 
_The Pursuit of Emma_

_By_ _Chris Doherty_

_Copyright 2014 Chris Doherty_

_Smashwords Edition_

_Licence Note_

Thank you for downloading this eBook. You are welcome to share it with your friends. This book may be reproduced, copied and distributed for non-commercial purposes, provided the book remains in its complete original form. If you enjoyed this book, please return to your favourite eBook retailer to discover other works by this author. Thank you for your support.
Dear Reader _,_

I am well aware that you have already bought, downloaded or stolen this book and therefore it seems largely pointless to flatter your ego. That being said...have you lost weight? I'm serious, you look terrific. And that haircut...it's a success!

I realise that you just want to read the book so I shall detain you for only a moment. As you may or may not know, this book is my debut novel and as such, it contains a little bit of my soul. I truly hope you enjoy it and it's at this point I want to make a deal with you. I have decided to make this book completely free; writing is a huge passion of mine and as of now, money has nothing to do with it. In three years time when I'm penning my fifteenth novel aboard my shiny, new yacht my opinion on that may well have changed, but in the mean time all I want in return is your opinion. If you have done me the great honour of reading my little book, please indulge me a little further by letting me know.

I am truly fascinated to talk to you about it and hear your thoughts. Please leave comments on the various platforms the book has been sold on, or contact me directly. There is a facebook page (www.facebook.com/chrisdohertywriter) or twitter feed (@cdohertywriter) if you are young or one of the golden generation who have embraced modern technology (like my grandparents)! This is all done through me and not some robot named R745 or some such. The feedback for 'The Pursuit of Emma' so far has been genuinely heart-warming and it means the world to me. If you are a fan of the book then you are a good, honest person and you deserve life to smile kindly on you.

Finally, before I let the party get started (as it were), if you go on to enjoy this book in the (hopefully near) future, your future-self will be pleased to know the sequel, 'The Pursuit of Perfection' is out right now, with more from the characters you will soon come to love!

I hope we get to talk in the future and above all, it is my deepest wish that you enjoy my novel. Spread the word, tell your friends/amicable neighbour or chiropractor and start a beautiful community with me, before I get too big-headed off the success and only communicate to the general public through my agent's agent's assistant!

Enough chatting for now...go read the book.

Cheers,

Chris

### For Alice.

### My Wife. My Soulmate. My Emma.

# Chapter One

'Do you still love her?'

I wanted to say no. If truth be told, I wanted to scream,storm out and set the building on fire to defer attention away from 'that' question. However social courtesy dictates otherwise so I decided against arson.

'Yes,' I mumbled back, resigned to honesty at last. I didn't want to talk about her.

I didn't really want to talk at all but against my better judgement and with the advice of several work colleagues, I found myself sitting in the office of 'Dr. Veronica Davies BSc (Hons). PhD. Dip Hyp.' I barely know to this day what all those letters after her name mean, but it does seem to be an excuse to charge rates a developing country would struggle to afford.

Her office matched my pre-conceived notion of what a therapist's office would look like down to the letter. Her walls were covered flawlessly with neutral wallpaper which looked to have the texture of silk more than the course sandpaper I had up in my apartment. All the furniture was expensive and wooden, crafted no doubt by hand through painstaking precision. The lighting was dim enough for a client to feel relaxed and open up but light enough for her to examine your expression in detail. The walls were lined with certificates and awards she had won, boasting of her superior intellect before she even spoke. Despite my best efforts I was yet to find one item personal to her in the entire room, save her handbag and a tiny photo frame, angled on her desk in such a way as to not be seen from either the client's sofa or the door.

I don't have much patience for therapists at the best of times and this was definitely not the best of times. I'm British and as a British person I bottle up all my emotions and carry on as if they weren't there. It's the law. It worked for my parents, particularly my father, and I have no doubt it worked for several generations before.

'Do you find it painful to talk about her?'

Is she serious? Despite her personable manner I didn't come here for a light conversation. Of course I find it hard to talk about her. Where did she get her doctorate? The internet?

'Yes,' I replied, wishing I could think of more than one-word answers to reply.

There was an awkward, long silence which was filled only by my fingers drumming rhythmically on the edge of the sofa. She sat motionlessly, looking at me, like a surgeon might examine a leaking spleen. There was no emotion in her gaze but a clinical professionalism which never wavered. I found it hard to imagine Veronica had a life outside of work. Honestly, I found it hard to believe anyone called her 'Veronica' and not 'Dr Davies.' After what seemed like hours (and I sincerely hoped was not, looking at the price she charged per hour) she spoke softly.

'Tom, when we go through painful experiences the body shuts down because it doesn't want to process the grief. We bottle up the emotions and hope they go away. But they won't and you have to be strong enough to talk about it. Getting it out in the open is the only way to confront your demons and destroy them once and for all.'

I didn't know what to say. Sure, I had my usual repertoire of one-word simpleton answers but they didn't seem to cut it. I knew she was right, not that I wanted to admit it. She was desperate for me to get it all out and I was desperate to keep it bottled up.

'You can do this Tom. I want you to start from the beginning. What is it that brings you here today? What is it that troubles you?' She knew the answers to all of these but she wasn't going to stop until I gave in. I gave in.

'Emma's gone...' I started before she held her hand up, indicating me to stop.

'No Tom, I mean right from the start. How did you meet? Leave no stone unturned.' I was pretty convinced this was a money-making ploy to get several more sessions out of my wallet and I sneaked a small glance at the expensive clock hanging on the wall hoping the hour would be up. To my devastation only twenty-three minutes had passed. I was trapped.

'Emma was the most beautiful girl I'd ever met. When I left university my best friend got engaged and it seemed like the perfect chance for us to get one final holiday before we all went our separate ways. Mallorca. Sun, drinking, making a fool of ourselves... you get the picture. After two days I thought my liver was going to fall out so we hit the beach and collapsed there for most of the day. It sounds stupid but seeing her come out of the sea was like a movie.' I paused for a second, wondering whether this was finally too much detail for her, but she seemed unmoved so I persevered.

'Long story short I fell in love the first time I talked to her. The boys went back after a week but Emma was holidaying there with family for another fortnight and I decided to stay out with her. I had no money, no job, nothing to go home to so why not?'

I continued describing every moment and as much as I hated myself for it, I could feel tears beginning to fill my eyes. This stereotypical display of emotion seemed pathetic to me but I guess this was the first time I had properly thought about her since 'the day.' I must have spent fifteen minutes describing her beauty and I wasn't close to doing her justice. She was slim, in an athletic way, with golden blond hair and the most striking blue eyes. When I was seven years old we were asked at school to draw the perfect person. Whilst art isn't renowned as my strong point, I did manage a pretty decent drawing of a beautiful woman. For years this became my ideal for what I would search for in a girl. I had met hundreds of girls at school and even more through my adventurous years at university but nothing and nobody came close. Until Emma.

'The term 'whirlwind romance' doesn't even come close to what we had. Emma lived in North London and after two months of returning from holiday, I had left the comforts of my Warwickshire home to move in with her in a small London flat. I dropped everything for her and never thought twice.'

Again another pause while I forced back the latest assault of tears from my eyes. This was more painful than I had anticipated. Dr Davies seemed to sense my pain despite my best efforts to hide it and gave me some respite.

'Let's stop there for a minute Tom. You are doing very well. Would you like a drink? Tea? Coffee?' she asked kindly, and I caught a glimpse of her humanity for a second. Perhaps she wasn't so bad after all.

'Yes please, Coffee would be great,' I replied, just desperate to change the subject for a second. 'Two sugars.'

Veronica pressed a button on her phone, ordered us some drinks and settled back in her chair; something that seemed to indicate it was time to continue. If that wasn't a clear enough sign for me the 'please carry on Tom' comment certainly cleared it up.

And so I went on. I talked about moving in and how she helped me adjust to living in London. I had always been a little afraid of large cities, but I would have moved to Mars if she'd asked with that smile. After six months I knew, stronger than I had ever felt anything, that she was the one. A ground-shattering, life-affirming truism that was as sure to me as the air I breathed. At this point I realise how pathetic that last sentence sounded but when you have been in love you'll realise it tends to make you do and say stupid things.

As the time passed, I informed Veronica of every intimate detail leading up to me proposing to Emma. In retrospect, the five minute description of our love-making may have been a mistake. Too much information as they say. I even saw Veronica's otherwise flawless expression crack momentarily as if straining to file that mental image in her brain under 'D' for 'Destroy Immediately'.

As the hour drew to a close we both breathed a sigh of relief and despite everything I wanted to believe, I did feel a bit better.

'That was very good Tom. We still have so much to talk about. Your engagement, getting married, your jobs, the... incident,' she finished quietly. 'Shall we say same time next week?'

I was surprised to hear myself agree quickly and even ask if she had any earlier appointments so desperate was I to keep 'getting it out'.

'I'm afraid I don't,' she said, pretending to leaf through her diary, knowing full well that her schedule was booked up. 'But it is important that you keep thinking about. I want you to think of anything you can to do with her; how you felt, how you feel now and then write it down so we can discuss it next time. OK? Will you do that for me, Tom?'

I realised part of my unease at talking to her was the fact she kept repeating my name at the end of most sentences, like I was a naughty school boy or something. But I confirmed I would and got up to leave. As I reached the door a thought, a realisation, occurred to me.

'You know, it's not that she left or even how. It's just why. How can things change in one day? I guess I need to find answers. I need to understand what the hell happened. Does that make sense?'

'Perfectly. We will find those answers, I'm sure of it.' She smiled kindly. I returned it with one of my own and walked out.

*****

Imagine if you will, being in love. It's not difficult I'm sure; most people are or have been at some point in their lives. Imagine living together, getting married, decorating the house painstakingly until it resembles something like a home...you get what I mean. Now imagine spending the next three years of your life in total bliss. This is where it gets trickier. I know most of you will say marriage is a lot like hard work and it takes commitment, give and take and sacrifice which I guess it does but with Emma I never noticed any of that. We were happy; I know we were, much though the next few sentences point to the contrary. Right are you with me so far? So, now imagine coming home after a long day at work to two words and a key. That's what happened to me. I opened the door and called to her, not quite a 'honey I'm home' but near enough, expecting to hear a reply. When I didn't, I entered in inquisitively but my mind assumed the usual. She's not home yet, she's nipped out or maybe she's in the shower and can't hear me. The most pathetic thing is how long it took me to notice, going on blindly doing my usual routine. I opened the post, checked emails and even planned to cook her favourite meal as a surprise, depending on what ingredients we had in the fridge. Eventually I saw it. On the counter, next to the oven I saw a small piece of paper. It looked so insignificant I almost didn't take any notice of it. How wrong could I be? I glanced down and saw 'I'm Sorry' written in scribbled biro as if in a hurry, and a key, presumably her house-key, resting on top. Bang. My entire world and everything I knew fell down with two simple words. I panicked, knowing my brain couldn't comprehend it. She must have meant sorry for breaking something or bending the key or something. Surely. 'Please don't,' I whispered out loud, beginning to get that sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. My mouth went dry and I started questioning whether I was indeed awake. Is this real? God, I hope not.

I raced upstairs to our bedroom where my worst fears were confirmed. All the drawers hung open and I could see clearly from the door that they were empty. I checked through them anyway, but I'm not sure why. Hoping for some clue, I guess. There had to be something to tell me where or why she'd gone. Nothing.

I hurtled down the stairs, clearing the last five in one vast stride and grabbed the phone. I had to speak to her. I could find out why; I could make her change her mind. I changed the setting on my phone to 'unknown caller', not knowing why I was doing it. If I could just get her to pick up it would be alright. She could never resist my arguments. I'd convinced her to do loads of things she'd never wanted to do. Like bungee-jumping when we went to South Africa. This would be the same.

I thrashed in the numbers on the phone, even though she was saved as a speed dial contact and waited for the call to connect.

'Come on, COME ON!!' I shouted at the phone. Poor inanimate object. The phone call finally connected only to greet me with a further chilling sound.

'The number you have dialled is no longer in service. Please hang up. The number you have dialled is no longer in service. Please...'

I hung up, wanting to throw up. What the hell was going on? It's one thing to leave without saying goodbye but to already have your phone disconnected shows thought and preplanning. She had wanted to do this for a while.

I collapsed to the floor and lay there motionless for some time. I say 'some' because I genuinely have no idea how long. It could have been hours. It may well have been days. I just felt numb inside. I knew I would have to tell friends, work out a plan for the future and try to put the pieces back together. But how could I? How could anything be the same again?

Slowly, feeling lower than I ever thought possible, I began to cry.

*****

I walked out of Dr Davies office for the first time feeling something. I felt sick, angry and worn out but I felt something. An emotion. Since discovering the note two weeks ago I had been a zombie, going through the motions but never being alive. I would wake up, shower, go to work, go home and sleep every day I'm sure, but I don't remember anything from that fortnight. It's just a blurry, painful memory.

Dr Davies was right, I thought. I then thought how surprised I was to have that thought but ignored it. I needed to piece it together so I could try and understand it. First things first, get home and write down everything I remember.

Veronica's office was in the bulls-eye of London, right in the centre. Emma's flat (well I guess my flat now) was up in North London, not far from Arsenal's football ground. Being an Arsenal fan this had seemed to swing my decision to move in with Emma. Sadly, despite living there for three and a half years, I've seen one game. An FA Cup 3rd Round replay against Leeds with half the reserve squad playing. That was two years ago. I'm not a die-hard fan.

With my emotions still very close to the surface, I decided to take a taxi home. Yes it would cost a fortune and take ages in London traffic, but nobody wants a twenty-five year old man sobbing on the tube. A hour and a half later, thanks to a small collision ahead and some inopportune road works, I arrived home much poorer than when I had left.

I found a pad and pen and sat down in the kitchen, prepared at last to try and face this. Slowly I pieced the events of the last two weeks together. I remembered phoning my friends very early in the morning, desperately hoping one of them had heard from her. I realised suddenly that all of our friends were really my friends and we never really saw anyone she had known before. It didn't make any sense. She had lived in London her whole life and yet we only ever spent time with people I knew from work, friends of mine from Warwickshire who would sporadically visit us now and then and neighbours. I phoned them all, apologising for the late call and promising it was an emergency. Nobody had heard from her. She was beginning to seem like a ghost, as if she had never existed.

I phoned the police, asking to put in a claim for a missing person. They asked how long she had been gone and when I told them less than a day, they laughed. Actually laughed. Things got worse when I let slip about the note. The officer was physically chuckling.

'Listen mate, sorry and all that but we can't go about looking for people who have left you on purpose. I'm sorry you got dumped but move on chap,' and with that he hung up.

Anger shot through me and was released in the form of me putting my fist through the plasterboard in our lounge. My best friend Jack Williams (the one who got engaged and provoked the holiday to Mallorca) was now pretty high up in the Warwickshire police and I was tempted to see if he could lodge a formal complaint, but I decided against it. I knew deep down the officer was right, even if he was an arrogant, ignorant, rude, obnoxious, high-pitched, slimy twat. I'd already woken Jack up once that night to ask about Emma. Better not make it two phone calls.

Writing this all down on paper was just creating more questions, not answering any. None of this added up. Firstly, I still truly liked to believe we were in love. I can't describe the hours I have racked my brain trying to work out what I could have done to upset her that much. There was literally nothing. So, if there was no reason to leave, why did she? Why would she disappear and destroy any way of ever getting in contact with her? Why had no one heard from her?

I knew then I could never move on until I found the answers to those questions and the thousands more floating around and around in my head. I had to put a plan together. I was finally out of my coma-like state; I was ready for action. I decided right there and then that I would not rest, give up or stop until I had seen her one more time.

I was going to find Emma.

# Chapter Two

'What do you really know about this girl?'

The voice from this probing question belonged to my mother. Ironically, this was the exact same question she asked me when I told her I was moving down to London.

'London?' she cried emphatically. 'What do you want to go to London for? You hate big cities.'

I tried to explain that I had fallen in love but I wasn't getting my point across. I dare any twenty-something male to try to tell somebody he has fallen in love with a straight face. You tell your parents and they tell you you're wrong. You tell your friends and they tell you you're 'a giant hairy fairy pansy,' (not my words, the words of Jack Williams). You cannot win. I think that's what Donny Osmond got so worked up about in 'Puppy Love.'

'What do you really know about this girl?' my mum replied, upon hearing of my intentions to leave home.

'Nothing really,' I smiled back and at the time I remember thinking how exciting that was. It was an unknown adventure to fall into head first. But that was then.

Now that question stung more. Mum knew I was hurting and wanted to help her son in any way she could but I could still sense that 'mother knows best' tone to her voice, crossed with a pinch of 'I told you so.'

'You must know lots about her. You were married for three years for goodness sake!' Mum seemed to be losing her patience with me. She wanted to find Emma too, but I had a feeling a loving embrace wasn't on the menu.

'I...I...' I stuttered. I knew lots of things about her, but none seemed relevant right now. I knew her favourite cereal, how she liked to wear her dressing gown until the evening on her days off and how she liked her eggs cooked. I could tell you her favourite sexual position, what she dreamed of becoming some day and how she sometimes feels sad for no reason at all. I had spent every night for the last four years holding her as she slept, knowing her heartbeat as if it were my own. But none of this helped.

'I don't know where to start...' I began before Mum shot me down again.

'Have you called her parents?'

'Yes and been round. Nobody is answering the phone or the door.' This was true. I had phoned several times and spent an hour knocking on their large front door. Like most people who live in Chelsea, Emma's parents have a lot of money and the house was certainly a fair representation of that. This also meant they were away, holidaying a lot, and I presumed this was where they must be now.

'Come on Tom, think! Have you tried her work and seen if she still works there? No of course you haven't.'

The worst thing was that it never crossed my mind. Of course she would still go there! Emma had completed a law degree before we met and had started on the bottom rung of a huge law company, determined to work her way up. She was now earning great money and had a chance to become a partner within the next five years. Law was her life, outside of our home and it often kept her away at nights when she was working late or on weekends when she would have to go in to help. She once told me the partner's (whose names I can never remember) were like family to her and had looked after her very well. She may have wanted to leave me but I couldn't imagine her leaving the firm too. This was a good place to start.

'Don't forget you are married Tom, she can't just disappear like that. She'll want a divorce no doubt. You certainly will, I hope. There are legal channels, ways of finding her...'

I allowed my mind to wonder while my mother ranted some more at me. She was right again. Well, sort of. I hadn't even thought about divorce and certainly didn't want to talk about it now. Maybe there is some legal route I could follow to find her. Maybe sue her for having the...cheek to dare to leave me...or something. You can tell I majored in Music Composition, huh? Just like my Year 7 Geography teacher once put it: 'not one of this generation's great thinkers!' But I digress. I returned to the phone call, trying to stop Mum mid-rant.

'OK ... thanks Mum...good ideas...got to go...yep... OK...' I interjected when I could, before deciding just to hang up. It's sometimes the safer option.

Mum had given me some good ideas though and I knew just where to head.

*****

Raynmer and Stein, 'the lawyers who care' – apparently, own one of the grandest buildings in central London. I have never been inside it before but have often met Emma for a lunch, waiting in the reception hall for her to come down. I have a theory that you can judge how good a company is on the condition of their reception. Raynmer and Stein definitely don't disappoint. Everything inside the building oozes class from the marble flooring up to the highly polished stainless steel that frames the modern furniture. Even the staff are beautifully presented and attentive. Dressed in a classic black uniform that seems more suited to a catwalk than a job in administration, the reception team (and it is a team of at least 15 people around the building) blend perfectly with the stylish atmosphere of the company as a whole.

Walking up the street, I could see the glistening building in the distance, getting closer all the time. My stomach started churning again. What do I say to the receptionists? What if Emma won't see me? What if she's not there? Oh God, what if she is there? What the hell would I say?

Twice I lost my nerve and went to turn back. I paced outside for a while and must have been quite a sight to passersby. I knew I had come too far to leave it now, but my legs seemed frozen to the pavement outside.

'Come on coward,' I jeered at myself. 'The woman of your dreams and the answers to all your questions could be just inside there. Be a man; get up those stairs and WIN HER BACK!' This sounded impressive in my head until I realised I had indeed said it out loud and in fact shouted the last few words. My cheeks flushed red as I realised how stupid I must have looked. I tried my best not to care what people thought of me but it didn't work, like it had never worked before.

I wanted to see Emma so badly but was frozen by the very real possibility that I may start weeping the moment I set eyes on her. I realise this story gives the impression that I'm quite the cry-baby. As a general rule I'm not, but Ems does this to me and I've never been able to control it.

Finally, after what seemed like ages, I summoned up my courage and marched through the doors. Marching, at the very least had been my intention, giving an air of quiet, graceful dignity. Sadly for me the entrance to Raynmer and Stein is a vast, revolving glass door, which takes about a minute of awkward shuffling to get through. I am not a huge fan of confined spaces and tumbled out of the door with my dignity dented slightly.

I looked around, partly to see who had seen my bizarre entrance, but mainly to look for Emma. Of course she wasn't there. Why would she just be standing in reception, genius?

As I approached the reception desk, I realised I had no idea what floor she worked on or even what department she was part of. This shouldn't be a problem as reception must surely be able to find that out but it did strike me as odd that I didn't know that. Was I just a terrible listener or had Emma never bothered to tell me?

'Hello Sir, how can I help you today?' came the question, in a warm friendly way.

'Yeah, hello there,' I started, making a quick calculation. If they know Emma, they might know her situation and may even be friends with her. If I barge in and demand to see her they may warn her and give her a chance to slip out a different entrance and so on. I decided I was going to have to think on my feet.

'Hi, I am meant to meet one of your staff here, regarding some important medical information.' I was hoping she wasn't going to pry any further but of course she was.

'Right and what exactly is this concerning?' The question was equally warm and friendly, with a slight hint of distrust creeping in.

'Ah well you see I can't tell you that. Doctor-patient confidentiality and all that. If you could ask Mrs...' I paused as she shook her head.

'I'm sorry Sir but I can't put you in contact with our members of staff unless I see some identification. It's the rule.'

I usually pride myself for thinking on my feet, but this was getting difficult. Luckily, I still had one ace to play. An amusing humanism, a quirk that makes us all the same is our discomfort for things we deem 'disgusting.' Even the most professional of souls will crack if you can shock them.

'I didn't want to have to mention this but...' I began. As a standard reaction I got that stabbing 'Em is going to kill me' feeling. Realising the situation once again, I pressed on.

'...but one of your staff members had some tests done at our clinic recently and I'm afraid the results aren't good.' I let the thought linger for a second, looking as convincing as I could muster. 'She does have Herpes after all...'

It worked. What was normally a properly presented member of staff instantly turned into a grimacing child, horrified at the thought.

'It must be treated right away before it...spreads,' I continued. As luck would have it I have no personal experience with STD's and am pretty certain my scientific facts were not perfectly accurate. I just hoped 'Becky' (according to her name badge) had no experience either.

'As this is a delicate matter I was asked to come in person to help her deal with it. I would very much appreciate if you could get her down as discreetly as possible. She won't want people to know, but it is urgent.'

'Yes, yes of course. Who is the staff member in question?' she enquired. I had done it. Even as I congratulated myself in my head I couldn't stop thinking 'you are a bad, bad man.'

'It's Mrs Sharpe, Mrs Emma Sharpe,' I said calmly. 'Sharpe with an "e",' I added helpfully.

Becky repeated the name to herself as she typed away on the computer in front of her. After allowing it to load she looked at the screen quizzically. 'Hmm, you did say Sharpe right? There doesn't seem to be an Emma Sharpe on here. There's a Julie Sharp with no 'e' but it can't be her surely? She is retiring next year - almost sixty-five.'

I frowned and asked her to check again, but still it yielded no matches.

'These silly computers are always breaking down. Do you know what department she's in and I can search for her that way?' asked the ever-patient receptionist.

'I don't sadly...' Then it hit me. Emma had been here for a long time, way before I met her. What if making a name for yourself as a lawyer was a bit like an actress? What if she never changed her surname after we got married? I felt hurt at the very idea. Her passport had changed, her driving license now read 'Emma Sharpe' so why wouldn't she allow her company to use it? I could add this to the long list of questions I would ask her when I found her, if it was true. I delved into my thoughts to remember her maiden name and found it.

'It could be under Emma Jordan perhaps,' I stated calmly, hoping not to raise suspicions as to why she would have two names and how I would know both of them. I half-prayed that her Jordan wouldn't come up, knowing at least then that she wasn't ashamed of my name, and the life we had built together. Presently, the computer loaded once more.

'I'm sorry Sir, nothing is coming up. Listen, are you sure Emma is right because I've just checked and we haven't had an Emma work here for over fifteen years.'

There's that sick feeling again.

'What?' I asked incredulously. 'That can't be true. The computer must be playing up again.' I fathomed in my mind for some explanation.

'Sir, I sit here every day. I let every member of staff through and I pride myself on knowing all of them. We don't have an Emma!'

Gone were my worries of getting caught as a liar. I was panicking now. In my wallet I still carried a small but clear photo of Emma and I whipped it out quickly.

'This woman, I'm looking for her. She's worked here for over five years!' There was a croak in voice and I could feel my emotions controlling my actions again.

The receptionist began to get quite cross for the first time. She wasn't rude but she was certainly more forceful and I could see a temper flaring behind her eyes.

'Sir, in the seventeen years I have worked here I have never once seen that woman. I can promise you one thing, she does not work here!'

# Chapter Three

'Is it possible to burn a hole through the floor by pacing?'

It didn't seem very likely but over the last twenty-four hours I'd certainly given it my best shot. The worst part was it wasn't even my floor I was slowly sanding. I had been pacing the floor of our neighbour's flat, trying to make sense of the previous day. My head was pounding, indicating some severely heavy drinking went on last night.

'So, what exactly happened to you?' my neighboured asked sweetly. I looked up at her, straining to remember.

Sophie and David had been living in the flat above us since before I moved in. After what seemed like years of arguing, David finally moved out, to all of our relief. I didn't know them well but I knew David was no good. From the muffled voices seeping through our ceiling at night you could always hear his voice first. Shouting. Controlling.

When he left, Sophie became a fairly big part of our lives. Both Emma and I had a soft spot for Sophie, who had a heart of gold, even if she was a bit tentative. We endeavoured to include her in lots of our social activities and Ems often used to meet up with her for lunch.

After the 'incident' Sophie was one of the first people I turned to. I knew she would help; I knew I could count on her. I had hoped Sophie may have heard something, or seen Emma leave or anything that could help me. She hadn't but wished she could help.

'Tom? What happened yesterday? I'm getting worried now. You've barely said two words today.' I knew she was concerned and I wanted to answer her but I was struggling to remember.

'I'm not sure,' I said at last. 'How did I end up ...here?'

I remembered my visit to Raynmer and Stein, I remembered drinking and I remembered drinking some more. I could feel a bruise developing on my left hand and further examination found a few light cuts as well. Just what I needed. I must have been involved in a bar-fight at some point. There was certainly no recollection of that.

Sophie smiled and offered some answers to me.

'When I got up to get the papers, I found you passed out on the landing stairs. I was really worried, I thought you'd fallen or something. But it was pretty easy to work out you'd been drinking. So I just about woke you up enough to get you up the stairs and thought I better keep an eye on you. Hence you being here.'

I looked around the room and could see a crumpled pillow and blanket lying on the sofa and suddenly felt real warmth towards my kindly neighbour. She was not much older than myself with long, wavy dark hair and pale white skin. She seemed to have a fragility which could probably be traced back to David's handiwork and as a result, she'd never realised how kind and lovely she really was. Emma had made it her mission to fix that before... she left.

'Thanks Sophie, you're a real friend. I don't know what I'd do without you sometimes. I smiled at her and wanted her to know how much I meant it.

'You're welcome. Anytime. But it's your turn. Go on then. What happened? Did you find Emma?'

With great effort, I told Sophie everything. She already knew about Emma's disappearance, so I skipped that and went straight to my conversation with 'Becky' at the law firm. She listened attentively, never interrupting, save a few gasps of sheer disbelief. As I spoke, the events of that evening slowly came back to me. I recalled leaving Raynmer and Stein and sitting on the steps outside, just trying to make sense of what I'd heard. How was any of this possible?

Eventually my story concluded and Sophie sat silently in stunned amazement. After a long while she spoke.

'What does that mean? I don't understand.'

'As far I can tell, there are three possibilities. Number one, Becky doesn't know what she is talking about. Number two, for whatever reason Emma worked under a completely different name and somehow managed to avoid eye-contact with the reception staff every day. Or, number three...she never worked there.'

Even saying the words made me feel sick.

'Maybe this 'Becky' person was a friend of Emma's and covered for her because she didn't want to speak to you?' Sophie was clearly trying to wrap her head around this too.

'I don't think so. Remember, I never revealed who I was so the receptionist wouldn't know to lie. Plus, I don't know anyone who is that good a liar.'

'Number Two doesn't make much sense, not that any of them do. I guess she could have changed her name but why?' posed Sophie.

In my heart of hearts, I knew it wasn't number two. Emma was not just beautiful, she was stunning. Everybody turned to look at her. Men wanted to be with her and women wanted to be just like her. There is no chance you wouldn't remember seeing her face.

There was something else at the back of my mind that made me lean towards number three.

'It's too organised,' I started. 'Everything is too organised. She leaves and within hours her phone is disconnected. There is no way this can just be coincidence.'

'But Tom, I met her for lunch there several times. I would wait in reception and see her come down the stairs several times.'

She was right. I had too. There must have been at least ten occasions when I would sit in reception and see her leave the lift, coming from the offices. Surely that had to be proof; she had to work there.

For the last few years our flat was strewn with legal documents and law books. Why would she have those? Then there were all the late nights and weekends she would have to work. Sometimes I'd even drop her off at Raynmer and Stein for goodness sake. This was insane.

I explained all of this to Sophie and between the two of us we searched for any plausible ideas. We came up with nothing. I knew this woman; I had to know her. I'd spent every night of our relationship together and had never once suspected anything.

'Tom,' Sophie began slowly. I could tell she didn't want to say the next sentence but felt she had to.

'Go on,' I replied encouragingly.

'Tom, I know it's hard but try to take yourself out of this for a second. If you were just looking at the facts what would you say about this?'

I thought long and hard. Being objective with your own emotions is not the easiest thing to do but I tried to just imagine a whiteboard with main facts written on it. Eventually, I gave her an answer.

'It feels like an affair. If I had to say, I'd say this woman was sneaking around behind her partner's back and needed an excuse. Her new lover probably had lots of money so she just invented a job so she could sneak around all day and some weekends. Then eventually she falls in love with the new guy enough and decides to just leave. Sound about right?'

I looked at her painfully. She nodded, trying to conceal the stream of tears falling from her eyes. I was determined not to cry again. I was worried my body would break down soon unless I took some control over it.

'I need to hear it from her,' I said fiercely. 'If this is true, I need to hear it from her. If she has found someone else, she would want a divorce right? I'm going to find her and make her say this to my face.'

'But... how?'

'I don't know yet. I don't know.' I paced some more, wondering what my next move might be.

'Go home, find every detail about your wedding; license, certificate, anything. Find it all and take it to a lawyer Tom. You never know what will help you find her.'

I looked up at her and smiled again. I loved it when she organised the group. She seemed to revel in it. Sophie worked in a private primary school in a nice area of the capital. It was a sheltered existence but it suited her perfectly. I could imagine her as a brilliant teacher. I bet the kids loved her.

'You're right. I will do. Listen, thanks for everything Soph. You're a star.' I walked over to her and hugged her firmly. It felt so nice to not be alone for a second that I didn't want to let go. Eventually I had to, before it got weird.

Once I had gathered up my coat, I headed to the door. I turned to look at her one last time as she smiled bravely at me.

'I'm here any time Tom, you know that.'

'I know you are. Thanks.' I opened the door, disappeared out of it before poking my head back through it.

'Oh Soph. Promise me something?'

'Anything.'

'Don't ever leave. I don't think I cope without you too,' I said weakly.

'I promise.'

*****

The flat was cold when I got up there. I fumbled in my pockets for several minutes, worrying I had lost my keys. I finally found them in a pocket of my coat which I never used. Either I was very drunk last night or Sophie found them for me and put them in here. What would I do without her?

Reluctantly, I went in and proceeded to do anything but get out our wedding file. Yes that's right I said wedding file. Most couples, I realise have an album of photos, etc but Emma had spent a full week off work making a file. This included the planning information from before, video and photos of the day and all our legal documents. I used to joke that I'd be lost without her as I had no idea how to organise my life. How right I was.

I think the thing I was most afraid of was breaking down. My mind was all over the place. How could it not be? My nerves were raw and my emotions felt shot. What was looking through old wedding photos going to do to me? I had to face it. Man up, damn it.

Two hours later, I was sat on the floor eating takeaway pizza and watching the whole ceremony on repeat. I hadn't watched it properly since our first wedding anniversary and was amazed at how good it was. Not just the wedding, although that did run flawlessly. But the production of the video and the picture quality. It must have cost us a fortune but Ems organised everything from top to bottom. She had demanded it that way and I was more than happy to oblige.

I smiled one of my more mournful efforts when I saw the state of the wedding file, now separated from many of its inhabitants who lay chaotically all across the lounge floor. Emma would be so disappointed. 'After all my hard work,' I could hear her say. Then I would apologise, tidy it up and kiss her neck softly until her heart melted enough and she forgave me again. I missed her so much. But who was she? There was a very real possibility that I never knew the real woman at all and that all we shared were her pre-fabricated lies.

I had seen enough. Sophie was right, as usual. Tomorrow morning I was going to phone in sick to work (not they seemed to expect me in at the moment) and find a lawyer to track her down. I would find her.

I don't know what it was that caught my eye but as I went to turn off the footage, I froze. What had just happened there? I thought I had seen something out of the ordinary. 'Probably nothing,' I muttered to myself and realised I was increasingly talking out loud when alone. Isn't that the first sign of madness? I rewound the tape a little and focused my tired eyes as best I could.

In the video we had just been pronounced husband and wife and we turned to look at the clapping congregation. Well, at least I did. The camera was now filming from the far end of the aisle, attempting to keep the direction exciting no doubt, and it made it harder to see. I could just make out Emma's blonde hair down the far end, underneath her veil and from where we were seeing things it looked as if she turned her body but kept her head facing the reverend, as if in conversation with him. Nothing strange about that, but with the clapping going she would have had to speak very loudly to get any words across. I don't recall her shouting. Now, just before she turned to realign her gaze with mine it appeared that she shook hands with him.

It wasn't the gesture itself that surprised me, it was just how out of place it looked. The more I watched it, the more it stood out like a sore thumb. It looked more like a business transaction then a warm touch of appreciation. 'Where is the remote? I can never find the...stop talking out loud,' I said out loud.

I found the fugitive remote underneath some of our wedding photographs, now removed from their protective, plastic casings and paused the video. Searching through the menu of options I eventually found a way of zooming in. Despite the quality of the recording, I lost a great amount of detail and clarity when zooming. A few feet loses focus, so you can imagine how blurry my picture was when I zoomed the length of a church. I played it again.

'That doesn't look right,' I muttered audibly.

I rewound and played it again but this time found a way to step on each frame, making the footage play much slower. She is definitely communicating with him in some way, but it didn't look like she was speaking. Did she just give a nod? I played it again. Yes, almost definitely. Her hand lifts up momentarily and joins with his inconspicuously but as hers slips away his palm is not empty. What was that? A note? Oh my God...

'Money,' I shouted. I was sure of it. It took me a while to work out what is was because it seemed to be rolled into a small cylinder shape, but the more I watched it I could see it was money. My mouth dropped open. Continuing the video confirmed it was money. The reverend slipped his hand gently into his pocket directly afterwards which in my mind was the first thing you would do if somebody gave you a wad of money. Put it somewhere safe. Time for another head-spin. Thousands of questions flooded my head, which by now was a familiar feeling, but one burning was at the forefront of them all. Why, on what should have been the happiest day of our lives, was she giving people money? I didn't know a lot about organising a wedding but I was pretty sure it wasn't common practise to give cash payments to reverends at the end of the service. Seems to take the sheen off the event somewhat for me.

At the very least this was a good lead. I finally had a place to start. Tomorrow I would go and find Reverend...I rummaged through the folder until I found the section marked 'church.' A few pages in I found the booking form for Rev. James P Crawley. It listed the church address underneath (as if I could forget) and times of his services.

Tomorrow I would ask him in person. Tomorrow.

*****

My sleep that night was even more interrupted than usual. I don't remember my dreams as a general rule but I know Emma was in them. She always is these days. I could see her face and her piercing eyes, but they weren't sad or worried. They were smiling at me. I woke up confused, a little shaken and more tired than when I went to sleep. I knew she had lied to me. Huge fat black lies had come out of her mouth probably in their hundreds, but I couldn't blame her. I wanted to but I couldn't. I knew there was no good explanation but I wanted her back. In my heart, I knew I would take her back in a second if I could only find her.

Slowly, I dragged myself out of bed. I seemed to ache all the time even though I had barely moved over the last few days. I couldn't face breakfast so I stumbled to the bathroom where I could barely confront myself in the mirror. I hadn't looked at myself for weeks, probably not since Emma had left and I had certainly fallen apart. My hair, which is normally short and styled, looked somehow longer and dishevelled. My face was gaunt and pale, and my eyes were sunken, one of them sporting a light bruising. I guessed it must have been a parting gift from my bar-fight experience two nights before. All in all, not the best I've ever looked. I have never been confident of my appearance but I knew I had a certain charm and winning Emma seemed to back that up as evidence. Emma was a '10' so I can't have been that far behind. I used to run regularly and had been slowly training to run the London marathon. This put me in good physical shape and would boost my confidence when I felt awkward. I had never really appreciated what I had before, but looking at myself now, I prayed for it back.

After a shower and a deep scrub I felt a tad more human and was ready to find the Reverend. The church wasn't far and remembering my way wasn't difficult. I used to take Emma up there on warm Sundays and talk about the future; how many kids we wanted, where we wanted to live someday. Must stop reminiscing and focus.

The church was beautifully crafted and even seeing it from a distance brought back hundreds of memories. The grounds were manicured perfectly and whenever we would walk around them, I would suggest we try and find Rev. Crawley for old time's sake. Emma had never seemed keen on the idea so I never pushed it. This time was different though, I needed to find him.

I could go on for hours about me searching for Crawley. I could tell you how I paced through the church and up and down the grounds. I could mention how many different staff I talked to when I was there. But I won't. The inescapable truth is the only thing that matters. According to everyone who worked there, passersby on the grounds and all the reports and records I could find, there was not nor had ever been a Rev. James Crawley working there.

# Chapter Four

'Do you feel better now?'

