Friday hung over their heads like the Sword of Damocles. Davy packed for his trip to Spain while Doris and Bert set off to the local pub, leaving Angie and Davy alone.

Davy came into the lounge and sat alongside Angie. She smiled, nestled her body into his; he wrapped his arms around her.

Angie knew he must leave. More importantly, how could she make her way to Spain? Somehow, Davy must convince William she would be of use.

They went to bed and made love as if it were the first and last time. There was a ferocity combined with tenderness in every action. Neither wanted the night to end. Angie attempted to hide her feelings, but as she clung to him, tears tumbled over her cheeks and onto his chest. Sleep was the enemy.

Despite this, the warmth of their embrace let them succumb. The morning light filtered through the curtains, waking Angie.

In less than an hour, he was saying goodbye to Angie's parents. Doris, with tears in her eyes, hugged and told him to be careful. Bert shook Davy's hand firmly, slapped him on the back and went to his wife.

Davy drove to the airport. Angie was not one for long goodbyes, and they agreed he would stop at the departure drop-off point, get out, and she would drive away.

***.

While the Airbus 320 circled the Rock, Davy's mind went back to the days when he was a sailor. He had spent many a night with his shipmates wandering up and down Main Street. Those days were long gone. He did wonder where the future might take him.

The aircraft touched the blackened runway, bounced twice, landed and taxied to the terminal. Kent's top-of-the-range BMW and driver was waiting. In less than an hour, he found himself in the same house as the man he wanted to crush and shaking his hand.

"Welcome, Davy. Good flight? My driver will take your bags to your room. Come, have a drink, relax, and treat my home as if it were your own."

Davy followed him out and onto the terrace. Looking at William, he asked, "Why was I removed from a successful operation? Did I do something wrong?

William offered him a cold beer. They seated themselves on heavy wooden chairs opposite one another around a large blue granite table. Williams gaze was severe and piercing. "The last time you were here, we discussed an idea. I want you to be in charge and follow it through to delivery. You know the organisation could make more than one-hundred-million pounds. You've done nothing wrong. On the contrary, your previous idea has made us both better off, but this one I call my retirement fund."

Davy knew if it went wrong, he was a cow in an abattoir waiting in a line to die. If he succeeded, he would give Kent enough money to vanish forever. Ronald Harman-Smith wanted this man. He said nothing and drank his beer.

William studied him. "You're quiet. I thought you'd be pleased?"

Easing himself back into the chair, he said, "I'm busy thinking of the trust you've placed in me. I wonder if I'm ready?"

"You surprise me. But when you talk to my friends, you'll find your plans are coming together. Anyway, we have a dinner date on my yacht with some people who'll be pleased to discuss the details of this operation. Once you get into it, you'll be okay. Now, go and have a shower, wear something casual, and be here at seven."

"Oh, there's one thing. I promised my girlfriend. I'd phone her every day if that's acceptable to you?"

"I said, make this your home. Ring her as many times as you like, but never discuss business. You never know, even here, who might be listening."

"Message received and understood. Where's my room? I need that shower."

***

Janice sat in the lounge of her Yorkshire home. Here she could relax in her jeans and a sloppy T-shirt. On her lap were old notebooks and numerous articles. Over the years, she had collected information; now was the time to store or dump.

When he was not at sea playing sailors, Adrian ran his yacht-charter company from home. He walked in, saw the mess, smiled, and left her to it.

Janice saw him and, as he turned to go, gave a little wave. She opened David Jenkins' file, and the video of his rescue fell to the floor. Placing it into her machine, she watched the drama unfold. The sight of David and Tracey disturbed her.

The word "survive" made her think. She moved everything else to one side, studied the file, and began to think logically. In date order, she began to compile the life of David Jenkins. David was a survivor in many ways. His Royal Navy history sheets were self-explanatory; his demotion before the robbery gave him the motive. Somehow, he had lived to tell the tale and disappeared from the face of the earth until the boating accident. Curious, she rummaged through her notes.

