On the Monday following his meeting with Harman-Smith, Davy telephoned Ghashide.

"Good morning Davy. I told you everything would be okay. Your boys are working well, and the supplies are arriving on time. So what's your problem?"

"I have an idea, but I'd prefer to talk to you in person rather than over the telephone. You never know who might be listening."

Ghashide agreed. "Come over this evening for a chat." The connection went dead.

The never-ending gridlock made the drive to Ghashides frustrating. After an hour, he parked in the one remaining spot. For a few moments, he sat there, breathing deeply.

He stared at the large Victorian houses stretching down the left-hand side of the road and at the park on the right. He wondered how much Ghashide was worth. He climbed the steps to the entrance, stopped at the top and pressed the doorbell. As he waited, he mused that this was where the devil would live if he could afford it. Ghashide took about ten seconds to open the door and welcomed him as a friend. They walked into the spacious lounge, talked about the weather until they were both seated and facing each other.

Ghashides eyes twinkled. "Tell me about your idea."

Davy opened his briefcase and withdrew a sheaf of papers. "How would you like to make fifty million?"

Ghashide leant back in his chair. "I'm listening; convince me."

"One minute," said Davy. "First, let's examine the facts of our operation. Since that bomb attack, airport security is as tight as a ducks arse. We may sustain some minor losses, but I don't want to end up on the wrong side of the fence. As you are aware, terrorism is becoming more widespread. That will mean increased security. He held up a copy of The Evening Standard. and summarised the action.  Terminal Two evacuated because some idiot dropped off a package at the Air Algeria desk and did a runner. The Airport closed and evacuated two thousand people. This continuing escalation by nutters and terrorists will cause us major problems. The world is changing, and we must follow."

"I hear what you say," said Ghashide. "So, what can we do?"

Davy explained the various components of his plan. Ghashide listened attentively, although from time to time stopped Davy's flow with pertinent questions.

When he had finished, Davy asked, "Yes or no?"

"To me, it appears excellent. However, the cost implications for this are beyond my limit. I'll have to talk to William Kent. You can come with me to Spain and explain your idea."

A sense of relief flooded over him, an easing of tension between them; Ghashide had taken the bait.

"Fancy a drink before you leave?"

Davy shook his head. "No, thanks, I'm driving, and the cops have a nasty habit of pulling over anyone who drives a fast car. They stopped me twice last week."

Ghashide laughed. "You should buy something less expensive. No one glances at my bog-standard second-hand Ford, not even car thieves."

"I like my bit of style and, anyway, on what else would I spend my ill-gotten gains?"

They laughed. Davy packed away his files and strolled to the front door.

"You've come a long way in a short time," said Ghashide. "I knew when we met. You had hidden talents. I agree with your suggestion, and I'll let you know when arrangements have been made,"

Davy remained impassive as he strolled back to his car. The future was brighter.

Angie was waiting when he arrived home. "How did it go?"

He pulled her to him, holding her tight. "He went for it. Now I've must convince the big man. You were right; Ghashide cannot commit large amounts of money without approval. Even in the underworld, there's a pecking order."

Davy re-examined his idea until he had checked and double-checked every angle. The cost of setting this up would be high but then these people made millions from drug sales. What concerned him was where would he fit in the final plan?

Angie left him to it and fell asleep on the settee. Later, when they went to bed, he held her close, and they drifted into lovemaking. Early in the morning, Davy woke. He considered their future and his course of action, aware it held many uncertainties.

***

Harman-Smith had given plenty of thought to the Jones situation and decided he could, if properly arranged, also use the Porter woman. He wrote a memo concerning Janice Porter, Jones and Angie. This he left in plain view on his desk.

He called Jimmy-the-Rat, who now worked for the Agency, into his office for their weekly meeting. The telephone rang. "I'm sorry, Jimmy, something urgent has come up that requires my attention. It'll take me about five minutes."

" No probs, sir." Jimmy remained seated.

Harman-Smith entered the control room and switched on the monitor to his office. Being a professional, he studied Jimmy as he scanned the desk. If he knew Jimmy, he would follow the path he had planned. He grinned when Jimmy stood up, looked around and wandered slowly to the front of the desk.

"You're good, Jimmy. You didn't touch a thing." Satisfied the bird had the worm, Harman-Smith returned to his office. "Sorry about that. Anyway, where were we?"

***

Ghashide lifted the receiver and dialled a number in Spain. William Kent answered at once. "Your timing's perfect. I was about to call you. How'd you like a couple of days golfing in the sunshine? We can discuss the Association while we stroll around the course."

"I love that idea." Ghashide settled himself comfortably in his chair. "Before you ring off, there's something you need to know. My man, Davy Jones, has come up with an idea. How about I bring him across, and we discuss the matter?"

William was silent for a second. "Does he play?"

"I don't bloody know. Never thought to ask, but Jones can carry the clubs."

"I want to meet him. Arrange flights for Wednesday of next week. My driver will collect you.

***

Janice lay out a collection of papers on her desk and started to edit them when her secretary buzzed and said, "Janice, I've someone called Jimmy on the phone."

"Put him through." She lifted the receiver. "Jimmy, where are you? What happened? Are you all right?"

A cackle came from the other end. "I'm fine, Janny, and fanks to you. I work for the Agency."

"You're joking. Working for Harman-Smith?"

"No, seriously, ee's okay, and the money's good. All I 'ave to do is follow people. Anyway, I 'ave some information you might be interested in."

"Really? What's it about and how much?"

There was a pause. "It was going to cost you a couple of 'undred; however, this one you can 'ave on account. I 'aven't a clue what it means; this was on 'is desk and it mentioned yer name, and someone called Jones and an address. I've never 'eard of this guy, I presume you 'ave?"

"What was the address?" she asked.

"Flat 5, Mall Road, Hammersmith."

"That can't be right: there's no house number."

"That's all there was, Janny. You can bet your life on it. Anyway, must dash, I've got a man to follow."

"Take care, Jimmy, and don't trust Harman-Smith: he's a top-of-the-range shit house."