I drummed my fingers on the side of the sofa and smiled sarcastically. A week ago, I had been desperate to get back in this office but now...

Dr Davies peered at me blankly, allowing me to ponder her question longer. It seems standard practise for therapists to solely ask questions and provide no help whatsoever. If this is the case, Veronica Davies was very good.

'Do you feel better?' She repeated the question.

'What do you mean?' I seemed to arrive at these sessions already angry, perhaps sceptical, and these questions do nothing to ease my temper. My answers tended to be short and irate.

'Well,' she started slowly, as if explaining something simple to someone simple. This didn't help with my anger. 'You left last week with questions. You said you needed to search for the answers. I'm assuming you did some digging and probably found something. So I ask again... do you feel better?'

I laughed coldly, chuckling like a psychopath does at the beginning of a Bond film. The thought that I might have finally crossed the realm into insanity crossed my mind briefly. It wasn't me that was insane, it was this whole situation.

'You have no idea,' I muttered slowly, continuing my convincing performance of a psychopath. 'The more questions I ask, the more fucked up this whole shit becomes.' My voice had become shrill and high and I was losing control of my language. I blame the stress.

Dr Davies looked slightly taken aback by my outburst but kept silent, observing. I realised that after the monosyllabic answers she was accustomed to from me, raw emotion must have been like gold dust.

I calmed down, breathing deeply. She couldn't understand what was going on in my head. Nobody could. 'You have no idea,' I said once more.

'So explain it to me.'

I did. I told her everything. I went through every detail, dripping with tears as I processed the thoughts once more. I was shaking, falling between anger and disbelief. I could tell Veronica was struggling to believe any of this but to her credit, she let me finish. I finally reached the end of my tale, looking at her for the first time in minutes.

'So basically...Emma left, I knew nothing about her, she was never a lawyer and to top it all off we were never even married,' I summarised. 'So you tell me just the how the hell I'm supposed to process that.'

She said nothing. I sympathised with her for once. I didn't imagine this was covered in whatever training she had done. She was scrambling internally, desperate to come up with something to justify her ludicrous prices. She didn't say any of this of course, but I could see it in her eyes. At last she spoke.

'There is a technique we use where we mind map all the problems in our lives. If you can visualise your problems you can fix them,' she finished weakly.

'Is this really necessary?

She insisted and produced a folded-down frame from behind her desk. She proceeded to turn this into an easel of sorts and rest a large sheet on plain paper on it, like a make-shift whiteboard. This was not helping with my 'teacher-pupil' complex. The set was completed with a large felt tip pen, the type I had thrown at me once by an irate English teacher. She raised it, ready to rehash the same information I had just explained to her.

'So from the start...' she instructed efficiently, determined to persevere with this stupid idea.

Twenty minutes later I was staring at the paper, now coated in her neat handwriting. Still perplexed and confused. It made for pretty painful reading and seeing it in black and white was not easing my mind. It read:

Tom Sharpe's Problems to Solve

1) Emma has gone.

2) I have no way of finding her.

3) She had an elaborate web of lies, including somehow convincing me and all our friends that she was a lawyer.

4) There is no way of contacting her parents – if they even are her parents.

5) She paid some man to pretend to marry us.

6) Our marriage was a complete lie.

7) I haven't been to work for two weeks.

8) I will never see Emma again and get closure on this.

That last one was mine. I insisted she put it on there. So that was it. All this time I had been worrying that I had lots of problems to contend with, but it was just the eight. I hadn't even mentioned how I was worried about paying the bills alone or how I was going to tell my friends and family about this. At a time like this, you would think futile human emotions like embarrassment wouldn't matter, but you try telling your Mum (especially if she is anything like my Mum) you don't have a wife and you have been conned for the last five years.

'Why?' I broke the silence, with a croak at the back of my throat. I coughed and continued. 'This is what I can't get my head around. Why?'

'Why, what exactly? Which part?'

'Imagine how much hard work it would take to set up the lies she did. I met her at work several times and I saw her coming down the stairs and never once suspected. There were files everywhere, which must have taken hours of work. For over three years she got up, went to 'work' really early and didn't come home until the evening. She planned an entire fake wedding and somehow managed to fake documents like a marriage license. Then one day she disappears and doesn't take a thing. Why go to that effort?'

As I spoke, I asked myself the same questions and came up with very few answers.

'It does seem strange,' whispered Veronica, more conservative than usual. 'You are sure she didn't take any money or items belonging to you?'

I was certain. Firstly, I have no money. I work for a small company (small for London standards) processing figures and details. A glorified accountant, without the 'glorified' bit. Truth be told, I wasn't even a full accountant, I was a 'junior' which is a synonym for 'doesn't need to be paid much.' I have very little savings and would never consider myself as a target for thieves. Is she a thief? No, she can't be. For one thing, she didn't take anything. My brain was starting to hurt again; too many questions.

'I am sorry Tom. I cannot answer your questions. But you need to find the answers from somewhere. What we need to do is plan your next step. What are you going to do?'

'Nothing,' I said, standing up sharply. I could see her expression but wasn't going to listen any more.

'Tom...,' she mouthed.

'No. Nothing. I am done. She has fucked with my head too much and I don't want to know. I don't want to find her, I don't want to speak to her and it suits me fine if I never see her again!' I had made up my mind. This was too ludicrous now and I knew nothing Emma would say could fix it. It was dead. Anything we had ever shared together (which right now looked like nothing) was gone and I had to move on.

'Tom, you won't get closure if you...' she stated, trying to make me see sense.

'Forget closure! I haven't lived for the last two weeks because of this woman. I haven't worked, I've barely eaten and I've lost time I'll never get back. But no more. I am moving on and forgetting she ever existed. Starting now.'

I got up and turned to storm out. I was determined for the first time in a long time. My stride was broken slightly when I realised I hadn't paid and spent ten minutes at reception paying for my session. Nursing my bruised ego, I sauntered out and headed for the nearest tube station.

*****

I felt strangely at peace when I got off the tube. I was still shaking a bit and must have looked severely poorly; I remembered the takeaway pizza I ate when I watched the 'wedding' video, but couldn't remember eating since. I knew I would always have these questions but so what? People have questions the whole of their lives and get on fine. I would be one of those people. At forty, I would drink too much, buy a motorbike and slump into a mid-life crisis as a replacement for dealing with my issues. That would at least allow me to cope in the meantime.

My resolve, which was normally so fragile, had hardened on the tube and a firm plan was set. I was going to march into the house, gather everything that reminded me of Emma and either burn it or (more realistically) throw it out. I was going to search for a new job and find somebody new. Maybe I'd ask Sophie out on a date. Even as I thought this I shuddered. Not that she wasn't beautiful or sweet or anything, but the bond we had developed was more like a brother and sister. Any romance would feel like incest. Just wrong.

As I opened the front door I faced the realisation that I wouldn't do any of these things. Not tonight anyway. All I was ready for today was sleep, television and more takeaway pizza. I could do more tomorrow. I actually laughed out loud to myself when I thought of how Emma would frown if I ate too much pizza. Well 'fuck you' I thought and the first thing I did was order two large meat-feasts.

Hours later I opened my eyes. I blinked around me, trying to work out what the time was. The television was still on and I was lying with my feet on the sofa, my head on the floor and my torso drooped between the two. My face felt red and warm and, at first, deformed, until I realised I had fallen asleep on a slice of pizza and had a meatball stuck to my face. I was a mess. The blinds were all still up but no light was coming through. It must be night-time; I must have slept for hours. My appointment with Dr Davies had been at ten fifteen and I was home no later than midday so I'd been asleep for most of the day. I felt weak and sore but better mentally. She wasn't on my mind for the first time in weeks. I mean, she was on my mind because I was thinking 'I'm not thinking about her' but you get the point. I was finally ready to move on.

I fumbled for my phone, and felt the usual twinge of disappointment when I realised another day had passed and not one missed call or text. The clock on my phone told me it was coming up to one in the morning and I made the decision to return back to work tomorrow. I had a phone call the day before from my 'team leader' Jeff, who told me I could take my time to feel right again. I hadn't been in the mood to speak to him or anyone so I muttered a thanks and hung up. Yes, people would talk and I would have to answer a thousand pointless questions like 'how are you feeling?' and 'are you coping OK?' But this was a new Tom, a stronger Tom and I was going to face it all. Tomorrow. First I was going to drag myself upstairs to bed and get as much more sleep as possible. I set my alarm for 06:00 to give myself enough time for some serious 'man-scaping'. My face was covered by a severe shrubbery and a shower alone was not going to clean me back up to scratch. It was going to take some serious work.

I stumbled up the staircase which seemed to go on forever and eventually made it to our room, sorry 'my' room. Slumping on my bed, I was just contemplating whether I had the energy to remove my clothes or not when my phone rumbled. What was that?

I searched through my pockets quickly, suddenly feeling more awake as it continued to vibrate. A phone call. Who the hell was phoning me at this time? Oh God...could it be Emma. I ripped it out of my pocket and stared at the screen. The number was blocked and my screen only read the message 'unknown caller.' I couldn't miss this opportunity. I hated myself for wanting it to be Emma after all my resolve but I could hate myself later. I clicked the green button and held it to my ear impatiently.

'Hello,' I rushed.

Nothing. I could hear breathing and knew somebody was there but nobody spoke.

'Hello,' I said again, this time more urgently. The breathing got harsher.

'Stop looking for her.' The voice was rough and foreign, although I could tell it was being put on. It was barely louder than a whisper but the message was clear and terrifying.

I froze. I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand up and the adrenaline shoot through me. I wanted to understand, to ask something that could help. Instead I spluttered the usual stupid response.

'Who is this, what are you talking about...' I started pointlessly.

'I will say it again,' and as he spoke I thought I heard a trace of an Eastern European accent, but I couldn't be sure. It was certainly deep and scary.

'Stop looking for her, stop trying to find her. We know. We are watching you. Do not test us on this. Forget she ever existed. To you she is dead. Do you understand?'

I swallowed loudly and nodded, then realised that they couldn't see that. Or maybe they could. Are they watching me now?

'Do you understand?' Something in the voice made me realise I wouldn't want to make him ask again.

'Yes, I understand. Who are you? Where is Emma...?'

They hung up. What the hell just happened? I was out, I was moving on with my life. Now, with a sickening feeling in my stomach growing stronger by the second I knew I was back in. Whatever it took and no matter how terrifying the voice on the end of the phone was, I had to find Emma.

# Chapter Five

'Can we meet where we used to play as kids?'

I was never any good at 'hide and seek' as a child. I always used to laugh or get bored or just forget that blending in with the background was essential and as a result would often get caught. This may go some way to explain why I was standing in a phone box, in a bright purple jumper, with the hood pulled up over my head.

After panicking last night, I tried to pull myself together. They can't have been watching me in the house could they? I couldn't be sure. I had no idea who 'they' were or what they wanted with me or Emma. I had a depressing feeling that I was involved in something far bigger than I could comprehend and knew I had to tread carefully.

A vivid imagination and the complete box set of Bond films is not a good combination for this kind of situation. I reasoned that if they were watching me somehow I would have to act normal. I reasoned further (after watching Golden Eye and Moonraker) that in order to continue my investigation I would have to become 'stealthy'. The problem with this deduction was that 'stealthiness' seemed difficult to learn in a few short hours and was more like a genetic ability, which I was unlucky enough to be born without.

The basic rules I tried to follow were:

1) Act normal in the house – there could easily be bugs or cameras hidden.

2) Do not make important phone calls on either my mobile or home phone – again there could be people listening in.

3) When going out wear neutral colours and blend into the crowds.

4) Change the pace of my walking and take different routes to normal places – hopefully see if someone is following me.

5) Act as if I have moved on p my life.

Pretty 'James Bond' I think you'll agree.

So where did I go wrong? Standing in this phone box, wearing the brightest piece of clothing I own... well...I panicked.

I woke up in the morning and decided I had to talk to my old friend Jack (the one who is pretty high up in the Warwickshire Police Force if you remember?) and ask his advice. As I got my mobile out I remembered basic rule number two and pondered how I could get in contact with him. I could drive up to see him but chose against it. I wanted to warn him first and see his reaction to the whole thing. Jack is a fantastic guy but to him the world is either black or white; there are no grey areas in between. What if he didn't believe me or thought I was exaggerating my problems? I think this was why I hadn't talked to him sooner. I had to warn to him first.

If my mobile was out of the question then what could I do? I could go and ask Sophie to borrow hers; I knew she would say yes but did I really want to involve her anymore? I didn't have the energy for answering any more questions and I didn't want to worry her. I decided on a public phone box. They couldn't bug that surely? Especially if I got four different tubes and travelled well over an hour to find one.

So that was my method of contacting him sorted. Now, how could I get there? I must have tried on twenty different outfits, all in various shades of black. I looked like a trendy ninja. Finally a difficult decision fell on me. How can I hide my face? I had an old balaclava from when I went paintballing with Jack and the lads and pondered using it for a second. As much as it prevented the detection of my face I realised I would stand out more. All the 'bad guys' would have to look out for was a crazy man walking through the centre of London in a balaclava. I decided against it. My Spiderman face mask met the same fate. It occurred to me that I could pass through town relatively hassle-free with a hoody on and even blend in with the crowd. Good idea.

My first problem was that I'd fallen behind on my washing since Emma left and the only item resembling a hoody in my wardrobe was tight and bright purple. I was stuck in limbo. This clearly broke basic rule three but it did seem to help me. Mentally I flipped a coin, decided it was heads, decided that was stupid, decided I should make a decision and decided to wear the hoody. I put in on. To be on the safe side I grabbed a pair of sunglasses, despite the fact that it was overcast and that they were Emma's. I hit the road.

So that was why, over an hour later, I stood huddled in an old fashioned phone box carefully dialling in Jack's number. I was sure nobody was around me, listening, but it didn't stop me spinning around every few seconds. I couldn't have looked much shiftier if I'd tried.

My nerves were on end. I had taken six different tubes in the end to comfort my paranoia, treating everyone that wasn't an old lady with contempt and distrust. One young lady had the misfortune of swapping lines at the same time as me, making her the subject of some of my most appalling glances. I began sneaking a peak at her once in a while until I was convinced she looked like the sort that worked for a corrupt organisation and I felt she was looking at me far too often. No wonder with how I looked. I decided to counter her glares with some of my own and wanted to show her I was fearless and determined. I think the look I accidentally conveyed fell somewhere between horny and constipated.

The phone began to ring and I could feel the desperation in my breathing. 'Please pick up. Please pick up,' I whispered to myself. Where they watching me now? What if they could hear this? Oh God, Jack, please pick up!

'Hello, Jack Williams speaking.'

I lost my nerve. I couldn't risk anyone hearing what I wanted to tell Jack. I couldn't do this over the phone.

'Jack, hi. I need your help,' I started breathlessly. There was a pause for a second until my voice registered.

'Tom, is that you? Hi, how are you? What's up?'

'I can't talk here Jack, trust me. Can we meet up? Please, I need your help.'

'Jesus, Tom what's going on? Are you hurt? What's wrong?'

'I can't say here Jack please,' I implored him. 'Can we meet up this afternoon? In a couple of hours!'

'Tom?'

'Please. Can we meet where we used to play as kids?' He could hear the panic in my voice, but I tried to sound as strong as possible.

'Um... I guess. What is going on buddy? You can tell me.'

'Not now. Later. Meet me at the place we used to play OK? Do you remember?'

'I remember Tom.'

'In two hours?'

'I'll be there.'

'Thanks Jack. I promise I'll explain everything then.'

'You better.'

I hung up. I realised how paranoid I must have sounded on the phone but at least I had his attention. If there was one person I knew could help me, it was Jack. I raced out of the phone box, checked I wasn't being tailed and headed for home. I was going to have to dig out my car, which due to living in London, hadn't been freed from our storage lockup for months. I just hoped it had enough petrol to get it started.

*****

The swings felt exactly like I remembered. I ran my hand over the cold metal and rested my weight on one of the worn, rubber seats. The 'place we played as kids' was overgrown, unkempt and clearly unloved. It wasn't that way when I was growing up.

There is a housing development in Leamington Spa, a small town in Warwickshire, where I spent my childhood. The house was nothing special but then neither was my parents' income so we made do with what we had. We definitely didn't have it tough growing up but there was nothing extravagant about anything we owned. The house was one of a terraced row and seemed decidedly smaller and shabbier than its neighbours. We only had two bedrooms but then it was just myself and the 'folks' so we got by.

I don't want to paint a negative picture of my childhood. It was good; it's just that I had to search elsewhere for my entertainment as every spare inch in the house was used for storage (Dad was obsessed). This is why Jack and I ventured out around the development in search of our 'safe haven'. We found a set of swings that weren't in perfect working order. This was perfect for us. Nobody bothered to use them so we knew they were always free and it was fairly secluded as the council had planted large shrubberies around the estate in an attempt to make it more attractive. We were shaded by a dense collection of trees and bushes which meant we could do what we wanted. As young children Jack would come over (he only lived 3 streets away and went to the same school) and we'd play for hours on the swings, trying to make them work. If you pushed hard enough they would rock noisily.

As we got older we sat on the swings more ironically I guess and used to pretend we were too cool for them. It never stopped us using them and I certainly never stopped enjoying them. It must have looked strange to see boys in their late teenage years sitting on swings but I realised I must look even more bizarre now.

I had made it up to Warwickshire in good time and was early. I knew Jack would be here presently and I was grateful for once to just relax and catch my breath. I was beginning to calm down. Perhaps it was my 'safe haven' that was easing my worries. I had been so consumed by fear and confusion over the last... well... month really and I needed to just pause for a minute. I felt like laughing, though I'm not sure why. Nothing had got better. There was no proof that Jack could help me but I definitely felt calmer. I couldn't wait to see him.

Jack appeared suddenly from around the trees and stood in front of me, smiling kindly. He wasn't wearing a police uniform like the last time I saw him, but I had spoken to him several times and I knew he'd been promoted. He was wearing a sharp suit that was cut to fit him perfectly and emphasised his athletic figure. I knew he was now a detective or something although the exact job title always evades me.

I stood up smiling, feeling happier than I had in a long time, and hugged him strongly. We let go and he sat on the creaky swing next to me.

'Right Tom talk to me,' he said, taking control of the situation. 'Are you implicated in anything illegal?'

'What? Do I seem like the sort?' I asked, in mock-anger.

'I'm serious. If you've done anything wrong tell me now.' It was clear he wasn't here to mess around. I must have worried him on the phone.

'No, no Jack. I haven't done anything wrong, I swear.'

'So it's about Emma then?' I guess it wasn't a hard situation to deduce but it impressed me that he knew anyway.

'Yes. Jack I think I'm in danger. I've been digging into Emma's disappearance and something's wrong.'

'Tom, I know you want to find Emma and make things right but are you sure this is good for you?'

'It's a bit late for that. I'll tell you everything I know but you have to promise not to say anything. Just listen until I've got everything out. Can you promise me that?'

Jack could sense this was a big deal and nodded silently. I told him everything I could think of and tried to order the information as best I could. I went over her false job, the lack of family, the footage of our wedding, the imaginary Reverend and the phone-call, all with impeccable detail. By the end of my story Jack looked white as a sheet but he kept to his word and stayed quiet.

'I was just starting to think I was going mad or they were coincidences and I was going to just move on I swear, but how can I after that call?' I finished. 'What does the call even mean? Has she been kidnapped? Is she OK? I can't stop until I know she's alive.'

Jack stood up swiftly as if making a decision. 'Don't read too much into the call. I don't know why they phoned or who they are but it could be anything. What if she heard you were looking for her and got one of her mates to warn you off, for example?'

I hadn't thought of that. Since the phone call, I had kept a burning desire that Emma had been taken against her will and she didn't want to go. At least then she could still love me.

'It just makes no sense, mate. She faked her whole life including your wedding and leaves you a note. Doesn't sound like a kidnapping. Sounds more like she's been planning it from the start,' he said, before adding, 'Sorry mate.'

'I know you're right deep down, Jack. I'm just too afraid to admit it.'

'Not a chance,' I interrupted. Jack looked taken aback but I wasn't listening. 'I'm sorry Jack, I know you only want to help but I can't. I need to keep looking, not just hide. What if she is in trouble for a reason I can't explain and I go straight to the police. They will know. I have to go home as normal, live life as normal and work out my plan from there.'

Jack tried to convince me otherwise but I wasn't having any of it.

'I came to you because I thought you'd listen. I want your advice not to be taken in by the police. Please try and understand.'

'Fine Tom, I don't like it but I know what you're like when Emma is involved. You won't stop at anything. But I warn you now; I can't protect you if you don't come in with me. You understand that, don't you?' He looked worried but tried to hide it from me.

'I do Jack, and thanks.'

'So...what can I do to help?'

I thought for a second and racked my brains for any police resources that might help me.

'Right, I know. Can you run her name in the computer? See if any hits come up with any information that could help. Then why don't you and Rachel come down for the weekend to London? Come have some food or something. It would be nice to have the company and you can check the flat and see if you think it's been bugged.'

'Sounds like a plan. I'll check with Rach and we'll see you on the weekend. Maybe go see a game or something?'

Both of us knew we wouldn't go and see a football match but it was nice for one brief second to chat like we used to.

'Look after yourself Tom,' he said caringly. 'I mean it. I'll run her name and see what comes up and I'll bring anything I can find down with us. Try to relax and act normal until then. Maybe go back to work or something to take your mind of it.'

'OK mate, I'll try.'

'We'll get you through this buddy, I swear. One way or another.'

'Thanks,' was all I was able to muster.

# Chapter Six

'How are you feeling?'

Going back to work was not really an option I wanted to consider. I certainly didn't feel like I was in the right state of mind to be working, especially in a crowded office block, but I couldn't see any other options. I had no other leads and until I heard back from Jack, pacing around the flat all day wasn't going to do anybody any good.

It wasn't quite as easy as just going back to work either. The flat was a complete disaster and resembled a bomb-site more than accommodation. I was wearing my last clean pair of socks and wasn't far away from running out of clothes completely. I had decided to take a small stand against my state of affairs and sort everything out. After four hours of strenuous cleaning my washing machine was groaning with exhaustion and my back was about to give out. The kitchen hadn't taken long to clean; it was really just a case of recycling all the takeaway packaging. The hoover had worked overtime and was now paying dividends as I could at least see the carpet now. It felt good. Well, to be honest, I felt sore and exhausted but it felt like an achievement. A small part of my terrifyingly confusing life was back under control. I fell into bed, relieved to take the pressure off my legs and back, and was asleep in record time.

I don't know if there is a more sickening feeling than the first moments of consciousness after your alarm goes off. I literally hate my alarm clock. I looked at it blearily and managed to set it on to snooze, which only prolonged my agony as three minutes later it went off again. My alarm clock is held together loosely with tape as I've taken out my unfounded dislike for it by throwing it at the wall numerous times. Poor alarm clock. All it does is the exact function I bought it to do and then gets punished for it.

After I had dragged my lifeless body out of my bed and showered, I turned my attention to breakfast. I hadn't been shopping and had nothing suitable in the house, but for the first time in a while I was ravenous with hunger. I searched through the cupboards that were only opened when a home-cooked meal was being prepared and, in desperation, dug out an out of date pot-noodle and some rice pudding. I could lie and say I forced my way through it, but honestly, I loved it. The flavours were incredible; strong and vibrant. I feel I should explain now, the two foods were not mixed. They were served warm as a two course meal. Considerably fuller, I set about ironing my newly cleaned clothes and headed to the car. The offices for Hamilton Accountants were only a few miles away and I had got into the good routine of cycling to work every day. Somehow, I didn't feel like exerting myself too much today. One step at a time, as it were.

At the second time of asking my car started cleanly and I was off. Twenty minutes later, I was sat in the car-park, giving myself some sort of pre-match team talk. I remember remarking to myself (again out loud) that it would have been quicker to cycle to work then sit in London traffic like that. I didn't mind though. The longer it took to get there, the longer it was before I had to face everyone again.

I'd been back to work the day after Emma left. I remember very little of my return but it was clear to everybody that something was wrong and after confiding my problems to one colleague, it was common knowledge to everyone there within half an hour. I tried to work through it but it wasn't long before people started commenting with their own brand of 'advice.' After the fifth person had told me to take a few days off, I lost it. If my memory serves me right, I threw a chair into my own desk and smashed the computer screen whilst shouting, 'I don't need to take any fucking time off...'

Needless to say, I was called straight into a small office where both our general manager and team leader suggested rather forcefully that I go and see somebody as I 'obviously had some unresolved issues to work through.' David Colt, the general manager, had even given me the contact details of Dr. Veronica Davies and offered to book my first appointment.

So, as I marched slowly up the steps which fronted Hamilton Accountants, I did so with a flurry of butterflies flying around my stomach. How was I going to play it? Should I play it cool and walk in like nothing had happened? That didn't work so well last time. Should I be honest and tell them what I was going through? Again, history didn't favour this option. I decided to go in looking ill and exhausted (which I felt) and hope people would feel sorry for me and give me some privacy. I loosened my tie a bit, ran my hand roughly through my hair and pushed open the doors. As I stumbled through reception I gave a small, courteous nod to the two receptionists, both of whom took an unmistakable double-take at seeing me. That was their gossip sorted for lunchtime. I scanned my personnel identification card and walked through another set of doors. Most people take the impressive elevators here but as I only work on the second floor, and because I have a small fear of dying violently in a lift as the cables snap and I fall rapidly to my death in a small tin can, I normally use the stairs. Even though it can't be any more than twenty-five steps, I could feel myself struggling for breath as I reached the top. 'I really am not fighting fit at the moment,' I thought.

The design of the second floor is sadly open-plan and although I had been given my own office with a door and blinds, it was situated right at the back of a long narrow room with at least fifteen other people working in there, watching. That's twenty nine eyes (Doug from Human Resources has a lazy eye and cannot point both in the same direction) that would be pinned on me as I walked down the central aisle. Knowing this beforehand, I took a deep breath and walked in, trying to hold my head up high.

The silence that fell across the office was instant, rippling to the furthest seats as they presently turned their heads to look. There was no pretence from most, who openly stared and pointed, which I found a little rude.

I could feel the stares burning into my back as I strolled through the office and could audibly hear the 'whispers.' They could at least wait until I got into my office, surely! After what seemed like an eternity, I reached my office door and after a brief fumble with my keys I managed to unlock the door and shut out the gossiping.

They say 'what doesn't kill you makes you stronger' but I have my doubts. I had survived walking through the office, which was an achievement, but I certainly didn't feel any stronger. I knew they were talking about me, partly because I had been in this place for years and partly because I could hear them clearly through my door. The second my door was closed, the whispers disappeared and were replaced with pandemonium. I didn't care. Let them talk. I guess it's human nature to want to gossip and, years ago, I'm sure I would have been one of them. But I certainly wasn't anymore.

It felt weird but in a strange way good to feel these 'human' emotions again. I felt embarrassed, I felt nervous and I felt shaken up, but I was feeling again. I might have felt pretty horrendous but I certainly felt alive, which I greeted secretly like an old friend. Maybe going back to work was a good idea after all.

I pulled closed the blinds, settled into my chair and switched on my new computer. It was a shiny, black thing that operated a lot faster than my old one had. Moments after turning it on, it was ready to go and to my surprise all my previous files had been transferred over. They must have been able to save stuff off the hard drive. I should have trashed my computer years ago.

After half an hour, there was nothing else to do except work. My procrastinating had lasted so long but with my desk organised and my files rearranged, I had to concede defeat and get on with the job I was paid for.

Processing numbers is not exciting: fact. Nobody in the world wants to do it and nobody enjoys it. Anyone who says otherwise is wrong. But for those of us that can do it, it is simple enough work and there are plenty of opportunities for good money. Eventually. I slipped into my old life for a while and it felt comfortable. It felt good. I began wondering how long it would take before I was disturbed. I had thought ahead enough to stop at a corner shop and pick up lunch and I harboured a small hope that I might be able to get through the entire day without seeing another person. If I didn't drink anything and was dehydrated enough, maybe I wouldn't need the toilet either. Optimistic.

My hopes were dashed about twenty minutes later when there was a knock at the door. I froze silently for a second, hoping they might go away again but they persevered, knocking louder than before.

'Come in,' I called out generically, trying not to convey any weakness in my voice.

There was a hesitation before the door moved and team-leader Jeff stood in its place, beaming at me.

'Tommy. Glad to see you're back son. It's good to see you,' he said, starting into the room. He stopped quickly and glanced at me a little more carefully. Perhaps he had just remembered the way I behaved last time we saw each other.

'You...feeling better? Back to your old self?' The questions were casual enough but I could tell he was attempting to judge my mental state. I put him out of his misery.

'I feel fine Jeff. Much better. I'm sorry about last... you know... the way I...'

'Hey Tommy son, don't say another word. Water under the bridge. I'm just glad you're feeling better,' he replied, seemingly more relaxed.

We chatted for a while and I was eventually left with considerably more work than I was doing minutes before. Case loads of work were dumped on my desk; some I had been working on before Emma left and some I did not recognise. It was a Wednesday when I had gone back to work and I promised to catch up before the weekend. Jack was right: the more work I had, the more my mind would be off situations I couldn't avoid and the more normal I would appear if someone was watching me.

*****

It's amazing how life really does go on. By Friday things were feeling more and more normal. Of course, my mind still obsessed over her ever ten seconds, and I was still having terrible nightmares, but I was coping at last. Something about going to work was calming me. Perhaps it was the routine and structure that was helping. I was waking up early. I was showering. I was shaving (every other day.) These may seem fairly mundane to you but there were times when I thought I would never bother to be clean again.

Friday was passing amiably enough. The whispering had stopped and what has caused such a furore two days ago was now old, forgotten news. People greeted me as I entered, some of the women smiled sympathetically and lazy-eyed Doug even tried to talk sports with me. I normally could talk with authority to most people about any sport but right now I was completely out of the loop. I had no clue where Arsenal were in the league and made a mental note to check, before realising it would only be disappointing and decided against it. I didn't think I could take any more bad news.

I was pretty swamped with the work I was catching up on and had decided to push on through lunch. My appetite still hadn't returned fully and it didn't bother me either way whether I ate or not. I felt adequate at work, which was nice. I had spent the last month asking questions my brain was too stupid to comprehend and came up empty handed every time. Finally here I was, solving problems and having a purpose again.

I was interrupted momentarily by Jenny, the young new temp who had started the week before. She came bearing gifts (a cup of tea and a biscuit) and some forms for me to sign. As I checked through the forms she perched on the edge of my desk, swinging her legs seductively. Was she flirting with me? She was certainly showing all the signs. There was definite extended eye contact, soft giggling after everything I said (when most of the time I hadn't intended it to be funny) and the good, old-fashioned squeeze of the arm as if to say 'oh you're so funny' when really it said 'I want to touch your body.' Can I just clarify here that I'm not an expert in this field but I think those are all positive signs of the female mating ritual. I handed the forms back to her and she thanked me, before slinking out of the room slowly.

It may sound strange but I'd never really looked at her before. Sure, I was never going to follow it up; she was far too young and I couldn't even think about women right now, but it felt good. It was nice to feel wanted, attractive. Perhaps I wasn't quite as dishevelled as I thought. Perhaps I was one of those men that looked better a bit rugged and scruffy. Catching a glance of myself in the computers reflection, I decided not. Maybe Jenny had problems.

*****

It was late into the afternoon when I received Jack's text. If truth is told, I had half forgotten my invitation for the weekend but was glad to be reminded of it. The text read:

'Rach and I will be with you by 11 on Sat. We alright to stay over? Got some news... J'

Typical Jack. It was short and formal, despite being friends for years. I was delighted to be seeing them and momentarily got that same excitement in the pit of my stomach I would get when we were kids. Jack is coming over! Good times. But I was distracted by the last sentence. 'Got some news.'

Immediately the world I was trying to avoid hit me in the face. What exactly did 'news' mean. Did he know something about Emma? What if he knew where Ems was? Oh God, what if she was hurt or... No she won't be. Somehow I knew she would be OK.

As hard as I tried, work had fallen from my list of priorities and it wasn't coming back. I grabbed my coat and bag, logged off the new computer and paced out of the door. I slipped out of the building and decided I could explain why I was behind on the work on Monday. I was desperate to phone Jack but knew he would be busy. It surely couldn't be that important or he would phone me, wouldn't he? How was I going to take my mind off worrying for a whole night? Then the sudden realisation dawned on me that I had guests coming over and my flat was disgusting. I had work to do.

# Chapter Seven

'You don't look like shit like Jack said!'

Promptly on the dot of 11am, Jack and Rachel knocked on my door. I knew Jack too well to know he would never be anything but on time and luckily had prepared the flat early. Sleep had been limited the night before but, looking at the flat, it was a sacrifice worth making. It scrubbed up pretty good.

I took a deep breath, tried to put my best 'I'm fine honestly' look on my face and opened the door. I can't explain how good it was to see them.

Rachel stood there first, looking fantastic and holding a bottle. At first I assumed it was a bottle of wine but when I gave it my full attention I was corrected. Tequila. They were here to party. Rachel must have been 4 inches shorter than me, but certainly tried to close the gap with amazing heels. She looked well, no scratch that, she looked great. I had always been really fond of Rachel. When your best mate meets a girl and it looks like they could get serious it is natural to get a bit defensive around her. It hadn't lasted long though. Rachel was strong and forceful but her personality suited me down to the ground and we had spent countless nights with Jack and Emma, laughing and drinking and feeling alive. It was good to see her.

She stepped up into the apartment, hugged me tightly and kissed me on the cheek.

'You don't look like shit like Jack said!'

I laughed, probably for the first time in a month. 'You've looked worse I suppose,' I replied.

Jack followed her into the flat, pretending to punch me in the stomach before hugging me as well. They were familiar; a memory of happier times and something I needed right now. Gone were the worries of following dead ends and getting upset. For one day I was going to be happy and smile and laugh and...drink.

I put the kettle on and we settled into the lounge with warm drinks and warm conversation. They were almost over-friendly. I guess they must have been worried about me. Seeing me smile and laugh seemed to calm Rachel's fears and she settled down more and more. Jack still looked concerned and was studying me like Dr Davies. Had I really looked that bad when we last met? Thinking back, almost definitely.

The day passed far too quickly for my liking. As lunchtime approached I offered to make them lunch but after minutes of their laughter, Rachel took over and somehow made us omelettes and chips for lunch. I wasn't aware I had either eggs or chips in the house, but I loved her cooking and was too hungry to question it. We wolfed the food down and began drinking before two o'clock, just because we could. I had remembered to get beers in and we made our way through those handsomely. By the time the evening arrived, I wouldn't say we were drunk, but we had certainly begun our journey there.

*****

'What are we doing tonight?' Rachel asked. She was beginning to get restless and wanted to go out. Dancing, ideally, but that idea was soon quashed by both Jack and myself. I may have been happier than I had been for a while but I certainly wasn't ready to go out clubbing. Baby steps.

'We could go out for some food,' I said. Now I had started eating, my body was starting to remember how good food could be.

'BORING,' shouted Rach.

'OK, you choose,' I replied, opening another beer. It went silent for a second while we all thought. Despite living in London and having every entertainment available to us, we always struggled to come up with ideas. We must have spent hundreds of nights together but they usually consisted of eating food, drinking alcohol and making fools of ourselves. So trying to come up with a new idea now was proving more difficult than you would think.

'I've got it.' Jack finally broke the silence. 'What about Plateau 64?'

Plateau 64 was a club Jack and I used to go to when we were younger. It must be a chain although I have only ever seen two. In Birmingham (the biggest major city near to where we grew up) we found this small club that had good beer and a lax attitude towards age restrictions on drinking. Looking back I'm pretty sure it was a gay club. There were certainly a lot of butch men and Jack and I were always incredibly popular. I barely remember having to buy my own drink once. At the time we just thought they were being friendly.

However, in the last few years it had turned into a comedy club and Saturday nights were 'open mic' nights. I assumed this was more what Jack was referring to. I hoped, at least, he wanted to watch people try their hand at stand-up comedy.

The day I moved in with Emma, I got a little lost and found myself driving around the back-streets of North London. I eventually found her place but before I did I spotted another 'Plateau 64', sticking out of the grey scenery like a sore thumb. I immediately took a photo of myself outside it and sent it to Jack. Since then we have sporadically visited the club watching various stand-ups, with varying degrees of success.

'You up for it, Rach?' I asked. She never replied but was jumping up and down with excitement. She seemed up for anything.

'Alright, let's do it!'

*****

The club was particularly busy that night. Occasionally it hosted acts you had seen on the telly and I could image those nights being packed out, but I was surprised to see it that busy for an 'open mic' night. We even had to queue! Luckily the queue didn't last long and I'm British anyway so can queue with the best of them.

We eventually got in and managed to squeeze around a table. Jack went and got us some drinks while I attempted to talk to Rach. I say attempted as, despite it being a comedy club, the music still blared invasively loud between acts. Even if you had never known it was a gay club before the choice of songs might have given you a clue. We exchanged a few words between Abba tracks and gave up communication entirely during 'It's Raining Men.'

Jack eventually came back with the drinks (which had actually been bought for us by 'Big Daddy' at the bar) and we turned our attention to the stage in anticipation. Presently, the noise hushed, the music died out and the first act was ushered to the stage.

'Open mic' nights as a general rule are a disappointment. Most people that attempt stand up comedy do it for a laugh (literally) and don't have any set planned. Now and then they get a good vibe going and their five minutes are passable at the very least. The most excruciating experience is when you get somebody who plans their set to the furthest extent, rehearses it and performs to the best of their ability, only for it to be painfully bad. Comedy is difficult for the pros but impossible for the inexperienced. Everyone dies on stage at some point and most of the deaths seem to be situated at Plateau 64.

As a general rule, I tend to believe that people with a 'funny' name aren't actually funny at all. I therefore didn't hold high hopes for 'Comedy Colin' as he strutted onto the stage.

Colin was certainly confident. He took to the stage and began by saying, 'thank you, thank you,' ignorant to the silence and the fact that nobody was clapping him on. He got four or five steps onto the stage before attempting the 'comedy trip'. To master a good 'comedy trip' it needs to come out of nowhere. The fall needs to be dramatic and energetic with the performer giving it a thousand percent. Colin however, stopped still, remembered what he was doing, pretended to catch his foot on something (despite the fact he is standing centre-stage, feet from any objects) and stumbled down on to one knee, before getting up slowly in stony silence. After what seemed like ages, he finally reached the mic and bellowed, 'Hiya.'

One simple word and the whole audience had made their mind up about him. As he shouted 'Hiya,' the audience confirmed the views and thought in perfect unison, 'Twat.'