Give or take a few thousand pounds, the money on the wrecked boat amounted to over half a million. The more Janice looked, the more she understood. There were still too many unanswered questions. Where had that money come from? Certainly not from any nine to five job. Even some of the best-paid business people would not raise such an amount and most definitely wouldn't take it on a boat trip. Who or what was he running from? What happened during those missing years?

The penny dropped: David was a prisoner of his circumstances. He works for the government, who have ignored his past. What had Harman-Smith promised him? A pardon, perhaps. His lies and the lengths he would go to were incredible.

Her thoughts returned to when she left David's flat. Parked outside had been an expensive yellow sports car and in that area of London, renting a property was pricey. This man was back in the money. Nevertheless, when she had threatened him, he had run.

Harman-Smith was the key. He was dangerous, and the last thing he wanted was her lifting stones. She reasoned he would make life difficult if he knew she was still snooping around. Picking up the telephone, she dialled Henry Chapman's home number. It was time to resume her old job.

***

Angie drove home, worried by the way events were unfolding. She had, under orders, introduced Davy to Mark Ghashide, now he had sent him away. Harman-Smith wanted results at whatever cost, and she remained piggy in the middle. On Monday, she would visit Harman Smith and challenge him.

She got out of the car and stood for a moment, tasting the clean country air and looking around her. It appeared so tranquil, although in other ways, so unreal when the rest of her world was in turmoil. Why couldn't life always be like this? She opened the front door feeling so sad it hurt.

Doris walked over and cuddled her. "Don't you worry? That man of yours can look after himself. He'll soon be back."

***

At first light on Monday morning, Angie was up and on her way. The M25 was clear, and she drove fast, ignoring the flashing speed cameras and other lunatics. At ten o'clock, the Range Rover negotiated the narrow lane to the Centre.

The sentry meandered over. "I'm sorry, miss, but this is a restricted area, and you'll have to leave."

She silenced his pitch by shoving her pass up his nose.

"Sorry, miss. I'm doing my job and as I've never seen you before I had to ask. One moment and I'll open the gate."

Angie laughed and drove, wheels spinning, to the central parking area.

Once inside the Centre, she charged along the corridor and into Harman-Smith's office.

He frowned as she barged in. "It's good manners to knock and at least shut the door."

She slammed the door hard, shaking the frame. Without being told, she moved across the room and sat in the only other chair.

Harman-Smith was ready. "It's lovely to see you again. You've been out in the field for too long. Someone has pissed you off. Shall we get down to business? Otherwise, you wouldn't be here."

Shouting, she said, "I want Davy Jones out and for you to keep your word."

"Ah, that gives me a problem. Harry's running that operation now, and I'd hate to interfere. Perhaps you should have a word with him."

Angie was tempted to scream but spoke softly so that he would have to listen. "This agency does what you demand. I don't care if you pass the buck to poor old Harry, but on the likes of Davy, your word is the law."

As he grinned, it reminded her of the wolf in Little Red Riding Hood.

"Well, well, you've broken the rules of the game. My sweet, I don't give a fuck about Jones. And remember, I found you at the bottom of the heap, ready to resign. I gave you a promotion and a reason to stay in the force. I chose you to work in my team because you're good at what you do."

Angie squirmed in her chair. "Flattery, I don't need it."

Harman-Smith laughed aloud. "Look, I need you to stay in this game. The end will always justify the means. Right now, we have enough information to wind up the UK drug operation, but the Spanish connection would add a bit of icing on the cake."

Angie wished she could wipe the smug look off his face.

He continued. "It could guarantee me an OBE or something higher. Angie, don't place me in an awkward situation. I can't help it if you find him good in bed. Forget him. He's dog shit."

Angie's mind spun in different directions then she smiled. "Hasn't anyone told you, Davy's gone to Spain?"

He shot her a look of disbelief. "Why didn't you tell me?"

