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CHAPTER ONE
6 JANUARY, A THURSDAY EVENING.

It was about midnight when Barry, by now sure that Louise was asleep, went to check his e-mails. He stood quite motionless as he read the words on the screen once, and then, with a feeling of numbness running through him, for a second time. As the full meaning of the message sunk in, the numbness slowly turned to intense satisfaction. Finally it's going to happen, he thought.

I have the exact goods that you require, age, major body scars and size are an exact fit to your requirements. If interested make immediate contact otherwise goods will be disposed of in the normal way. Please indicate how you will pay me the five hundred thousand pounds. GROVE.

They’d been to the Ballet. As soon as it was over, they took a taxi directly to the flat in Horton street, just to the north of Kensington High Street, and as was usual on the weeks they spent together, they went straight to bed and frantically, with intense passion made love. For some time afterwards neither of them spoke, they just lay on top of the bed naked, and perfectly still, holding each other tight.
Barry knew he had to act immediately. He went back to the bedroom to check that Louise was still asleep and then returned to the kitchen, determined and knowing exactly what he had to do. He sat down at the kitchen table with his laptop computer and set to work. The first message he sent was a reply to the one he had just received.

GROVE. I will buy the goods from you. Please arrange for the article to be placed and sealed in a black bag, I insist, no leakage. Leave it on a slab at your premises for collection at 7pm, this Wednesday. Nobody is to be present, leave your premises unlocked. You will be paid by electronic funds transfer one week after I have collected the goods and when I have confirmation that you are in Australia. If the article does not meet my specification, in every way, I will report you to the police; equally if anything goes wrong you will not be paid. Finally, just remember, if all goes to plan you will be half a million pounds richer. Scorpion.

The second message was to Stan Philmore.

Start the manufacture process immediately. Goods must be ready and perfect by Tuesday. Four couriers will pick up, some time on Tuesday. You will be notified through this route how to pack them and how much to put in each package, as well as all courier details. Under no circumstances are you to meet any of them. If the goods are not perfect or there is any delay, the police will be informed of the nature of the goods you are making. Finally, just remember, if all goes to plan you will be one million pounds richer. Scorpion.

The third and last message went to four other people, Tammy Jones, Bruce Thompson, Guy Fisher and Robin Walker; the same message to them all.
You will need to pick up a parcel from an address in East London on Tuesday some time and then take it on to meet a contact where you will be given a package in exchange for your parcel: you will then take the new package and give it to a second contact and return home. All precise details will come through this route. Be prepared to travel abroad and to be away for two to three days. If you do not carry out these instructions, as stated, the police will receive information about you. Finally, just remember, if all goes to plan you will be one million pounds richer. Scorpion.

Barry closed the lid of his computer. The feeling of satisfaction he had experienced earlier had now turned to one of calm. He had planned his actions so meticulously that he knew nothing would go wrong. He also knew that his five associates would carry out his instructions to the letter. They all desperately needed one million pounds.
Walking back down the corridor to the bedroom, he allowed himself one moment of regret. This would be the last night he would sleep with Louise. He hoped she would still be awake. As he pulled back the covers of the bed she reached out, pulling him towards her warm body and softly muttering a few words. ‘Greg, kiddo, you feel cold.’

Louise never liked Friday mornings, that was the day that Greg left her for a week whilst he was working at his night clubs. This Friday, after he went, the feeling of emptiness seemed worse. She wasn't sure about her feelings for him, she knew she enjoyed being with him and that she missed him when he wasn't there. Greg had been living with her now, every alternate week for about five months.
They’d met at one of his night clubs. She was celebrating her promotion to investment manager with some work friends from the merchant bank, where she worked. He came up to them all, introduced himself as the owner of the club, bought them all a drink and then made a bee line for her. At the end of the evening he asked her out to dinner. He wasn’t pushy, but intriguing. And having recently split up, violently, with a fairly long standing boyfriend, she accepted his invitation on the premise - oh what the hell.
Their first date was fun. He took her to a lively restaurant in Soho and they didn’t stop talking all evening. After he’d dropped her off at her flat, when she thought about him, the idea of going out with someone who was forty and fifteen years older than herself seemed wrong, somehow. Two days later he rang. She was pleased. After they’d been out together three times they became lovers. Four weeks later he rented a flat for them both and they moved in. At first, she freely admitted that his wealth, his generosity, the expensive clothes and the lifestyle were the main attraction. The relationship was not a normal one. Sort of one week on and one week off. Intense and highly passionate when he was there, but quite insular. He would never meet any of her friends, and never introduced her to any of his. But she was content, and sort of went along with it.