Things didn't get much better for 'Comedy Colin' after that. Colin's thing was impressions. Sadly for him he seemed to be tone-deaf and clueless to the fact that to do different voices, you had to alter the pitch and tone of your voice, at least a little. To this day he is the only man I have ever met to have no clear distinction between his impressions of De Niro and Louis Spence.

We cringed our way through Colin's five minutes in stunned silence and were finally relieved when he finished off with his 'famous' rendition of Wogan (or was it Michael Caine?)

The rest of the night ran in a similar vein, with the odd exception. There was an impressive five minutes from a young man called Marcus, but we did question afterwards whether he was indeed that good or whether we were just grateful to be rid of Colin. The comedians did get progressively better but a) that wasn't hard considering where we started and b) we continued to drink into the night.

My memory of our time in the club is a little patchy now and the acts seem to blur into one. I do remember Jack having to work hard to stop Rachel from volunteering herself during a small lull. I didn't feel that drunk at the time but as I went up to the bar I stumbled slightly and bumped into a large man. I would like to feel that he stumbled into me as much as I did to him but, whoever's fault it was, the awkward situation developed where I was, momentarily entangled with a large, muscular man. Given the history of the club, I was worried about 'leading him on' and apologised before marching off quickly.

It was getting late when we decided to leave. Rachel clung on to Jack and we tiptoed out of the club and attempted to hail a taxi.

'You got any change for the taxi?' asked Jack, who was struggling to reach his wallet whilst supporting Rachel's weight.

'Probably,' I yawned back and dug my hands into my pockets. I couldn't feel any loose change, but felt my fingers press against a note. My mind hoped for a twenty but I knew realistically, after the way we had bought drinks that night, it would be optimistic to expect more than a fiver. I pulled it out. It wasn't a fiver, or even money at all.

At first glance it looked insignificant. Perhaps a shopping note I had written weeks ago and left in my pocket. But it was a strange, yellow/gold colour and it was folded too crisply. This was a new piece of paper. I opened it carefully, forced my drunk eyes to read what was on it and immediately felt like I was going to be sick.

It read:

Getting the Police involved.

Bad move.

My blood ran colder than ice. I couldn't speak. Any feelings of being drunk had disappeared instantly and I felt more awake than ever before. Emma was back instantly in my thoughts and my brain was firing out a thousand questions a second, like it had a few weeks ago. First question: who had put that note in my pocket? Second question: How could they possibly know Jack was a detective? But most importantly, question number three: What did this mean for me, Jack and Emma?

Jack turned to see why I was suddenly quiet and asked, 'you alright mate?'

I forced myself to respond. I tried to speak but no words came out. Weakly I handed him the note, resisting blacking-out with all my strength.

He could tell instantly that something was wrong. He snatched the note off me and read it through twice, analysing rapidly. He snapped his head up and scanned the area, looking for danger.

'We have to get you out of here,' Jack ordered and doubled his efforts to hail a taxi.

'What's going on?' Rachel was still incredibly drunk and had not been paying attention to either one of us.

'Nothing Darling. Just time to get you to bed. Come on,' Jack said in the calmest voice he could muster. He shot me a forceful glance and added a small shake of the head as if to say, 'she doesn't need to know about any of this.'

Rachel was too far gone to argue and slipped into the taxi that had pulled up alongside us. Jack pushed me in next to her, before looking around one last time and diving in to the seat opposite me. Instantly, the taxi pulled off.

'Jack what is going on? What does it mean? How could they know you...?'

I didn't know what to ask first and as a result, the questions tumbled out of my mouth with no recognised order. Jack checked Rachel, who was now sleeping soundly against the window, and shook his head.

'First things first, we need to work out how this note got in your pocket,' he said, a little calmer. Now we were away in the taxi his brain was back to being rational and he was thinking things through properly.

I forced my mind to concentrate and played back as much of the night as I could remember. Most of the night I hadn't moved out of my seat. Nobody but Rachel and Jack were near me. I had visited the toilets twice, and both times maintained a safe 'two urinal' distance from any other man. The only other time I moved was to get drinks at the bar. Then it hit me. The large man. In my drunken state I had been so worried he might think I was coming on to him that I fled rapidly. What if it wasn't an accident we had collided? What if he had set it up and slipped the note in my pocket.

I mimicked the motion of planting a note and put my hand back in my pocket.

'I know it's scary but we don't know they are dangerous,' Jack whispered, rationalising the pure, black and white facts.

'Jack...'

'I mean, we know they are intimidating and they are obviously observing us more than we thought but...

'Jack...'

'...but none of this means you are in any danger...

'JACK,' I shouted desperate to get his attention.

He looked up sharply. I had shocked him, which was what I intended to do.

'What?' he asked as he checked Rachel was still asleep.

I said nothing. I couldn't say anything. I sat there, visibly shaking in my seat. As I had placed my hand in my pocket I had found something my fingers had missed on their first investigation. I somehow knew what it was, despite never holding one before.

Jack looked at me puzzled and I opened my hand slowly.

'Shit,' was all he could muster.

Resting in the palm of my shaking hand was a cold, metallic bullet.

'This just got really serious Tom. I need you to hold it together, OK?'

I nodded and blinked up at him. I took several deep breaths, hoping I could stop myself being sick.

'Jack, you said in your text you had something to tell me, about Emma. It must be big or you would have said it by now. What is it?'

Jack swore again. He took a deep breath and looked me straight in the eye.

'I do buddy, but it's a lot. Truth be told, I had half decided not to tell you. Didn't see how it could help but now...'

'What did you find out?'

'Not here.'

'Yes here! Tell me now,' I demanded.

'NOT HERE,' Jack bellowed back and pleaded with me with his eyes. 'I promise I'll tell you everything, when it's...clear.' He shot his eyes to the taxi driver and then to Rachel.

I wanted to argue but knew there was no point. We were less than two minutes away from my flat and I busied myself trying to find enough money to pay the taxi driver.

'Shit, this must be big,' I muttered quietly.

'It is.'

# Chapter Eight

'We're all safe...for now!'

Twenty minutes later I sat at my kitchen table, drinking coffee, but contemplating replacing it with the remaining tequila. The taxi had dropped us off and Jack had dealt with paying the taxi driver. It didn't come to much but I saw Jack hand the driver a twenty pound note and wave away his attempts to find change. He was not in the mood to mess around.

The next step was a little harder. I opened the door whilst Jack carried Rach inside, the way a groom may carry his new bride through a doorway. I was a little worried whether Rachel was alright but Jack seemed relaxed enough and no one ever knew her better than him.

As soon as we were inside, I was desperate to know more but Jack shook his head at me before I had chance to speak.

'I know it's hard but I need you to be quiet, OK? Don't say a single word until I am sure we are safe to talk. Nod if you understand.'

I nodded.

I didn't see Jack for the next five minutes. He carried Rachel into our spare room and closed the door. I assumed he was getting her into bed and hopefully looking for anything that might be suspicious.

He reappeared and smiled weakly. I wasn't sure exactly what that smile meant and gave him one of my best 'what is going on here mate' looks. He smiled again and scribbled 'spare room is clean' on the back of my unopened post. Then he carried on carefully checking every item possible for hidden bugs or listening devices. It probably took another quarter of an hour for him to check the whole flat (it's not the biggest). I watched him work in quiet admiration.

It couldn't be easy for him either. He was now involved in something he didn't need to be and must surely be worrying about his own safety as well as Rachel's. And trying to keep me alive too. But he was handling the situation with as much grace - and methodically reasoning - as I thought possible of anyone.

Jack had still been very new in the force when I moved to London and I rarely, if ever, got to see him at work. Now the training had kicked in and I could see why he had progressed up the ladder so quickly. He was excellent.

It is a strange feeling when you get to see someone you used to crawl about in sandpits with, working and shining as a full adult. You get a sudden wave of emotion. First, you get a nostalgic stabbing, as if your childhood really is over and you can never go back. Then you feel an immense sense of pride at what they have achieved and the person they are becoming. Well, I certainly felt all those emotions that night.

After what seemed like an eternity Jack spoke.

'OK. We're all safe...for now!'

I breathed a sigh of relief and slid a cup of coffee in Jack's direction. He sat down opposite me at the table and smiled again. I felt protected and the more he smiled the more I felt it.

'I've looked everywhere and I would bet my life that they have never been in this house. Nothing has been touched.'

'Are you sure? I tidied up loads last night. Maybe I hid their tracks a bit or something?'

Jack nodded as if knowing I was going to say that.

'I know you did, but there are certain things that don't get tidied away. All the markings are consistent with your 'cleaning'. Bugs have to be placed on certain items and within certain distances of each other to be effective. Trust me; we are safe here at the moment. I can't guarantee the same for any of our phones though so be careful.'

'OK Jack, thanks.'

'It's what I do.' He took a sip of the coffee and immediately looked like he wanted to spit it out. He forced it down and got up to make himself a fresh one. 'Gone cold,' he explained.

I waited as patiently as I could, avoiding the temptation to drum my fingers on the table. I was really grateful for all his help but finally could wait no longer.

'Jack, what do you know?'

He sipped his fresh coffee and held up a finger indicating he would be right back, before jogging into the spare room. He came out with his shoulder-bag and returned to his place at the table.

'OK Tom, it's a lot to take in. So I'm going to start at the beginning and tell you as much as I know. Then you are going to have to help fill in the gaps if you can. Let me talk first alright?'

I agreed, eager to finally know something. It felt like for the first time in weeks, I might be able to answer one or two of my thousands of questions.

'So after I left you, I headed straight back to the station and ran her name through the system like you asked and nothing came up.'

'So that's good right?'

'No it's not. You see, most people have some history we can trace people with. I opened up the search as much as possible and nothing. Running your name through it there are a few sentences about late payments for parking tickets and whatever which is normal. But with her, I could find nothing,' he stated matter-of-factly.

'So I ran her parents names, Terry and Louise right? Tried every different spelling I could think of and still nothing. It is possible for one person to lead a perfectly clean life and never appear on our systems but three members from one family? Impossible.'

I wanted to intervene and question what all this meant but I bit my tongue and allowed Jack to continue.

'This made it hard. Technically there was nothing else I could do. Luckily for you though, I found the number for Stevie Cram. Remember him?'

'No,' I replied truthfully.

'Well, he was my superior at Warwick for a while. We got on great and I covered for him several times. Anyway, he got transferred to London and has been doing pretty well down here, so I gave him a call.'

'Why?' I couldn't help myself asking, even though I was sure Jack was going to tell me if I hadn't interrupted him.

'Because, London has all the money. Everything is worse here right? Crimes are much bigger in the big cities and the resources the force have here are much larger to combat that. Also if Emma was born here they are more likely to have something on her, right?'

I nodded silently, feeling slightly embarrassed for not working that out myself.

'You're right. Sorry mate, carry on.'

'So I asked Stevie to do everything he can to find any kind of lead. And guess what? He found nothing. Literally nothing.' He let the thought hang for a second, as if trying to get across just how serious this was.

'At first he just came back and apologised, saying he couldn't find anything. But after some gentle persuasion he agreed to try again. Said he knew somebody and he would follow a hunch.'

'So then what?'

'Well nothing for a while. I didn't hear back from him for about twenty-four hours. Then he phoned. And it all fell into place.'

'He found something?'

'Yes. I felt like kicking myself when he told me. I had tried every possible spelling of Emma and Sharpe and Jordan and anything else I could think of. But think about it. She faked her job, she faked the wedding, God knows what else right? So why would Emma Jordan be her really name?'

The thought hit me like a bucket of ice. I knew she had lied, but somewhere deep down, I hoped she could explain it. I thought deep down I knew her, but it was looking like I didn't even know her name.

'You see, if you change your name you do if for a reason. Normally to cover up something illegal. It's not as easy as you think. Faking documents is expensive, detailed work. Not something you just do on a whim. This was planned and arranged.'

Jack stopped for a second. He could see how painful it was for me to hear all of this and seeing his friend upset was weakening his police force resolve. He waited for my eyes to meet his and gave a tentative look, as if asking if I was alright. I nodded, faked a small smile and asked him to carry on.

'We'd been searching for Ems like a civilian, not a criminal. But if she had changed her name there was a good chance she had done something wrong. So Stevie had opened up the search to include criminal activities with somebody possibly under the identity of 'Emma Jordan.' And nothing...

'Nothing? I thought you said you found something?' I spluttered.

'Wait, let me finish. So Stevie phoned me back the second time and still hadn't found anything. We agreed, with regret, to give up. She was a ghost and according to our files, never existed. Then a couple of hours later he phones back. Says he has just received a call from an agent in Barcelona. This is where it gets interesting...'

'Go on then, what?'

'So, this agent phones up Steve and demands to know why he has been searching the name 'Emma Jordan' through the files. Stevie is trapped and doesn't really know how much he can tell the agent so he passes my number on to him. Then he called me to give me the heads up. About five minutes after that I get a call from a detective in Barcelona asking me the same question. Apparently they have been looking for someone who has been known to go under the pseudonym of Emma Jordan and get alerts if her name appears on the system. I asked them what their suspect looked like and guess what they said?'

'Blond hair, blue eyes, unbelievably beautiful?' I guessed.

'You got it. I made up some nonsense about looking for a different one but managed to convince the agent to send over everything he has on his suspect. It took a lot of doing but he seemed desperate to catch her and was willing to do anything that might turn up leads. I promised to let him know if I heard anything and hung up.'

'Thanks mate,' I said weakly. I'm not really sure why I said thanks. To be honest, I still hadn't processed any of the information. So, that was that. Emma (or whoever she was) was a criminal. I guess I knew that before - it was the only logical conclusion - but I still couldn't believe it. But that wasn't why I had thanked him. I think the truth behind it was that I was scared for her. I heard a detective wanted to catch her and instead of being glad, I was worried. I wanted to help her, if you can believe it. And Jack had, at least for the moment, covered the fact she was in London. I was sure it was illegal and could get Jack in a lot of trouble. I wanted him to know how much it meant to me.

'Thanks,' I breathed again. 'Seriously, you went out of your way so much for me. I really appreciate it. And now I've got you involved in God knows what and it's all for no good and...

'Stop,' Jack commanded. 'I love you mate, you know that. You've been like a brother to me since forever. You know that. I've got your back. If you're involved in something, I want to be, OK? And don't worry about me, I can look after myself. And we will sort it all out, I promise.'

I believed him. I smiled at him in stunned awe and thanked him again. We sat there in silence for a second, trying to understand our own thoughts. Eventually I spoke.

'OK, go on then. What has she done?' It hit me that I knew she was a criminal but had no idea what crimes she had done. I knew it had to be pretty bad to just disappear like she did, but what was it? God, what if it was murder? No it couldn't be, could it?

'It's a lot mate. I'll let you read for yourself.' He opened his shoulder bag, pulled out a thick folder and slid it across the table at me. 'Take your time. I'll go and check on Rach.'

'What about the note? The bullet?'

'We'll work it out. Read through it mate and then we'll talk.'

Jack stood up, downed the rest of his drink and slipped off quietly to see his wife.

So here it was. Since Emma left I had juggled thousands of questions without answering them. All I had to do was turn the page and read. But I couldn't. The second I turned that page over I knew I was going to find out the truth and lose my last desperate shreds of hope that this was all a mistake. Reading her file would be the end of us, would kill any feelings I had for her. My fingers drummed nervously on the top of the file as I summoned up all my courage. This was it.

'Goodbye Ems,' I whispered.

I opened the file.

# Chapter Nine

'I guess the truth often hurts more than lies.'

The file was devoid of any structure or order. It had clearly been cobbled together by different agents trying to find anything on her.

The first things I noticed were the photos hooked to the corners of the file with paperclips. There were six different photographs of different size and quality hanging there. They all showed my Emma, most of them when she was considerably younger. The first one I focused on showed her when she was no more than eighteen years old. She was slight and had long curls of dark brown hair covering her face. She was dressed completely in black and looked fantastic. I picked up another to compare it with.

The second photo was harder to make out. It was black and white and looked as if it was taken on a telescopic lens. It was certainly taken from a good distance. Ems was barely in this image and at first I couldn't see her. There was a crowd of people and if you looked hard enough you could just make out Emma edging out of the left-hand side of the photo. I examined the image. She looked blonde, although this was harder to tell in black and white. Between the blurs of life passing by it looked as if she was carrying something but it was impossible to be sure.

The contrast between the two was extraordinary. I had no proof but I felt pretty confident that both were taken in completely different countries. The first looked dusty and dry, perhaps somewhere like Mexico. The second looked busy and thriving but it was definitely not England. Maybe Milan or Paris. At that moment, I wished I knew more about geography and the world around me. It was all guesswork and I could be getting it completely wrong.

The contrast wasn't just in the environment either. It was with Emma herself. There can't have been more than a year between the two images but it appeared more like a lifetime. Everything was different. The clothes she wore, the hairstyles and colour, the way she stood out in one and blended away in the other. She was a chameleon.

I scanned through the remaining photographs with the same level of amazement. Each was a new country; each must have been a different life for her. My head rushed as I tried to get it around the information. I gave up. You know the feeling when you find out something about your partner you never knew before? Maybe you find out they had more sexual experiences then you thought or they did something bad (like supporting Gordon Brown)? As hard as you try you always look at them in a different way. Imagine how I was feeling right then. I was looking at someone I had never met before. She was a complete stranger.

The rest of the file was made up of printed sheets of facts. According to the first sheet nobody knew her real name. There was simply a blank space where the answer should be. There was a space below that accommodated her 'known aliases.' This line was over-flowing with details. Some had question marks over them written in biro, clearly added on later. The list read:

Known Aliases: Harriet Rae, Helen May-Cooper, Rachel Harper (?), Lucy Stevenson, Maria Gomez (?) Megan Tollera (? Spelling) Charlotte Brown, Emma Jordan.

It was at this moment when I realised how insignificant I was in her life. According to these police files she had at least eight identities and Emma Jordan was just one of them. The girl I had met, fallen in love with, got 'married' to and wanted to start a family with was just one fragment of a world for this person. Why would she do it? I spent years with her every single day. I wondered if there was a husband or boyfriend in each of her other worlds, all wondering where she was and who she really was. I forced myself to carry on.

The next information I turned to was 'criminal convictions.' It read:

Criminal Convictions: None

The column left for 'suspected offenses was not so empty however. There was a list that stretched over several pages. It went from art theft to confidence tricks and pretty much everything in between. The list was so conclusive. If we were to believe what the file was saying she had attempted to steal most things of value between here and northern Africa.

I allowed myself to look at the positives for a second. Firstly, she hadn't killed anyone. It didn't look like she had tried to hurt anyone in her life. So that was nice; I hadn't been living with a murderous psychopath. There was something else. All of her crimes were sophisticated somehow. She wasn't robbing stereos out of cars or conning old ladies out of their pensions. She was thinking. Yes, she was stealing and breaking the law and would probably end up in jail for the rest of her life but it wasn't desperate. She stole because she could, not because she needed to. It was an intellectual pursuit and, looking down her list of 'achievements', she was amazing at it.

I was completely torn, lost for words and impossibly confused. So that was the truth. Emma was a thief and a conman (or is the term conwoman?). I had been so angry at her for so long and, if I was honest, I wanted her to be pure evil. Having hoped her to be a murderer so I could let go of her forever, finding out the truth had seemed easier to take. I hated myself for it, but I was almost impressed by what she had done. However there were still all the lies she had told me. She had conned me from day one, but there was a bit of the Emma I knew in this file. The woman I loved was intelligent, fun and carefree. What if she was the girl I knew and loved... just with a different 'job'?

And now the biggest question of them all:

If she was this criminal with a dark past, was anything we ever shared real?

She had taken nothing from me and spent years of her life with me. Maybe she fell in love but was too deep into her world and didn't want to lose me. Maybe.

As I flipped over the page, there were more details about her work. I leafed through some of her higher profile cases, most of which took place in Europe. A personal favourite of mine was her bold attempt to recreate Victor Lustig's masterpiece, 'selling the Eiffel Tower'.

The details were sketchy but piecing together several different police files I just about gathered that she managed to find a buyer, take a deposit and arrange a meeting for a full payment before being foiled and getting away clean. She always got away clean.

I was shocked at how much she had fitted in so far. She was still in her mid-twenties. Wasn't she? Oh God, what if she was older? I doubted it, looking at her photos and dropped the thought quickly. There were jobs done in Barcelona, Milan, Burkina Faso, Berlin, Northern Brittany and ...Mallorca. We had met in Mallorca. Five years before. I turned back to the page with all the dates and figures and checked when they thought she had been in Mallorca. Five years ago. I swallowed with yet more amazement. She had been working a con when we met.

*****

Lying on a beach in Mallorca, I was asking myself why anybody drinks alcohol. My liver had either died or was on its last legs. Rolling over to avoid burning was definitely too much effort. I had resigned myself to being red on the front half and pasty 'British White' on the back. Despite the hangover, I was happy. This was the first holiday I had taken with the lads and we were certainly making up for lost time. I don't remember the night before but, according to Jack, it had been a good one. During the day, the island was peaceful. It was beautiful and relaxing, as close to paradise as I had seen. But at night, if you knew the right places to go, it was mental (in a good way). I was woken from 'hung-over' stupor by a swift jab in the sides. I groaned, looking up to see who owned the guilty hand. It belonged to Eric, a friend of mine. I say a 'friend' but really he was a friend of Tim's, who was a friend of Jack's, and I accepted him to the group without ever warming to him socially. For some reason he clung to me and took my distain as sarcastic banter. It wasn't.

'What do you want Eric?'

'Babes, three o'clock!' He shouted.

'Really, are we still saying babes?' I replied, slowly.

'You're gonna want to see this mate,' chipped in Jack, who was already staring.

I almost didn't bother. The lads didn't have the best taste in woman and would get with anything that moved. Also, as much as I like girls, the way I felt right then, I didn't want to breathe deeply let alone chat up girls. I wasn't exactly an expert.

'Literally the hottest girl I have ever seen,' called out Tim, who was now joining in.

Finally I gave in and looked up. I felt like I had just been shot or struck by lightning. There were plenty of attractive women in bikinis, slipping in and out of the sea but I could see who we were all looking at. Making her way out of the sea was the most gorgeous girl I had ever seen. She was perfect. Her long blonde hair was swept over her back and allowed us to see her beautifully structured face. I allowed my eyes to follow the curves of her body downwards and had to force myself to keep breathing. She was stunning, in every sense of the word.

Nobody spoke. For minutes, I'm not sure that anybody blinked. We watched as she ran her fingers through her hair and began walking slowly off down the beach. I looked over at my friends to check I hadn't just dreamed that and was relieved to see them all equally struggling to put their tongues back in their mouths.

She had reached the end of the beach and was almost going to disappear out of view. I don't know if epiphany is the right word but I had a sudden realisation that I had to speak to her right now or regret it the rest of my life. I didn't think. I stood up and began running, attempting to catch up with her. I ignored the fact I had no shirt on or the loud shouting of questions from my mates and pushed on. She was only a few steps away from the shops and if she entered the busy town it would be difficult to find her. I had no idea what I was going to say, and had a worrying suspicion I was going to freeze and start mumbling or worse... dribbling.

She disappeared around a corner for a second and I increased my speed so I didn't lose her. I followed round the building and, to my delight, could still see her clearly. She had entered the busy shopping district in just her bikini which helped me find her, partly because she was dressed differently, and partly because every man on the street turned to look at her. Wow, she really was beautiful. I slowed my pace a little and began to panic about talking to her. She didn't look Spanish, but there was a chance she was foreign and we wouldn't even have a language in common. Even if she could physically understand me the chances of her finding me attractive and charming seemed unlikely at best. Having run a long way (and in a hung-over state to be fair) I did have concerns that I would look more like a rapist than a suitor, so I took some deep breaths and tried to calm my breathing. Don't over-think it. Just stay calm. You can do this. To my amazement I didn't chicken out and I was ready. I was actually ready.

I wanted to catch her as if by accident. I had stayed far enough back that she could never have known I was there and I wanted to talk to her before she realised I was essentially stalking her. She slipped around a corner and I gathered my courage. This was it. I followed round moments after she had gone and... she was gone.

It was impossible. I had followed her into a small street which had some shops on it but they were either closed for the siestas or too far away to have dipped into in time. I calculated I must have gone round the corner no more than three seconds after her and, in that time, she couldn't have done anything. The road was long and narrow with no streets coming off it. There was nowhere to go. Even if she had known someone was there she couldn't have run out of sight that quickly. I walked up and down the street and called in all the shops. I ran back up the road I had just come down looking left and right. This couldn't be happening. Out of nowhere she had disappeared into thin air. Had she even been real? I knew she had been there, but how could I have lost her? I hung around the streets for almost fifteen minutes desperately hoping she would reappear. She was gone and, like it or not, I had to accept it. I vowed there and then if I ever saw her again I would never let her go. I would find her and ask her out. Two days later, I did.

*****

It took me a good hour to finish the file. There were parts I didn't fully understand and some dead ends that had no evidence they were linked to Ems at all. My head was spinning with facts and I still wasn't clear on what it all meant.

I don't know whether Jack had been popping his head out of the door and checking on me or whether he was just good with timings but no sooner had I finished, he reappeared.

He didn't say anything at first and just approached the table slowly. He knew how much my world was shaking right now and no amount of training could help him help me. He opened his mouth, thought twice about what he was going to say, then closed it again. I smiled over at him, desperate somehow to convince him I was OK.

'Coffee?' he muttered at last.

'Yeah, but let me make it. Yours taste like piss,' I smiled and we exchanged smirks.

Presently we were both sat with decent cups of coffee, ready to try and make sense of it all.

'You alright?'

'Not really, but surviving,' I said, keen to press on.

'I guess the truth often hurts more than lies.'

There was a short silence.

'So you understand the file?' asked Jack.

'I think so. She's a thief and a con artist right?'

'Yes and a very good one. Tom, listen. I've been around for a little while now and seen loads of files but this is big. Many of the greatest grifters would be proud of the things she's done.'

'So how come she's never been caught?'

'Because she is just that good. It's all circumstantial evidence on these cases. Most people that get robbed don't realise for ages and by then she's long gone. Her record is perfect. Even when the job goes wrong, she somehow walks free. I've never seen anything like it.'

There it was again. Against all my better judgement, I felt an inconvenient burning of pride for my 'wife'. I was so impressed that anyone could do what she had; to know her made me excited.

'OK, so she's a con-artist. She conned me into living with her, getting married and all that. Why? She didn't take anything and she put years of effort into it. Why?'

'I don't know,' Jack whispered, perplexed.

'And I know she is good, but I would have bet everything that we were in love. I know we were. Was it all lies?'

'I don't know,' he said again. He wasn't looking at me now. Did he know something?

'And even if her being a thief explains why she left, what about the bullet, the note...'

'OK. I have a theory.' Jack spoke slowly and with great authority.

'Good, what is it?' I was desperate to hear any ideas.

'It's not good. It may well be wrong, but what happened tonight backs up my idea.'

His eyes met mine for the first time in ages and I braced myself, knowing my world was about to be rocked again.

# Chapter Ten

'The kind of men that make Satan look well-meaning.'

'You have to understand, this is just guess work. OK?' Jack had his concerned face back on.

'I understand mate but please, none of this makes sense to me. What do you think?'

He sipped his coffee, cleared his throat and began.

'Open the file again, to the list of all her jobs,' he said. I did as I was told.

'Got it,' I replied, flipping the pages as I spoke. My eyes fell on the now familiar sheet, listing her previous achievements.

'What you have to know is, grifting is hard work. The planning, the details, the execution. It takes some real skill.'

'I know, I can imagine.'

'Right. But that's only part of it. It's one thing trying to sell the Eiffel Tower but it's a whole different ball game trying to find someone to sell it to. Think about it. Who do you know has a hundred million pounds to spend?'

'Millionaires?' I said helpfully.

'Specifically?'

'OK, um I don't know. Wealthy investor or business men?'

'Sometimes. Or...'

I thought for a second.

'Criminals,' I said at last. 'Mob bosses and gangsters and whatever.'

I wondered to myself momentarily whether gangsters still existed. Sure, there were still thieves and gangs of criminals but did anyone actually call themselves gangsters anymore? Whatever happened to the trilby? I flicked this useless trivia question out of my head and starred at Jack.

'Exactly.' I was hoping he wouldn't say that.

'Go on.'

'OK, so making a criminal a target is dangerous. They won't go to the police if they find out. If you are going to do it you better disappear, right?'

His question seemed rhetorical yet he paused and showed no signs of moving on so I added another of my pointless contributions to the conversation.

'Yeah,' I breathed.

'Looking at these early jobs it looks like the only people who got ripped off were the usual; the businessmen, the spoilt. No big deal. But as time goes on it looks like she got restless. Started going after small time crooks, doing small jobs and short cons. She always got away with it by the looks of things. Until...'

The hairs on my neck were standing up and the ones on my arms weren't far behind. I didn't like what I was hearing but any interruptions would just slow Jack down.

'You see she did a job in Marrakesh?' He ran his finger down the page and highlighted the one he wanted me to see. I nodded.

'We are just guessing here, but it looks like the items she stole were not to small time crooks but to these guys.' As he spoke he slid a black and white of two men. It was difficult to make them out perfectly but they had full beards, hats on and scared me beyond belief. Just looking at them was enough to need a change of underwear.

'What kind of criminals?'

'The Russian kind.'

'And what kind is that?'

'The kind of men that make Satan look well-meaning.'

I looked at the photo and agreed. I wouldn't mess with them. Why the hell would Emma?

'These are the Kozlov brothers. Russian Mafia. You should see their file. You think Emma's is full...'

'I don't suppose their file is full of driving offenses and traffic violations?' I asked hopefully.

'Yes but among other things...like murder and racketeering. I don't think there is a crime they haven't tried at some point. Real bad asses.'

'So what makes you believe she got involved with guys like the Kozlovs? I thought she was meant to be good.'

'She is. But the Kozlovs are good too. They disguise themselves so well she would never have known who they were until it was too late.'

'But Marrakesh was like seven years ago, surely she did get away with it?'

'We don't know if they ever found her; remember this is all guesswork and theories. But days after the Marrakesh job, the Kozlovs were down several millions. To top it off two of their men got sent down at the same time. No idea if she was involved in that but one thing is for certain: the Kozlov brothers were angry and wanted blood. It wouldn't surprise me if they spent years tracking her down.'

I recognised the familiar feeling of sickness in my stomach. It was like an old friend at this point. I was so scared for Emma. What had happened to her?

'So you could be wrong, right? This could be wrong?'

'Yeah, of course, but it makes sense Tom. I know it's not easy to hear but all the facts point to this.'

'What other facts? You said tonight pointed to it?'

'Two other things. I made a call when I was in there with Rach. The Kozlov brothers are some of the most infamous in the world. Everywhere they go the countries always know. Interpol follow them. M15 follow them. The FBI follow them. You get the idea.'

'Yep they're real bad guys. I get it. What has this got to do with tonight?'

'I'm getting there. So I call the office, got them to run a check and they are here. Spotted in London two days ago.'

I thought hard for a second.

'OK. So we know Emma ripped off the worst people possible. And we know they are now here in London. But, that could all be circumstantial right?'

'Definitely. But there's a little more. While I was on the phone I got them to check something else. The bullet. It's rare. It's not an everyday bullet.' He got it out and allowed me to examine it.

I know nothing about guns or bullets but it certainly didn't look like one I'd seen before. It was about an inch long and a shining silver. The very tip was a different colour, perhaps made of gold. Do gunsmiths make bullets out of precious materials? Are people that make guns still called gunsmiths or did I make that up?

'See the inscription on the side.'

I had to squint to read it and, even after my efforts, it was still in a foreign language.

'Yeah just about. What does it say?'

'No idea,' Jack replied, 'But I can tell you what language it is, although you've probably already guessed.'

'Russian.'

'You got it.'

There was silence once more. I think Jack was letting all the information sink in.

'It's not looking good, is it mate?' I said at last.

'Depends how you look at it.'

'I can't really see a way where this isn't terrible news,' I whinged bitterly.

'Think about it. You must see it. If what we are saying is true, Emma didn't leave you because she wanted to. Take all your questions about the marriage and the lies and put them to one side. Whether you can ever trust her again is another thing, but she might have been forced to leave you.'

Holy shit. How hadn't I seen this? All this time I hated her for leaving and never loving me but what if she did? I could try and answer everything else later but what if she did love me? I loved her. I shook with the very thought of it and smiled.

'As a detective you have to trust your gut and the reason I started digging in to all of this was because of mine. I have seen you two together hundreds of times and what I do know is that girl loves you. I would bet my house on it. The way she looks at you. Nobody is that good an actor. And what would be the point of it? No, if you want my opinion she is a girl with a troubled past who fell in love and wanted to get out of it. Sadly her old life just caught up with her.'

I smiled again. Could all this be true?

'Jack, what if they have hurt her? Or killed her? I can't lose her again!' I was panicking. For the first time I had allowed myself to love her again; I had replaced my hate with worry.

'I don't think she is dead. Why would they leave the note? If she was out of the picture they wouldn't bother, would they? No, they need her for something. I just don't know what yet.'

I agreed with that. I wasn't sure what was going on but it made sense. She had to be alive, she just had to be. If she was in trouble I could find her and help her.

'So what now?' I asked.

'We have to call it in. We can file a missing persons report, I'll fast track it and we might be able to bring her back.'

'No way,' I shouted. 'I love you mate and I can never pay you back for putting yourself in this for me but you can't. People are after her blood. She's forged so many documents; the police will put her away for a long time. You know they'll never let her walk.'

There was silence and we both knew this was true. He was torn and I knew it must be hard for him. On the one side was everything he believed in and on the other was me.

'I'm sorry Tom, I know it's hard but you don't know that she isn't bad. Maybe she's involved in this. You just got threatened by some of the most terrifying men in the world and I can't protect you if you don't call it in. How are you going to find her if you don't use the police?'

I didn't know. There were lots of things I didn't know so it wasn't a rare feeling. But there was one thing I was sure of.

'I'm not going to the police, end of.' I exclaimed, trying to show assertiveness.

Jack wanted to argue but he knew me well enough.

'Fuck, Tom.' He said slowly. 'OK, I was hoping it would never come to this. I have to protect Rachel, you know that right?'

'Of course mate, do what you have to do.'

'Tomorrow I'll take her home and I'll do as much digging about as possible but there are limits mate. Every search I'll make will be watched. '

'Don't worry Jack, I'll work something out. Get her home safe and make sure she's fine. If you hear anything, let me know and if not... I'll find her somehow!'

'Don't worry about the two of us, I can look after us. But I am worried about you. They'll be watching you.'

I nodded quietly. I was deep in thought, doing my best to come up with a plan. Any plan.

'I'll think of something.'

Jack looked concerned but he smiled bravely. Pausing momentarily he reached into his bag. He pulled out a couple of items.

'Use this to reach me. They can't have traced it. You'll be safe.' He handed me a small mobile phone. The charging chord was wrapped tightly around it.

'Thanks Jack, that makes me feel safer.'

'And this...is a preventative measure okay? This takes things to a whole new level. You never use it unless you absolutely have to.'

He brought up his other hand and let me see what he was holding. A gun. I had never seen one before in real life. It was larger than I had thought. He pressed a button and let the magazine fall into his hand for a second, showing me it was full of bullets.

'Safety is on. You see here,' he muttered whilst showing me the side of a gun.

'Jack I don't know if I should...'

'Neither do I mate, but I'd rather you used it than died.'

'I guess so would I.' I conceded. 'So what now?'

'Now...we sleep.' As he said that I looked up and could see the morning beginning to rise.

'Get what sleep you can,' he said. 'We can talk more tomorrow.'

*****

I didn't sleep that night. I lay awake for what seemed like hours but turned out to only be minutes at a time whenever I checked. Jack and I had spent most of the night talking and I knew it wouldn't be long until I'd hear the world awaken outside. By seven o'clock, I had given up trying and got myself dressed. Despite my best efforts, I caught a glance at myself in the mirror. I looked about as bad as I had a few days previously. I wasn't as grey as I had once been but I was now sporting a greenish tinge to my skin. Not a good look. I felt surprisingly good, considering the night we had just had. No sleep and copious amounts of alcohol had not affected me the way it used to. I smiled slowly to myself. I was sure I would feel hung-over later and the tiredness would take over, but right now I felt fine. I was surviving. I just prayed the same could be said about Emma.

I could hear the shower running as I left my bedroom, walking a little gingerly as I did so. OK, I wasn't feeling perfect. As I reached the lounge (or area where the sofa sits) I saw Rach, a little worse for wear but busying herself happily with some of Emma's old magazines.

'How are you feeling this morning?' I asked.

She looked up and smiled but decided against speaking. Still not ready to talk. She grunted back at me and indicated with her facial expression that she was feeling every one of her many drinks she had last night. I nodded back as if to say, 'I know how you feel, me too.'

'Coffee?' I asked, trying to perk her up.

Her eyes lit up and she nodded her head enthusiastically. I put the kettle on and settled down next to her. I wasn't sure how much Jack had said and really didn't want to get her involved more than she needed to be. I looked her up and down subtly, trying to read her body language. Was she scared or concerned for me perhaps? All I was getting was: HUNGOVER when I looked at her. I gave up.

Soon after the coffees were made, Jack appeared looking much fresher than either one of us.

'Morning,' he said cheerfully. I took the tone to mean 'act normal and don't stress Rach out' so I tried to match him.

'Morning Jack. Coffee for you here mate.' I replied.

'Beautiful,' he said, tapping Rach's legs gently to get her to move out of the way so he could join us. She grunted again, but did what was asked of her.

'So what happened last night?' she croaked, speaking at last. Jack and I both looked at each other quickly before responding.

'Oh nothing,' we both said in unison.

'Just usual night out, you know too much drinking and all that...' I added, trying to sound convincing.

She glared at both of us suspiciously.

'Right... well something's going on... but you know me... I'll find out... I always do, so I'm going to have a shower while you discuss your secrets.'

'What secrets? Nothing happened!' Jack said trying to look confused. Acting was never his strong point and he pitched his confused look a little too close to his 'I need the toilet' look. He has so many looks.

Rach smiled in a knowing way and slinked off slowly towards the bathroom. The second the door shut, Jack turned to me.

'Right listen, we don't have much time, ' he whispered. 'I haven't told Rach anything yet. I imagine I'll have to but right now, it is important she doesn't know. She will want the force involved more than me and I will find it much easier to protect her if she goes about her life as normal. So the phone, the note, the... gun stays between the two of us, OK?'

'Got it.'

The pair of them stayed for lunch (which we ordered in) and hit the road around three. I thanked them both for coming down to see me. I meant it.