She smiled a smile that said fuck you. "You didn't ask. Davy is out of reach, and I'm sure, given the news, that you don't give a shit. He could disappear."

Harman-Smith hit a button on his intercom. "Get Harry in here, now."

Angie got up to leave.

"You stay where you are."

She crossed her legs and said nothing. She had broken the rules, and there would be a price to pay.

There was a knock on the door, it opened, and Harry entered.

"Jones is in Spain," shouted Harman-Smith. "What the hell are you going to do about it? He could do a runner, and we would never find him."

"It doesn't surprise me. That's why you handed me this project. We brought Jones into the game, and you promised him freedom."

He turned to Angie, "You know, up until now, she's been one hundred and ten percent reliable, and you pull the rug from under her feet. For once in your life, sir, play fair."

Harman-Smith stared at Harry for what seemed like ages. "Are you one hundred and ten percent reliable, Harry?"

"I've proved myself on far too many occasions. And you'd better remember I know where you buried the bodies."

"Don't fucking threaten me," said Harman-Smith "I'm suspending both of you until further notice, and before you leave, I want the files on Jones on my desk. Now get out of my sight."

Without a word, they left. Many an operative had been suspended one day and reinstated the next. However, it did make life difficult.

Once outside the office, Angie grabbed Harry's arm.

There was a pleading tone in her voice as she asked, "Can you help him?"

"My dear girl, I'll do what I can. Forget what Harman-Smith said. Now, go home, and I'll be in touch."

Angie leaned towards him and kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you."

***

Although Davy would have preferred to be with Angie, he admitted that the weekend with William and his friends was more than pleasant. However, his introduction to the villains who made Spain their home had been enjoyable. He had almost become one of them. While it had its benefits, it wasn't a life with no problems. Who wanted to live in forced exile, unable to travel without the fear of being arrested?

William discussed Davy's plan, altering it to fit the situation. Today, they were travelling to Vigo to make sure the Spanish end of the operation remained on schedule. Davy found William pleasant company.

They travelled until they were north of Lisbon, and the sun hung low in the sky. Autumn had arrived, and the trees lining the streets were beginning to show bare patches.

As William came to a stop outside Charlie's gatehouse, the white-haired old man came out and opened the gates. "The governor's in the big house having tea. He said to go straight in."

"Thank you," said William. His car was already moving up the drive.

"Where are we going?"

"A friend's. We go back a long way. In the sixties, we were both small-time. Now we're at the top. Charlie's a man of charm but no class and no scruples. He got where he is by being a vicious thug and eliminating the competition."

"Not a guy to mess with?"

"No."

Charlie was on the veranda, having tea when they walked out.

"Hi, William. Your tea's ready; I leave it to you to add milk and sugar.

"Charlie, this is Davy."

Charlie grabbed his hand and shook it wildly. "Any friend of my mate, William, is welcome here."

Charlie looked at his watch and up at the sky. "It'll be dark soon, and I have a new toy. How would you two like to join me clay pigeon shooting?"

"Don't be daft, Charlie. We won't be able to see the bloody things," remarked William.

"Follow me," said Charlie.

The three men trudged down to the bottom of the garden and across a field. Here a small but substantial building with whitewashed walls stood on its own. Charlie opened the door, turned the lights on and went in. Moments later, he wheeled out the equipment that hurled clay's into the air, two shotguns, cartridges and a box of targets.

"Right, William. Your pal can load the targets until we get the hang of it, after which he can have a go. Later we may have a little wager."

Charlie explained to Davy how to load.

Davy waited.

Charlie shouted, "Pull." Into the air, the clay target soared. As it spun, little lights glowed from their sides, making them easy to see.

"It'll take some getting used to," shouted Charlie," but it still demands calm concentration, a keen eye and quick reactions."

Davy enjoyed the evening but was glad when they returned to the house. Charlie ordered sandwiches and some beer. It was well past two in the morning when three tired, well-fed and drunk three men went to their bed.

