Davy opened his eyes, his heart pounded, and head buzzed. The smell of stale urine made him gag. The bed creaked as he shifted position and sagged in the middle. With a brain like a flat battery, he lay there, expecting something, but nothing happened. After a few minutes, he sat on the edge of the bed and waited for his mind to clear. On the far wall, he saw a light switch. In three strides, he flicked the switch. A naked bulb glowed among the mass of dust-coated cobwebs that blanketed the ceiling. Frayed curtains covered a dirty window.

He rubbed his chin, "Where the fuck am I?"

It did not take much thought to leave the room and find out.

When he opened the door, an old, dwarfish woman with laboured breath and a half-smoked cigarette hanging from her thin lips stopped him. Dull eyes peered through corrugated skin, and a giant wart grew from the side of her nose. Sweat, cheap talc and unwashed clothes fouled the smoke-laden air. He compared her to the witches in Shakespeare's "Macbeth."

Every time she coughed, spittle sprayed everywhere. "When yer mates brought you in, you were well pissed."

Davy swallowed hard. "I'm okay. I'd been celebrating; one too many beers. Don't worry about me; I'm one of the nicest people you'll ever meet. I need a drop of fresh air to clear my head."

"They gave me a deposit and four weeks' rent. After that, if you don't pay on time, I'll get my boys to remove you. Okay? 'Ere's your key."

An ancient face surrounded by lank, grey, grease coated hair waited for a reply.

"Thanks. The rooms perfect."

He left the house, thankful for the fresh air. Across the road with her back to the wall stood a long-legged woman. Red-haired and wearing a white mini-skirt, a figure-hugging red top and white high-heeled ankle boots.

The click of her metal-tipped high heels followed him along the street.

The gap between them closed until she drew alongside.

"Good evening, David Jones. You took your time; I've been waiting for you to wake up."

Stunned she knew his name, he kept walking.

The woman lowered her voice. "Harman-Smith told me we're a team. Walk and talk. It's safer that way."

"Call me, Davy, that's my name. Where am I, and who are you?"

She wrapped her arm through his. "It's easier this way. We can talk with complete safety. I'm Angie Symes, your contact."

Although mixed-up, Angie fancied Davy. Taken aback, she continued, "We need to get a few things straight. I'll be acting as your long-term girlfriend, and before you ask, yes, in this game, if I have to sleep with somebody, I will. The boss briefed me on the scenario. When I've made the introduction, my job's finished. With luck, I'll never see you again. In answer to your other question, you're in Willesden Green, in a house we use for beginners such as you."

He stopped, turned and stared into her eyes. She was a good-looking woman in her late twenties. She represented the Agency, and in a different life, maybe he might have enjoyed her company.

"When do we start?" he asked.

"Tomorrow. I'll pick you up outside the house at eight in the evening. You'll come with me to a party the minders are throwing." She began to brief him on his cover story. "You're my boyfriend, just out of Peterhead Prison. We've had the records amended. When asked, you can tell them that you did a robbery and fucked up. If they decide to check, they'll discover you were doing six years for armed robbery and GBH. With luck, they'll believe you. Whatever you say, stick to it, and you'll be okay. How you play the game is up to you. I'll help you as much as I can."

"Don't worry. I'll do my part."

She was taking him into the lion's den.

"See you tomorrow night. Don't be late."

His eyes strayed to her hips. He continued watching until she vanished into the distance. Hungry, he strolled to the end of the road. Willesden Green Underground Station was to his left. Nearby were a few kebab shops and fish bars. A sudden thought came to him: did he have any money? He found a wallet containing one hundred pounds in cash and a new passport in his jacket pockets. This meagre amount would not last long.

His hunger satisfied, he returned to the house. When he entered, the hag's door opened a crack and then closed. "Fucking busybody," he said loud enough for her to hear.

Then it dawned on him. Jay, the solution to his problems. Eight weeks in captivity must have dulled his brain. More than anything, she owned a large flat with a comfortable spare bed.

With no hesitation, he left the hags house. Did the microchip work? There was only one way to find out.

At Willesden Green Station, he purchased a ticket, descended to the platform and waited.

The network of tunnels that make up the London Underground makes it easy to give someone the slip. Nevertheless, he jumped on and off trains, often boarding as the doors closed. At Paddington, he jumped in a taxi and headed for Jays' place.

The flat was in a block, access allowed via a concierge system. He pressed the number.

"Who is it?"

"Jay, it's me, Davy, Davy Jones. Open the door."

There was silence from the other end, followed by a question, "What was Davy's nickname for me when we first met?"

"For Christ's sake, Pinkie, it's me, Davy."

The buzzer sounded, the door clicked open, and he entered.

Jay waited at her flat door, and once Davy entered, she closed it. She grabbed and almost squeezed the life out of him. Tears flowed over her face. "You bastard. The newspapers and television reported you dead, drowned in a boating accident along with Tracey. So what the hell's happening, and where's Tracey?"

It took him an hour to recount his tale.

"From what you've told me, you're in deep shit. Are you certain no one followed you?"

"No chance. I'm not stupid."

In her way, she loved this incorrigible rogue. This man had changed her life from a common prostitute to owner of one of the best escort agencies in London. "You can stay here for as long as you like. Tomorrow you can go and buy some decent clothes." She touched his jacket as if it had the plague. "These are disgusting. You can sleep in my spare room or with me."

"Thanks for the offer, but I'm knackered" He kissed her goodnight and closed the door. The power shower invigorated his body. For the moment, he needed sleep and time to think.