'Don't be strangers,' I said cheerily.

They took it in turns to give me a big hug and left, Jack giving me a knowing nod before he disappeared. I waved them goodbye and ran back up to my apartment.

'What the hell do I do now?' I muttered to myself.

# Chapter Eleven

'You're looking...well.'

It wasn't a convincing greeting. I was not looking well and I knew it as well as she did. It was however polite and she was, if nothing else, professional to the last.

'Please come and sit down then.'

I followed her into the room and perched uncomfortably in my usual seat. Dr Davies had not changed at all since I had last seen her. She was dressed as immaculately as before and greeted me with her usual, penetrating stare.

After Jack and Rachel had left, I had paced the flat not knowing what to do. I was ready to go after Emma and save her, if indeed she needed saving. The problem was that the whole of Scotland Yard, M15, the FBI and Interpol couldn't find her so I wasn't sure I could do much better. I had thought as hard as I could but nothing came to me. Eventually I had to turn my attention to going back to work on the Monday. That wasn't happening. After working for a few days I didn't feel like I could just phone in sick, certainly not without having to explain everything. I did however think they would allow me to miss work if I was seeing Dr Davies. My boss was under the impression that it was for my own good, as well as the safety of all the staff/electronic equipment at Hamilton's, that I kept up regular visits to Dr Davies.

'I see you came well prepared,' she noted, glancing at the bag I had brought with me.

I smiled, ready to get down to business.

'Yeah, thanks for seeing me at such short notice.'

She looked at quizzically.

'Not at all,' she replied. 'It wasn't a problem.'

I had seen Veronica's schedule regularly and finding any space was difficult. She must have been concerned. I felt honoured. I still wasn't sure why I was here. That feeling was nothing new. I never knew why I was there. There was the inescapable feeling that whenever I was there, no matter how much I protested, I always found it helped. And right now I was out of ideas. So, with a heavy heart I had gathered up every bit of evidence of Emma, packed it in a bag and made my way to her office.

'So what brings you here today, Tom?' she enquired gently.

I had to approach this question carefully. I knew I could never tell Veronica everything and could certainly not involve her in anything criminal but I did want to think out loud.

'I need to find Emma,' I said at last.

'Tom, we have agreed that what she did was awful and, whilst I do believe you need closure on this, do you really think you want to see her again?'

'More than anything. She might need me,' I countered.

'Why, what makes you think that?' Her question was invasive and I realised how careful I needed to be.

'It's just a feeling. I am worried that she didn't want to leave. Anyway I don't want to talk about why, I want to look at everything I know about what happened and hope we can come up with something.'

She frowned slightly, but didn't say anymore. She clearly didn't agree that this would help me but she was still being paid handsomely.

'Right. Let's start at the beginning. What do we know?'

This was tricky. I had to get it all out of my head but make sure nothing slipped about her past. At the same time, I didn't want to just go over old details.

We spoke for a few minutes, simply rehashing old ground. She knew most of it and looking at the facts wasn't helping me in any way. Then I said something I thought I never would.

'Can we use the whiteboard?'

Veronica looked a little taken aback but composed herself quickly and smiled. It was the sort of smile that spoke volumes, saying 'see I told you my methods always work'.

'Of course, what a good idea.' She got to work setting up its stand and moments later I stood in front of the board, pen in hand, feeling like a naughty school kid writing lines.

'So let's start from the beginning. You come home and...' she waved her hand out, asking me to continue. If I was going to do it, I might as well do it properly.

'OK, so I came in before six. I'm never later than six, even when I'm out late,' I spoke slowly, trying to write the key facts as I spoke. My writing was slanting and messy and I remember feeling shame. You're a grown man, damn it, why can't you write in a straight line?

'So I shout out, hear nothing and carry on as usual, checking emails and whatever. Emma is normally home first but she was so busy at 'work' that it wasn't a surprise she wasn't it. I remember deciding to cook her dinner.'

I caught up with my horrendous writing and looked at Dr. Davies. She didn't reply so I carried on.

'About fifteen minutes later, I found the note...it's in my bag there.' I stretched over, unzipped my bag and pulled out the note. It was a little creased but you could still read her writing clearly enough. I looked at the two words mournfully and then passed it to Veronica to examine. She'd heard about the note but had never seen it in real life. She inspected it in the same way that she inspected me. Clinically.

'Was this the only thing she left?'

'Yes. I mean some of her old items were in the house but they were just an old shirt and some magazines, you know. The note was the only thing she intended to leave me. Oh... and her key.' I plunged another hand into the bag, felt the cold metal and passed it to her quickly.

'So you are sure there are no messages left behind. Or perhaps a hidden code in the note?' She was doing her best to entertain my opinions. We both knew how she felt. She believed Emma had left me, not wanting to be found, and I was too scared/sad to move on. I hoped she was wrong.

I glanced over at the note in the hope it was encoded with a secret message just the two of us would understand. I doubted it. 'I'm sorry' seemed fairly self-explanatory and I couldn't see how you could hide a code in it. We had a few attempts at deciphering it but came up empty handed.

The rest of the hour raced by. At the end of the session all I had to show for it was several sheets of childlike print and a sore writing hand. I was no nearer to finding Emma and felt incredibly low. I don't really know what I was hoping for, but I had pinned my hopes on Dr. Davies.

'I'm sorry Tom, that's about our time up for today,' she whispered slowly. She may not have agreed with me but I did feel she wanted to help me if possible.

I smiled sadly, and stood up readying myself. I grabbed all my useless belongings and began bundling them back into my rucksack.

'I'd like to see you again Tom. I'm sure we can help you, we are making good progress.'

I couldn't say I agreed with her but I was too exhausted to argue. I made some non-committal statement about coming back soon. She passed me the note and held the key up, about to give it to me.

'Why this key?' she asked innocently.

I was confused. It seemed such a strange thing to say, I literally had no reply. I cobbled together my reply.

'What?'

'Well, don't you have normal door keys?'

'What?' I was still no nearer to understanding her.

'Tom, this looks more like a garage key or window or something. Why has she left this key? That's not your front door key is it?'

I froze. What was she talking about?

She tossed me the key and I caught it. I stared at it and for the first time I properly looked at it. Holy Shit. It wasn't our front door key. Of course it wasn't. How could I be so stupid?

It was the same colour as mine but far too small. As Veronica had said, it looked more like a window or padlock key. It had no recognisable brand on it. I ripped my own keys out of my pocket and compared the two of them. Nothing like each other. I ran it past all of my other keys, with mounting excitement as I did it. It was nothing like any of them. This was a clue!

'Of course, it makes sense. I have never given it any attention you know? The note hit me like a bullet and I just assumed... it would be... Shit!' I flicked my eyes up at her. She had responded well to me swearing. I think she believed it might be a clue for me to follow.

'What do you think the key is for?' she asked. That was not just therapist to patient; that was genuine concern. She cared.

'I have no idea. But it's got to mean something, right?'

'OK, well that's your homework before I see you next time. Find out what that key is for.' She commanded, further adding to our teacher-pupil vibe.

'I will. Thank you so much.' I jumped towards and hugged her before I'd had time to think about what I was doing. I was tempted to add a cheeky kiss on the check but decided against it. I released her after a few moments and could see her visibly shaken up. She wasn't sure where to put herself.

'Sorry, and thank you again.' I smiled at her and ran out of the room and after a swift pause to pay for my session, I was away.

*****

I ran most of the way to the tube station. The weather was pretty sunny for the first time in a while and by the time I had reached the tube, I was wet-through. I didn't care. The truth was even if I did have a small lead it didn't really help me. I estimated there must be millions of locks in London alone and trying each one wouldn't be very time-effective. I needed to work out why she had left it and what it was for. Jack must have been right. This seemed to support his theory at least and as much as I wasn't keen on the thought of the Kozlov brother's being alive, let alone after us, I was in love with the idea that Emma still loved me. This was the first bit of hard evidence that she was the girl I loved. However small it was, it was a glimmer of hope.

As I settled on an almost empty tube, I began forming a plan. It wasn't the most incredible, sophisticated scheme but it seemed a good place to start. I was going to go back to my flat and check every inch of it in case there was a box or a padlock or something I had never noticed before. It seemed logical that Emma may have left whatever she was hiding in our home. It also made sense that she had left it the way she did. If she knew someone was after her she could leave the key as if she was leaving her house key and nobody would suspect anything. It had taken me weeks (and someone spelling it out) to suspect something. Clever girl.

Soon enough I was off the tube and walking through the streets leading home. I was smiling again at last. I was still a million miles away from finding her but at least I felt like I was pointed in the right direction. What was this key for?

I eventually reached my apartment block and was striding towards the stairs when I heard a voice call my name. It was Sophie. I realised it had been several days since I had spoken to her and she must have been worried. She really was a good friend.

'Tom?' she called again. I reappeared around the corner, smiling.

'Hey Sophie, how are you?' I spoke calmly but cheerfully. She had looked after me so much and I wanted to give her a break from worrying about me.

'How are you, darling?' she asked rushing up the stairs and hugging me tightly.

'Yeah, I'm surviving,' I whispered as she had choked most of the breath out of me by hugging so strongly. Internally, I laughed darkly at how true to life the term 'surviving' was to my situation.

'Are you free? Come and have a drink and talk; I want to know everything.'

So I told her. It was nice to be completely open with her. I wasn't going to at first but she deserved to know. She was in this and I wanted to bounce some ideas off her. I told her about the Kozlovs and how much I worried about Emma, and how I was going to find her without getting the police involved. Sophie was perfect throughout. She never once interrupted, save for the odd gasp of astonishment, and let me get it all out. I loved her for that.

'So now I know this is a message and if I can just find out what this key is for, I can find her. I know I can,' I finished, exhausted by my efforts.

'Wow Tom, you sure as hell have an exciting life! Are you sure you don't want to go to the police? They might be able to help.'

'No, definitely not,' I replied, firmly. 'Jack will help anyway he can, but I can't risk it. If the police catch up with the Kozlovs they would have no reason to keep Emma alive and that is the only hope I'm clinging on to.'

She nodded with understanding.

'So now I just have to find what this key is for,' I muttered, holding it up to show Sophie.

She paused silently and stared at the key. She stood up and rushed to her bag. 'I know what that is!' she shouted, rummaging through all her possessions.

'Shit! You do?' I replied, buzzing with adrenaline.

She pulled out her set of keys and held them up, showing off one key that looked identical to Emma's. I took them from her and held them together. They were the same.

'Oh my god, this is it! What is this key for?'

'About six months ago Emma came to see me and we chatted. She mentioned she wanted somewhere to store her stuff. Important stuff. Well a couple of years ago, when things with David got bad, he started messing with my things. Items that had real sentimental value. I wanted to hide them and someone told me to get a locker somewhere. You could pay a pound and keep the key, knowing your stuff is safe somewhere in London. Somewhere no one would ever find it. It was quite a cool, romantic idea to me and Emma agreed. I never asked her if she did it in the end. I guess she did.'

'So where is this locker?' I begged, almost bursting with intrigue. I needed to know with every fibre of my being.

Sophie smiled at me softly and spoke.

'Victoria Station.'

# Chapter Twelve

'I always miss out on the good stuff!'

This was beginning to feel achievable. Since the day she left Emma had been like a ghost to me, always just out of reach. But I could feel her near me again.

Victoria Station. As soon as Sophie had uttered the words I was up on my feet and ready to go. It was only early afternoon and I could be there soon. I could follow Emma's trail of clues all the way to her.

'Thank you so much Sophie, you have no idea how much this has helped me,' I said, hugging her as tightly as she had done earlier and making for the door.

'Wait, are you going there now?'

'Yeah, of course.'

'Well... can I come?'

I thought quickly to myself. Why not? I would love the company and as it was her idea to store stuff at the station in the first place, it makes sense that she shows me exactly where.

'You sure you want to come?' I asked quickly.

'Yes please. I always miss out on the good stuff!' With that she snatched up her bag, slipped on a light jacket and walked past me, out the door.

'OK... I guess that's fine then,' I mumbled and followed her out of the building.

The station was less than ten miles away and even in London traffic, was reachable in half an hour. Sophie offered to use her car and I wasn't going to argue. She was a safe enough driver and it would allow me time to prepare myself. What if I was wrong about this? What if this was all a coincidence and she had just left me an old key she didn't need? No. I knew it was a deliberate plan. If she had just flung her keys down, why didn't she leave her house key, or back door key for that matter? No, this was her way of getting a message to me. It has to be.

'Do you think it can still work?' Sophie asked.

'What?' I replied, not sure what she meant.

'Well...you and Ems. I mean even if she didn't want to leave you there is still the lies about the job and the wedding. Plus the fact that she is one of the best con artists of the twenty-first century. Do you think you can ever trust her again?'

I thought her questions over for a second.

'I don't know,' I said truthfully. 'I guess it depends what her explanation is for all this. It may not help but I need to talk to her and hear her side of the story, you know? I guess it depends what is in this locker.'

Sophie smiled and nodded, it was clear she didn't want to push the topic anymore.

'I can't explain it, Soph. After weeks of thinking she never loved me, finding out she could have this big criminal past, didn't seem to faze me that much.' I paused for a brief second. 'Can I be really honest?'

'Of course, always.'

'I kind of like it. I don't know why but it's exciting, right?'

'It certainly is never boring with you guys!' She grinned.

I had underestimated Sophie in so many ways. As soon as we hit traffic, she dipped down some side roads and sped off impressively fast. She was enjoying the adventure; I could see that in her eyes. We whizzed down roads I had never seen before, weaving in and out of the parked cars. Before I knew it, we were there.

Victoria Station is an impressive building. As we approached you could make it out from a good distance away. It stood tall in the London skyline, the dark red bricks standing out sharply against their paler equivalents. The white clock face appeared to be working and told me the time was not yet two in the afternoon. With Sophie driving, we really had made good time.

We eventually parked and snaked through the queues of pedestrians and traffic into the building. There were many buildings I loved in London but the more I saw of this one, the more I like it. If I found information helping me find Emma it would officially become the best building of all time.

Sophie lead the way, and I followed swiftly behind. Even on a Monday, half way through a working day the station was full of people. People of all ages, races, genders and, no doubt, sexual orientation. It seemed to typify the whole of London inside one building. As I walked, I glanced at the faces of some people and saw that glow of delight when two people who haven't seen each other for a while finally meet once more. It was beautiful. I wondered what it would feel like to see Emma again. It was going to be perfect.

'It's this way, come on,' called Sophie, taking my hand in hers to avoid getting separated. We moved past the open spaces, through an archway you could easily miss and finally around a sharp corner. Standing there in front of me must have been at least five hundred lockers. All identical, with hard silver casings, and nothing to tell them apart save a small number printed on each one. They were just the same as you would find in any cheap gym or school and, no doubt, in all the railway stations in London.

It looked at one point as if they had tried to enforce the rule where you only use a locker for 24 hours and then return the key into the door, collecting the pound coin held as hostage as you left. That rule had clearly either been abandoned or completely ignored as nearly all the keys were missing and most of the rusting lockers looked like that hadn't been opened this side of the millennium.

'What do you think? Good idea, huh?' Sophie asked.

'Perfect. Nobody would ever know it was here. I didn't even know they had lockers here.'

'Neither did I. A friend told me about it. I think the station are probably embarrassed about the state of these lockers and as a result they are a perfect place to hide a secret.'

We were the only ones here. It was quite a shock to the system after being in the busy station seconds before to being suddenly alone. It seemed like the kind of place people got murdered in films. That thought led me on to a more worrying thought. The Kozlov brothers. What if they had been following me? This was the last place in the world I wanted to be if mad criminals were watching me.

I forced myself to see reason. Firstly, I had been careful going to Dr Davies' office and when I had left I had headed straight home. I was out for ages so if they had wanted to attack me they would have. I couldn't see how anyone could have followed us after the way Sophie had driven and, as this room was so empty, we would be able to hear anyone else. No, we were safe. Realistically, they were probably less concerned about me now. Must have thought their message would scare me into submission. How wrong they were.

'This is my one,' Sophie said, slipping her key into 137. It opened loudly, creaking with stiffness. She didn't ask for privacy and made no attempt to cover the contents of the locker so I looked in.

It was an incredibly sad sight. I had expected Sophie to hide things of high value that she didn't want destroyed but looking in all I could see were trivial items. There was a small teddy bear, a book and what looked like a photo album. It would have taken the actions of a very sick and sad man to destroy these sorts of things. Looking in Sophie's eyes I knew these meant something to her. Not so trivial after all.

'He wasn't a nice man,' she sobbed, weakly. I wrapped my arm around her and let her get her emotions out. It had been the worst time of her life and being here must be bringing back some terrible feelings.

'He's gone, Soph. I know it was awful but he is sad and pathetic and you are sweet and kind and beautiful... so much better off without him! He was lucky to ever know you. I know I am.'

She turned to me and smiled gently, looking me right in the eye. I think we both realised how much we both needed each other at that moment. There were never any romantic feelings between us, but there was a desperation for one another, and the realisation that getting through life without each other was unthinkable. She was my rock and I endeavoured to be hers.

'This is not about me,' she breathed, wiping the tears from her eyes. 'This is a good day,' she continued bravely. 'We are going to find Emma.'

I squeezed her shoulders and offered her as much time as she needed. She took a deep breath, slammed her locker shut and locked it securely.

'Let's find Emma.' She looked determined and I wasn't going to argue with her. Let's do it.

I had absolutely no idea which one was hers. How was I going to find it? I would try every single lock if I had to but that would take me hours.

'You don't know which one it is do you?' I asked hopefully.

'No idea, try numbers that might mean something to you.'

I couldn't really think of any three digit numbers that would mean something to us. You can't really make birthdays out of three digit numbers, plus I wasn't really sure when Emma's birthday was. Pin numbers were four digits long and dates of importance could hardly be shortened to three numbers. I also thought that most of the lockers were probably used by the time she got there and she may have had to choose a free one, rather than choose a significant number.

'I have no idea,' I said at last, pacing up and down in front of the lockers.

The numbers were barely visible and half of them were scribbled over by vandals. Most of the lockers had some form of graffiti on them and I certainly picked up some new words for my vocabulary. I also learned that 'Steve loved Tracy 4eva' which was nice, but I had no clue which one was Emma's. Then I saw it.

Locker number 387 happened to be in line with my eye-sight. As I had walked past it I found myself stopping and inspecting it without knowing why. There was something familiar here. I scanned the locker quickly, looking for what it was. There! In neat, elegant hand-writing there was a love heart written in black marker pen. This wasn't unusual and it wasn't even the first love heart I had seen written on the sides of the lockers, but I knew this one. Inside it read, 'MP loves KtF.' I knew Emma wrote this and I knew why.

*****

The rain was hammering the windows, threatening to break through and soak us both. Emma and I wouldn't have cared if it had; we were in the love-bubble. We had got back from our perfect honey-moon only six hours before and been greeted back in the country by a horrendous storm. Sunny old England, huh? We dived into a taxi and made our way slowly back to the flat. There was washing to do, bills to pay and a flat to bring back into life, but that could wait. We raced into the flat, ripped each other's wet clothes off and made amazing love. We didn't even make it to the bedroom, just about reaching the sofa. Suddenly, England seemed pretty great again. We jumped in the shower and soon after were back on the sofa, eating takeaway pizza. Best day ever.

'What shall we do now?' She asked through mouthfuls of pizza.

'Whatever you want,' I replied, helpfully.

'We could go out, if you want?' she said, but I could tell she didn't want to. I took one look at the rain lashing the window.

'Nope, why not stay in and...watch a film?'

'OK Baby, you choose. Surprise me,' she said, too comfy to move.

'I know, I've got a classic. Really dark, edgy film,' I said seriously and produced 'The Muppets Treasure Island' from our DVD collection. She laughed and we settled in to watch it.

I don't ever remember laughing that much. It wasn't the film (although it really is a classic) but it was just the moment. Paradise. I had never been and I may never be so happy again.

Eventually, the film finished and we just sat on the sofa laughing and talking for hours. I brought out my world famous 'Kermit the Frog' impression and spoke for several minutes in that voice. She loved it.

'So if you're Kermit, does that make me Miss Piggy?' she asked, teasingly.

'Yes it does, I'm afraid. But as you know Kermit loves Miss Piggy very, very much.'

'Well,' she said raising herself up and reaching a marker pen off the coffee table. 'Miss Piggy loves Kermit very much as well.' She kissed me and wrote the initials on the back of her hand in a love heart. I smiled, watching her work and didn't even protest when she turned my hand over and tattooed 'MP loves KtF' on my right wrist.

For days that pen mark remained on my wrist and even when I returned to work you could still see it. I took some serious ribbing about it but never let slip what the initials meant and for years after that it was our on-and-off nicknames for one another.

*****

I stood in complete anticipation of what would happen next. This was Emma's plan to lead me here and I was so happy we had figured it out. It seemed a lifetime ago when she had left. If what was in this locker was from her, it was proof she still loved me. We could still have something.

'Tom, I think someone is watching us.' Sophie was glancing at the corner and when I snapped my head up, no one was there. I looked at her quizzically.

'I'm not sure. I swear the same guy keeps walking past, looking in. He looks foreign. Probably nothing...but hurry up.'

I agreed with her. This was no time for ceremony. I forced the key into the lock and turned it. It resisted at first but when I applied some pressure the lock gave. The locker door swung open.

At first glance the locker looked almost empty. A surge of horror shot through me and I flung my hand into the locker, feeling a thin sheet of paper. I grabbed at it gratefully.

I don't know what I was expecting Emma to leave me but it wasn't this. It was a small note. It read:

Don't give up on me.

R&S

165

2903

Love You.

That was it. The writing was scribbled and rushed. I recognised it as her writing although it was much messier than usual. She was obviously in a hurry. I read it over three times and then handed it to Sophie to read. I turned my attention back to the locker and examined it. There was nothing left in it. It was empty.

'What does it mean? Is it a code?'

'Yes and I know exactly what it means.' I replied.

'What?' asked Sophie breathlessly.

At that moment the man I assumed Sophie had been referring to earlier walked past again. His eyes met with mine briefly and I saw the coldness of his soul. This was not a good man. I could tell he had seen things I couldn't even imagine. I suddenly felt very uncomfortable.

'Do you have any matches or a lighter?' I ignored her question and posed my own.

Sophie was confused but pulled out a lighter from her bag.

'Don't know why I have one really,' she said. I had never seen her smoke but after all the stress she'd had recently, I wouldn't have blamed her.

'What do you want it for?'

I glanced at the note one last time and set it on fire, holding it as long as I could before dropping it on the floor and watching it burn out.

Sophie looked confused but I nodded in the direction we had seen the man. 'Can't be too careful,' I whispered. 'Let's get out of here.'

I grabbed her hand and pulled her towards the exit. If the man had wanted me dead he would have chosen to come to the lockers instead of a busy train station. He was just spying on me. At least I hoped. I took a deep breath and raced around the corner, dragging Sophie behind me. Within seconds we were in the crowds and away. We didn't stop running until we reached the car.

'So what does that mean,' Sophie panted.

'I'm not a hundred percent sure. But I know where I have to go next.'

'Where?'

'Raynmer and Stein.'

# Chapter Thirteen

'You have to take the good with the bad.'

I felt good. To be honest, I felt a hundred thousand different emotions ranging from elation to fear but one of them was definitely happiness. I knew one thing for a fact. Emma loved me. I had seen it in print.

Nothing else seemed to be so bad after that. My whole life had felt like a lie for so long. Sure, I still had thousands of burning questions but they could wait. There would be time for all that. Right now I was focused on finding her.

We sat in the car, shaking with excitement. We were getting somewhere. Sophie pulled her phone out and busied herself on it for a second. 'Mum,' she said in way of an explanation. She looked concerned. If her mother was anything like she was, she wouldn't stop worrying or rest until she heard back from Sophie in any situation. She finished the text message and returned her focus back to me.

'So where to? Straight to Raynmer and Stein?' Sophie was still buzzing with excitement. I looked at the clock in her car.

'No. I am going to need a suit. I'll have to blend in. Can we go home?'

'Yeah of course,' she said and started the engine. The drive home wasn't as hectic as the one there, but she still drove with some urgency. As we drove, I used the time to think aloud.

'Well that was part good and part bad,' I said, referring to the fact we had found something but really knew no more than before.

'In this case you have to take the good with the bad,' Sophie whispered. I nodded in agreement. Things could be worse.

'How did they know we were there?' I asked.

'I guess they followed us,' said Sophie, lightly.

'I doubt it. Not the way you drive!' We both laughed. 'But seriously, I wasn't followed to Veronica's or home and we took some strange side roads to the station. I think we would have seen anyone following us.'

'Maybe. But these are the best criminals in the world. You and I know nothing about their world. They probably have ways for blending into the background, you know?'

Sophie was right. I had only been involved in this for a few weeks; these guys had been doing it all their lives. What did I know?

We reached home and I ran upstairs to find a suitable outfit. I wasn't really sure what the plan was but I knew I would want to blend in. Getting past the reception would be tough. But I had to do it and the most logical way to do it was in a suit.

I reappeared twenty minutes later, dressed as smartly as I could. I popped back into Sophie's flat and asked her opinion.

'Very smart, very handsome,' she said sweetly.

'Thanks Sophie.'

I noticed she was dressed up as well. 'Do I look OK?' she asked cautiously. She really did look great and it saddened me she had such little self-confidence.

'You look beautiful,' I replied, truthfully. 'Are you coming as well?'

'If that's alright?' she said sweetly.

'Listen Sophie I think it's great and I can't thank you enough for being there for me, but this is going to be illegal and potentially dangerous. I can't put you in that situation.'

She didn't seem deterred by this. In fact she smiled patronisingly at me.

'Tom, whether you like it or not, I am involved. If we were followed, they know me. Who is to say I am safer at home - alone - than with you? I want to come and like it or not, you're stuck with me now, OK?' She did her best to sound convincing. I thought for a second and then relented.

'Fine, just give me a second.'

I disappeared and ran up the stairs. I entered the flat and paced quickly into my room, to the bedside table. I pulled the top drawer open and looked in. The gun. I was shaking as I picked it up and tucked it into my trousers. I really didn't want to take it but Sophie was right. I was now responsible for her as well as me and I would do whatever it took to protect her. I checked myself in the mirror to make sure you couldn't see the outline of it through the suit. It was fine.

I jogged down the stairs and rejoined Sophie.

'Ready?' I asked, trying to hide my fear and the weapon.

'Let's go,' she said, more convincingly.

*****

Even the building was intimidating. We had spent ages trying to park but eventually weaved our way to the front steps. We stopped for a second to go over the plan. It wasn't a very good plan, but what about me makes you think it would be?

'Good luck,' said Sophie, squeezing my arm one last time.

'You too.'

She ran up the stairs, turned around, winked at me and disappeared through the revolving doors. I was stunned at how confident she was becoming. In a strange way, all of this had done some good. At least Sophie was blossoming again and I loved seeing it.

Right. Show time.

I took my phone out and walked in through the doors looking as important as I could muster. The role I was playing was an 'arrogant lawyer arsehole'. The thinking behind this was that in Raynmer and Stein, I would blend into the crowd perfect with all the other arrogant, lawyer arseholes.

'No, no Julie I don't care what he says, love. If he's not got the paperwork signed, I don't give a shit... No, you tell him... I couldn't care less... get it done, sweet-cheeks...' I shouted in my best 'cockney arsehole' accent. I was worried I had pitched it a bit strong but nobody batted an eyelid as I walked in. They must be used to that sort of language here.

I spotted Sophie at the reception desk. She had positioned herself right between the gate security and one of the receptionists, just like we had planned. God, I hoped this worked. I carried on walking and talking, looking for a suitable target. What if I couldn't find anyone? This whole plan hinged on me finding someone to steal a pass off and until I had, Sophie would just have to stall. Maybe I should have gone in first. Well, next time...

After a minute, I found someone. A man in his mid-forties was walking through reception with an ID badge clipped to his jacket pocket. Perfect. I had seen enough films where people did this and it looked easy. Here goes.

I walked, still talking on my phone, straight into this man. I had hoped that the force would knock his badge off or in the mayhem I could grab it with my free hand. It didn't work. Essentially what had happened was I assaulted and angered a middle-aged man. I maybe mistimed the pace somewhat and hit him with much more force than I had anticipated. Sadly his badge had not fallen free and my free hand ended up groping his chest, rather than stealing his badge. He turned in furious anger and bellowed, 'Watch it dickhead,' before storming off.

People had turned around in the commotion and I caught Sophie's disappointed stare. She was struggling and really needed me to hurry up. I shot her and apologetic glance and moved on.

OK, regroup.

I had a second plan, which involved a bit of acting (which I am notoriously bad at) and I was not looking forward to trying it. Time was desperate. I scanned around and settled my gaze on an elderly man. He walked through the revolving doors and approached the reception. After signing his name into a guest book he was handed a visitor's badge which would open the gate. As he walked away, I heard the receptionist say, 'Have a great day Mr Fitzgerald.' He was obviously a regular. I had everything I needed.

Timing was key for this. I had to wait until he was out of earshot from reception but not too close to the guards. I phoned Sophie's number on my phone and saw her touch her leg. She could feel it vibrate which was our secret code. Looking back it had never occurred to me what would have happened if someone else had phoned her.

Sophie played her part perfectly. She stood up straight, swaying slightly. I could just hear her speak to the receptionist.

'I'm sorry, I don't feel very well.'

She clasped her hands on the desk and I could see the concern in the faces of the receptionists. As they asked her if she was alright, she collapsed. There was an eruption of movement as both receptionists and the guards on the gates rushed to her side. It was basic human nature. Deep down, we all care about the well-being of each other. And everyone wants to be a hero. This was my moment.

'Mr Fitzgerald?' I called, shouting after him. I repeated it and he turned to face me. He seemed a kindly old-man and had no hint of malice in his face. He was obviously not from London.

'Mr Fitzgerald? Hi I'm Jason from reception,' I said, noticing I was putting on a slightly camp tone. Why was that coming out now? I decided to go with it. 'Hi there, Sir. So sorry about this, Amy has just told me she has given you the wrong gate pass. We just had them updated, that one won't get you through.'

He looked convinced enough. 'Oh dear,' he said softly.

'But if you give me that one, I'll make sure it gets back to the desk. Amy has just popped off to get you another one,' I continued, controlling the situation. There was no Amy on reception but it was all about confidence (hence why they call it a 'con'). I didn't really give him a choice. I gently took the pass off him and told him to take a seat and Amy would be with him shortly.

I had done it. It was almost certainly not up to Emma's standard but I had conned someone out of something. I could see why people did it; I had a huge rush just from lying to an old man.

Sophie's eyes were closed as people rushed about her, checking her pulse and poking her but I was sure she was watching me through a small slit in her eyelids. She seemed to smile as I scanned the ID badge and slipped through the gate. I was in.

I had done the hard part. Now I had to find room number 165. Once you were past the gates, and the escalator to the next floor, you filtered through a small corridor before being greeted by three massive elevators. Either side there looked like a set of staircases, which I would not be using. This building was huge and I was out of shape.

The only way I could find the room was trial and error. There was no one of use around and no signs on the walls indicating where to go. I got off on the first floor and looked at the room numbers. Too low. Same with the second floor. I pushed up to the sixth floor. Too high. Eventually on the fourth floor I found it.

It was a small room right at the end of a long corridor. There was no one on the corridor and I couldn't hear any footsteps. I was alone. At last, some good news. I pushed the door handle down. It was locked. Fuck.

Lying to old men I could just about do, but picking locks (without any tools) was not in my skill set. What could I do? Right, think. Maybe I could find a cleaner and pretend I had locked something inside. Too risky. I had the gun... could I shoot the lock? Ridiculous. I was more likely to shoot myself. That just left one option. I stood back, took a deep breath and kick it.

Absolutely nothing happened. Well that was not true. It made a huge noise and almost broke my foot, but it certainly did nothing to the structural rigidity of the lock. I paused for a second, checking nobody was coming to investigate the bang and tried again. I decided this time to go in with my shoulder taking the brunt, and after several painful charges, the lock gave way. I was in.

I pushed the door closed behind me and switched on the light. The room was a mess. It was clearly just used for storage and even more clearly hadn't been opened up for weeks. It was disgusting. It looked like the type of room that got into such a state that you just locked the door and abandoned it forever.

Where the hell was I going to start? There must have been twenty large boxes filled with thousands of old files and pieces of paper. There were bags in the one corner which looked so old, I was morally against opening. Just to make things a bit harder, there were stacks of old chairs blocking my path through the room.

I figured that 2903 must be relevant here. That was the only thing left on the note I hadn't used. Was it a box number or a particular page number in one of the files? It was the easiest thing to remember and the only one that was poignant to me. 2903. 29th of March. Our wedding anniversary. Even though we'd never had a real wedding it still meant something to me and clearly it did to Emma too.

I decided to walk once around the room to try and see if anything jumped. The state the room was in it was more likely a wild animal would jump out at me than an idea but it was worth a shot. With great difficulty, I circumnavigated the room. Nothing stood out. I couldn't see anything with the number 2903 on.

I completed my circle and stood once more facing the room. There seemed to be a flashing coming from a small cupboard right at the back of the room. I had missed this the first time. I was worried the light might be coming from some sort of sensor. Maybe I had triggered an alarm. I rushed over to it to examine it. It wasn't a camera or an alarm. It was so much better. It was a safe.

I forced open the cupboard door, knocking over several boxes of files as went. I had found what Emma wanted me to. I was impressed that she had believed in me that much. I would never have thought I could have found this but she obviously did. It showed me how powerful the men who had her were and what lengths she had to go to hide this from them. I could wait no longer. I took a deep breath and punched in the number 2-9-0-3. There was a rumble and an electronic bleep, then a green light shone. It was open.

I grabbed the handle eagerly and yanked the door ajar. It was full of so many things my mind struggled to take it all in. The safe was almost waist-high and it was jammed full. There was a huge black holdall at the bottom which was bulging with something inside. On top was a small white envelope which was also straining to hold its contents. I picked it up and looked at it. In the same scribbled writing it read, 'do not read this until you are alone.' On top of this pile was a handheld Dictaphone. There was a tape inside it and every inch of me knew I had to press play. It was a message from Emma.

'Tom, if you can hear this then you did it. You are my hero in so many ways. But there isn't time for this. If you have found this there is a good chance they won't be far behind you. Get everything from the safe and take it home. Only read my note when you are there. Be safe. Thank you for never giving up on me. Love you always.'

Tears were beginning to form in the corners of my eyes. I hadn't heard her voice for so long, but I would never forget it. She sounded concerned. Not exactly worried, but certainly short on time. I could listen to it a hundred times when I was safe but now was a time for action.

I pulled out the holdall; it was heavy. I don't know what was inside but it weighed a lot. I slung it over my shoulder and pocketed the Dictaphone. The letter was placed carefully in my inside jacket pocket. There was no way I was losing that now. I checked the safe twice to make sure I hadn't left anything behind and was away. I moved as quickly as I could over the rubble left in the room and reached the door in record time. I looked back at the room, saw what state I had left it in and moved on, flicking the light off as I went.

I marched down the corridor smoothly and attempted to look smart and sophisticated once more. It wasn't my strong point but again I felt I was less likely to be stopped if I shone with confidence. I plastered on smile and then quickly removed it. Lawyers don't smile, I remembered. They smirk. I adopted a cocky attitude and swaggered back towards the elevators. People passed me and perhaps some wondered what was in the bag, but nobody stopped me.

I reached the first floor and was just thinking to myself how well it was going as I turned to step on the escalator. I could see the lobby below and no sign of Sophie. That was a good thing. She must have got away cleanly. I stepped on and began to travel down when I froze. Sadly, I froze but the escalator kept on moving so it had very little effect. I had seen something I really didn't want too. Three enormous men were standing in the lobby. Two of them I had never seen before but they look completely out of place in a lawyer's firm. They stuck out like a sore thumb. Seeing as I wanted to escape this building without having 'sore thumbs' or sore anything for that matter I turned and bolted back up the escalator. I hid around the corner, out of sight.

I was sure they were Kozlov's men. They couldn't be anything else. Their muscles ripped out of their suits (metaphorically) and they looked like they didn't have enough brain cells between the three to pass a law degree (not that I would say that to their faces.) The third man I had seen before. He was the same man who had followed me at Victoria Station. I didn't think he had brought reinforcements just to observe me and I wasn't going to stick around to find out. This bag, the letter and the tape with her voice on were too important. But how could I get out?

I thought about phoning Sophie, but what was she going to do? I couldn't involve her in this. Plus, I could hear Emma's message ringing in my ears. 'You are my hero in so many ways.' Time to start acting like one. If I wasn't going to fight them (and I wasn't) I would have to outsmart them. It shouldn't be too difficult.

I looked around, desperate for a way out. Was there a back door or a fire exit? Not that I could see but that did give me an idea. The fire alarm. Along the corridor I had seen several of those red buttons which you could set off the alarm with if the glass in front is smashed.

I raced back to the corridor with the bag cutting in to my arm. It was getting heavy. Quickly I found one, set myself and smashed through the glass. It happened instantly. A siren, more piercing and invasive than I thought possible erupted around the building. I could hear the usual commotion of people. They were not sure what was going on and there was not the desperate rush for the door I had hoped for.

Reception were confused and decided to deal with it.

'This is not a drill. Please file out one at a time. Nothing to worry about,' I heard them shout.

I waited for a few minutes. The Russians were not likely to leave straight away but I couldn't see how they would be allowed to stay in. People rushed past me onto the escalator, which was now stationary and providing a metallic staircase. Time to leave.

I slipped into a crowd of 'stressed out' lawyers and kept my pace with them until we reached the revolving doors. They were stationary but could move if you pushed them. I pushed through and was away. I had done it. Scanning around, I couldn't see Kozlov's men. I didn't need a second invitation so I ran as fast as my legs, and the heavy bag, would allow me. I weaved through the crowd and didn't stop until I reached Sophie's car.

*****

Sophie seemed surprised to see me. It was probably more concern than surprise, as I banged on the window she jumped half a mile. I threw the bag on the back seat and hopped in next to her.

'Tom... you did it! How?' she muttered, astounded.

'What, you didn't think I could?' I joked, strapping my belt on and indicating I was ready to go.

'No, not at all... I'm so happy. I saw that man again with some others... I was really worried... I wanted to do something but...'

'Sophie calm down! I'm fine. It would take a bit more than three terrifying Russian men with years of experience in the criminal world and no doubt an arsenal of horrendous torture equipment to stop me.' She laughed at this and started the car up.

'So what did you do?' She asked carefully. I told her about the fire alarm and blending into a crowd.