‘What's the name please?’
‘Ford,’ Barry said to the female assistant at the laundry, he used a different laundry and a different name each week.
‘Here it is, sir. Fifteen pounds, seventy pence please.’ The assistant handed him his holdall of freshly laundered clothes.
‘Thank you.’ He paid in cash, picked up the holdall and headed off towards Victoria station, thinking as he walked that this would be the last time that he would have to go through this routine.
Inside Victoria station he made for the gents toilet, and there, in one of the cubicles, he quickly made his transformation. The Armani suit, the Paul Smith shirt and tie and the silk underwear were replaced by very standard and subfusc Marks and Spencer clothes. He changed his cashmere overcoat for an anorak and he rolled up his silk scarf and put it in the pocket of the coat. Finally he removed his Rolex watch and put that in the holdall with all the other clothes, thinking to himself that he must remember to buy one of those cheap watches before he reached his office. Last week he forgot and was annoyed with himself for not concentrating on the detail.
Fifteen minutes after the man Louise knew as the millionaire and her lover, Greg Richards, had entered the gents toilet, a very non-descript looking man left and walked down Victoria street to the offices of The Department of Trade and Industry. Before he arrived he turned down a side street that took him to the back of the Army and Navy Store where he knew he would find several builders’ skips. Always on a Friday morning the full skips were replaced with empty ones. As one of the full skips started to pull away Barry skilfully lobbed the holdall over the side, resting itself firmly in the middle of a pile of bricks.
Several minutes later Barry Carter, a civil servant, dressed in Marks and Spencer clothing, walked into the offices of The Department of Trade and Industry to begin his daily toil as an auditor.

Barry caught the six-twenty train home. That was his usual train and he sat in his normal seat, using the thirty minute train journey to go over and over all his plans in complete detail. For a moment his mind wandered, he thought about what Sue would be serving up for his dinner that night, then remembering that it was Friday he quickly decided not to waste any more time thinking about it. Being Friday it would be fish, it was always bloody fish on Friday.

‘I thought we should book our summer holiday tomorrow.’ His wife said over dinner.
‘Yes, dear. I suppose you’ll want to go to the same place and at the same time as last year?’
‘I don't think I want a change, you never know what anywhere else is like and we like the hotel in Cornwall, don't we?’ Sue replied.
There was no point in Barry trying to persuade his wife to consider a different holiday, whenever he had tried in the past she hadn't wanted to even consider any other options. This year, he knew he wouldn't be there.
Their conversation, during the rest of the meal, continued as a backwards and forwards banter confirming their social arrangements for the forthcoming week. Barry wondered why they always went through this farce every Friday night as nothing ever changed. Everything about his life with Sue was routine, even their sparse sex life.
For Barry, the main objective of the evening's conversation was to tell his wife that he would be away Wednesday night. He had booked two days fishing and that was the one pursuit of his that Sue didn't interfere with. Once his trip was agreed he gave Sue a hand in clearing the table and settled down to watch the evening news.

With a newspaper to hide behind, Barry noticed that the Monday breakfast trade in McDonalds, Kensington High Street was brisk. He was waiting for Louise to walk past. Ten minutes passed before he saw her. She was wearing the black trousers and black leather jacket that he had bought her last week with a yellow scarf tied loosely around her neck. For a second he allowed himself to reflect on how attractive she was; then once he had seen her go into the tube station he made a call to his office and said he had a doctor's appointment and would be in a little late. He waited some minutes in case Louise reappeared; when he knew he was safe he left McDonalds and walked the short distance, uphill, to their flat .
Once inside the flat it took him two minutes to set up his computer and the phone link. He e-mailed one message to Phil Stanmore and waited five minutes for Phil to confirm his instructions. Then he e-mailed eight different messages to addresses around the world. Whilst he waited for a confirmation from these eight he made himself a coffee, pausing for a few minutes to mentally congratulate Louise on how tastefully she had decorated the interior of the flat.
Having received the confirmations he wanted and deliberately not allowing himself anymore time for sentiment, he then made four flight bookings. Finally he sent individual instructions to Tammy Jones, Bruce Thompson, Guy Fisher and Robin Walker. One hour after he had entered the flat he packed up his computer, locked the front door and left, dropping the keys of the flat down the first drain he came to. He walked into his office one hour later than his normal time.

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