They left Charlie playing tennis with a young girl who could have been his granddaughter but wasn't.

When they arrived in Vigo, William parked his BMW at the back of the Excelsior Hotel. Together, they entered by the rear entrance, walking directly to reception.

Wearing an Italian style light blue suit and matching soft leather shoes, Tony Gonzalez greeted William by kissing him on both cheeks.

"Tony, this is Davy. He'll be in charge of our little operation."

Tony shook his hand, "Welcome, Davy. I look forward to being of some assistance." He turned and spoke to the receptionist and obtained two sets of keys. "Your rooms are ready. Would you like some assistance with your luggage?"

"Good idea."

Tony clicked his fingers, and a porter appeared.

Davy was impressed and followed the porter. Once safely installed in his room, he let his eyes wander. So this is the good life: top-class hotels and all expenses paid.

William telephoned, stating dinner would be at eight, and he would meet him in the foyer.

Davy, eager to speak to Angie, sat on the edge of the bed and dialled her number. When she answered, he sensed uneasiness in her voice.

"Is something wrong?" he asked.

"There are a few problems at work. Nothing I can't handle."

"Is Smith being a bastard?"

"Not really." She knew she would achieve nothing in telling him the system was about to dump him. If Davy didn't know, he had a chance.

"Is it important? Is there any way I can help?"

Angie changed the subject and asked him about the weather and what was his hotel like?

He knew there was no point in pursuing the matter.

When he replaced the receiver, he was concerned Angie was in trouble.

Uneasy about what was happening around him, he showered and changed. After, as he lay sprawled on the enormous double bed to relax, he let his imagination run riot. The time seemed to disappear, and he dressed quickly in grey chinos, a white silk shirt and a dark blue blazer. He arrived in the foyer with seconds to spare.

William, wearing a lightweight beige suit and a pale yellow shirt with a yellow and blue polka-dot bow tie, led them into the dining room.

Several men and one woman sat around a large table.

Davy remembered his induction lessons. So this was the infamous Isabel Alfonin. She appeared to be about thirty-five, her black hair styled in a French plait, which showed a pretty, tanned face with deep blue eyes set above high cheekbones. A black, sleeveless dress with a scoop neck shrouded her figure. From what he could see, the long slit on one side showed more leg than it should.

William whispered, "Leave it alone, Davy. Behave yourself! She'd cut your balls off without a second thought." He moved Davy ahead and introduced him to all around the table, leaving the woman until last. "This is Isabel Alfonin, our principal investor."

She stood, revealing her tall, lithe figure and held out a well-manicured hand. Her grip was firm, her skin soft and delicate to the touch. Her lips were full, and her mouth inviting. She held Davy's hand longer than was necessary, and the magic of those eyes cast their spell. She smiled sweetly and said, "Hello," in unaccented English.

Davy had to admit, as he caught a glimpse of the ample cleavage between her breasts, she was one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen.

The meal was excellent: smoked salmon followed by barbequed beef with a Waldorf salad.

"This is wonderful," he said as he tucked in.

William replied, "Get used to it."

William turned towards Fernando Chaco and asked, "How is our little conversion? Nearing completion, I hope?"

"Another week or so, Señor Kent. The specialists undertaking the alteration have to work out of normal hours. It will soon be complete."

"What about your men? Are they ready?"

Tony butted in. "We have selected loyal comrades, and they are ready to serve their country."

Davy fooled around with the remaining cutlery as he listened to their exchange. "Is someone going to tell me what the hell you're talking about?"

William raised a smile. "Tomorrow, you will see your idea coming to life. Now, let's have a nightcap. I'm not as young as I once was, and I need my sleep."

The brandy flowed, and everyone was in a good mood when they parted and went their separate ways. William and Davy said farewell to the men. However, Isabel Alfonin's actions were those of a lioness stalking her prey. She kissed Davy first on each cheek and then full on the lips, her body warm and close. He gazed into eyes that glistened with excitement before the kill.