'That's clever. You're getting good at this,' she teased.

'What about you? You looked pretty comfortable out there,' I remarked.

I felt euphoric. I was alive, which was nice, and I'd done it. I hadn't seen Emma but she had left a trail and I'd followed it to the pot of gold at the end. I was burning with intrigue. What was in the bag and the note? I would have opened it there and then but Emma had asked me not too, and I wasn't sure whether that request extended to the bag as well. Better to be safe than sorry.

I had no doubt that Emma wouldn't have a problem with Sophie seeing it all, especially with the help she had given me, but I would open it in private and then judge whether I could show Sophie.

I explained this to Sophie and she didn't seem to mind. She took me all the way home, hugged me and told me to come see her whenever. Soon enough I was alone in my flat and ready to open my note. Deep breath, here we go.

# Chapter Fourteen

'So many ears listening. So many tongues lying.'

I had been so wrapped up by the loot that I didn't think about my safety. I'd been followed by huge Russian thugs and there was a very good chance they would be waiting for me in my own flat. I could be walking straight into a trap.

Luckily, I wasn't. There was no evidence of a break in and hours later, I was still breathing. A sudden realisation hit me: I could have thrown all my hard work away. Perhaps they didn't want to kill me just yet. I took a slow breath and opened the note; the contents of the bag could wait. I was relieved to see pages of her writing unravel itself. Finally I was going to get some answers.

Dear Tom,

I have lied to you. More times than I care to count. I lied about my name, my past and even our wedding. But believing everything was a lie would be a mistake. I cannot give you specific details at the moment in case this falls into the wrong hands. There are so many ears listening. So many tongues lying. There is one thing you have to believe me on: I love you. I do love you, I have loved you always and I will love you for the rest of my life. Whatever you think of me, whatever I have done to you, remember that.

The truth is I am not who you think I am. I concealed it not out of choice but out of desperation. I had a 'troubled' upbringing if you want to use that term. I started engaging in things that don't show me in the best light. I have broken most rules put in front of me in the past but believe me when I say I have never hurt anyone physically and only those who deserved to, emotionally. I have never hurt anyone I didn't mean to before; except you.

It breaks my heart to know that by the time you've read this I won't be with you. I wanted to talk it through with you but you could never understand. The thought that you may never get this and live your life thinking I left you by choice fills me with dread but I believe in you Tom. I know you will find your way to me.

My mind was rushing, desperately reading on to hear more from her. It was like she was speaking to me, I remembered how she used to talk and could hear her voice now. I felt safe and warm.

You're probably wondering what's going on. I don't blame you. I don't know how much you know, or have been able to figure out, so I will explain as much as possible. I was very good at what I used to do, some would say the best. The problem is when you do something wrong it eventually catches up with you.

I upset some very important men. Important in the criminal world that is. I can never explain to you how terrifying these men are and I pray you never meet them. I thought I'd gotten away from them but they found me and they are not happy.

I have to go with them and do whatever they want. They say they need me for something huge; if I use my 'skills' they might let me go. It's not a great option but, believe me, there really was no other choice. When these men tell you to do something, you do it. It could take weeks, or months... maybe even years. I just don't know.

This is my mess and I must deal with it alone. I am so, so sorry you were dragged into it. Now, if you haven't done so yet, I want you to open the bag.

I did what I was told. I reached over, heaved the dead weight nearer to me and unzipped it.

Holy Shit! Inside was more money than I'd ever seen. Even in the movies. What was it for? I grabbed up her note again.

Those are my savings. If truth be told, the money I made as a youngster was mostly wasted on stupid things but in that bag is almost £1.2 million. You may notice that about £200,000 is in American dollars and another £250,000 is in Euros... roughly. I want you to take this and start a new life.

The day I fell in love with you I hid this away, deciding I'd never associate with my old life again. But it caught up with me. After everything, it seems fair that you get some of the benefits of it. These men will probably be watching you to make sure I don't return but they won't bother following you around the world. Buy a ticket, get on a plane and enjoy yourself. Maybe one day - if I make it out of this - I will come and find you. I'll never give up hope. Trust me, wherever you go, I will find you. You know I'm that good!

Do not worry about covering your tracks. I'll make sure I help these men and they'll never bother you again. That is why I can never leave: they'd kill you if I did and I could never let that happen. But you can leave. I need you to leave. I don't know if it has taken you days, weeks or months to find this but don't delay. Go now. Tell your family you're travelling or something...

Do not tell anyone the truth. Do not trust people. Even when you never thought it possible people can betray you. Just look at me, I was meant to be the one person you could trust and I let you down. You're safest on your own.

Finally, stop looking for me. I know it is hard, but there is nothing you can do. We have to play by their rules but if they see you talking to police or trying to find me they'll get edgy. For all our sakes, let's not annoy them anymore.

I don't expect you to wait for me. Perhaps you can never forgive me for what I have done. I hope I can see you again one day and explain everything in person but if you need to move on I want you to.

Be safe and be happy.

Think of me the way we used to be.

All my love,

Ems xxx

I was physically shaking by the time I had finished her note. I read it through three or four times, desperate to hear her voice in every word. Jack had been completely right (he really was an incredible detective) and the Kozlov brothers had got her. Could I go to the police now? Maybe the letter would be enough. I knew I couldn't in my heart. If I showed them the letter they'd use it to prosecute Emma for all her past crimes and she'd see out her life in jail.

So it was down to me. The reason she had left was because they'd threatened to kill me. Sure, there were still some questions about our past I needed answering but there was one thing I wasn't questioning. I knew then and there that I wasn't going anywhere. I knew who had taken Emma and I wasn't going to stop until she was safe, regardless of how scary they were. But I was going to beat them with my brains and a vast sum of money. I just needed to know what I was going to do. If they were watching me, I better put on a show.

*****

Thirty minutes later my bags were packed. I bunched a few of my favourite clothes in a suitcase, along with anything valuable I could carry. There wasn't a lot. Looking at all my worldly possessions fitting into one small bag made me feel quite sad but I pressed on. I flicked on my laptop and began checking the flat for anything I might need whilst it loaded. Eventually I got on the Internet and booked a plane ticket to Mexico. One way. The flight left in three hours so I'd have to hurry.

I picked up my phone and called my mum, realising with a pang of regret that I hadn't spoken to her in ages.

'Hello?' she questioned, even though my name was on her caller ID. I think she made it a question just to make me feel guilty, as if it had been so long since I last spoke to her that the name Tom doesn't even ring a bell.

'Hi Mum, it's me.'

'Oh Tom, how are you darling? You haven't rung in ages,' she digged. Not 'we haven't spoken in ages' you see. She puts the blame on me. Sneaky.

The conversation went on like that. I told her I was going to go travelling to 'find myself' after everything. I wasn't sure for how long or when I would be home. She was surprisingly good about it. I think deep down she'd been constantly worrying about me and probably thought it would do me good. I hung up, promising to call her often, and breathed a sigh of relief. The next phone call would be more enjoyable. I scrolled through my phonebook and selected Hamilton's.

'Hello, Hamilton's Accounting,' a polite voice from reception said. It sounded like Suzie but I couldn't be sure. It had been a while since I had worked there consistently.

'Hi there, it's Tom. Is there someone high up and important that I could talk to immediately?'

'Hi Tom,' she laughed. It was Suzie. We'd always got on pretty well and she made me feel relaxed. 'Sorry Love, they are all in a meeting. Even the team leaders. Can I take a message?'

'Yeah you can actually. Have you got a pen?'

She paused for a second and then said, 'Yes, go ahead.'

'Right. Please write this down word for word, OK?' I laughed, waiting for her to agree.

'Dear Managers, CEO's, Team Leaders and whoever else this concerns. As you know I have been dealing with some personal problems and will have to ask you to kindly...shove your job up your arse.'

There was a stunned silence but Suzie didn't stop me, so I continued.

'I would like to say it has been a pleasure working for you but...that would be bollocks. You know it. I know it. Nobody likes working there you miserable, bloated bag of shite (oh, please make sure that one is aimed at Jeff). Yours Sincerely, Tom Sharpe.'

I could hear Suzie stifling her laughter and by the sounds of it, she had shown it to the others.

'Make sure they get it like that, word for word.'

'OK Tom, I will,' she replied, weeping with giggles.

'Thanks Suzie, have a good life.' I said and hung up. Wow. That felt good!

After that I was ready. I gathered all of my things (one small suitcase and my holdall full of money) and walked out of the flat, locking it behind, perhaps for the last time. I jogged down the stairs towards my hardest conversation. With a heavy heart I knocked on Sophie's door.

'Hey, I was wondering when you'd come down. Kettle's on,' she called, making her way to the kitchen and leaving the door open for me to come in.

'Thanks, listen Sophie, I can't stay long.'

'Oh that sounds exciting,' she replied, hoping for more adventure. Presently, she returned with two cups of tea.

'So what was in the bag?'

I don't know what made me do it but I lied to her. Perhaps it was easier. Maybe I wanted to get out without talking for ages but I think the truth was simple: I wanted to protect her. Telling her about the money would have got her further involved and she couldn't know my real plans. It was best for everyone if I lied to her.

'Not a lot to be honest. A note from her and some old things that meant a lot to both of us. Really personal stuff,' I added hoping she wouldn't pry too much.

'Oh. So what did the note say?' she asked, trying to find out more. I felt really bad. She was one of the few people who knew everything. I had let her in so far, only to lie to her face.

'It was wonderful. She told me she was in love with me and that she'd explain it all to me one day. She said she had to do something but that, when it was over, she 'd come back to me.' This was partly true but, if Sophie had read the note she would know, how unlikely it was that those men would just let her go.

'Wow, that's great news Tom. So where are you going?'

I smiled at her, trying to convey the message 'everything is going to be okay.'

'Mexico,' I stated, ignoring her look of sheer surprise. 'Emma left me a ticket and told me to go there. She's going to meet me there. Maybe in a few weeks, maybe a few months. However long it takes.'

'Mexico? And you have to go now?' she asked sadly.

'Yeah. It was a good thing we found it when we did, the ticket expires tomorrow! She must have thought I would have noticed the key straight away,' I lied.

'I'm going to miss you more than you'll ever know,' she said with a tear rolling down her cheek.

'Me too, Soph. I love you like family, you know that. You're wonderful and amazing. And I swear with all my heart that when this is over I'll come straight here and move back into that crappy flat above you!' I laughed.

We hugged and eventually I managed to tear myself away from her. It was harder than I had thought. I just prayed Sophie would be fine. Tossing my things in the back of our car, I headed, with a sigh, to the airport.

*****

I arrived at the airport with just over an hour before the flight. I was running out of time. I parked the car, wondering if I was ever going to see it again and strode into the busy airport.

I kept hold of my money holdall but I checked in my bag of clothes after a short queue. I saw my suitcase disappear, ready to be loaded onto the plane. Looking at my watch, I could see I had about twenty minutes until boarding. I just hoped this worked.

I sat down on one of the most uncomfortable seats I have ever sat in and waited patiently. I considered buying a newspaper or a magazine for the wait but couldn't be bothered. I held my holdall close to me at all times. That wasn't going anywhere. Come on, where are you?

With just five minutes to go, I saw them. My three Russian friends. Right, so far so good; I love it when a plan comes together. I got up and moved around the room, heading to the shop for a brief minute before moving on again. They followed me all the way, maintaining a safe distance. Not too close, not too far away. They were clearly highly trained, or had perfected this over years of stalking. I stopped worrying about them and stuck to my task. As the check-in desk called us through for boarding I was there waiting; one of the first in the queue. I could see the thugs watching me queue. They were going to make sure I was on the plane. Fine then.

With one last glance at them, I handed my ticket over and walked down the corridor. When everyone had boarded, and the safety checks had been done, the plane raced down the runaway and jolted into the sky. I, of course, was not on it. I was in fact sitting in an investigation room being questioned as to why I had 'fainted' in the boarding corridor and why my black holdall was full of women's magazines.

I knew as I checked in that the only convincing way to make the Kozlovs believe I was no longer around was to board the plane. Except flying to Mexico and then turning around straight away seemed an awful waste of time. I also knew that if I took a black holdall full of cash to the airport it would be taken off me in seconds. So I had switched the contents in the car and filled it with some of Emma's old magazines. I hoped that the Russians would be watching me carry the holdall inside and assume I still had the money, if they even knew about it. It was the scariest thing I have ever done leaving my newly found fortune in a car, in a crime hotspot, but I had no choice. The Russians would have seen me holding the bag tightly and getting on a plane. They would never assume I had switched it. I just looked like a typical coward fleeing the country.

That's what I wanted them to believe.

# Chapter Fifteen

'I was looking for something a little more common.'

To my relief, the money was still in the car when I got there. It had taken me over an hour to get out of the investigation room at the airport. I had been accused of everything from terrorism to cross-dressing (due to the women's magazines). But eventually having found no evidence and after me pointing out that cross-dressing wasn't illegal, they had to let me go. I headed straight back to my car, desperately fighting the urge to run and pulled out the sack of money. I felt much better after that. Right, so if everything had gone well enough, the Kozlovs thought I was out of the picture. That gave me the element of surprise at the very least. I still didn't know where she was or how to get there but as long as I was careful they wouldn't see me coming.

I knew that I could never go back to the flat. They might be keeping an eye on it, in case of my return. It was time to spend some of that money. First, I needed to find a place to stay: a base for my actions. I didn't want to spend lots of the money and figured it was best to find somewhere a little inconspicuous. The problem was, in London, finding somewhere cheap was not easy. I wanted it close to where I knew but not so close that I might bump into the Kozlovs or Sophie. Eventually, after some serious consideration, I found a small apartment in a more central location than my old one. It was nice enough (for those of you that like stains and insects) and it was cheap. The landlord didn't seem to care about organisation or maintaining anything but that suited me fine. I paid him up front for a month and took the keys from him. I was a little scared that I was going to get stabbed leaving the apartment but I put that to one side and ran whenever I had to leave. I had a place to stay. Now I needed a new car.

The car was the only way I thought the Kozlovs may find me and that needed to change. I resisted the temptation to walk straight into an Aston Martin garage and drive away in a DBS and instead found a horrible, third-hand car dealership. The car I drove there in was very old now and let's just say the years hadn't been kind. I accepted I wouldn't get a lot for it. At first the salesman tried to push some expensive new motor that was only partially dented (a rarity for their products) but I refused.

'I'm looking for something a little more common,' I said truthfully, realising how middle-class that last sentence made me sound.

I found an old Ford Focus in the lot that looked pretty battered. Perfect. It had no price on it but when I asked one of the sales assistants, they asked for two grand. I laughed and offered them a thousand pounds cash plus my car for it and after the traditional salesman bollocks, they accepted it. Half an hour later I was driving away in my new Ford (I use the word 'new' loosely).

Although the car was a good start I was still concerned about it. On the way back to my new flat I saw a rundown garage called 'Pimp My Car, Van or Motorbike'. Catchy. That could work. I pulled in and was greeted by an enormously fat man. He seemed to be wondering if I had pulled into the wrong place. As I got out of the car, I could see how impressive the garage actually was. It had appeared pretty poor from the outside. There were the obvious spaces for cars which had the usual smell of motor oil and B.O, but then the rest of the walls were covered with the largest range of car equipment I had ever seen. There were wheels of all sizes, the most incredibly expensive stereo systems and sub-woofers and plenty of things I knew nothing about.

'Can I help you?' asked the enormous whale of a man. It would have been hard to find an overall that would have fitted him but he hadn't even attempted to locate one. He had used brute force to drag the trousers over his expansive behind and had clearly given up trying to wrap it round his torso. He had instead draped a vest over himself which was probably once white but was now a filthy grey.

'Yeah. How much to kit out the whole car? I'm talking tinted windows, sub-woofer, lights underneath, the whole business,' I said pathetically. What was going on? I was talking in some ridiculous tone like I knew what I was talking about. I didn't.

'Well, that depends. If you want the top end stuff it's going to cost you. For the very best, you're looking at three grand.'

'OK, I'll give you five grand cash if you get it done by the end of the day,' I said matter-of-factly.

The blue-whale looked confused at first but knew a good deal when he heard one.

'Done!' he replied quickly. 'What things do you want?'

'You choose. Surprise me. But I want the windows dark, like a limo, OK?'

'You got it boss.'

I pulled out a wad of notes and counted some out.

'There's two and a half grand there. I'll give you the rest when it's done?'

He grabbed it, almost in disbelief, and we agreed on a time for me to return. I left the garage and walked around the streets until I found a tube station. There was still plenty more shopping to be done. I was exhausted already. How do women do this most weekends? What made it worse was that I had to carry a bag around with twenty thousand pounds in it and guard it with my life. I had hidden the rest of the money painstakingly in my new home before I had left. I had managed to find a loose enough floorboard in the lounge and after an eternity of pulling I freed it enough to fit my holdall underneath it. I didn't want to imagine what manner of creatures would be crawling over it but it should hopefully be safe. It had better be.

*****

The next thing to think about was communication. My phone could have been tracked and I was so worried the Kozlovs might have the technology to trace me that I had ditched it. I had spent a minute jotting down the numbers I needed and then dumped it in a hedge when leaving the airport. If they could trace it, they might just believe I dropped it in my hurry. I would be needing a phone and now they could have no way of tracing it. I decided that I might as well get the best one possible.

I convinced myself that I'd bought the latest iPhone for a purpose. I could use the internet whenever I wanted to access useful information... or something like that. The truth was I had never had money and I was loving having it. Emma wanted me to be happy and for this brief sneeze of time, the iPhone made me very happy. I hadn't taken a contract out; I'd simply bought the handset and topped it up with fifty pounds credit. That should last me a while. Right, what else was on the list?

I had a new flat, a new car and a new phone. There were two things left to change. Number one: my clothes. It showed both greed and incredible foresight on my behalf, but I decided to get a very expensive new wardrobe. I had some idea that owning expensive suits would help me with my future plans, but I think deep down I just wanted to know what it felt like to wear designer clothes. No more Matalan for me.

The clothes shopping experience was exhausting. I headed to Oxford Street and put myself entirely at the disposal of a gay sales assistant called Stephen. I knew his name was Stephen as it was embossed on his chest and as he strutted towards me, he peacocked his chest out so far ahead of him that his name badge reached me several minutes before the rest of his body.

I must have been a dream to Stephen as I had money to burn and was willing for him to dress me like a Ken doll (not literally, I am capable of dressing myself). He sold me this line about the modern man only needing sixteen expensive items to have a complete wardrobe but it didn't seem to hold true as he insisted on me buying well over thirty things. I had designer jeans and suits that cost more than my new car had. I had very little change from ten thousand pounds as I left the store, but I was certain nobody would recognise me. So far, so good. I decided against taking all the clothes with me and agreed to pick them up later, once I had my car back.

That just left one thing to be changed: Me. I could never pull the clothes off convincingly with the beard I was cultivating and my hair was no longer in any style. It had gotten relatively long and the fringe was hanging well over my eyes, causing me to sweep it off my face constantly. Looking at my new (expensive) watch I still had well over an hour until I could collect the car. Time for a haircut.

In the end I didn't get a haircut, I got a complete styling experience. That's what Louis, my styling artist, had said. I am pretty sure Louis and Stephen bat for the same team and I am grateful to both of them for making me somewhat fashionable.

Louis almost passed out when he saw the condition my hair was in. Something about split-ends or something. I explained to him that I had been under a lot of stress at work and he forgave me. I was a little more wary of allowing Louis free reign over my hair as I didn't want to end up looking like Jedward (again. Don't ask!). He flicked through some magazines for me and eventually we agreed on something short and smart. I hoped I might resemble Matt Damon as Jason Bourne or Brad Pitt without his 90's curtains but I was bitterly disappointed. Not with the haircut - Louis had done a good job - but with the fact my face hadn't changed and I was still without a six-pack. I had never been in a place where they give you a shave as well, but Louis did. I had heard of it in old fashioned barbers but not up-market places like this. Truth be told, I'm not sure whether they do offer it, or whether Louis couldn't bear the thought of me leaving looking so groomed on the top of my face and so unkempt on the bottom.

Forty-five minutes later I was looking pretty good. I felt like a new man, which I guess I was. So much of my life had changed in one day. Since Emma had left, the man I once was had almost completely disappeared and what stood in its place was a contradiction. Half confident and half terrified of his own shadow. I had achieved things I never thought possible but still couldn't shake the fear of things to come. That's normal though when your wife gets kidnapped by the Russian mob who threaten to kill (and maybe torture her) unless she helps them do something incredibly illegal, isn't it?

I had to break into a sprint to make it back to the garage on time and even then the tubes delayed me so I ended up being almost twenty minutes late. The man-mountain was still there although they had closed the garage to the public. I knocked on the door and at first he waved me away. Then, realising who I was, he turned and unlocked the door.

'Fuck me, I didn't recognise you there mate,' he muttered. He was breathing deeply. He looked sweatier than usual as if he had been working hard. I hoped it was on my car.

'It's all ready for you mate. She's looking pretty sweet,' he added, walking me through the doors.

To my surprise it did. I mean it was still a piece of shit, but it was one that looked like it had been shown some love. The most important thing to me was that the windows were blacked out.

He ran me through all the things he added and made sure I felt I had my money's worth. I was impressed. After what seemed like hours he finished talking and I handed him the rest of his cash.

'I appreciate this,' I said. 'Thanks again.'

Holding the money, Blubber waved me out of the garage, shocked at how easily he had earned himself two grand extra.

The car was ridiculous. I found it impossible to have the music on anything except 'deafeningly loud' and I wasn't a hundred percent sure the black tinting was legal. But it was doing the job. I was definitely not the sort of person you expected to be driving in this car. If by some bizarre reason I drove straight past the Kozlovs they would never suspect I was inside. It was perfect camouflage.

I made my way home, via the clothes shop to pick up my new wardrobe, and spent most of the evening trying to unpack everything. It was late by the time my new flat was in some sort of an order. I threw away my old clothes, which seemed a bit extreme but I wanted a complete change and jumped in the shower. I was in there a long time but it felt good; after all I was exhausted.

My beautiful little iPhone was on charge and ready to use as I collapsed on my bed. I found the scribbled note of my old contact's numbers and saved them on my phone. I could at least now contact Mum, Sophie, Rachel and - most importantly - Jack.

I was no longer the man I used to be, but sadly I still had the same problems. I had no idea where Emma was or how she was coping. She was strong in every sense of the word and she would be fine. She had to be.

Buying all my new belongings had distracted me but now I was back on track. I was in a better situation, surely? I had money at my disposal and had convinced the Russians I was out of the country. If I could just track Emma down I could save her.

I fell asleep, hoping my dreams would bring a plan. It killed me, not being able to find her. Even if I knew where she was I couldn't do anything. They were too powerful and it was too hard to get away from them.

I wanted to do this on my own. I'd left Sophie behind hoping it would keep her safe and I had my reservations about involving Jack and Rachel again. But time was running out. I opened the drawer and checked that the gun was still there, in case I needed it. It was.

I needed help. Tomorrow I would phone Jack.

# Chapter Sixteen

'I was going to eat here once...but we decided to get a mortgage instead!'

Jack was pleased to hear from me. Since his visit over the weekend he had heard nothing and had begun to worry. My number was one he did not recognise and he answered it with little hesitation.

'Hello?' he questioned.

'How's it going Jack?' I asked as calmly as I could.

'Tom! Am I glad to hear from you,' he exclaimed.

'Are you and Rachel keeping safe?'

'Of course, you know me. How are you?'

I told him I was fine and not to worry.

'I've loads to tell you,' I said honestly.

'Yeah, me too,' he breathed, which seemed encouraging.

'But not over the phone, can we meet? I can come to you if it's easier.'

'Let me come down to you mate. Rachel is working late tonight and she is safe there. I can be there in a couple of hours and get back before she is home.'

'Great I looked forward to it.'

'Shall I come to your place?'

'Not exactly...I'll text you an address.'

*****

Less than two hours later we were sat together at a small table in one of the most expensive restaurants in London. 'Startle' was slowly building a reputation as the best restaurant in the country. It was a little too trendy for me but it had as many Michelin stars as it was possible to get and we were guaranteed a good meal.

I figured it was the best way for me to explain to Jack what my situation was. He was flabbergasted as he approached the table, escorted by two men who were dressed smarter than I was at my own wedding. I could see him eyeing me up and down as he got nearer and shaking his head in disbelief.

'What is going on mate?'

'What do you mean?' I joked. 'Have you never eaten at Startle before?'

'I was going to eat here once... but we decided to get a mortgage instead!'

It was good to see him again. I loved the banter we'd always had.

'So you've got to fill me in quick buddy, before I order a main course,' he said.

'You don't order a main here, it's a set five course menu,' I replied, smirking. 'OK, I'll tell you everything.'

And I did. It took me through two-courses to tell all about working out what they key meant and my journey from then on. I could tell he was impressed by what I had achieved in just a few days. It seemed a lifetime ago when I was standing in Victoria Station, unsure of how Emma felt about me. Eventually Jack knew as much as I did about the situation and sat in stunned awe.

'Tom, that's incredible.'

I wasn't sure to what he was referring exactly so I shot him a quizzical look.

'All of that. To find the locker and the money. And avoid the Kozlovs. And the whole airport trick. And to do it alone so quickly. It's unbelievable!'

I smiled proudly. It had been a long time since I had felt proud of myself. It was a big achievement and I was happy I had done it. Not that I'd had a choice.

'You know the money she gave you is going to be illegal right? There are loads of issues here.'

'So is me having a gun, but my situation isn't exactly normal, right?' I said back.

I could see Jack thinking. He hated doing things that were openly illegal but he knew what I was going through.

'You're right,' he said at last. 'Compared to the things you have done, and probably will do, spending some dodgy money is probably the least of our worries.'

We ate in silence for a second. The food was incredible. I was more of a 'Chinese takeaway on a Friday night' kind of guy but I could get used to it. The plates were considerably smaller than the size I was used to but the courses kept coming out. At points, water with lemon wedges were brought out to clean your fingers! That's what your trouser legs were for. It was completely over the top, but for the price we were paying, it'd better be.

'Is there any order to using this cutlery?' Jack asked, clearly no more comfortable than I was.

'I don't think so,' I replied. 'I think it's just to give you a choice.'

*****

By the time the final course came we were stuffed. The flavours were incredible and I just wished I had a palette that could properly appreciate it. It was good day so far; I always felt safer having Jack around, but I knew we needed to push on.

'You said you had things to tell me,' I said through mouthfuls of pudding.

'Yeah, it's just a theory but it might be a lead,' he said tantalising.

'Go on,' I begged, desperate to know.

Jack pulled out his phone and flicked through the apps until he found a photo.

'Do you know what this is?' he asked, showing me the image on his phone.

The picture wasn't particularly clear. It looked a bit as if he had taken a photo of a photo. It was a jug of some sort. I couldn't tell you what sort as I'm not a scientist or... nerd. But it looked old, expensive and important. It was blue with white fragments and some sort of animal emblazoned on the side (I couldn't tell what animal).

'It looks like a jug,' I deduced.

'Technically it's a ewer. It is basically a large jug which people used to carry water in. You used it to wash from. This one is a very important Chinese artefact from the Yuan Dynasty. It's over seven hundred years old.'

'And a very nice one,' I said, not sure what this had to do with me.

'It is a very nice one. Artefacts of this importance are worth millions. To China this jug is priceless.'

'OK, so what does this...?'

Jack ignored me and carried on talking.

'Can you see what is on the side of it?'

I shook my head, so he continued.

'There's a Phoenix painstakingly detailed into the side. It has huge significance and importance.'

'Is this what the Kozlovs want?'

'Wait, let me finish.' He shot me a glance that told me to keep my mouth shut and I listened.

'The point is that this isn't the only one. There were five identical ewers made at the same time. They were made to celebrate some huge event and each one has a different animal on it to represent different things.' Jack's factual knowledge was beginning to become patchy but he knew enough. He took a deep breath and I decided to risk a question.

'So where are they kept?'

'This is the point. For centuries they were kept in China. They survived thousands of attempts from people trying to steal them but eventually it became the Holy Grail for thieves. It became dangerous to keep them together.' This was starting to seem important.

'So in the 1980's China decided to split them up. They were given to the most important museums around the world; one in America, one here in London...you get the idea. It was a gift to the world apparently and showed China's strengthening relationship with the western world. It put a huge responsibility on the museums that held them and the security became state of the art. Nobody could touch them.'

'So why do people want to steal them so much? Loads of things are worth a million pounds.'

'Two reasons. Number one: the respect. No one has ever done it, so if you can, you're the best thief in the world. Number two: alone they are worth a million or two. On the black market, the whole collection together would be worth over seventy million pounds!'

I sat there in silence, taking this in. I was getting that sinking feeling that I only got when Emma was involved in things I really didn't want her to be.

'This is where it gets interesting. Seven years ago there was a scandal where one of the jugs was stolen out in Milan. It was missing for over a week before it was discovered. Then last week, another one was somehow taken in Paris. When they looked carefully at the one in Milan they found it was a fake. An incredible fake that fooled everyone at the museum, but a fake nonetheless.'

'So what does that mean?'

'It means that two have now been successfully stolen. I think the Kozlovs are behind it.'

'Why? I mean it makes sense but what makes you sure?'

'Because, four years ago, some of their known associates were caught trying to steal the Paris one and went down for it. It is almost impossible to get these out of the museum, let alone the country. The Kozlovs are smart enough to never get involved.'

'So you think they need Emma to try and take them?'

'I do.'

'But why? I know Emma is good and all that but this is an impossible job. Why do they think she could do it?'

'Because Emma was in Milan, seven years ago. I think the only person to be able to steal these is Emma! They must have found out that she had the first one and tracked her down, blackmailing her to get the others.'

Shit!

'Are you telling me that Emma has stolen one of these vase things in Milan? And was then forced to steal one in Paris last week?'

'Yes, I think so.' He was looking at me gravely.

I tried to look at the bright side.

'OK, so she's been able to do it twice already. Maybe she can do all of them and then she's free. Right?'

'Don't you get it?' he said. 'It's a trap. It's win-win for the Kozlovs. Either Emma pulls off the impossible and they get seventy million pounds, or she gets caught and they get revenge. And even if she does it, which she won't, do you really think they won't just kill her? I'm sorry but it's true.'

'So what do I do?' I was panicking now. Jack was right. The good news was they needed Emma for a while so she was in no immediate danger but how long would she need to steal the others.

'I shouldn't know anything about this, you understand. I have been poking around the Kozlovs and I managed to get hold of this idea. It's just a theory so far. The force has no idea about Emma's involvement and, if they do see her, they'll just assume she's working with the Russians. They have eyes on the Kozlovs all the time.'

'So they make her do all the illegal stuff and they get away with it,' I said, boiling with anger.

'The police here are watching the one in London, as are the ones in America and Amsterdam. No one will be able to get within ten feet of them. Emma is going to get caught if she goes near them. No matter how good she is.'

So that was it. They had known Emma had taken the first ewer and traced her around the world to force her to steal the other four. Somehow she had got the second one from Paris and now the police were on high alert. If I couldn't get to her in time then she was going to end up in jail... or shot.

We finished our coffee in silence. Despite the wonderful food I was still left with a bitter taste in my mouth. I didn't know what to do. I knew the Kozlovs were serious guys, that they were after something big. But this was huge. Emma could maybe beat one security system for a museum, but she couldn't outrun the police, Interpol, the FBI and whoever else would be waiting for her to make a mistake.

'That food was incredible,' Jack said, breaking the tension.

'Yeah, I've never had five courses before,' I replied, trying to smile.

'So what do we do now?' Jack asked me. "

'We don't do anything. I could never have done this without you, you know that, but you've done enough. There's nothing you can do and I can't put you or Rachel in anymore danger. I mean it,' I said, ignore the shaking of his head.

'I can handle myself and I'm here for you...'

'I know you are but you've done enough. Seriously. I can't have you losing your job over this. End of. Now let me get the bill.'

I grimaced as the waitress brought over the bill. Taking out a friend for lunch has cost me the best part of five hundred pounds. Ridiculous. It doesn't matter how good the food was. Half a grand. Seriously?

Jack stifled his laughter as he caught a glimpse of the bill and raised a disapproving eyebrow when I pulled out twenty-five purple notes and dropped them on the table.

'Stop carrying cash about,' Jack said. 'There are some terrible statistics about muggings in London.'

'It's OK. I'm armed anyway,' I smirked.

'Tom, tell me you aren't carrying it with you!' he whispered, all the laughter draining from his eyes.

'Joke!' I replied.

'Not funny.'

We walked out of the restaurant and Jack acknowledged it was time for him to head back. He didn't want Rachel to worry.

'How much does Rachel know?' I asked, turning to say goodbye.

'Nothing yet. It's better that way. When you find Emma and save her life I'll tell her all about it.'

'Deal.'

Jack hugged me and turned to walk away. I knew I had to let Jack get on with his life and stop dragging him into it. Soon.

'Hey Jack. One more thing.'

'Yeah?'

'Do you know where the Kozlovs are? Could you find them?'

'Yes probably, but they haven't done anything wrong so we can't arrest them.'

'I don't want to arrest them, but if I need to know where they are, can you find them?'

'I think so.'

'Thanks Jack, I may need that.'

'Don't do anything stupid.' I paused for a second.

'Goodbye.'

# Chapter Seventeen

'Time to man up! Time to not be scared! Any minute now!'

My new apartment wasn't as large as it had first appeared and even then it had looked small. I realised quite how little it was when I paced around it for several hours that night. I'd left Startle before four and gone straight home, yet I was still pacing well past eight. I didn't know what to do but I was getting used to thinking on my feet. I hadn't known how to find the locker and I had. I hadn't known how to get into 'Raynmer and Stein' and I had. This would be no different. I hoped.

I had resorted to talking to myself again. By seven, I was physically shouting out loud. People walking past would have heard me calling out, 'Time to man up! Time to not be scared! Any minute now!' It wasn't working a great deal. I had no plan forming in my head and I was struggling to contain the stress (and fear). Eventually I gave my voice and legs a rest, settling down to eat a take-away pizza. Wealth had ruined me. I used to try being healthy but now all I was eating were fancy restaurant meals and take-away pizzas. I had even become a snob, refusing to eat pizzas from my local and ordering the dearer option from 'Pizza Express.'

I fell into bed around eleven, no closer to working out what I was going to do. There didn't seem many options. As I lay there in a sleepy state, I realised I needed to stop trying to change the situation and just accept it. That way I could play within the rules and find a way to win. The plan came to me suddenly. It was complete madness, and most likely suicide, but it was something. I swore quietly to myself at the sheer insanity of it but there was nothing else I could do. I thought deeply. If I was going to do it, it was going to take a lot of work and research.

*****

My sleep had been more disturbed than usual that night. I fell asleep pretty early, but was woken every hour or so by something. There was nothing in my flat and no commotion outside so I had to assume that it was me who was waking myself up so inconsiderately. By six I accepted I wasn't going to get anymore sleep and dragged my body back to life. It seemed to be taking longer and longer each time I got out of bed. It took me a quarter of an hour to limp to the bathroom and it was nice, for once, to be greeted by a reasonable reflection in the mirror. My stubble was growing back though it wasn't at a length to look bad yet and the new, shorter haircut was still looking good.

I had to run the water for a good ten minutes before it was warm enough for humans to shower in it. I was under strict instructions from Louis, my hair stylist, to only use the expensive shampoo he had forced me to buy and to add 'conditioner'. I've never been exactly sure what it is meant to do but I did it anyway. It felt nice to take care of myself again. Little by little, I was beginning to control all the aspects of my life again. Only three minutes had crept passed seven o'clock when I finished grooming myself and I settled down at the kitchen table to work. I had bought an internet dongle along with my phone and managed to get online with little difficulty. I couldn't be bothered to try and install Wi-Fi in a flat I hoped I wouldn't live in for very long. The Internet performance was slow but consistent and I got about my business.

The first thing I needed to do was learn everything about Chinese ewers and the Yuan Dynasty. Google was littered with information about the importance of decorative ewers and I waded slowly through them. I found three news stories that were relevant. There was an online article from 2004 that stated a Yuan Dynasty Ewer had been stolen from the 'Castello Sforzesco' Museum in Milan. Local police were at a loss as to how anyone could have got near it and the press were calling it an inside job. The details were sketchy but that was seemingly because the thief had done such a good job. They had nothing to go off. My head spun with confusion and pride as I thought about Emma doing the impossible. I had assumed she was primarily a con artist, but it was starting to look like she took being a thief more seriously.

The second article was from the same website and was dated exactly a week after the first. There were photographs of a dark alleyway in Milan, full of bins and tramps. It was here that the Milan ewer was apparently found. There were no details as to who found it or why it was there but it had been tested by experts and was the genuine one. Except it wasn't.

The final article was a photocopy of a real newspaper which had been scanned on to the computer. The scanning had blurred the font somewhat but it was still legible. The headline read 'The Scandal in Milan' in large black font. This was only a week old. There was no mention of the job in Paris or that there was more than one ewer. It discussed how a ewer which had gone missing for a week seven years ago had recently been proven a fake. According to the paper, the paint used on it looked flawless originally but over the years it had begun to crack and flake away. Expert testing had confirmed the truth. It was a fake.

By lunchtime I felt like I was up to date with most things 'Yuan'-related. I realised I had still not eaten so I forced down a few slices of leftover pizza to keep my energy up. The rest of my day was going to be pretty exhausting.

I slipped out of my flat and into my 'pimpmobile' as quickly as I could. I was sure the Russians weren't following me but you could never be too careful. I was a little dubious about my next journey but I felt it was necessary. The other day I had spotted a 24-hour gym in a less inviting area of town, not far from where I now lived. To call it grotty would be to do it a kindness but it seemed the perfect place for me. I parked up and walked in gingerly, trying not to look intimidated.

The gym was more like a boxing club when I got inside. There was a worn down ring in one corner and several punching bags hanging from rusty chains. It was a large, expansive space; far too big to fill with exercise equipment. As I walked in there must have been twenty men working out, ranging from their twenties to mid-forties and all in unbelievable physical condition. Just like a movie, they all turned to stare at me as if stunned that someone like me would dare to come in.

'Who teaches the self-defence classes here?' I muttered. 'I saw the sign...'

'I do,' called a deep voice from a large man, standing just outside the ring. He did not move or offer to help me. He merely stated it like a black and white answer.

'I want to learn. I need to pick up some stuff right now,' I cried, more confidently.

'No.' Even though I didn't think he was joking, all the other men began laughing loudly.

'What?'

'I said 'No'. You don't belong here. Give me one good reason why I should help you,' he said slowly, edging closer to me all the time. Soon he was no more than a few feet away from me.

