could have wrapped her around his little finger. Or any other part of his anatomy, come to think of it. Madeleine shook herself and turned away, telling herself firmly she was going to make damn sure he never did know it.
'Well, gentlemen,' Lonsdale began, but caught Madeleine's reproachful eye and corrected himself: 'Well, Lady and gentlemen.' Madeleine still fixed him with a stony stare, but he wasn't sure how he could satisfy her feminism any more than that. He chose to ignore her and continue. 'I expect you are wondering why I have called this meeting. Well, it's to do with a matter close to all our hearts. We have often wondered how, when we come from such a diverse selection of fields, how to ascertain which of us is the most successful. Is it how much property we own, how many startling discoveries we make, how many times we are mentioned in the papers? Is it how much money we make, or how wisely we spend it? I believe I have the answer. Before I put my proposal to you all, you might like to read this.' Reaching down to the briefcase by his side, Lonsdale took out a sheaf of papers and handed a photocopy to each of them.
It was a copy of an article which had appeared in The Observer magazine the previous Sunday. Lonsdale waited while they read it.
'All very interesting, but I don't see what it has to do with any of us,' Madeleine said at last, handing the paper back.
'I'm sure Nefertiti Entertainments could gain from tapping into some of this,' said Llew Powell, 'but I agree with Miss Earnshaw – what does it have to do with the Big Six?'
'It seems rather far-fetched,' Ellis said, cautiously. 'I mean, people with special powers?'
'I've had my people check out this Dr. James Lovell and his Freedom League,' Lonsdale said, 'and I can assure you every word is true. It's also true that incredible numbers of young people who have these special abilities have made contact with him. I had a young man pose as one of these “genetic variants” and go along for counselling. I'm telling you, Lovell had two filing cabinets bulging with files, but there are only a handful actually working for him. What I would like to know, gentle- I mean, fellow– I mean, my dear colleagues, is where are all the rest of them?'
'Do we care?' Madeleine asked, with a shrug.
'Of course we care,' said Lonsdale, 'because with them lies the answer to our dilemma about which of us is the most successful.'
'Which I am sure you are about to explain,' Teague drawled.
'Indeed, Mr. Teague. It's like this. We all work in vastly different businesses. There are no direct comparisons between hotels, entertainment, pharmaceuticals, oil, engineering and banking. To find out which of us comes out on top we must get involved in a new arena – literally. We compete in a way which makes comparison possible. We track down as many of these genetic variants or whatever they call them as we can. We each form our own team of gladiators, say, ten each, and pit them against each other. The best team will come out on top and the owner of that team is the top dog. What do you say?'
There was a pause. Powell was first to speak. 'I like it,' he said. 'I like it a lot.' He was already visualising televised contests on Saturday nights, lots of violence and spectacle, and lots of advertising revenue. This would establish Nefertiti as an innovative television presence, as well as making Llew Powell even more money.
'So how and where do we find them?' Teague asked.
'I would say the answer is obvious, Mr. Teague,' Madeleine said. 'One's ability to work out how this is done and attract these people into the company is part and parcel of the contest. The most resourceful, the one who can afford to pay most, the one best able to hold on to the people they get – it all adds up.' Her mind was already devising strategies for recruiting gladiators and making sure they stayed with Hyperion.
'Yes, of course,' Teague said. 'You're quite right.' Teague wasn't sure he was up to such things, but there were people on his Board of Directors who could handle it, so he would delegate.
'So, Mr. Kingston-Parker, Mr. Ellis, what do you think?' Lonsdale turned to the two members of the party who had remained silent.
'I'm sorry, Mr. Lonsdale, but I really don't buy it,' Stephen Ellis said. 'Genetic variants? People with special powers? Come on. All that belongs in comic books and it wouldn't surprise me to find out this whole Freedom League thing is an elaborate hoax.'
'Like I said, Mr. Ellis, I had the outfit checked out, and I can assure you...'
'An elaborate hoax by you, perhaps, to make the rest of us look foolish, damage our reputations as we fall hook, line and sinker for this rubbish? No, Mr. Lonsdale, I'm sorry, but even if it were true, I have more important things to invest Eurochem's money in than some sort of wacky Olympics. I can't waste money on this crackpot scheme. If you'll excuse me, I have to go.' He stood up and started for the door. 'Goodnight to you all and the best of British luck.'
Madeleine watched him walk away with a self-satisfied smile on her face. One less opponent.
'You haven't said much, Mr. Kingston-Parker,' Powell said, jovially. 'Now, I can't believe you would rather lock yourself away looking for a cure for cancer than prove yourself to be the number one of the Big Six. What do you think? Are you in?'
Kingston-Parker dragged on his cigar and seemed pensive. He looked up, a fierce look in his eyes. 'This whole idea is absolutely preposterous!' He boomed, banging a gnarled fist on the table. Several hotel guests looked round to see what the commotion was about. Lonsdale stared, his mouth open. He'd really thought old Titus would be game. He wouldn't have expected the old man to react like this.
