**
Early the next morning, Dion Elpis marched confidently into the foyer of the WNS-TV building in downtown Washington and up to the reception desk. Behind the desk, a silver-haired white man wearing a dark-blue uniform, white shirt and a blue tie with a wavy company logo motif, sat busily pounding away on a computer keyboard. The concierge, called Frank according to the badge on his lapel, looked up when he heard Dion nonchalantly tapping the memory stick on the desk.
‘What can I do for you?’ Frank asked.
Dion was annoyed, but not surprised, that he wasn’t addressed as “sir”, but he let it pass.
‘I have here,’ Dion said, waving the memory stick in Frank’s white face, ‘is something that your newsroom will be very interested in…and I mean very interested…’
‘Let me take-a-look…’ Frank said, holding out his hand.
‘Oh, no, no, no,’ Dion said, waving a finger at the concierge. ‘I will only give this to someone who has negotiating authority,’ he continued as pompously as he could muster.
‘If I can’t see what it is, I can’t direct you to the right area,’ Frank persisted.
‘What I have here is information that, according to your news program last night, the FBI no less, are very, very keen to have.’
‘Concerning what?’ Frank asked.
‘Concerning a certain Tesla motor vehicle.’
‘I see. If you would like to take a seat over there, I’ll see who is available,’ Frank said, pointing to the other side of the foyer.
The concierge waited until Dion was well out of earshot before picking up a phone and dialing a number.
Chapter 6
And when ye shall hear of wars and rumors of wars, be ye not troubled: for such things must needs be; but the end shall not be yet.
Mark 13:7
Demeter and I made love that night, yet it was a more subdued coupling than the normal outlandish passion that usually envelopes us. We were both preoccupied with our thoughts, I suppose. I explained to her that, in fact, I did not know that Poseidon was on the mountain, despite what I told Priapus, and gave her my reason for lying, which she seemed to accept. Nevertheless, she did appear unusually edgy. I assumed that she was worried about Persephone being in danger every minute we spent on Olympus. I now realized that it was imperative for us to complete our business here as soon as possible. I was even beginning to question the wisdom of our being on the mountain at all.
My thoughts were suddenly interrupted by KK making a deep, gravelly growl. The giant dog got up and padded towards the door.
I looked at Demeter. ‘Are you expecting anyone?’ I asked.
‘No, we have no appointments scheduled for today,’ she replied. ‘It’s meant to be a quiet planning day for us.’
I held my hand up, palm towards the door, and slowly made a circular motion as if I were washing the door from a distance. The door immediately became transparent, but only from our side. Very handy.
Standing outside, leaning on finely-worked and highly polished metal staff, was one of the ugliest gods on the mountain. His upper body was very muscular, yet his left leg was withered and slightly shorter than the right. And his round face, or what could be seen of it under his long, wavy, unkempt hair and beard, was covered with warts. Even so, I knew that Demeter had a very soft spot for him, although I could never understand why.
‘Is Hephaestus on the list?’ I asked Demeter.
‘Yes, he is, but not for a few days yet,’ she replied, checking her schedule.
‘Hephaestus!’ Persephone exclaimed, suddenly back with us. ‘Oh, is it true that he is the son of Hera by some weird sort of immaculate conception?’ She asked cheekily.
Perse had been gazing out of the window at the amazing view of the Olympus mountain range. She looked so lovely sitting there in a gossamer robe with the sun behind her. She could have been Demeter's twin sister – well, almost.
‘Isn’t that a bit like the son of the mortals’ God...'
‘That will do, Perse! That is blasphemous as you well know. There is not the slightest similarity between Hera and the mother of the son of the God that we worship in the mortal world. The circumstances here are completely different,’ Demeter said firmly – rarely fiercely, or angrily, or sarcastically, just firmly – it was her way.
Even so, Persephone was partly correct because Hephaestus’s story was a very sad one, and he had certainly suffered too. Allegedly the son of my former wife, Hera, although his father was unknown, Hephaestus was born deformed and so ugly that Hera, being ashamed of his imperfections, threw him off the mountain into the sea where he was saved and brought up by some sea nymphs – or so legend has it.
He eventually became a skilled metal worker and made arms for all the gods. Inevitably, Hephaestus decided revenge was called for and returned to the mountain intent on punishing Hera for her lack of love towards him, her son. He created a wonderful throne made entirely of gold. He knew that Hera’s innate greed would not allow her to resist it, and he was right, of course. However, when she sat upon the wondrous throne, she immediately realized that she had been duped. As hard as she tried, she could not get up again. She was locked onto the throne forever; locked into her greed; locked into her loveless world. Hephaestus had gotten his revenge, and now he could name his price.
And he did.
Eventually, Hera, in sheer desperation, promised Hephaestus that he could not only return to the mountain but also return as a god if he released her. As an additional incentive, she, rather rashly it must be said, arranged for him to marry Aphrodite, goddess of beauty. Hera was partly true to her word and allowed Hephaestus to return to Olympus. However, to make sure that he knew his place, she made him the god of artisans and craftsmen. Even so, it was enough to satisfy Hephaestus, and he released Hera from the throne. Of course, it didn't end happily, it never did for poor Hephaestus and people, even gods, like him. Aphrodite quickly rejected him and consorted instead with Ares, god of chaotic war and terrorism.
‘You better let him in, darling,’ Demeter said, realizing that I was lost in thought – yet again.
I held up my hand, palm towards the door this time, and waved it to one side as if I were opening a sliding door.
Hephaestus limped into the apartment holding his arms open wide as if expecting an intimate hug with Demeter. I swiftly intercepted him and walked into his embrace instead of Demeter. If he was disappointed, he hid it well. He clasped me with his large, dirty hands in the process soiling my favorite pristine white toga with the gold edging. I eventually managed to disentangle myself from his clutches and directed him to a divan across the room from Demeter. He sat down, making an unnecessarily ostentatious show of stretching his withered leg along the divan. Sympathy seeking, I assumed. It seemed to work with my soft-hearted Demeter.
Hephaestus looked across at Persephone who was still sitting by the window with the sun behind her. Her beautiful, firmly shaped young body was there for all to see as if she were a statue carelessly wrapped in a transparent silk robe.
‘My, what a beautiful young woman you are now,’ Hephaestus said. ‘And goddess of spring, I hear. That should give you plenty of spare time...’
‘No, it won’t, Hephy,’ Demeter said quickly. ‘One way or another, the mortal world needs some sort of spring all year round to feed its ever-increasing population.’
‘Really? How is that going to work?’ Hephaestus asked without taking his eyes from Persephone.
‘That will be Perse's big challenge,’ Demeter said. ‘There are various ideas currently being investigated, and some are already being practiced: crop rotation; genetically engineered crops that can flourish in