'I'll give you a thousand,' I replied cockily, throwing him a wad of tight notes.

This was the make or break moment. There was every chance he would just take my money and throw me out but I hoped it would show confidence on my behalf.

'OK, pretty-boy, you've got yourself an instructor.'

*****

That night it took all my strength to drag my aching body into bed. Tyler, my instructor, was not as bad as he'd seemed. I wouldn't exactly say I was now Jackie Chan, but he knew his stuff and had taught me a lot. I 'd been able to dictate what I wanted to learn; he showed me the best ways to deal with someone with a weapon, how to take a punch and taught me the pressure points on a body that would help me get out of a tight situation. I'm not stupid. I realised that all of this was unlikely to make any difference, but it gave me some peace of mind. I definitely needed that.

It had been a productive day. I hadn't got as much stuff done as I would have liked but I planned to finish my training tomorrow. For now, my body could rest.

*****

The problem with doing six or seven hours of solid exercise and then going straight to bed is that your body forgets to wake up the next morning. An athlete would struggle to recover from the amount I did and I was certainly not an athlete. I attempted getting out of bed twice and then gave up, deciding to do the rest of my research right there.

My brain felt as sore as my torso did by lunchtime. It was not used to taking in so much information (or really any information at all) and I wanted to know what Emma did. It had taken a lifetime to learn what she knew but I wanted a rough outline. I read about famous cons and the tricks they used. It was fascinated reading and I didn't find it hard to keep my attention focused; I could honestly see how people went down that road. I was more shocked at how people had the guts to try it. The more I read, the more I realised it was completely about confidence. Most people want to believe what you tell them. Nerves are the only thing that gives you away.

From there, I read on about pick-pocketing and lock-picking. Both of these were a science in their own right. I could never get my head around all of it, but the internet is a wonderful thing. I had access to a wealth of information and I did my best to absorb it.

Training was going pretty well. I couldn't get the hang of the locks (despite trying for hours on my front door) but I felt pretty confident about the self-defence techniques. I was hoping to spend the next few days planning exactly what I was going to do. I'd found a shooting range and intended to head there tomorrow morning. I knew I would need a license for my own, but I was hoping I could rent one. In a few days I would be ready to put my plan into action. I could do this.

Sadly, I didn't have a few days to prepare. I didn't have very long at all. At that moment, my phone began ringing. I was shocked at first. I had never heard that phone ring before; this was the first time it had been used to receive, not make, calls. It was Jack.

'Hello?' I said, quizzically.

'Tom, listen I don't have much time. Let me talk.'

He sounded worried. This couldn't be good.

'Go for it,' I said quickly.

'You won't believe this but two nights ago the American ewer was stolen! The whole place is in absolute uproar. The feds think it's already out of the country. No one knows who or what has happened; I've got a pretty good idea though.'

'Emma,' I breathed.

'Exactly. I don't know how she did it but my bet would be she is already back in the UK by now. It's impossible what she's doing.'

I tried to calculate quickly. The Kozlovs already had three of the ewers. I didn't have much time. She was moving faster than I'd ever dreamt.

'She's good Tom. She knew she would have to hit Paris and then America back to back, before the security measures were in place.'

'OK, so how long have I got?'

'You don't get it Tom, China has freaked out. They have demanded the final two get sent home.'

'How long Jack?' I demanded.

'With all the paperwork, you're looking at a week. No more. But Tom, you won't get within a hundred feet of them now. It's over.'

My brain was racing. I wasn't ready but I was going to have to start the plan now. If China took the ewers home, the Kozlovs may never get their hands on them and then there would be no need for Emma to stay alive.

'Shit. Right Jack, where are the Kozlovs? I need to know.'

'They are staying at the Dorchester, rooms 104 and 106 according to Stevie's reports. They're being watched constantly. Why, what are you going to do?'

'I don't know yet,' I lied.

'Don't do anything stupid,' Jack said cautiously.

'I'll try,' I replied and hung up.

This was it. I paced into the bedroom and pulled out my sharpest suit. I had to look the part. I had spent so long trying to hide from the Kozlovs and I was now about to go and find them. Into the lion's den.

It was almost nine at night when I stood in front of the mirror, looking as smart as I ever had. My new suit fit me perfectly and I had the crispest of white shirts on underneath. I looked right. Almost ready to go; just one more thing. I walked over to the bedside cabinet and pulled out the gun. I would be needing that.

# Chapter Eighteen

'I never underestimate anyone.'

I decided against taking the 'pimpmobile' for this, I wanted to draw as little attention to myself as possible. I phoned ahead and got a taxi to pick me up.

'Where to?' the driver asked, in a wonderfully cockney accent.

'The Dorchester, please,' I replied as I slipped into the back.

The Dorchester is, in my opinion, the best hotel in London. It is situated in Park Lane, Mayfair and anyone who has played monopoly will know how expensive an area it is.

The hotel itself is unobtrusive, at least from the outside. It looks grand enough but there's a quiet confidence about it that says 'I know I'm good, I don't have to boast'. The white surface of the building is draped with flowers all year round and the sign over the entrance is classy and dignified, without looking gaudy. All in all, it seemed to embody my definition of class and I could see why the Kozlovs would want to stay there.

It probably took quite a long time to get there but I didn't notice it. I was in the zone. Something was happening to me. I was closer to death than I had ever been potentially, but I wasn't afraid. I was focused. The events of the last few months had been building up to this moment. I looked up at the building and paid the taxi driver what I owed him. Presently, I was alone again. One deep breath, one quick straighten of the suit and I was away. Confidence.

I breezed through reception and noticed the hotel was still brimming with activity. I've heard people say London never sleeps and I was beginning to agree. I waited until the ladies on reception were relatively free and approached.

'Hi there,' I smiled. 'I think the phones aren't working. I've just been up in 104 and the boss wants some champagne up there pretty quickly, his girl is sobering up.'

'Charlotte' from reception looked confused. 'Have you been trying to call from 104? I'll send someone up to look at the phone if you like?' she said helpfully.

Confidence, Tom. Confidence.

'Listen, Charlotte you don't know what he is like. He doesn't want anyone disturbing them all night. OK? But he needs some champagne now! The best you've got. Charge it to the room.'

Charlotte looked flustered but understood. She must have dealt with hundreds of arseholes with too much money before.

'Of course, sir, it'll be there in just a minute.'

'Thanks Charlotte, I'll make sure he knows how helpful you've been,' I said and with that, I turned and was gone. Part one, done.

I strode confidently up the corridor and found a sign that pointed me towards rooms 101-109. It didn't take me long to find Room 104. Behind this door stood one of the men responsible for ruining my life. I was shaking but I kept calm. I was preparing myself for what I had to do next.

Charlotte kept true to her word and just a minute after me, a member of staff appeared pushing a trolley with champagne and all manner of chocolates and fruits. It looked beautiful. Part two.

'Thank God you've come,' I said, in an over-friendly tone. 'Is this for 104?'

'Yes Sir.'

'Oh thank you so much, you've saved my arse,' I cried and hugged him tightly. He looked shell-shocked but didn't stop me. I released him and told him I would take it inside.

'The boss doesn't want to be disturbed; let me do it,' I whispered and he nodded with understanding before disappearing.

My research had clearly worked. The hug may not have been the most convincing acting but it had allowed me to unclip his door card. It wasn't that difficult, but I didn't know what I would do if I had failed. I wanted to run away and not go in there, but I had no choice. I had to do this. For Emma.

I knocked on the door and called out, 'complementary room service.' It wasn't the most original thing but I needed a line to get me started. At first I heard nothing and I was worried he wasn't in but eventually someone grunted their approval. I let myself in with the door card; the green light flashed briefly and the lock clicked open. I was in.

Nobody was in the bedroom but I could hear water running from the bathroom.

'Leave it and go,' called a deep, Russian voice.

I had to use my time wisely. I raced around the room checking for a weapon. Mob bosses always have a weapon hidden somewhere. I was somewhat surprised to find it so easily, hidden under his pillow. I unclipped the magazine from it and hoped that meant it had no bullets left. That made me feel a little safer. Now all I could do was wait. For this to work I was going to have to be completely in character.

In the corner of the room was a small, silver sofa that would barely fit two at a squeeze. It wasn't particularly comfortable but it would serve as a good vantage point. I pulled out my own gun, cocked it and rested it on the sofa's arm. I hoped I wouldn't have to use it.

It took three or four minute for a Kozlov to appear from the bathroom. That was three or four minutes of torture, trying to control my nerves and breathing. Eventually, in just a dressing gown, he walked straight past me and picked a piece of fruit up off the trolley.

'I don't think you can underestimate how easy it would be for me to kill you right now,' I said quietly. I think it sounded confident and collected.

Kozlov froze quickly, but he didn't turn around.

'I wondered how long it would take for you to join us, Tom.' His accent was deep but he spoke perfect English. His response threw me for a second but I wasn't going to let him know that.

'Do you mind if I sit?' he asked casually. I knew he wanted to edge nearer to his gun, but I played along.

'Of course, please do.'

'I think you must agree that if I wanted you dead, you would be right now,' I continued, coolly.

'I am not sure you have the heart to kill a man,' he replied. He was now on his bed, his hand under the pillow.

'I think you underestimate me.'

'I never underestimate anyone,' he replied. 'It's a weakness!' and with that he drew his gun out from under the pillow and aimed it at me.

I didn't flinch for a second. I gave him a wry smile and for once, I could see his confusion.

'I'm impressed with you Tom. I heard you ran away to Mexico but I must have been wrong. It's a shame all your hard work will go to waste.'

He stood up and pulled the trigger. As he did it I accepted whatever would happen, would happen. Luckily for me, nothing happened. He looked down, confused for a second and when he looked back at me I was waving his magazine at him.

'That's the problem with you, Kozlov. No imagination.' I picked up my gun gently and pointed it at him. 'Now, do I have your attention?'

'Completely.'

'I want you to call your brother now, and get him in here. I threw him my phone and added, 'In English.'

Kozlov looked concerned for the first time. He wanted to get control back but he had been outwitted once and didn't want to test me again.

'Igor, come here,' he said and then threw the phone back at me.

'When he comes in I want you to ask for his gun and then as soon as you have it, you drop it in on the floor. Try anything and I will put a bullet through the back of his head. Underestimating me again would be a very big mistake.'

He glared at me, but nodded silently. I unlatched the door and stood behind it where he would not see me. Hopefully. This was the make or break moment. I could hear footsteps approaching and held my gun up towards Kozlov. He was likely to try anything. I was definitely out of my depth, but I wasn't going to show him that.

The door opened noisily and I slid back to avoid it hitting me. If it had I may've be forced to use my gun. That wasn't part of the plan.

'What do you want?' a voice called from the doorway. A slightly larger and uglier version of the first Kozlov strolled in, oblivious to the fact I was there. He was swaying slightly. Had he been drinking? If so, did that help me or not?

'Give me your gun,' called the first simply.

'Why..?'

'Just give me your gun.'

Igor looked confused but reached into his jacket and pulled out a cold, black weapon. There was no room for error here. Either he could turn and attack me if he knew I was there or the first Kozlov could shoot me when handed the gun. I had no doubt he knew how to use a weapon a lot better than I did. Igor handed it over and to my delight his brother dropped it on the floor and kicked it out of reach of both of them.

'What the fuck are you doing?' I heard Igor shout.

'Exactly what he is told,' I said quietly.

Igor spun round fast and raised an eyebrow at me. He could see me holding the gun but if he was feeling fear, he did not show it. I had a sudden realisation of what I was doing. I was holding two of the most dangerous men in the world at gun point. It occurred to me that I could shoot them both dead and track Emma down, hoping their men wouldn't follow us. I knew I could never do that. I was not a murderer and I would have to find another way to deal with them.

Igor shot an angry look at his brother for allowing him to be called into a trap. I had to keep in character. Confidence.

'Please feel free to sit down, you will be more comfortable, I'm sure,' I offered, picking up the Igor's gun as I did so.

They did as they were told and both settle on the bed.

'I have a little problem,' I said. 'For whatever reason, you have a problem with my wife and that problem is now my problem. And because I have a problem and a gun, it is now your problem.'

I paused and tried to stay calm. I think it was going quite well.

'I want you to tell me what your problem with Emma is and what you have done.'

Neither of them spoke.

'Do I need to give you an incentive?' I asked, lowering the gun and pointing at Igor's knee.

'You're out of your depth, Thomas,' Igor muttered, clearly not wanting to lose a knee-cap.

'Your brother made the mistake of underestimating me, don't be as foolish,' I replied, ignoring his brother's scowling.

'OK, what do you want to hear? We kidnapped your little girl and she will stay in our custody until we have everything we want. Does that make you happy?'

'Actually, yes,' I replied, pulling out my phone and indicating I had been recording the message the whole time. I pressed a few buttons and muttered 'send,' before returning my attention to them.

'You think you can walk in here and save her. Go ahead, kill us. You will never know where she is. We have men that watch her and unless she does everything we say, they will kill her, whether we're alive or not. Understand that.'

I stayed silent for a second.

'Do you agree that I could shoot you both dead here if I chose to?'

They both nodded.

'And do you both believe in honour and pride?' I continued.

'Of course,' chipped in Igor, taking control of their side of the negotiations.

I lowered my gun and tucked it into the back of my trousers. I felt a lot more nervous without it.

'Well then, I have a proposition for you.'

# Chapter Nineteen

'I want my wife back, and you don't want to die, right?'

I posed the question simply. I wanted to lay out all the facts as I saw them.

'That seems fair, right Vitali?' asked Igor sarcastically. So his name was Vitali. That was nice to know.

Vitali just shook his head, smiling ironically. He clapped his hands slowly, applauding me.

'Well done Tom, you've done great. You tricked us that you were out the country, you got in here, you got yourself a gun. But it ends here. You are a pathetic weakling, who knows nothing of who we are, what we want or what we are going to do. This world is not meant to involve you. If you had just left it alone, you would have been fine.'

His arrogance shocked me and I was tempted to pull out the gun again but I resisted. He was testing me and I would rise to it.

'You really do underestimate me. The truth is, you know nothing about me.'

Vitali laughed loudly and stood up. 'Know nothing about you. You haven't moved, breathed or thought without us watching you. We know everything...'

'You know what I wanted you to know!' I shouted. I was in control now. Vitali looked shocked and smirked quietly before sitting down again.

'Do you honestly think I didn't know you were there? Watching me. Following me. It was pathetic. You have no idea who I am. But let's start with you, shall we?'

They were glaring now and I assumed they weren't used to being talked to like this.

'The Kozlov brothers. The big shots. Born in Saratov, Russia. Fingers in every pie going. Racketeering, money-laundering and organised murder. Never convicted but wanted by Interpol, the FBI and police forces all round the world. Very impressive.'

They were shaking. It was clear to them that they were wrong about me and making mistakes often gets you killed.

'Now let's see. What do you want? Probably lots of things, but specifically today? No one could know that, right? At a guess I'd have to say seven hundred year old, Yuan Dynasty ewers. In particular, five blue and white ones. Priceless Chinese artefacts; collect the whole set and make seventy million on the street. Sound about right?

The words were taken out of their mouths. I decided to press home my advantage whilst there was silence.

'Now you could never get your hands on one and then, as luck has it, the girl who ripped you off all those years ago is also the only thief capable of stealing them. What a nice coincidence for you. Except you've got one problem. Emma never stole that first one in Milan. I did.'

'Emma and I have been running jobs together for almost ten years. She gets cocky sometimes and that gets her caught. The reason you have never heard of me is because I'm that good. Now, Emma's not bad; she's the best I've ever met and she did a good job in San Diego and Paris. Oh yes, I know about those. How do you think she completed those jobs? Because she learnt from me. I ripped you off all those years ago, I stole the ewer the first time and I am the only one who can help you get the last two.'

The silence was broken at last.

'Well, Tom it seems we have underestimated you. You are full of surprises. But it doesn't change anything. Your girl will get us those ewers and then we will consider letting her go. No negotiations.'

I laughed coolly.

'You think it's that easy. You guys know nothing. I try not to make it a habit of killing people, so please don't make me start again,' I breathed, hoping to keep an intimidation factor. I'm not sure if it was working or not. They were good, determined to keep their cards close to their chests.

'You know nothing about the heat on these things. China has flipped over it. They are being moved. You have five days, maybe six to steal two. You need a two man team, it's the only way. Have you not looked at the blueprints?'

This was not their area of expertise. They were thugs, with too much money and too many guns. They didn't understand the planning and technique it took to run a job like this or so I was banking on.

'So what do you suggest?' asked Igor, visibly shaken up.

'Well, the way I see it, you have two options. Number one: I shoot you both dead, find Emma and keep the ewers for ourselves. Or, number two: you take me to Emma, we steal the other two for you and you let her walk free. We both know you were never going to let her walk after this, but if we help you, you leave us alone forever. What do you think?'

'Fine. How do we know you won't screw us over?' Vitali said angrily. They didn't seem happy but they had no choice.

'Gentleman's agreement. I know how powerful you guys are. Unlike you, I don't underestimate my opponents. If we disappeared you would never rest until we were dead. You found Emma once, you would again. If we don't get your ewers you can come after us, but if we do, you take them and leave us. That is the agreement.'

'Fine,' Vitali said again and Igor nodded.

I stood up calmly. I had done it. So far, so good.

'I need you to understand this Kozlovs,' I said. 'I have recorded most of this and sent incriminating evidence to a contact. If I don't let him know I am safe regularly he will take it to the police and you will spend a long time inside. Try and double cross me and it'll be the last mistake you ever make. Do you understand? From now on we're on the same team, working towards the same goal. And that is how you want me. If anything happens to Emma or me, you'll wish you had never been born. Believe me on that.'

I think they did. It had been a terrifying experience for me but I had completely fucked with their heads. They thought they knew everything about me and I had spun their world upside down.

'Fine. But everything goes through us. You think about running or messing us about and we kill you. And your family. Believe us on that,' replied Igor.

'I do believe you,' I said, calmly. 'So where is she?'

'14 Parlour Street, West London. She's not back yet. Be there at 10 tomorrow morning.'

She must still be travelling back from America. I wasn't expecting that but I could cope with it.

'See you tomorrow then,' I replied, turning to go. I had to believe in trust. I just hoped they feared me enough not to mess with me. I pulled out Igor's gun and passed it to him. 'Same team. Remember that,' I whispered and was gone.

*****

Oh. My. God. Did that just happen? As I left the building, I could barely control my hands shaking. I felt like an actor coming off stage which, in a way, I was. I had managed to convince two of the toughest men in the world that I was a threat. I was in the game; I just wasn't sure I knew how to play.

I needed to think. I needed a drink. I also needed to stop rhyming my sentences. There were taxis waiting attentively outside and I jumped in one, asking them to take me to 'any bar.' They obliged and we drove along for a few minutes in perfect silence. My brain was racing at a thousand miles an hour and I wasn't sure when it was going to calm down. I had managed to control myself in the hotel room but my body was now having a reaction to all those lies. I convinced myself that I could handle it and took some deep breaths to calm down.

It wasn't long before I was in a bar. To this day, I cannot remember the name of it, not because I left it drunk (which I didn't) but because my mind appeared to be running blank.

I do remember the feeling of drinking that first beer. I am not a huge beer-drinker but I do enjoy a cold one when watching the football with mates. As the cold alcohol touched my lips I instantly felt some of the life return to me. Things weren't so bad. Scratch that, things were pretty great. I couldn't have played it any better and I had left the Dorchester still breathing. And with all my limbs. That was more than I'd dared to hope for.

I was beginning to notice a change in me. Life had always happened to me before and I had always let it. But now I was taking control. Sure, I was still terrified when I was doing it, but I was doing it nevertheless. As I drank, I looked back over everything I had achieved since Emma had gone. I remembered the pathetic man I used to be; crying alone and too afraid to get out of bed. He was dead and the new Tom was here. I just hoped the new Tom was smart enough not to end up dead as well.

I was careful not to drink more than two bottles of beer and before I knew it I was leaving the bar and in a taxi heading home. I still struggled to really refer to my new flat as home, but it was a bed (however uncomfortable) to sleep on. I wasn't quite ready to go yet.

'Wait,' I called out to the cabby. He turned his head quickly to check I was alright and continued driving slowly.

'Sorry. Change of plans. Can we head to 14 Parlour Street, West London?'

*****

There was a terrifying moment when the taxi driver said he had never heard of Parlour Street. What if they had given me the wrong address and disappeared? What if they had just lied to me and got away? I was beginning to panic. I was pleased to hear that the cabby had found the street on his Sat Nav. It was a real place. Thank God.

'It's going to take half an hour. It will cost you. Are you sure you want to go?'

'I have to,' I replied.

'Right you are,' he mumbled and we were off, heading in a new bearing.

The journey was long and uneventful. I was quite happy to sit with my thoughts in the silence and only found it awkward when my driver attempted to make small talk. I hate small talk. What is the point? This was a simple business transaction. I pay him (too much) money for him to drive me there. At no point have I asked for a little light conversation on the side.

Parlour Street was a fairly well maintained road, in a decent part of town. It wasn't Chelsea but it wasn't a million miles away (literally). The houses looked small but nice and the pavements were clear from litter and hooded trouble-makers. Nothing like my flat then.

I asked the taxi driver to wait and keep the meter running while I checked out number 14. It seemed simple enough. You would never know that it was a Russian mob safe house from the outside. The lights were all out and there were no signs of activity from within. Maybe nobody was there. Maybe she wasn't back yet.

I decided that I would knock on the door, making sure I was armed and demand to see her if anyone answered. If they were afraid of me in any way they would let me see her. I had to see Emma. As I walked up the steps to the front door I could hear my heart beating louder than my feet on the stone steps. Was this the moment that I had been waiting for? Was this when I would finally find Emma?

No.

I knocked loudly twice and waited a good five minutes but no one answered. I approached the window and tried to look through but I couldn't see anything. No one was home. I had felt so close to seeing her. Why wasn't she here? I knew I just had to wait until tomorrow but it was getting increasingly hard. Weeks of torture were leading up to a moment which in itself would solve nothing. Yes, it would feel incredible to see her again but we were still in an unbelievable mess.

'Tomorrow,' I whispered and disappeared back into the taxi.

The taxi driver must have thought that Christmas had come early with the amount I had to hand over to him by the time I was home. The meter had been running solidly for well over an hour at this point at late night rates. I found it hard to care as I paid him handsomely, but I was a tad concerned at how fast Emma's money was going. I better calm down a bit.

I knew that sleep was going to be optimistic but I wanted to be as rested as I could. Tomorrow would be, if all went well, a very important day indeed.

# Chapter Twenty

'Think of this as a chance to prove your...talent.'

I woke early the next morning. The clock on my phone told me it was not yet seven. Plenty of time to prepare myself. I stretched and wriggled until there was sufficient life in my body to get out of bed. It was easier this morning. I think, for the first time, it felt like I had something to get out of bed for. Not just planning and hoping, but actually doing. The shower took its usual long-winded time to run warm, so I used that time to shave and brush my teeth. I noticed I was spending longer on it than usual. Subconsciously, I knew how significant this day was going to be.

My phone buzzed, indicating I had just received a text message. It was Jack and he was worried. I decided not to fill him in at this stage. I needed a clear head and did not want to discuss it anymore. I had been talking it over with myself all night. In the most relaxed manner possible I replied, 'Everything fine here, will let you know when I know what I'm doing.' With that, I jumped into the shower and finished off my morning routine.

What to wear? I wanted to look as good as possible. If Emma knew I was coming, she was probably worried about me. What if she had given away that I wasn't a super-thief? I hoped not. No, she wouldn't. If she did, there would be no reason for me to be kept alive and I would be shot as soon as I arrived. Well, I guess we would find out soon enough.

I chose my grey suit with the light pinstripes to wear. It probably fit me the best. Even I thought it looked quite good on and I hate looking at myself as a rule. It was tailored in to show off a man's physique, which I wasn't sure I was the best example of, but I certainly wasn't carrying any extra weight due to the stress. The 'slim-fit' suit demonstrated that. I pulled out another crisp white shirt and decided against a tie. I wanted to look cool and sophisticated; the tie made me look like I was going for a job interview. There were several little touches which I added to complete my image. A handkerchief (which was folded and not to be used apparently), cufflinks and a tie-pin were all present as well as my expensive new watch. It looked good. I looked good.

The truth was, I was not only wearing the suit to convince the Kozlovs. I wanted to show Emma I had changed. I was capable of being a man that could deal with the world she really lived in. The new Tom was the right man for the old Emma.

Eventually there were no touches I could add and I was ready to go. It was still only nine o'clock but I could not afford to be late. I wanted to turn up in my own car to look important, but I didn't think the 'pimpmobile' would be appropriate. I put a grand in my pocket and tucked the gun into my trousers, making sure the jacket covered it before I left. With that, I walked out and hailed a taxi after some effort. I was going to be early.

*****

It was only 9:45 when we approached Parlour Street and I asked the taxi driver to continue straight through the street and not stop. It allowed me the chance to give the building a once over first. There were no signs of... anything. I don't know what I was expecting but I was relieved and disappointed to find it remarkably similar to the rest of the houses. He turned left and pulled up out of sight. I thanked him and paid him some cash. It was considerably cheaper than last night, although we had only gone one-way. I hoped I would be making a return journey.

I got out and straightened my suit. The sun was peeping out a little and I used this as an excuse to put on my new Ray-Bans. I thought it completed my intimidating look. The Kozlovs either believed they had made a mistake and I was a world-class actor, spending weeks pretending to be sad and pathetic, or they knew the truth and were laughing about it behind my back. I had to hope I had done enough last night to convince them. Confidence, Tom.

I walked slowly around the corner and was greeted with a blast of sunshine the buildings had previously been shielding me from. Parlour Street is a long one and it would take me five minutes to get to 14. I had timed it almost perfectly.

Even dragging my heels, I got there five minutes early and was given no choice but to persevere. I strolled confidently up the stone steps, like I had done the night before, and knocked loudly. There was a doorbell but I thought the aggressive nature of my thudding might announce my arrival better. Please somebody, open up this time. Somebody did.

The black door creaked open noisily before revealing my old friend, the Russian who had followed me around Victoria Station and 'Raynmer and Stein'. He didn't say anything to welcome me but neither did he shoot me so I didn't feel too aggrieved. He glared down at me for a brief second before standing to one side and creating enough space for me to walk past him. I didn't need a second invitation and I marched past him with as much swagger as I could muster.

The corridor was small and the only door that was open was the first on the right, so I walked through it. There were four men in there, two of which were Kozlovs (well, the other two could have been related but they looked much smaller and weaker). Igor stood up and welcomed me warmly, which seemed to unsettle me more.

'Tom, come on in,' he beamed and shook my hand firmly. I took off the Ray-Bans, tucked them into a pocket and nodded in response.

'Please sit,' he said and gestured that I should sit on one of the sofas. I sat. I scanned the room quickly as the man who answered the door returned and sat in silence. There were six of us in the room. Me, the two Kozlovs, two weak followers and the large doorman. But no Emma.

'Where is she?' I asked calmly, beginning to feel uneasy.

Vitali smiled and shrugged off the question.

'She will be down in a minute.' This didn't feel right. Before I could blink, the doorman whipped out a gun and aimed it straight at my face. This was the first time in my life I'd had a gun pointed at me and it took all my strength to not pass out or wet myself. It was a trap and I had been stupid enough to fall for it.

'Would you agree that it would be incredibly easy for us to kill you?' Igor asked sarcastically, mimicking what I had said last night.

I didn't move. I couldn't. My weight was off balance and it would take me a couple of seconds to get off the sofa. By that time I would be dead. Even if I could avoid being shot the first time I would have to take out my gun, turn and shoot five men before they could kill me. Impossible. I was dead. They were waiting for me to respond.

'It looks that way,' I replied, not taking my eyes off the gun. I would not show them fear. If I was going to die, I would do it with as much dignity as possible.

'Good, we are on the same wavelength,' he waved his hand and the doorman lifted his gun, putting it back inside his jacket.

'We are men of honour, like yourself. You could have killed us last night. We could have killed you right now. Yet, we are all still alive. Let's keep it that way and work together. Don't you agree?'

I was struggling to breathe. They weren't going to kill me. I was alive!

'That works for me,' I said, regaining my composure. I was not enjoying this game of cat and mouse.

'Right then,' continued Vitali, staring at me carefully. 'Let's bring her in.' I think he was impressed that I hadn't reacted badly to staring death in the face.

The doorman (I really should learn his name) disappeared and headed up the staircase. Was he going to get Emma? This could be it. We all sat in silence and anticipation. It had been so long since I had seen her and for so long I had thought I never would again.

After an eternity, I heard footsteps. I could tell instantly that there were two different types. Someone walked with a heavy thud and another seemed to dance along, barely audible. That sounded like Emma's walk! I couldn't count the amount of times I'd heard her soft shuffle in the middle of the night as she disappeared to the toilet. She was coming!

The creaks moved to the staircase and I could count the steps as they descended. Eventually the creaking stopped and I knew they were here. They were on the ground floor. They had paused just out of sight. I could sense her presence there.

'We have somebody we would like you to meet,' said the deep Russian voice. Was that the first time I had heard him speak?

'Oh don't tell me it's someone who is going to be replacing you,' a voice said sarcastically. 'Who will provide the witticisms?' It was her. Oh my God, it was her. After everything I had been through, I had found Emma.

The doorman didn't like being laughed at but was too slow to hit her with a comeback. I heard him mutter, 'Get inside' and it sounded like he shoved her. The next moment will stay with me for the rest of my life. The floorboards made a soft noise, not loud enough to be considered a creak and suddenly she was here. My beautiful, perfect Emma.

She looked different, but in so many ways exactly the same. Her hair was dyed a warm, brunette colour which suited her as well as her blonde hair had and her figure was still incredible. Her eyes shone as purely and perfectly as anything I had ever seen. Everything I had ever wanted had just walked through the door. I had found her.

She walked in confidently at first, completely unimpressed by proceedings. She still had her spirit after the things she must have been through and if anything she looked more composed than before. She was incredible. I wanted to shout or sing or dance or something, but I stayed where I was, in character. Her eyes moved around the room until eventually falling on me. Either she did not recognise me or could not process the thought of me appearing in this side of her world. Then she reacted. It took a second for her to look at me, look away and then stare open-mouthed in my direction. Even the coolest, calmest thief couldn't contain her emotions in this situation.

'Tom!' she shouted and looked like she wanted to run into my arms. She began to move but I gave her a look, imploring her to understand what was going on. She had clearly not been told I was coming. Luckily, she managed to read my signal and stopped where she was. I could sense the Kozlovs examining the situation and knew I had to keep this convincing. All my hard work could fall apart if I wasn't extremely careful.

'How are you darling?' I asked calmly, hoping that nobody could hear my voice shaking.

She looked at me quizzically but I intervened before she could say anything.

'Are they treating you alright?' I questioned, as if I was used to this sort of situation. Emma was clearly confused but she was a smart girl and knew now was not the time to ask questions.

'Yes, I'm fine. They're treating me fine.' She spoke softly, in her usual melodic tone. God, it was great to hear her speaking again. I felt like I was dreaming. She was here! I had found her. But I needed to focus, or my celebrations would be short-lived (as would my life be).

'They know everything darling,' I said calmly, hoping she would take the bait. She did.

'How did they find out?'

'Because I told them. I explained in a very friendly way that I was the one behind most of your old jobs and that, without me, they have no chance of getting the last two ewers. I told them the truth.'

Emma's head must have been spinning. She knew I was completely out of my depth and could be killed at any second. She must have also been drowning with surprise at seeing me out of the blue. And she had to deal with the fact I'd now gotten myself involved in this when she had specifically asked me to run.

'No, I can handle this, there is no need for you to be here Tom,' she said desperately, trying to reinforce the point with her gaze.

'That's sweet,' I said cockily. '...but you need me. You've done well so far, but you don't have time. The ewers are being moved. It's going to take two of us.'

She was shaking her head. I think she was angry with me. She had worked so hard to protect me and now she was worried I would ruin everything. But she had underestimated me. I had convinced the Kozlovs and managed to see her.

'Listen to your boyfriend, little girl,' jeered Igor. 'We need those ewers and failure for you getting them would be... very unpleasant for you.'

I nodded, keeping up my arrogant pose. 'You need me baby, you know I'm the only one that can help you steal these.'

'Tom...'

'Emma...'

'TOM LISTEN...'

'No Emma, you listen...'

'BOTH OF YOU LISTEN!' shouted Vitali. I was completely shocked by the outburst. The tension in the air had suddenly twisted and spiked; all of us were on edge instantly. 'This is no time for arguing. Tom is in now whether you like it not, so either I kill you both here and find thieves who can do the job, or you both shut up and work together. I don't care which option you choose.'

Emma could sense the danger and swallowed her anger for the time being.

'Of course, Tom is in,' she said. 'It will be good to have his expertise on the team.' She shot me a look that would have killed me if it were possible.

'Good, I am glad we are all on the same team,' said Vitali. 'Just one more thing...'

We both looked up at him quizzically. That was the line bad men used in movies before you were shot dead for no reason. I was pretty sure he wouldn't do that but you never know with these guys.

'We have seen what Emma is capable of, and I think we all know how powerful we are, but we have yet to see you... in action,' Vitali continued, pointing a chubby finger at me.

'What are you getting at?' I said slowly.

'We have a test for you. A way of proving just how good you are to us.'

'I don't have to prove a damn thing to you. You're lucky to have me on this team,' I stated more clearly. I was trying to assert my dominance in the conversation but it wasn't working very well.

'Exactly. You keep telling us how lucky we are, but how do we know?'

'You'll have to trust me,' I muttered, not breaking my stare with him for a second.

'Well, that's just it. I don't trust you. Don't forget who is in control of this agreement.'

I stood up calmly until I was face to face with Vitali. Emma wanted to get involved but could clearly not think of anything to help.

'Fuck you,' I spat at him. 'I don't do auditions.' I hoped this would look realistic.

There was a twisted smile on his face as he chuckled quietly to himself. Before I could move he whipped out his gun and had it pointed straight at my forehead.

'Maybe now you will reconsider,' he growled, aggressively.

I said nothing. It may have appeared as calm collectedness in the face of danger, but the truth was I didn't know what else to do. I was trapped, like a spider under a glass and there was nothing I could do. Vitali seemed impressed by my resilience. It took all of my inner-strength, but I would not break even if it was the last thing I would do (which it was starting to look like it would be).

'Fine, maybe you don't fear death... but I doubt you will be so relaxed about this.' He pulled his gun away from my direction and held it inches away from Emma's head. She didn't move. She was paralysed with fear. If she was that scared, these guys really shouldn't be messed with.

'Wait... what kind of test?' I stuttered.

He smiled and glared at me. He had found my weakness. To win any argument all you have to do is find your opponents pressure-point and apply as much pressure as possible. He had found mine and I was screwed.

'I'm glad you can see sense. Please sit down.' I figured it was the only way to get him to remove the gun from Emma's head so I did what I was told. When I was sat down, he relaxed and sat as well.

'Do you know C&M investors, in Chelsea?' asked Igor, innocently.

I shook my head truthfully.

'It is a large investment company, not far from here. They deal with big money clients; I won't bore you with the details. They are spearheaded by a man called Jim Kendrick. Have you heard of him?

I shook my head again, hoping my ignorance wouldn't be a problem.

'No matter. Well, he has an office on the top floor of the building and in that office, he has a high-security TL30 safe. You get where this is going I imagine.'

I did and I didn't like it. There was that sick feeling in my stomach again.

'In his safe he keeps a very valuable watch that I have been after for several years. It's a Hublot original. Very rare. You have one hour to get inside, get that watch and get back here. Do the job and we will be suitably impressed but fail and...' he said no more but he held two fingers in the shape of a gun and pointed them at Emma's head. I didn't need a sign-reader to explain what he meant.

'That's impossible. No one could do that in one hour.' I said, shaking my head.

'If you are who you say you are, you'll be able to do it no problem. Think of this as a chance to prove your... talent.'

I was trapped. I was hoping that they would believe me but they needed proof. Why didn't I see this coming?

'I want to talk to Emma. I need to check she is OK and well. Give me a ten minute walk with her and I'll do your test.' I knew it couldn't help me but if I was going to get found out I may never get another chance to speak to her.'

'Out of the question.'

'Then, no deal. You want me to jump through hoops unprepared, then you let me talk to my fucking wife for ten fucking minutes!' I shouted. I was shaking with anger. 'What do you think I am going to do? Run off. As if you won't find us. Get real!'

I could see them thinking. What was I going to do? If I tried to run they knew there was nowhere we could hide where they wouldn't find us. Plus, why would I have bothered to find her and meet them, just to run. She could have run at anytime if that was the case. They knew it and I knew it.

'Fine. Your hour starts exactly ten minutes from now. If she is not back here by then, we will hunt you down and kill you. Understand?'

I confirmed that I did and stood up. Emma looked at me, taking my hand and walking alongside me out of the building. I looked at my watch to know when to be back by.

We were alone at last, but what the hell were we going to do next?

# Chapter Twenty-One

'Time to be brilliant...again.'

We walked down the road in silence until we turned the corner, where my taxi had turned last night. I pulled out my iPhone and wrote a message on the screen that read, 'are you bugged?'

She shook her head and snatched the phone off me. She typed away quickly before passing it back to me. It read, 'No, but you are. Left-hand jacket pocket.'

I looked at her quizzically and plunged my hand into my pocket. I pulled out a small plastic bug and threw it in a bin. How did she know? Without having to ask her she said, 'standard move. They got you when you came into the building.'

'Emma, it is so good to see you,' I said, grabbing her and pulling her towards me. She didn't resist. There were tears in her eyes. There was so much to say but there would (hopefully) be time for all that. I looked into her eyes, happier than I had ever felt and kissed her lips.

What a kiss. Every emotion I had ever felt for her came rushing back and I could feel my eyes welling up. We kissed for what seemed like an eternity and eventually pulled apart. I wanted to kiss her once more but time prevented us. It seemed to say so much without words. I told her how much I still loved her and I forgave her and she managed to communicate how sorry she was and how worried she was about our new situation.

'Tom...I'm so...'

'I know...me too...but what do we do now?'

I looked down at my watch. Three minutes had gone. Emma looked terrified but she was thinking hard about what to do.

'Do we run, do we threaten them?' I asked, knowing that neither would work.

'No, you are going to do it.'

'How?'

'I'll help you. You have done loads to find my money and note. You can do this. The only hard part is the safe... well apart from the security, reception and the cameras.'

'Oh good.'