Titus closed his mouth with a snap and glared at the four remaining members of the Big Six. He would have been delighted to go along with any scheme leading to his supremacy among them being made perfectly clear. Any scheme, that is, apart from this one. It brought to his mind all too sharply the problems his family had experienced over the last few years. Problems which had led, eventually, to that almighty argument and, indirectly, to his heart attack. After that, he'd known that his elder son must never get his hands on the company. He'd re-written his will, making his younger son the sole beneficiary. It hadn't been an easy time; for a while he'd even suspected his older son of plotting his demise – until his sister had pointed out he wouldn't do that so long as there was a chance Titus might change his will back again. Of course, he never would. Things had gone too far for that.
It had been special powers, genetic variant abilities, whatever you called them, which had done the damage, caused the rift in his family. He wanted nothing to do with them. At the same time, he didn't want the rest of the Big Six to know the real reason behind his dislike of the scheme. 'It's ridiculous. Playing with people's lives, encouraging all manner of violent behaviour!'
'Playing with people's lives?' Lonsdale countered. 'You think we're going to coerce people into taking part? Of course not. In fact, for some of them, it will be a golden opportunity – a chance to make a decent living, even become famous using their powers when they might otherwise be totally unemployable. The choice will always be theirs.'
'You may mean that, Lonsdale, but I wouldn't be confident that others around this table have the same sense of honour.' Titus was careful not to look at either Madeleine or Llew Powell at this point.
'As for encouraging violence, I don't think so. It will be controlled violence, like boxing or wrestling. Nothing can possibly go wrong.'
You couldn't possibly know what these people with genetic variant powers are like, Titus thought bitterly, thinking of his elder son. You'll find out soon enough that you can't control these people. I learned it, the hard way. He shook his head, slowly. 'The answer is no. I want no part of this madcap scheme. Mark my words, it will all end in tears. Now, if you'll excuse me, gentlem... everybody, I am very tired and wish to retire to my room.'
Lonsdale watched him walk slowly across the mezzanine, leaning on his cane. It was a shame not all of the Big Six were enthusiastic – but at least there were four who were. That was enough to make the whole thing worthwhile. It could still work. He reached down to his briefcase again and pulled out more papers.
'Here, you will see the details of my proposal. According to Dr. Lovell there are several distinct types of special power. Super-strength, super-speed, manipulation of probability, mental powers, to name but a few. Ideally, our teams should each contain one of each type to make them balanced. The categories are listed and described in this document. The rest I leave to you. Good luck, gentle... all of you, and goodnight.'
Combat Teams
Alpha
(Combat Team Series #1)
The six richest people in Britain decide to hold a contest to settle the question of which of them is most successful. It will be a gladiator style contest with each entrant fielding a team of ten super-powered combatants. Entrepreneur Llew Powell sets out to put together his team, which includes his former lover, an employee of his company with a fascinating hobby, two refugees from another dimension (a lonely giant and a drunken sailor), two sisters bound together by a promise, a diminutive doctor, a former Tibetan monk initiate and two androids with a history. As the team train together, alliances form, friendships and more develop, while others find the past is not easy to leave behind.
Meanwhile, a ruthless race of aliens has its eyes on the Earth. Already abducting and enslaving humans, they work towards the final invasion which would destroy life on Earth as we know it. Powell’s group, Combat Team Alpha, stumble upon one of the wormholes the aliens use to travel to Earth and witness for themselves the horrors in store if the aliens aren’t stopped. Barely escaping with their lives, they realise there are more important things to worry about than a fighting competition.
Beta
(Combat Team Series #2)
Steff was abducted by an evil alien race, the Orbs, at fourteen. Used as a weapon for years, he eventually escapes, but his problems are just beginning. How does a man support himself when his only work experience is a paper round and using an Orb bio-integrated gun?
Warlord is an alien soldier who knows little but war. When the centuries-old conflict which ravaged his planet ends, he seeks out another world where his skills are still relevant. There are always wars on Earth, it seems. However, none of Earth's powerful armies want him.
Natalie has always wanted to visit England and sees a chance to do so while using her martial arts skills, but there are sacrifices she must make in order to fulfil her dream.
Maggie resorted to crime to fund her sister's medical care. She uses her genetic variant abilities to gain access to the rooms of wealthy hotel guests. The Ballards look like rich pickings, but they are not what they seem. When Maggie targets them, little does she know that she is walking into a trap.
Hotel owner Hamilton Lonsdale puts together a combat team to pit against those of other multi-millionaires. He recruits Warlord, Natalie, Maggie and Steff along with a trained gorilla, a probability-altering alien, a stockbroker whose work of art proved to be much more than he'd bargained for, a marketing officer who can create psionic forcefields, a teleporting member of the landed gentry, and a socially awkward fixer. This is Combat Team Beta.
Steff never talks about his time with the Orbs, until he finds a woman who lived through it, too. Steff believes he has finally found happiness, but it is destined to be short-lived. He is left with an unusual legacy which he and Team Beta struggle to comprehend; including why something out there seems determined to destroy it.
No comments:
Post a Comment