When she had gone, William pulled him to one side. "That woman has an avid hunger. She eats Rottweilers for breakfast."

Davy laughed. "I know what she wants, but this time she's out of luck. But, she scares the shit out of me."

"Be careful. She's a woman who always gets what she wants."

They parted company at Davy's bedroom door, and William walked on, muttering, "Oh, to be young."

The following morning the sun shone, although a stiff cold breeze blew from the Atlantic. When Davy and William entered the dining room, Tony Gonzalez was having breakfast. He was always impeccably dressed, wearing a light grey suit with matching shoes and an open-necked, white cotton shirt.

"My car is waiting, Señor Kent. Once you have eaten, we will go to the harbour."

William nodded.

Tony had an enormous appetite: he ate food faster than a high-speed garbage disposal unit.

"How can you eat so much after last night's meal?" Davy asked.

Tony stopped and smiled. "I am hungry."

Fed and watered, the three men walked to the car. Davy and William sat in the back. Tony drove along the seafront, turning right into the harbour and stopped his car by an old fishing boat. Nets, old fish boxes, and an assortment of rubbish covered the decks. "Here we are William, "This is our boat."

Davy alighted from the car and walked across the cobbled quay. He stood on the edge and stared at the fluttering and ragged pennants, which still adorned the mast. "What is this," he asked as his eyes took in the decrepit fishing boat. How had this vessel managed to exist for so long? With the tide out, it leant like a drunk against the dock wall. As it covered the craft from stem to stern, he assumed the golden brown colour was rust. Fixed on the front of the wheelhouse, a barely readable plaque indicated the vessel's name, Allende.

Undeterred, he clambered over the side and began to give the craft the once over. The decks were a filthy mess, and the stench of rotten fish filled the air. The crew's quarters were not fit for pigs; a sewage treatment tank would have smelt better. The engine room was a disaster area; if anything worked, it would be a miracle. The bilges had a revolting mixture of diesel oil, ethylene glycol and saltwater. It smelt like a dead dog. He smiled to himself as thoughts of his old ship HMS Highbury came to mind; she had been seaworthy despite her appearance. Davy felt sick and needed fresh air. On returning to the car, his only thought was that he would hate to have to go to sea in her.

"What do you think?" asked Tony. "She's purpose-made for what we have in mind."

Davy leaned on the car next to where Tony sat. "That," he pointed at the vessel, "is the biggest heap of shit I've ever seen. I know they say shit floats, but all I can say is I'm glad I won't be going to sea in her."

"Oh, but you will," said William. "Without you, the whole plan will fail. You masterminded it, and you'll lead it. You didn't expect millions of pounds for an idea, did you?"

"You must be fucking joking. It needs a major refit to make it fit for sea."

"Since when have you been an expert on boats?" asked William. "My people have assured me that it's capable of doing the job, and I believe them. Why should they lie? After all, they'll be getting paid a great deal for their services."

"Look, when I was in the nick, I worked in the machine shop and read a lot. You don't need to be an expert to see we have a wreck."

"I take your point, but my people are more than willing to take her to sea. When she is ready, you will be surprised," said Tony. "Even so, there is no need to spend a lot of money on her. Be fair. We will only be using her once."

"A life raft would be nice."

"Davy, whatever you want, you can have. Any luxuries you require, you will pay for. You have two weeks to prepare for the voyage of a lifetime. It's up to you. You're the boss," said William, with a smile on his lips.

"Okay, if Tony here helps with the translation, we can at least have some home comforts. My main concern is the chaos of an engine room: I need everything to work. Without it, we might as well pull the plug now and go home."

"I reiterate. You have two weeks. The Atlantic storms are due soon, and I do not intend to risk my merchandise to bad weather. Tony, you will assist Davy. I don't expect any problems, so there'll not be any. Now, let's go and have some lunch. I have a long drive ahead."