'Give me your phone,' she said quickly. She took it from me and used it to search on the internet. It must have taken her two minutes to find everything she wanted which left me pacing impatiently. I knew she would be planning something but it was killing me not to know what. At long last she spoke.

'Right...we don't have much time, so listen. Reception first. It looks like there are three ladies that work there according to the website. Lisa, Jennifer (so call her Jenny) and Sharon. You have to go in like you've known them for years. Now, Jim Kendrick has two sons that work there so you will have to avoid them but I reckon you could pass as a nephew. Kendrick is fifty-three now so you would be the right sort of age. And you certainly look the part.'

I stared open mouthed at her. She was incredible. In two minutes flat she had come up with the beginnings of a plan. That could work.

'OK, so what shall I say? I have a meeting with him or something?'

'No, definitely not. Meetings are booked in which means there will be a record of it somewhere and when there isn't, that will raise questions. You need something they wouldn't question...' She was running a thousand ideas through her mind. Quickly Emma, quickly.

'No wait I've got it! You're not a nephew; they would have heard about you. You are his son. But an illegitimate son. You have to try and hide it but burst the information out suddenly and they will be shocked by it. Tell them Kendrick doesn't want anyone knowing about it and you're to head up to his office straight away. They will question it but if you sell it right, that might work.'

'...might work?'

'Will work. It's all about confidence.'

'OK, so let's say I get inside. I have to get up to his office and get inside his safe without him seeing me, even though he will most likely be in his office!' My clock indicated there was only three minutes of precious planning time left.

'How do I open the safe?' It was optimistic to think that she could explain the details of advanced safe-cracking in 180 seconds but it was worth a shot.

'You don't. I'm not sure I could break that safe, but you definitely won't be able to do it,' she said calmly. 'The TL30 is one of the most advanced safes around. It is voice activated, as well as pin-code and finger print sensitive. You can't open it.'

'So we are screwed. How do I get it open?'

'You get him to open it.'

I was extremely confused. I didn't have enough time to wrap my head around this. Not for the first time, I was completely out of my depth.

'Write this on your phone. Flat 3b, Berry fields.' That's literally five minutes from here if you drive. Knock on the door twice. When they ask "who is it," say "I am a friend of Jessica Swain and I need your help". They will ask for a password and you say "Pluto is a dwarf planet." They will get you an ID that should do the rest. It will take no more than ten minutes of your hour and it will work!'

My mouth fell open once more. What the hell did that all mean? No time to find out. I did what she said and wrote it all on my phone.

'Is that your real name? Jessica?' I asked slowly.

'Jessica Swain is just a cover identity from years ago. But it will help you. We better get back quickly.'

And that was that. She explained exactly what I would have to do with the ID as we walked back to the building and we paused for a second outside 14 Parlour Street.

'I am so sorry again. You can do this baby. I know I am asking you to commit a serious crime and if you want to run, do it now, but I believe in you.' She moved in close and kissed me again, just as passionately as before.

I could do it. I had to do it because the alternative was not worth thinking about.

'Time to be brilliant... again,' I joked quietly, trying to summon up my courage.

'You are brilliant in so many ways... I love you,' cried Emma, a soft tear falling from her beautiful eye.

'I love you too.'

There was time for one final kiss before the door opened and she walked up the steps and into the house. She turned, smiled bravely and disappeared inside. Vitali was left at the door, looking down on me.

'Your one hour starts...now.'

'Wait...can I borrow your car?'

Vitali looked taken aback but almost impressed by my bold-faced cheek. I could see him considering it and then smiling. He fished in his pocket, pulled out a key and tossed it down to me. 'Don't scratch it,' he chuckled, more to himself than to me.

*****

Looking at the car keys, the key-ring told me it was a Mercedes and pressing the unlock button indicated which one it was. I raced to it, and leapt inside, too preoccupied to notice what a beautiful bit of craftsmanship it was. As luck would have it, I had seen Berry fields on my journey in and knew exactly how to get there. West London is not known for its expansive greenery so when you see a large grassy park on what looks like a newly built housing development, it tends to stick in the mind. I remember thinking that it would be a great place to raise kids and wondering if I would ever get the chance to have any.

I found Flat 3 less than four minutes after my countdown had begun and was pounding on the door in record time.

Presently a croaky voice spoke. 'Who is it?' It wasn't a welcoming voice, but it certainly wasn't rude. There was a touch of South-African in there I thought, but whoever was behind the door had clearly been living in England for a long time.

'Hi, I'm a friend of...Jessica Swain and I need your help. She sent me.'

There was a small pause before the voice spoke again. 'If that is the case I am assuming she gave you a password.'

Had I been in a less critical situation I would have felt embarrassed saying such a random phrase but I was in trouble and needed help so I shouted, 'Pluto is a dwarf planet!'

The door swung open immediately to reveal a small, elderly man. He must have been mid-sixties and no more than five foot four. He welcomed me now with all the kindness of a close relative.

'Come in dear boy. Please sit down. Can I get you tea or coffee?'

'Neither, listen I have no time. I need an ID badge. Police or MI6 or something.'

'Of course, I can sort you out with that, but come and sit. You must want a drink?'

'No thanks, please, I'm in a rush.'

'Everyone is in a rush nowadays. What is the hurry?'

'Trust me, it's life or death.'

He looked at me quizzically and muttered, 'Yours?'

'Jessica's!'

He didn't say another word but he rushed about his business. He used a small webcam to take a photo of me and two minutes later I had a police detective badge and ID card that looked as realistic as Jack's one. Perfect. I used my iPhone to find a postcode quickly for C&M investors, whilst he was making up my ID. It wasn't far away.

I was beginning to feel impatient but I didn't feel I could rush him. I looked around his room and tried to take in what I was seeing. It looked more like a science lab then a room in a flat. There were all manner of electrical items plugged in and what looked like scientific experiments happening left, right and centre. It felt like Q's office in the James Bond movies. This man was clearly obsessed by his work and, as a result, was probably very good at it.

I picked up a silver tube, which was longer than a fountain pen but not much wider. It had a button on the side of it and I was very close to pressing it.

'What does this do?' I asked, spinning the item in my fingers.

'BE CAREFUL!' he shouted. 'That is a laser-pen.'

'What, one of those things that shows pretty patterns on the wall...'

'No, like one of those things that can cut through six inches of solid steel with a burning laser. And it's under patent so be careful!'

I stopped twirling it at once and put it back where I found it, like a bomb disposal worker carrying a backpack out of Heathrow. That would teach me for being impatient. He was finished a minute later. I attempted to offer him money but he shook his head and pushed me out the door.

'God speed,' he whispered as I left.

I drove like a crazed lunatic, which I must have been, and abandoned the Mercedes on the edge of the street. The chances of that being there without a ticket were limited but I didn't care. I looked at my watch. It was almost eleven minutes into my precious hour. I needed to get going.

Confidence. Confidence. Confidence.

I breezed through the door, careful to keep my head down so the cameras wouldn't get a clear look at my face. I could end up facing a jail sentence if this went wrong. I shuddered to think how many bad people the Kozlovs knew in prison. Let's make sure that doesn't happen.

'Which one is Jenny or Jennifer?' I asked quietly.

An attractive, mid-thirties women looked up and smiled.

'Hi there Sir, can I help?'

'Are you Jenny?'

'I am.'

'Jim said you were the only one I could trust. I need to talk to you privately. It's important.'

I had deliberately made it as cryptic as possible. It occurred to me that if I dropped her boss's name in the conversation it would intrigue her and make her talk to me.

'Well, yes Sir... Sharon do you want to take your lunch now?' she asked to her only other colleague on the reception desk. Sharon looked confused but she must have got a look from Jenny, so she smiled and disappeared.

'OK, we are alone. How can I help you?' she asked. The thought that Jim Kendrick would have praised her individually was too exciting for her.

'Listen this is really important. Can you keep a secret?' I said quietly.

'Of course Sir, what is it?'

'Jim asked me to come and meet him here today, but no one can know about it.'

'Mr Kendrick is not to be disturbed all day; he has important work to do.'

'Exactly. He doesn't have work to do. That is for my meeting.' I looked at her seriously, full of confidence.

'Is it in the diary? Let me check.' She moved to looked at the computer.

'NO,' I exclaimed, slamming my hand on the desk. 'Aren't you listening? This has to be a secret. I thought he said you could handle this.'

'I can Sir,' she replied reproachfully, 'but please fill in what I am missing.'

I sighed and looked at her. 'Jim needs to see me urgently. But he cannot be seen talking to me about this stuff. He needs you to get me to his office, without people seeing me. Do you understand?'

'Not really Sir, why couldn't he just book an appointment with you?'

'Damn it, because I'm his son!' I shouted, not loud enough for anyone else to hear but loud enough to shock her considerably.

'Listen Jim doesn't want everyone knowing twenty-five years ago he had a long affair with my mum and now she is threatening to release it to the public unless we can come to some agreement. He told me to come in and that Jenny would help me get upstairs. He said you know this company better than anyone!' Was it working? It was touch and go at the moment.

'Would it be alright if I phoned up to him, just to check?' she asked tentatively.

'Yeah sure, and while you're at it, hand in your resignation at the same time. Because he will fire you the second he knows you have spoken out loud about this. I don't know why he trusts you but he does. Do you not realise how bad this would be for him and his other sons if it came out? Now help me get to him and I can promise you he will reward you.'

That seemed to sell it to her. I had managed to make her feel important, so instead of questioning it, she was going to treat it like a mission.

'Of course, Sir. Take this visitors badge and follow me. Nobody will question you if I walk you through.'

'Are there cameras? I don't want Dad to be troubled by evidence I was here. This is big. You understand?'

'OK, there are cameras in the corridors but if you look down it will be impossible for them to detect you. It's not the most hi-tech place to be honest,' she said, smiling.

'Perfect.'

I looked down and we walked together past several people, straight through the doors. Once we were inside I turned to Jenny and asked, 'Where is Jim's room?'

'Mr Kendrick's office is on the third floor, second door on the left,' she replied helpfully.

'Thanks Jenny, you have been great. I can take it from here. I'll let him know how helpful you have been.'

'I appreciate that. If anyone asks you why you are here, just say you are here for internship. Nobody pays them any attention,' she smiled.

'Thank you,' I replied, squeezing her arm kindly and I was off. I turned around to check Jenny had gone and ran to the elevator. It came quickly and I jumped in, pressing the number '3' button. I glanced at my watch. Twenty-one minutes had passed already. I was running out of time.

I was ready for the doors to open and pounced into the corridor, looking for Mr Kendrick's office. It wasn't hard to find. Firstly, it was labelled and secondly, it was enormous. Most of the floor was being taken up by his office, which looked bigger than my flat. I took a deep breath and burst through the door.

'What the hell are you doing?' came a voice from a distant desk. It was Jim Kendrick. It had to be. He was the only one important enough to greet a stranger in that way.

'James Kendrick?' I asked. 'Stephen Mills, Metropolitan Police Force,' I called out, tossing my ID on his desk. 'This is important Sir, so listen closely.'

He looked confused but he didn't stop me so I continued.

'We have arrested a man under suspicion of breaking and entering. The man is claiming to have broken in here and stolen an item out of your safe late last night. Some kind of watch.'

'That's preposterous. There is no way anybody is breaking into this office. There are cameras, alarms and my safe is unbreakable.'

'The man we arrested seemed pretty confident. He said the Kozlov brothers paid him to take it. Does that name ring a bell?'

Kendrick went instantly white. He didn't say anything but the look in his eye made it pretty clear he had heard the name before.

'We have the man in custody but we haven't found anything. I need you to check your safe to see if anything is missing. We want to keep this as quiet as possible. We don't know if this man has done anything yet.'

'I am telling you that nobody can get in here,' argued Kendrick. He completely believed who I was, but was struggling to believe my story.

'Do you care to prove it?' I said sternly. I knew that would work. It is basic human instinct to want to prove someone annoying wrong.

'Fine, I'll prove it,' he said angrily and walked over to a small cabinet. He swung the front door open to reveal the safe. It was enormous, just like the rest of the office. He held his finger to a scanner and I could see the light run behind his finger. Seconds later it beeped to confirm it was valid. This was followed by three more beeps and then a silence which he replaced by stating his name clearly. That too was met with a beep of acceptance and then all that was left was the pin-code. He turned to look at me, which I understood to mean 'turn around,' and I did so. I heard four distinctive, rhythmical beeps and finally a confirmation it was correct. I turned back just in time to see him pull down the handle and drag the door toward him.

The safe was open.

# Chapter Twenty-Two

'We can both stand here and risk dying or you can let me do my job.'

It seemed to be going to plan so far. I had managed to get inside the building and the safe was now open. My clock was telling me that only thirty-five minutes had passed. So far, so good. I worked out I would need at least ten minutes to get back to Parlour Street so that gave me fifteen minutes to get the watch and get out. There was part of me that was so tempted to pull out my gun and demand the watch. Even as I thought about it, I knew I couldn't. If the police got involved I couldn't risk being accused of armed robbery or worse, attempted murder. There was a part of me that wanted to do this properly too. Was I enjoying this?

Kendrick turned to laud his victory over me.

'See I told you, it is right there!' he boasted loudly. I had to react now.

'WAIT! DON'T MOVE!' I shouted at him. I pulled out my phone and pretended to call someone.

'Jones, it's Mills. There are possible signs of tampering with the safe. I'm going to get everyone out. Bring in back-up to the third floor...OK...Thanks.'

Kendrick was clearly stunned and not sure what was happening. That was exactly how I wanted him. If he was worried, my acting was working well enough.

'Sir, I need you to step away from the safe slowly. It looks like someone may have broken into it and left a trap. It's not uncommon with the Kozlov's work.'

'Oh this is ridiculous; if anyone had broken in don't you think they might have taken something. I can see my watch is there. Look...' he said, leaning towards the safe.

'NO!' I shouted again. This time he really did listen. He froze where he was.

'I have been doing this for years James and that safe has been tampered with. By an expert too. Maybe they are after you and not the watch. Do you want to risk your life?'

'How can you tell? It looks perfectly fine...'

'We can both stand here and risk dying or you can let me do my job. That could be linked to explosives.'

It finally clicked with Kendrick. Ten minutes ago he had been working in his office and .now he was inches away from death, according to me. I was selling it.

'What do I do?' he asked quietly.

'You are fine there, just don't touch the safe. Listen, I don't want to cause a panic here but I need to get you out. Jones is bringing in back-up and until he gets here you can't talk to anyone. Do you understand?'

He nodded in agreement.

'OK, I need you to walk away slowly. Is there a meeting room or storage space that will be empty?'

'Yes there's an old colleague's office which is now empty on the second floor. Why?'

'Good, I want you to go there, lock the door and wait for me to come find you. Don't talk to anyone. No matter what.'

He was at the door now and agreed to do exactly what I said. He was looking at me in awe. In his eyes, I could see how brave he thought I was. The feeling was incredible.

I couldn't believe how easy it was. I had walked into a building and got someone I had never met to open a safe and leave the room, just by lying. The power was flowing through my veins. I was visibly shaking. Sadly, I didn't have time to enjoy the feeling. I had ten minutes to get to the car.

I walked over to the safe and looked inside. It was full of small paper files that looked too important and complicated for me to understand. I pushed them to one side (using my jacket so I wouldn't leave any fingerprints) and found the watch's box easily enough. I pulled the lid open and looked inside. It was beautiful. The strap was made of the most expensive leather I have ever seen. I don't know much about precious metals and stones but I could see lots of gold and lots of diamonds. I would go as far as to say it was the nicest thing I had ever seen. It saddened me that I would soon be handing it over to the Kozlovs but it was a price worth paying.

I replaced the lid and put it into my pocket. Time to move. I ran out of the room and headed towards the lift. Moments later I was on the ground floor. Then a fantastic idea hit me and I dived back into the lift, heading for the second floor. I didn't have long but this was necessary. After a minute of searching I found Kendrick hiding in a small corner office.

'Surveillance,' I said simply. 'I need to get all your tapes for the last three days right up until this moment. Can you get them?'

'Of course,' said Kendrick, happy to help. He led me around a corner and walked towards a door. Before he entered I said, 'Remember no one else can know yet.' He nodded in agreement.

I followed him into the room and watched as he asked the technician to leave the room. He wasn't happy about it but this was Mr Kendrick, and what he asked for, he got. A minute later, we were alone. He rummaged through some disks and dug out the ones I needed. I took one out that was filming currently. A flashing warning screen appeared on the technician's screen that read, 'Warning! No footage being recorded. Please insert disk.' I turned off the screen before James could notice. Perfect. This was the icing on the cake. Not only had I just stolen his watch, but he was handing me the only evidence they would have to catch me. I was going to get away with it. I thanked him for his help and asked him to stay where he was until Jones was finished in his office. He agreed and I even had the audacity to shake his hand. Before leaving I jotted down my fake name and a fake number, saying that if he had any questions to call me on that number. He seemed very grateful for my time and effort. I assured him it was my pleasure and left. I was running a bit late and would have to break into a sprint to make it back in time. I sprinted back to the lift, but took the stairs to save time, missing four at a time in my haste. I decided I couldn't run through reception, so I walked briskly, smiling to Jenny on the way out.

The fact that the Mercedes had not been clamped or labelled with a fine was another bonus. I only had seven minutes to get back to Parlour Street and didn't want to mess about with traffic wardens. I was going to make it. Everything had fallen into place. Even the traffic lights were turning green as I approached. I made great time and pulled up outside the house with two minutes to spare.

I couldn't shake a feeling. It was something I had never experienced before. It was euphoria. Of course, I was delighted that I could prove myself and keep Emma safe, but it was more than that. I had enjoyed what I had just done. I had stolen and lied and loved it. What was going on? Did I not care how illegal it was to do what I just did? Clearly not. I was buzzing.

I straightened my hair and suit and patted my pocket to check the watch was still in there. It was. With as much confidence beaming on the outside as I felt inside, I trotted up the steps and hammered on the door. The Russian doorman answered it and stood aside to let me in. I walked straight into the room we had met in earlier.

'Just in time,' muttered Vitali, delighted. 'Your girl was getting worried.'

'I can't imagine why,' I said smoothly. I caught Emma's eye and could see how stressed she must have been. I returned her stares with a collected smile, hoping to let her know it was all fine.

'So did you get it?' called out Igor.

I smiled at him this time and pulled the box out of my pocket. I threw it to Igor, who had set me the task and watched as he opened the box, wide-eyed and showed it to his brother. Vitali clapped his hands together in amazement and approached me. He shook my hand firmly.

'You really are that good,' he said, laughing. 'Welcome to the team.'

I breathed a sigh of relief and looked at my love. She was looking at me, but it was different to any look she had ever given me before. If I wasn't completely mistaken, it was admiration. She couldn't believe I had done it.

'So, what happens now?' I asked tentatively.

'Now, we celebrate and tomorrow you leave for Amsterdam.'

I thought long and hard.

'If we leave tomorrow then I want to get some things before we leave. I want Emma to come with me.'

'I don't think so,' said Vitali, automatically.

'Listen, you know who I am and what I am capable of. But you should also know that I am a man of my word. If Emma and I wanted to run, we would have done that an hour ago. I'll get you those last two ewers because I want this over, but she comes with me tonight. We are going to risk going to jail for a long time for you guys in Amsterdam, so the least you can give us is one night alone.'

Maybe they were worried they had underestimated me, or perhaps they were grateful for me getting the watch, but they agreed. Emma still hadn't said anything but she jumped to her feet, happy to get away. She looked like she was dying to talk to me.

'You know there is nowhere on this earth you can run to, where we won't find you? Don't think about running.'

'We are on the same team. Start remembering that,' I replied and I led Emma by the hand, out into the warm London morning. We agreed to meet back at the house at seven tomorrow morning, and it was not yet midday so we had seventeen precious hours together, to talk. I hailed a taxi and wrapped my arm around her, happier than ever before.

# Chapter Twenty-Three

'Tell me everything.'

'Are you hungry?' I asked. I thought it was a good place to start.

'Starving,' she replied, so I asked the taxi to pull over so we could eat. We found a quiet Italian restaurant and moved into a secluded table in the corner. For a moment we were silent. Eventually she spoke.

'Tom, you must be so angry. And you must have so many questions.'

'I do. I mean, I know bits and pieces but I have big gaps. I want to know it all.'

'OK. Tell me what you know.'

'Well, I know you started conning people young,' I said, trying not to sound judgemental as I spoke. 'I know you have committed crimes in most parts of the world and you were probably doing a job when we met. I know you have hundreds of different identities and you have never been convicted of anything. You're not a lawyer, you never worked at Raynmer and Stein, your family don't live where I thought and our wedding was faked. I know you lied to me more times than you could count. You pissed off the Kozlov's years ago and now they want revenge so you're stealing Yuan Dynasty ewers for them to make up for what you did. I know you didn't want to leave me and deep down you love me, even if I don't know who you are. That's what I know.'

'Wow, you do know a lot. How?'

'It has been a hell of a journey. But the worst part is, I don't even know your real name. I want to know you. Tell me everything.'

'OK. My name is Emma. Truthfully. But I was born Emma Heath, not Emma Jordan. I was born out in the south of Spain, in Seville. Both my parents are English and both died before I was ten. I moved to Southampton when they died and lived with a foster family until I was fifteen. They weren't very good people and I spent most of my childhood staying away from them. Falling in with the wrong crowd or whatever. I learnt some skills and realised I was good at something. Really good. So I travelled the world, stealing and conning people. It was the first time I felt alive. I didn't know any other way of life.'

There were tears in her eyes as she spoke. I wanted to hold her and tell her it was all going to be fine, but I didn't want to break her stride, so I said nothing.

'I made lots of money and spent just as much. From the age of fifteen to nineteen is a bit of a blur. Believe me, there aren't many things I haven't stolen in my time. I'm not proud of this Tom, but it's who I am. I can't lie to you. I'm a thief and a cheat and you deserve better.'

'I understand, and you know I love you right? This doesn't change anything.'

She smiled but could barely look me in the eye. She was crying strongly now but she kept talking.

'So then one day I'm doing a job in Mallorca right and I see you watching me. People following me isn't a new thing so I lead you into the streets and lost you like I always did. I thought you wanted to kill me! When I completed the job, and it all went smoothly, I realised you were just a stranger. It occurred to me that maybe you were just a handsome stranger who wanted to talk to me. I'd spent all my life expecting people to have a hidden agenda. I made a decision there and then that if I ever saw you again I would talk to you like a normal human. And I fell in love. I really did.'

It felt so good to hear her say it. I knew how she felt, or at least I was pretty sure, but it was always good to hear it from her. I forced her eyes to meet mine and smiled honestly at her. I wanted to say, 'I love you too,' with my gaze.

'I knew after three days that I was head over heels for you and I decided I would never steal again. I wanted it all. The normal life. I wanted the house, the babies and a wedding. But it wasn't that easy... you must understand that.'

I thought about it properly. If she was a thief and she truly wanted to change, there would be hundreds of loose ends she would have to tie up.

'I had police after me and I had criminals that wanted me dead. I had to change my identity. And then you wanted to meet my family and I wanted to appear normal so I lied. I made up parents and a job and... our wedding.'

That last one did really hurt. I could understand everything but not why she had made that one up.

'Why couldn't we just get married properly? I don't understand that?'

'I wanted to. It was the hardest day of my life. It was special and perfect but deep down I knew it wasn't real. I wanted to tell you but there was so much I had to hide from you, this was just one more thing. A wedding is a legal thing and if we had a real wedding we would need to be real people and 'Emma Jordan' was not real. People would have found out. I couldn't risk it.'

That made sense (sort of). There was one burning question I had.

'Why didn't you just tell me everything? You know, be honest?'

There was a long silence and neither of us dropped eye contact. I wanted the truth.

'I don't know,' she said unhelpfully. At first I thought that was all she was going to give me. Eventually, she carried on. 'You have to believe me. It was the biggest thing in my life to trust someone completely and I guess part of me didn't think it would work. I thought it would protect me in case it didn't work with you. And then I got in too deep. I didn't know what to do. I'm so sorry.' She looked it too.

'I was so angry for the longest time. I hated you, or at least I wanted to, but I couldn't understand it. I thought we were happy.'

'We were. Baby, I am so sorry. I can't imagine how scary it was for you. It killed me inside. I literally wanted to die. I wanted to tell you what was going on, but I couldn't. You are too heroic and I knew you'd never let me go if you knew. Trust me, it was the only way.'

I understood. I hated it but for the first time I really understood. She was a scared little girl who had made some bad choices and didn't know what to do.

'Tell me what happened with the Kozlovs.' I said.

'A friend of mine told me about a job these Russian guys had done years ago. They had spent years planning a job and had somehow got away with it. It was a whole display of Incan gold. I was stupid enough to think I could steal it off them and get away with it. I did, amazingly. It was so easy. But sadly they found out who I was and weren't going to stop until they found me.'

'You must have been confident going after them.'

'I was. I was young and arrogant and stupid. It was the worst thing I ever did; the thought of it makes me feel sick now. How could I have done it? But I did. Then a couple of months ago I got attacked and thrown in a van. Just like a movie. I knew exactly who they were and I assumed I was dead. They drove me over an hour away and dragged me into a building. They held a gun to my head and asked me to beg for my life. It was awful. They told me they had been following me, that they knew about you and were going to kill you. Then just when I thought they were going to shoot me, they offered me a chance to make it up to them. It would mean breaking your heart and risking jail or death, but it was the only way I could keep you safe. Don't you see? I had to do it to protect you from my mistake.'

I felt sick. All this time she had done it to look after me. She knew I was as dead as was she if she didn't do it. What choice did she have? She was right too; if she had told me I would never have let her go.

'I get it. But why didn't you leave a note explaining it. Telling me you still loved me.'

'I wanted to. I tried to but they wouldn't allow it. It was their own sick joke to punish me. They gave me one day and said they would know if I left you a message. I couldn't think of anything. So I left you the code and hoped you would figure it out. It was a long shot but I wanted you to get out of here and be safe. It was the best I could do.'

'It was brilliant but I was pretty slow at working it out. I'm no good at this stuff,' I said sadly.

'You are joking; you're incredible. With no history of it and all the emotions you must have been feeling, you managed to achieve things most conmen would be proud of. Tell me what happened when I left.'

So I did. I must have talked for over an hour. Emma sat quietly, sometimes open-mouthed and listened to everything I had to say. We laughed about me quitting my job and smashing the computer and I think I saw some tears leave her eyes when I talked about the tough times. I spoke about Jack and Sophie, how much they had helped me. I recounted my journey to finding her and had to admit that some of it even impressed me. I was doing my best to make it sound like I wasn't afraid when it had all happened but she knew me too well.

'So Jack managed to find out where the Kozlovs were staying and I decided to go... talk to them,' I said cryptically.

'Tom, you did so well but how the hell did you get the Kozlovs to believe you were a criminal mastermind?'

I smiled at this. This was the best bit of the story.

'I knew I had to shock them or they'd never believe me so I got a gun, got into their room and threatened to kill them.'

Emma swore loudly. I hadn't heard her swear very often. She was so often in control of her emotions but that had shocked her.

'You did what?'

'I held a gun at them and told them how easy it would be to kill them. Then, having got their attention, I told them how I'd been the one to help you in the past. I used Jack's police information to show them how much I knew about their history. Then I showed I had honour by handing back their gun and putting mine away. This confused them so much I guess the only conclusion they could come to was that I was who I said I was.'

Emma looked at me, different than how she had before. She was clearly impressed but there was something else. She was concerned about me.

'Tom that is... madness. It is brilliant but... mad. Why didn't you just go to Mexico or something? Like I asked.'

'How were you going to get out? You must know that the Kozlovs would have killed you when you are done. You know what they're like. Did you have a plan to escape?'

'Well... not yet. But I would have thought of something!'

'Exactly! Well I couldn't hang around a beach somewhere hoping you'd get out of it. If the Kozlovs want to kill you they have to kill me too. Trust me, I've lived my life without you and it's not worth living. I won't do that again.'

She smiled beautifully. I think she understood why I had disobeyed her. She would have done the same thing.

'So what do we do?' I asked.

Emma thought for a second and I gave her time. She was the real mastermind and I needed to remember that.

'Here's the problem, Tom. I know you have done great, I really do, but you are not... experienced in this. Stealing the last two ewers will be almost impossible. I would struggle with a crew of hardened criminals but the two of us will find it... hard.'

I nodded in acceptance. I didn't need to lie now; I was no thief.

'I agree. But you were trying to do this alone. Surely an extra pair of hands could help. It can't make it worse, can it?'

'No, of course I want your help but I'll worry...' she stopped suddenly as if having a brainwave. I waited patiently.

'OK, maybe I have an idea,' she said quietly. 'You're going to need to phone Jack.'

*****

'Hello?' his voice answered on the phone.

'Jack it's me. It's Tom.'

'You have no idea how happy I am to hear your voice. What is going on?'

'Jack, I know you want answers but I don't have time. You have to trust me. I need your help.'

He understood like I knew he would.

'What do you need?'

'I need any details you have, or can get, about the museum in Amsterdam and how they are moving the ewers. Can you do that?'

'I'll try mate, but I can't just search in my username. This could all get tracked back to me. I'll have to get Stevie to look into it.'

'Thanks. I need it by tonight. Text it to me as soon as you can, OK?'

'Will do. Why do you need information about the Amsterdam ewer?'

'Because tomorrow I am going to steal it.'

# Chapter Twenty-Four

'There are times in your life you need to stand up and make things happen. This is one of them.'

I ended up spending half an hour on the phone to Jack, explaining things. He was completely against everything at first and tried to offer witness protection for myself and Emma. We talked through all our options and he had to eventually accept that if we ran they would find us. And probably go after friends and family. When he fully understood that Rachel could be in danger there was no choice. He felt terrified for me, but he knew he had to let me go and try to help when he could.

'You are a brave bastard, Tom, do you know that?' he said, seriously.

I smiled and realised we were talking on the phone and he couldn't see my smile so I should probably reply.

'I'm not, but what choice do I have. I love her. There are times in your life you have to stand up and make things happen. This is one of them. That's all it is.'

'Don't put yourself down. I don't know anyone else who could do what you are doing.'

I thanked him and hung up, eager to get back to Emma and our plans. Eventually we had outstayed our welcome at the restaurant and we had to move on. Emma looked around as we exited the building, checking whether we were being followed. She didn't seem too worried so I thought no more of it.

London was beautiful that night. The sky was darkening but still wonderfully clear and the earliest of the stars were beginning to make their presence known. It was warm enough to walk without a jacket and for a few minutes all our worries disappeared. It was perfect. I decided to take her back to our new flat to discuss our plans. Nostalgia tempted us back to our old home at first but it was more likely to be bugged and there was always a chance of bumping into Sophie and having to answer a thousand questions. I hailed a taxi and we were 'home' less than an hour later.

I left Emma to it for a while, realising I would not be able to plan a 'museum job'. I wanted to help but I ended up asking her too many questions and was forced to give her some space. I had fully accepted that I would do whatever she told me to, to the best of my ability. I found us some drinks and packed a small holdall full of clothes. If it all went to plan we would only be in Amsterdam for a day or two, but since when did anything go exactly to plan?

Jack sent through a few texts of information that didn't make much sense to me but I passed my phone over to Emma and she nodded with understanding. I hoped it was of some help.

It must have been close to ten o'clock at night when she suddenly jumped up and screamed with excitement.

'I've got it. That could work. Yes!' she exclaimed, happier than I had seen her... ever.

'That's great, how do we do it?'

'It's complicated. I'll explain it later. Now we celebrate.' She wanted to go out and dance or drink too much but neither seemed appropriate so she grabbed the phone, ordered excessive amounts of Chinese take-away, and kissed me passionately. She was finally relaxing. She knew she was good and if she was positive that we could steal the ewer, I was confident too. After all, she had stolen three already.

I was tingling with excitement. I could not escape the truth. It was taking over me. There was nothing like the feeling I got when I conned somebody and it worked. The chance to see one of the greatest in the world at work was such a turn on and the fact it was my 'wife' was even hotter. I was desperate to try it again.

I opened a cheap bottle of wine I had bought from a corner shop and we drank to our future success. Emma was dancing around, as free and uninhibited as I had ever seen her. It hit me that she never got to celebrate this normally as she always had to hide the truth so it must have felt great for her to share this moment with me. We laughed at stupid things, eating and drinking until we felt sick.

I took the executive decision that it was time for bed and picked her up over my shoulder, carrying her (like a caveman) to the bed. It felt like a lifetime ago since I had got to lie in bed with her and I made sure to enjoy every second of the experience. I didn't know when I would next get to do it again. Looking at her beautiful face, I could feel my heart swelling with emotion. I was almost nervous to be this close to the girl I had dreamed of every night for the last few weeks. I kissed her; softly on her lips at first and then attempting to kiss every inch of her beautiful body. I noticed small bruises and the odd cut as I pulled her clothes off, but otherwise she was exactly how I remembered her. I felt completely alive, the way I only do when I am with her.

We made love perfectly; just like we had for years before. I had never experienced passion like it and regardless of the situation we found ourselves in, it will always be one of the best nights of my life.

*****

The morning wind brought a change of emotions as well as a change in the weather. We were woken by the air howling outside and the raindrops lashing against our cheap windows. We lay in bed for a while before forcing life into our limbs and getting up. We said very little as we showered and dressed, perhaps because it was very early, or maybe because the enormity of our task was slowly dawning on us. This was going to be hard.

Emma took one look at my 'pimpmobile' and called a taxi for us. It would definitely ruin my image of a slick criminal. I slipped another of my expensive suits on and gave Emma a quick twirl for her approval. She bit her lip and smiled which I took to be a very good sign and we headed off. The journey back to Parlour Street was quiet. Emma looked focused and although she hadn't told me the complete plan, my faith in her wasn't wavering. She knew what she was doing. Hopefully.

The taxi pulled up on the side of the road and I gave the driver his fee. We looked at each other (Emma and me, not the taxi driver and me) and both attempted to instill confidence in one another with smiles and knowing nods. I opened the door for Emma and we paced slowly up the stone steps. I breathed in, knocked loudly, and breathed back out. The rain was running down my neck and the wind was so strong that I had to hold on to Emma to keep her stable. Hurry up and open the door.

Vitali opened the door himself and smiled. He looked at us getting steadily wetter and slowly moved aside to let us get dry.

'Beautiful English weather,' he breathed, sarcastically.

'Yeah, I hope Amsterdam is nicer,' I said, in what I hoped was a friendly, 'at ease' attitude.

'It is meant to be clear and warm today. Perfect weather for stealing priceless Chinese artefacts, wouldn't you say?' he replied.

'Definitely,' said Emma.

'Right, to business,' Vitali called, beckoning us into the living room we had sat in yesterday. Emma went first and I followed close behind. I saw Igor already sat there, looking as well as he ever does, and two of their usual cronies.

'Please sit,' Igor chipped in. We sat.

Igor stood up, picking up some documents off the coffee table in front of him.

'Two tickets to Amsterdam. Leaving Heathrow at ten. Return flight, seven fifty, tonight.'

'We come back today?' I asked, showing my surprise.

'Of course, that's not a problem is it?' he muttered, eying me up carefully. Emma said nothing and I followed her example. He took this as acceptance.

'Good. Two passports. Destroy them on your return to the country later tonight. Vladimir and Alex will be accompanying you and are there to help.' He gestured at the two cronies and I noticed they had small bags at their feet. They are coming too? That shocked me but Emma looked undisturbed so I tried to stay the same. I'm not sure it worked.

'Any questions?' Igor asked.

'Just one. When we have the vase what do you want us to do with it?' Emma asked.

'Vladimir will take it from you. We have arranged transport to our safe-house. Your job is only to steal the ewer and give it to Vlad. Then get back here safely. That's it.'

'Even easier,' I said, trying to give myself some presence.

'I must say, I can't wait to see how you are going to steal this one. I have been looking at the security and I can't see a way around it. Camera's, weight detectors, lasers. It's good. What's the plan?'

'That would be telling,' Emma replied, smiling to herself. She liked the fact her intellect was bigger than anyone else's in the room. We stood up, preparing ourselves, and Igor moved in incredibly close to me.

'Remember who we are and what we will do. Don't fuck up,' he whispered in my ear.

'Well, time to go,' called Vitali and, before we knew it, we were in a darkened Range Rover on our way to Heathrow airport.

*****

Amsterdam Airport 'Schiphol' was completely hectic by the time we arrived there. I had read on some information sheet on the plane that it is the fourth busiest airport in Europe but trying to weave through the mass number of tourists I was surprised it wasn't higher. I had never seen anything like it. The bags we had all taken were considered hand-luggage so we didn't have to queue for baggage reclaim at least. Emma grabbed my hand and dragged me through the crowd. Vlad and Alex could make their own way out.

We eventually broke out of the building and felt the warm air hit our face. The Kozlovs were right; the weather was much better here. Whilst waiting for our two lovely assistants, I checked the time. It was only half eleven although I was yet to change my clock forward and I quickly lost another hour. Half twelve. Six and a half hours to get to the museum, rob it and catch a flight. Not long at all.

Emma had run over the plan several times on the flight and I was as sure of what I had to do as I could be. It seemed a long shot but if it all worked the way Emma said it would, it was going to be special. I checked my reflection in the glass fronting of the airport and was relatively pleased with the results. I didn't look too bad. Eventually our company caught up with us and we were ready to leave. I attempted to call a taxi but Alex grabbed my arm and shook his head.

'We have arranged transportation,' he growled in a deep, foreign accent.

'Oh good,' I replied and followed the rest of them to a Blue Volkswagen van.

'You go in the back,' Vlad laughed as he and Alex squeezed in next to the driver.

The back of the van had a small light that stayed on but no seat belts so we huddled on one of the wheel arch lumps and held on to each other for dear life. The driver was racing around the city of Amsterdam like an F1 fanatic and within half an hour we were at the museum. I don't know whether he took the most direct route as it felt like we were racing down back streets. Perhaps he was practising a getaway route for later. I struggled to imagine how a priceless ewer would survive in the back of that van. We barely did.

Vlad came round to the back of the van and let us out.

'Who's your driver, Jenson Button?' I asked, sarcastically. Nothing. Not even a flicker of a smile. I gave up and moved on. Stretching and rubbing my now-bruised knees, I looked up at swore loudly.

'Holy Shit!'

Now, I apologise for the swearword just as I did then, but if you have ever seen the museum we were about to try and rob, you would have sworn too. The Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam is one of the most impressive buildings in Holland, possible the whole world. I read later that the 'Rijksmuseum' means 'The State Museum' in English, but a more accurate translation would have been 'The best looking building in the whole damn world Museum'. I urge everyone reading this to put it down (for a minute), go on to the internet and 'Google' an image of the Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam. Go on, I'll wait.

It was amazing huh? Well, I had to try to steal from it. For those of you that have never seen what it looks like, allow me to explain. The building itself looks more like a palace than a museum. Rich red brick is mixed with huge glass windows and on the roof, two piercing pillars stick into the skyline, making it visible from miles around. It is truly breathtaking and sadly for me, it only managed to increase my anxiety for what I had to do next. It was flooded with tourists, milling up the steps towards the entrance and around the grounds. It was so busy; I was thinking how difficult it would be to steal an oversized eraser from the gift shop let alone one of the displays. Doing a job like this at night was hard but in the day was even more impossible.

'Two questions,' I said to Emma quietly. 'Number one: why are we not doing this at night?'

'Because when they shut the museum down for the night, an outside security force comes in to protect the artefacts and they make this security look like a child's padlock on an old scooter.' That was a particularly strange phrase for Emma to use so I assumed either someone used to always say that to her, or she started so young, she was thieving scooters as a toddler. I wouldn't have put it past her.

'Also, during the day gives us a crowd to get lost in. Understand?'

'Fine, OK, I get it. Question Number Two: Why haven't the authorities just moved the ewer already? Or at the very least, taken it off the display?'

She smiled at my ignorance to that as well. It wasn't patronising but she seemed to consider me sweet for not knowing.

'Museum security is state-of-the-art. If you move it, you take it away from the lasers and cameras and motion detectors... you get the idea. But they will be watching it like a hawk and will move it whenever they need to. I hope,' she added, winking at me cheekily.

Well that answered that. I may have got better at these criminal activities but I was truly out of my depth. Thank goodness Emma was on top of things.

We walked round to the front of the building and stopped next to Alex and Vlad. Emma muttered something to him which I didn't hear but I assumed she was checking he knew what he was doing. Alex grunted unenthusiastically and Vlad gave us a knowing nod before disappearing out of sight. He had an arranged meeting point to pick up the ewer but I didn't know where. I didn't have to concern myself with these details. Just focus on your own task. That was rule one, according to Emma.

We stood gazing up at the enormous fortress in front of us, knowing what we had to do. We were ready.

'What's the most illegal thing you've done today?' Emma teased, jokingly.

'Only travelled into this country on an illegal passport. Not much,' I replied.

'Ready to change that?'

'Definitely!'

# Chapter Twenty-Five

'Press the button and run. Don't look back.'

Alex handed Emma a rucksack from his back and I noticed he had another over his shoulder. Emma already had a handbag on her but she took the other one. It made her look more like a tourist but that wasn't the reason she had it. I knew better. We filed up the stairs in an orderly fashion, waiting like good British citizens. It took us fifteen minutes to get into the museum and with one final look at each other, we separated.

The museum is an enormous building split over two floors. There are five large display rooms leading into another downstairs, forcing the visitors to go through all the rooms to get out. The ground floor links back around to the entrance where you can either leave or take the staircase up to the first floor, where there are another four rooms of wonderful artefacts. It is a truly incredible place, showcasing all styles of art from famous Dutch paintings right through to Yuan Dynasty Vases (which was handy for us).

Emma peeled off, hopped lightly over a barrier divide and skipped up the stairs to the first floor, disappearing from sight. Alex marched on ahead without stopping to look at any of the paintings. Within a minute he was in the third room and making his way steadily to the fourth. This was where the ewer was. I, on the other hand, took my time, pretending to admire all the artwork. It really was incredible, but I knew I couldn't appreciate it right now. The nerves were starting to get to me. It suddenly hit me what I was doing. It had almost appeared normal to me; it was just something I needed to do. But I was in one of the biggest museums in the world (with some of the most advanced security systems) trying to steal something the FBI, police and Interpol all knew was going to be stolen. Big deal. Just try not to think about it. If it went wrong I would have plenty of time to think about it... in jail.

I looked down at my watch and counted carefully. I had one minute until I had to move. I was standing exactly where Emma had told me to. No matter how the camera systems are in a large, open space it is almost impossible to cover every inch all of the time. I was standing in one of seventeen tiny blind-spots in the video. I wasn't doing anything illegal but the more time I spent out of view of the security cameras the better. Three, two, one... move.

I paced quickly into the fourth room and could see Alex standing by the ewer. It was surrounded by a glass cabinet but you could see every inch of it. It was smaller than I thought it would be. I had seen several images of these vases but seeing it in real life was completely different. It was beautiful. If I had more time I was sure I would have spent it staring in awe. But I didn't.

There were two security guards standing by a door, which was locked and only opened by an electronic door-card that only they had. I needed to get through that door. This is where Alex was going to come in.

I walked straight up to the guards, wearing a look of deep concern.

'Excuse me, I don't know if it is a problem but there is an abandoned bag in the corner,' I muttered quietly, hoping they spoke English. They paused for a second, not responding but eventually the taller of the two spoke.

'Where?' he asked, in a thick, Dutch accent.

I pointed to the corner of the room where Alex had just left his bag. Immediately the taller man moved towards it, speaking through his radio. Why had the cameras not seen it lying there? Because Alex had dropped it in blind spot number two. Perfect.

I needed the second guard to move. I had hoped he too would go and investigate the bag or perhaps evacuate us all out of the room but he stood on guard, impenetrable.

'I know who dropped it,' I continued.

'I am sure it is not a concern, it is most likely just a lost bag...'

'No, listen to me. The man who dropped it has been acting strange. He was in front of me in the queue. I swear I heard him say he was going to steal something.'

That got the guards attention. 'Those are very strong accusations. What was he going to steal?'

'I don't know but he is standing right next to that Yuan Dynasty vase thingy,' I replied, pointing.

The guard leapt into life. It was just as we had thought. All the security guards were briefed about a possible threat to the ewer and I imagine everyone wanted to be the hero that caught the great thief. He hollered over to his colleague who backed away from the bag and approached Alex quickly. Alex knew he had to look as shifty as possible and he was playing his part well. He had his hands on the glass, as if trying to lift it up. The guards shouted, breaking into a run towards him.

This was my chance. For the first time today the door was left unattended. Come on Emma, your turn. I waited a few seconds. Nothing happened. Then with a small click the locking mechanism released and the door was free to be pushed open. Alex was causing a fuss and creating a perfect distraction. I felt a tiny bit sorry for him. Sure he had probably killed countless amounts of people, but Emma's plan involved us getting out and Alex being interrogated for hours on end. They wouldn't be able to pin anything on him, but it would be an unpleasant experience. I looked round for a final time and then disappeared through the door. I was now in a corridor tinged with yellowing wallpaper. There was nothing impressive about this stretch of the building and it was clearly only used by the museum staff. Time to move.

Whilst I'd been downstairs, Emma had obviously done her job upstairs wonderfully. She had used a similar technique to get past the guards up there. Covertly, she dropped her bag in a blind spot and then reported it to the guards herself. While pointing out her suspicions she had lifted one of their door cards like a professional pick-pocket. It was like taking candy from a baby for her. Within one minute of her reaching the top floor she was through the security doors and up the stairs. She had more work to do.

When Alex's bag was found and reported to the building's authorities it caused a panic for them. This was the second bag found. Something was going down. They had taken Alex away by this point but they weren't taking chances. The calls had already been made to empty room four and remove the ewer from the public floor.

I was running at this point. Take the second left and follow the corridor round to the right. I was going through the instructions in my head. I could hear footsteps coming in the distance but had time to dip through a doorway and hide momentarily. In a flash they were gone. I imagined they were heading to move the ewer. If Emma was right I shouldn't pass anyone else. I broke back into a full sprint and took a narrower corridor that pointed towards a staircase. Up the stairs, taking three at a time; my thighs were burning but I didn't stop for a second. Eventually I reached room 132: the security control room. I barged through it, praying that I'd found the right room. I had.

Emma was sat at a computer staring at several screens, all showing different areas of the museum. It was here where the chief security guards would monitor the safety of the building. Except they would find it hard to monitor anything, being bound and tied up (unconscious) on the floor. Emma looked at me cautiously; the look told me that she hadn't wanted to do it but that she'd done what was needed. How had she managed to knock out two burly security guards so easily? I didn't want to ask.

'They have just moved the ewer off the floor,' she said, smiling. 'Told you they would!'

She was a genius. Instead of trying to steal a priceless vase in front of cameras and with all the lasers, she just got them to move it. She'd known they would be on high alert, that China would never forgive them if the ewer was stolen. As a result they were bound to panic at even the smallest provocation. All we had to work out was where they were going to move it to. Jack had somehow managed to get us a copy of the blueprints for the museum; there was only one place they would be able to move it and still protect it. It was a safe room on the first floor that was normally where new artefacts would be stored while a space was being found for them. It was alarmed (and had a pressure sensitive floor) but it was no way near as hard to steal from as room four.

'Right the ewer is in the safe room. Two guards outside. The police have been called. We have less than ten minutes to get out. Do you know what to do?'

I looked at her and nodded. This was where it got complicated. Emma jumped out of her chair and showed me the computer.

'It's all set up. All you have to do is type in the code 4741 and press the red button when I say. You got it?'

'4741,' I replied. 'Yes, I've got it.'

Emma threw me a pair of gloves and I slipped them on. She had been wearing a pair herself to avoid fingerprints. She moved to the corner of the room and kicked a ventilation grill until it came lose. It didn't take long.

'Listen for my signal,' she smiled and disappeared out of sight. I sat down, checked the time and hoped we would have enough. Come on Emma. She had left me with a radio transmitter and taken one with her so we'd be able to communicate. I looked at the screens and could see... everything. Room 4 was now abandoned, as were the two rooms either side of it, but the whole museum hadn't been evacuated. Rooms one and two, and most of the upstairs, were running fine. They obviously didn't want to cause a national scandal if they could avoid it. Smart move. And good for us.

I could see the safe room and the corridor outside it. There were men moving through most of the corridors but the safe room was constantly guarded by two guys. There was only a door separating them and the space Emma was going to be in soon.

Three minutes passed and I heard nothing. Then her voice crackled through the radio.

'Tom, are you ready?'

'I'm here. Tell me when.'

There was a short pause... 'Now!'

I typed in 4741 as quick as I could but I was sure not to make a mistake. I checked it was right and hammered down on the red button. This was the override code and momentarily all the alarms in the building were turned off.

This was the only way Emma could touch the floor and get to the ewer but it had its downside. The police were instantly informed of this fault, in case a power shortage had caused it, and they would respond quickly. This was a problem because they now knew Alex wasn't running the show: intruders were in the control room and in less than five minutes, the police would be everywhere. There was no room for error.

'It's done,' I shouted down the radio.

'OK, you know what to do,' Emma replied and I saw her drop from the vent in the safe room. I watched her work, opened mouthed. She used her fingernails to pry the glass lid off the protective container and within seconds she had the ewer in her hands. Without the alarm it wasn't difficult. It was too easy, if anything. She looked at it for a second before slipping it into her bag and moving back towards the ventilation system.

It was only by chance that I looked at what the guards were doing outside but luckily I did. One had heard something and was opening the lock. In seconds he would be inside. Emma wasn't going to make it out of there.

'They're coming in. Get out!' I shouted as quickly as I could.

Emma didn't have time to think and leapt from an unbelievable distance; her hands just catching the entrance to the vent. She had incredible upper-body strength and with super-human effort she forced her body through the gap. She hadn't been seen but we were screwed anyway. In about ten seconds the guard was going to find the ewer was missing and getting out would become impossible. They would lock the building down and we 'd be trapped like rats.

'Destroy the cameras and get out. Press the button and run. Don't look back. I'll be fine. I love you.' Emma's words rang clearly through the radio. Time to not panic.

The plan had been for Emma to get out and take the vent to room two, where she could join the crowd and leave, but she couldn't do that. She was going to have to find another way out.

I had my own job to do. Emma had left a USB pen-drive in the computer and all I had to do was open the screen and press 'Enter'. I had no idea how it worked but a 'friend' of Emma's had made a virus that destroys recorded files on a computer. As well as all the programme files, it would destroy any footage recorded in the last five days. The cameras would be able to see everything but record nothing. There would be no evidence we were here.

I flicked open the screen and was just about to press 'Enter' when all hell broke loose. The alarms sounded and guards were running about emptying the museum of visitors. Everyone would be out in less than two minutes and we would be trapped. I jammed down the button and checked the screen was working. Something was definitely happening but I was not a computer expert so I decided to trust Emma and run. I grabbed the USB drive, gathered all my things and left the room. There was nothing to prove I had been there. There was a door that led out to one of the display rooms upstairs and within five seconds I was out. There was nobody around but I was free; I could just pretend I was a lost tourist. There was no evidence on me and no proof I had ever been involved. I 'd done it.

I wanted to move my legs and get out. I wanted to blend into the crowd, leave that museum and never come back. But I couldn't. Emma was trapped in there and whilst she might have gotten out, she may have not. I couldn't lose her again. I wouldn't.

I turned back around and ran to the security room. Please don't let anyone be in there. There wasn't, although looking at the monitors, several members of staff were on their way. Where was Emma? She had to be here somewhere.

There.

On the furthest monitor to the left she had just appeared through a vent and dropped down on to a corridor. If she turned right she was going to walk into a group of security guards and turning left would only lead her to a dead end. Just a wall with a window. Oh shit! She was going to jump.

I set off in the fastest sprint I could muster. I knew where she was but there was no way I would get to her before the security guards. I burst around corners, gathering speed as I ran. Think, Tom. Think!

I could hear voices just around the corner and they sounded angry so I slowed and peered around. Emma had been caught. She had reached the window but hadn't got it opened in time and the security guards were upon her. There were three of them, all keeping their distance and aiming guns at her. She was trapped and cornered. No time to think. Just do it.

# Chapter Twenty-Six

'If I ever make it to an old age, I'm sure I will look back on this...fondly.'

Con-Fi-Dence. I repeated the word over and over in my head as I walked round the corner. I clapped my hands several times together to get their attention and continued to clap as I walked towards them. The guards were startled. Two of them turned to face me and pointed their guns at me. I ignored them and carried on walking towards them, looking relaxed and in control. One guard shouted something in Dutch which I didn't understand, but it wouldn't have taken a UN translation expert to tell me he didn't want me any closer. I smiled at him and spoke as confidently as I could.

'Very good. No one has ever managed to catch her before. You lot will be knighted... if they do that in this country.'

All three guards looked at me in sheer confusion. They weren't the only ones. Emma had lost all pretence and just stared at me, open-mouthed. Although they had never seen me before, I knew they would assume a guilty man would never walk towards armed enemies. They had to guess I was on their side. It's human nature.

'Come on, who here speaks English?' I asked, in an authoritative tone.

'We all do,' replied the one still aiming his gun at Emma. 'Put your hands up where I can see them!' he shouted.

'Relax, Jeez,' I laughed and pulled out my fake police ID I was still carrying.

'The name's Stephen Mills, London Police Force. I have been tracking Rebecca Bates here for three years. Our Intel told us she'd arrived here yesterday. Do you know she's the one who has stolen the other three ewers? Come on, you must have read about it.'

The three guards stayed silent but passed around my ID. It looked real enough.

'We got a call that your alarm system went off and I knew it was her. I was just around the corner. Looks like you didn't need me though; you've caught her! You have no idea how good this is for your careers.'

I could see the smiles and knew one, or possibly two of the guards were convinced. I needed to go further. I still had no idea how to get out of there but I was buying time. I walked slowly towards Emma with a great deal of distain in my eyes.

'And how are you... Becky? Steal anything good today?' I asked her, snatching the bag off her shoulder. She gave me a look that told me I better know what I was doing. I didn't really but I couldn't let her know that. Emma played her part well. She refused to look at me after that, as if disgusted by my presence. She didn't speak and kept looking at the floor.

'We have radioed it in and we have another ten men on their way soon. Our job is to keep her here until they come. They will be with us in a few minutes.'

'Good work,' I replied. Shit! I could trick a few people but not ten!

'Have you handcuffed her yet?' I asked.

'No, we were just about to...' the one nearest to me said.

'OK, allow me. I've always wanted to this. Then we can ease the guns a bit. I need her alive, you see? She has to pay for what she's done. Finally.' I held one of my hands out and a guard handed me his pair of handcuffs. I walked behind Emma, strapped one of her wrists to the cuffs and got her to hold the other behind her back. To everyone else it appeared I had restrained her, but we knew differently.

That seemed to relax the guards somewhat and two of them put their guns down. The last guard was still looking suspicious and he kept his gun raised. I walked towards him and used all my attention to glare at Emma. I was letting her know she needed to be ready to react. She nodded slightly.

'Come on friend, what is she going to do?' I joked to him. 'She's just a girl.'

He turned to look at me, smiling for the first time, and that was when it all happened. As his head turned Emma's fist was already flying towards his nose. I heard a crunch as it broke, but I was no longer watching him. I had already turned and kicked one of the other guards in the stomach. He was instantly winded but not down. Some sort of animalistic control took over me and I charged the final guard against the wall before he could draw his gun, cracking his head against the brickwork and knocking him straight out.

The guard I had kicked was now regaining his balance. I wasn't ready for him but luckily I didn't need to be. Emma had sprung forth and echoed my kick but this time to the side of his head. I had seen the 'roundhouse' kick in movies before but in real life it was quite a sight. Emma's leg seemed to stretch on for eternity and connected sweetly with his temple. He crumpled to the floor with a small whimper.

That just left the guard with the broken nose. He was dazed and disorientated, barely able to see through the blood spurting out in all directions. He didn't really stand a chance with a broken nose and two opponents to fight. He had a choice between grabbing his radio or his gun. Survival told him to reach for his gun but he had barely wrapped his fingers around it when Emma had kicked it clean out of his hand. I threw my fist as hard as I could into his abdomen and I felt him recoil, but he was still standing. I tried again with a punch but he blocked. In doing so he had moved into Emma's range and she floored him with what looked like a 'karate chop' to the back of the neck. I didn't know they really worked! The whole fight had taken no more than a minute and three guards lay unconscious but still breathing on the museum floor. Time to go.

'Come on,' I yelled, grabbing her arm and trying to run.

'Wait,' she called out, pulling me back. 'They said ten more are coming. We can't go that way.'

'So which way do we go?' I asked.

Emma didn't reply but she looked at the window.

'Are you serious? I came to save you from jumping.'

'We have no choice.'

'Shit... You know I hate heights!'

'Quickly!'

Emma raced to the window and pulled it open. There was just about enough room for a human to fit out and I lifted Emma up onto the ledge.

'If I ever make it to an old age, I'm sure I'll look back on this... fondly,' I muttered quietly to myself.

'There is water down there. I'll take the ewer and hold it above my head. It'll be fine. You follow straight behind. I love you,' she shouted, and kissed me quickly. She gave me one her many looks and disappeared. I watched her enter the water. She even managed to look graceful when falling from the top of a building into water. I breathed deeply and pulled myself up onto the ledge. Looking down I could see where the water came from. The museum is surrounded by deep lakes which make it appear grander if that's possible. The water was a long way below me and I had concerns that I would mess my aim up and end up hitting the concrete. Emma had made it look so easy.

A few seconds had already passed and I hadn't jumped. I knew I had to but my legs were frozen with fear. Ever since I was a child the thought of heights has scared me beyond belief and Emma knew it. It had taken me three days to build up the courage to bungee-jump in South Africa. We had spent a whole afternoon arguing over whether I should go up the Eiffel Tower, last time we were in Paris. Or the last time I was in Paris. She had been there recently. Stealing.

Just jump you coward. After everything you have been through are you honestly going to let a bit of water scare you? Then I realised it wasn't the water I was afraid of but the huge drop into a lake that may be too shallow and just break my legs or worse. I understood why I was scared. Just jump!

I could hear voices around the corridor. I had three seconds and then ten armed men would be here, witness their colleagues on the floor and see who was responsible for it. Three...two...

I threw myself out of the window. I used all my strength to stop myself screaming out. I picked up some incredible speed, falling faster and faster. At first, I thought I'd misjudged it but as the water loomed in closer I knew it was fine. This was going to hurt.

My feet broke the surface of the water and I plunged down into the lake. I felt an instant, stabbing pain in my ankle and the cold water was making breathing almost impossible. I was sore and uncomfortable but I was alive! More importantly, I was out of the museum. From under the water a hand grabbed my wrist and pulled me in the direction they wanted me to go. I followed, holding my breath for as long as possible before resurfacing. I was exhausted, emotionally and physically. 'Follow Emma,' was my only thought.

*****

The panic around Amsterdam was incredible. Emma had led us out and found Vlad before the Dutch authorities could find us. We had handed over the vase, which incredibly was still intact and Vlad gave us back our money and passports (which we'd stored in the van) before he disappeared. Alex was nowhere to be seen and after the vase disappearing they weren't going to let him out for a while. But he had done nothing wrong and they would have to let him go... eventually. Our job was done. Now we just had to get back to London.

We hailed a taxi and got as far away from the museum as possible. Our clothes were soaking although Emma was darkly-dressed and hers looked better than mine did. As we drove off we could see vast numbers of police arriving at the scene. We needed to get dry quickly.

After fifteen minutes of driving, we asked the taxi driver to stop. I waited in a public toilet whilst Emma nipped to the nearest clothes shop and bought us some essentials. I managed to get my hair dry with the hand dryer, attracting some interesting looks from public toilet users. I ignored them. What were they going to do?

Eventually Emma returned and we slipped into our new clothes. Mine were pretty standard jeans with a black t-shirt but they were dry and comfortable so I was grateful. Emma managed to find herself a summery dress and a towel so she could dry her hair. Twenty minutes later we were dry and dressed, having stuffed our wet clothes in a plastic bag to carry. I wanted to dump them but Emma said they could be used as evidence if found. We decided to stop and buy a holdall so we could take them back with us on the plane. Then it was straight to the airport, even though we were hours early, to eat and rest before the flight.

We retraced our steps to make sure we would get away with it. The cameras were (hopefully) all destroyed so they would be not be able to use any video evidence against us. The ewer was now not on our possession and we had worn gloves the whole time, so we couldn't have left fingerprints. The guards would have a witness report but it was too circumstantial. They would describe a medium built, average-height male and a beautiful woman in her mid-twenties. It could be anyone. If we could make it back to London then we were safe, the fake passports meant we had never left the country, at least according to the airline reports. We were going to get away with it.

By the time the two of us had paid for our overpriced airport burgers we were almost too tired to talk. I used this time to attempt to understand what I was feeling. There were so many emotions floating around inside me. I was terrified. I think that was a key emotion. I was scared of what I had just done and how close I had been to being either shot, drowned or arrested. This was not normal life. The biggest crime of my old life used to be me being an Arsenal supporter. This was worlds apart from everything I knew.

There were other emotions on there too. I was elated. I knew, whether I wanted to or not, I'd had to do it. It was the only way I had a chance of keeping Emma alive. We had also managed to complete a mission that before had seemed so difficult it was almost not worth doing. Emma had now stolen four out of the five ewers. I had absolutely no idea how, but I was sure we could get that last one and somehow bargain it for our freedom. We could do it. I truly believed it.

There was something else. There was guilt inside me. It wasn't for stealing or lying (I was getting used to those). It was for the three guards we had beaten up. I had never purposefully hit anyone before and felt awful that these three men, who were just doing their jobs, would have suffered a lot of pain because of us. They were in the right and we were (momentarily) the bad guys. The worst feeling was that I enjoyed it. Of course, I hated hurting another human but to get out of that situation and fight off three armed guards was an achievement; yet another time this new me had succeeded my own expectations. It was liberating, if a bit scary.

The airport security was increased dramatically since earlier that morning but what could they do? We had nothing illegal on us and we had legitimate (looking) passports. We didn't even get stopped momentarily. As the sun set over a London skyline we were arriving home, safe and sound and in the clear.

# Chapter Twenty-Seven

'We have a big problem!'

The phone had woken us up before the clock had even reached five in the morning. We were so tired from the previous day's activities that we headed straight home, assuming we'd wind our way mid-morning to the Kozlov's to discuss the final vase. I wanted a lie-in but I wasn't getting one.

'We have a big problem!' shouted a voice from the other end of the phone. It was Jack and he was not happy.

'Do you know what you have done?' he asked but didn't leave time for me to reply. 'I don't know how you did it but you got the vase out, didn't you? And now you've caused a world-wide scandal. It's gone international!'

'Jack, slow down. What is going on?' I muttered, no longer feeling sleepy.

'The Chinese government have gone mental. Relationships with the West are the most strained in years. They are furious with Paris, Milan, Amsterdam and America. They think it's a big conspiracy or something. They are holding talks now!'

'OK, so what does that mean?' I stuttered. I wasn't sure why he was telling me this. I knew there would be repercussions but I had never really thought this far ahead.

'This isn't about you anymore. Do you get that? This is way bigger than you and Emma.'

'I get that but it doesn't change anything, right?'

'You're not getting it. Damn it! It changes everything!' he shouted. He was really worried. I could tell.

'Why?'

'They are moving the last ewer. Today! In a few hours, in fact. It's over.'

'What? We still have time. I thought we had a couple of days? You said we had time.'

'You did but everything has moved on. After Amsterdam the Chinese are moving it right now, it will be out of the country by lunchtime. You have to come in. We can put you in witness protection or something. We'll work it out.'

'No way. You know we can't. Let me think. Wait!' I was desperately trying to think of something. It was too late to stop. We'd come so far, I wasn't going to lose now.

'You don't have time. It's on the news. The Kozlovs will know by now.'

'Jack, I can fix this. I know I can. I need you to come to London. Can you do that?'

He protested but promised he would be on his way. I woke Emma up and dragged her out of bed.

'We need to go. Come on!' I shouted. I pulled some clothes on and five minutes later we were in the 'pimpmobile' flying towards Parlour Street.

There was a big part of me that wanted to bundle Emma into the car and drive away until we disappeared off the map. But I knew how powerful the Kozlovs were and I didn't want to spend the rest of my life running in fear. Emma wasn't speaking. I was hoping she would think of something but I couldn't imagine how we could get out of this one. We were outside the Kozlov's door soon enough and I hammered my fist against it, careless of who it might wake up. Maybe the Kozlovs were still asleep. There was a good chance they would be in bed and hadn't had time to arrange a punishment for our failures. I hoped at least.

Vitali opened the door after the third knock. He was fully dressed and looked like he had been for some while. There was no tiredness in his eyes, but it was replaced by anger; the kind of which I had never really seen before.

'I am impressed you are here,' Vitali spoke. He was talking very slowly, emphasising every syllable. 'Come in.'

His eyes were so terrifying I found it hard to move my legs but Emma had disappeared inside and I wouldn't leave her alone.

Vitali was not the only one who was up and dressed. Igor was waiting in the lounge along with his usual bunch of cronies. Alex was nowhere to be seen but he had been replaced by a similarly gorilla-shaped Russian. Vlad had made it back so I assumed at least that our exertions over in Holland had not been for nothing.

'Sit down,' barked Igor. Gone were the warm handshakes and the laughter. He looked dead inside. We did as we were told and sat down.

'Well firstly I guess, we must congratulate you on a... successful trip to Amsterdam. Successful in terms of retrieving the ewer. It makes a lovely addition to our collection.'

'Thanks,' I said, hoping we might still have a way out of it.

'Yes,' he said sarcastically. 'We were hoping for less of an international outcry than you gave us. I take it you have seen the news.'

'Yes, we did. Listen, we had no idea China would move the ewer...' I tried to explain, but was cut short.

'That is very unfortunate for you. I must say I thought getting one vase was going to be tough and you certainly exceeded my expectations but... we had a deal.'

I knew exactly what the deal was. The five ewers in exchange for our lives. And we had failed.

'The vase will be moved in a few hours and by the time it reaches the airport it will be lost forever. You got so close.'

'We could always steal it when it gets back to China,' Emma said, but even as she spoke she knew it was no good.

'What a sweet thought, little girl. But no! China is taking it to ground. They are not going to display it and finding it will be impossible. It is over.'

Igor stood up and walked until he was only a few feet away from us. Close enough to get a clean shot at us, but not near enough for us to catch him with a swift kick. We were sitting ducks.

'I am sorry to have to do this but rules are rules...' Igor whispered, not looking remotely sorry for his actions. He pulled out his gun and pointed it straight at my face. I looked at Emma but she could do nothing. She had planned her way out of everything but she was lost for ideas. She turned to face me and tears rolled out of her eyes. I could tell she wanted to say sorry and how much she loved me. Be brave for her. I smiled back at her, defiantly. I was actually going to die.

'Let it always be said that the Kozlovs gave you every chance to survive. You messed up...'

He closed one eye and focused his aim with the other one. I could feel his stare burning a hole in my forehead. At least it would be quick.

'Goodbye,' he muttered. My mind went blank. Then suddenly...

'WAIT!' I shouted, louder than I ever have before. 'I know how to get you your ewer!'

He didn't lower his gun but he didn't shoot me, so it was a start.

'I know you are scared Thomas, but take it like a man. There is no way. The museum is already flooded with police and by the time it reaches China, you will never find it. You are out of time.'

'Exactly but there is one opportunity. Think about it. We will boost it in transit!'

He looked confused. I was too, to be honest. I had accepted death and at the final moment a plan had formed almost perfectly in my mind. I was now just operating on instinct.

'You have one minute to explain your plan in full. If, as I suspect, you are just wasting time I will put a bullet in her head first, so you can watch her die,' he said.

'Ok so we can't get to the vase when it is at the museum or the airport. But how is it getting there?'

'An armed van is at the museum as we speak, and it will be surrounded by four police men on motorbikes. You won't be able to get anywhere near it,' said Vitali.

Normally these things would faze me but it wasn't me talking anymore. It was something inside me that was taking over and saving both our lives.

'That's alright, I don't need to get near to the van. At least not the front or back.' I said smiling.

Emma looked at me, hoping I had something brilliant but knowing the chances were pretty slim. If she hadn't thought of something, how could I? But I had.

'Thirty seconds,' said Igor, growing impatient.

'Ok, so Emma knows someone who can hack into the traffic control system and divert any traffic, anywhere we want.' I wasn't sure this was true but she must do surely! That was the least of our worries.

'So what?' Igor said, ignorantly.

'So, we can make sure the van stops wherever we want. I can get that van to stop on a ten pence piece anywhere in London.'

'OK so you can stop it. Well done. Then what?' Igor was really starting to piss me off.

'Then, we wait in a chosen manhole until the van is directly above us and then we cut our way into the bottom of the van.'

It was brilliant, in my mind anyway.

'And how do you intend to cut through inches of solid metal?' asked Vitali, getting a little excited.

'We know a guy. He has developed a laser cutter than can get through it, no problem. Leave that to us.' I could see he was thinking it over. The gun was still aimed in my directions but there was no aggression in its stance anymore.

'Think about this. I am saying I can get you that last ewer. That is what you want right? But to do it we have to move now. It's win-win for you. Either we get caught and take the blame and go to jail for the rest of our lives, leaving you with four ewers and none the worse off. Or we somehow manage to pull off this job, you get the full set and we get our freedom. Sound fair?'

'Nice try but you will just run. We are not stupid.'

'Of course you're not but neither are we. If we wanted to run we wouldn't have gone to Amsterdam would we? We would have disappeared but we know what you are capable of. Do you think we want to spend the rest of our lives looking over our shoulders? We came here didn't we? Instead of running. I want to help you get the ewers but you need to trust me.'

Nobody said anything but seconds passed and no bullet cracked through my skull so I knew I was on the right path. Vitali muttered something to his brother and they disappeared out of the room to talk in the hall. Igor handed the gun to one of his men and told him to keep an eye on us. Where were we going to go?

After what seemed like an eternity, the two Kozlovs returned to tell us our fate. Either they would agree with us or kill us. It was decision time.

'Fine, this is the address of our storehouse. We meet you there at midday exactly. If you are not there we will hunt you down like dogs. Believe me when I tell you, we won't use bullets; it will be drawn out and very painful. Do not disappoint.' Igor was enjoying his speeches today.

It had worked.

'Fine, we'll see you there. But if we are going to do it, we have to leave now,' I said, standing up and taking the piece of paper from his hand before disappearing out of the building with Emma.

*****

'That was... unbelievable. You saved us. I can't ever... I'm so sorry...' said Emma, breaking down in tears as we got into my car.

'Hey, you didn't think I was going to let that prick kill you, did you? I was just keeping things interesting,' I smiled at her and ran my hand over her knee. It took several minutes for her to calm down but, bit by bit, she began to revert back to 'normal Emma.' I was going to need her on her top form if we were going to stand a chance.

'OK baby, it's seven now so we have very little time to do this. We need to move fast. Please tell me you know someone who can hack the traffic control system. Either that or we have to get the hell out of this country.'

'I know one person... but he kind of hates me. I don't know if he will do it.'

'Where is he? Where does he live?'

'Hackney.'

I pushed my foot flat to the floor and headed towards the East End.

# Chapter Twenty-Eight

'You have two options. Trust me, you'll want to take the first.'

We were up early but sadly, London is the city that never sleeps, and the roads were beginning to fill up. I took as many back roads as I could but we lost precious minutes sitting perfectly still in traffic. It took us almost an hour to get to the rough part of Hackney (which is saying something) and find the flat. As we walked up the drive I pushed Emma first, partly so she could do the talking, but also so that I could feel more protective over her. She didn't hesitate and headed straight for a black door. She obviously knew where she was going.

'How do you know this guy? Why does he hate you?' I asked as she knocked on the door.

'Ex-boyfriend,' she said, answering both.

'Oh great,' I said. Could this day get any worse?

Nobody answered the door at first. Emma knocked again. Still nothing. This was not good. I didn't have a back-up plan if this didn't work and I was sure Emma wouldn't either.

'What if he's not in?' I asked quietly.

'He's in. He never goes out. You just have to knock three times,' Emma replied, almost as if I was stupid not to know it. That must be the secret conman's code. The second Emma's fingers touched the wood of the door, it swung open and a greasy little goblin stood in its place. Now, I am not a jealous man, but how Emma had ever dated this man I will never know. He was three or four inches smaller than I am, and although I am not the most masculine man in the world, his chest was less broad than my bicep. His hair was shoulder length and greasy. This guy? Really?

Even Emma looked quite shocked at his appearance. She regained her composure and smiled sweetly.

'Blaine, you are looking great,' she lied. She was a good liar but not that good. Blaine? Really?

Blaine looked utterly bewildered to see Emma standing there but had not taken his eyes off her. I don't think he had noticed I was even there.

'Emma?' he spluttered. He even had a ridiculous, high-pitched voice. OK, maybe I was a little jealous of Emma's past.

'I need your help Blainey,' Emma replied and pushed her way into his flat. He turned to follow her inside and I had to jump in to avoid the door hitting me as he swung it closed. Was I invisible?

We settled in what I assumed was the living room, although you would never know from looking at it. It was as cluttered as Emma's other friend's house (the one who gave me the police ID) but this was all technical, computer-related equipment. The living room looked like the control centre for NASA (I imagine), just more technical. There must have been twenty-five different monitors in the room and a heap of wires that coated the floor, making it impossible not to walk on them. There were swivel chairs sporadically placed around the room and we each grabbed one to perch on.

'Emma McDonald. Never thought I would see you again. You're a ghost. There is nothing I can't do on a computer but I've never been able to find you. And believe me, I've tried. But I knew you'd come back. They always do.' Emma McDonald? Poor lad, he got conned as well. Unless that was her name and I was the one being conned. No, surely not.

'Listen Blaine, I need your help. I am sorry about Moscow,' she breathed, regretfully. Moscow? What the hell happened in Moscow?

'Sorry? I spent eighteen months in a Russian jail because you messed up and you say sorry? I loved you!' he shouted at her. This was beginning to feel like a bad idea.

'That was eight years ago and you knew the risk. I made a mistake but I was young. We were young and I didn't know what I was doing. But I am in danger and you're the only one who can help me.'

I was now so far out of the loop I was starting to lose focus but I forced myself to stay with it. I was glad to hear that it was a long time ago at the very least. Focus Tom.

'Why would I help you?' he spat in disgust. He was beginning to be a bit too aggressive for my liking. He was 'cruising for a bruising' as my Dad used to say.

'Please, do it for me. I know things ended badly between us but if you ever cared about me you'll do it. My life depends upon it.' Emma was beginning to look desperate.

'Emma, I am snowed under at the moment so with regrets I am going to have to say no.' He looked pretty smug with himself. Now he had gone too far. Emma had tried being nice. My turn.

'Listen Blaine, she has asked nicely and she has apologised. Time to grow up and help out someone who really needs your help.'

'Who are you?' he muttered, as if seeing me for the first time.

'Her husband.'

'You two are married? I don't see it.'

'And I don't care but the way I see it is like this. You have two options. Trust me; you are going to want to take the first.'

'And they are...?'

'Number One: You help us out and in return, we give you a hundred grand and you never see us again.'

'And the other one?'

I pulled out my gun, jumped to my feet and held it inches away from his face. His smirk had gone and pure terror was now in his eyes.

'Number Two: I shoot you in the head, dump you in the woods and use your flat as a base for our operations. It's up to you.'

'I see... I'll go with the hundred grand.'

'I thought you might,' I smiled. Not so cocky now.

'So what do you need me to do?' he asked nervously.

*****

Thirty minutes later we had come up with a pretty decent plan. I had threatened Blaine with every sort of punishment imaginable if he tried to cross us and I was pretty confident that he wouldn't try anything. He was terrified. We had three and a half hours left to do this job and we had a pretty definite plan. We'd set out a route and made sure Blaine knew what was going on. He may have been a pathetic little weasel but when it came to technology he knew exactly what to do. He had given us a small example and left me in no doubt that he was the man for the job. Blaine could tell this job was a big deal and I think part of him wanted the reputation for pulling it off.

Next task: head to the man with the laser pen and convince him to give it to us. Quickly.

Blaine wanted to prove his abilities and assisted us with green lights the whole way back to West London. It took us half the time and that half hour saved would end up being invaluable, I had no doubt. Two hours gone. Three hours left. Emma was keen to see her friend again (who was called David, so I was told) but reminded me to refer to her as Jessica.

'We have less than ten minutes if we are going to make this work,' I said to her. She understood, probably much better than I did. I had to remind myself that she was the expert and I still had loads to learn.

Emma ran to the door and knocked loudly. Did she have a specific rhythm to her knock or was I reading too much into it?

'Password?' came a familiar voice.

'Pluto is a dwarf planet,' laughed Emma.

The door was pulled open quickly and there was warm embrace between the two of them.

'Jessica!' he smiled, hugging her tightly.

'How are you David?' asked Emma.

'All the better for seeing you,' he replied. He spotted me out of the corner in his eye and moved warmly towards me.

'And you... I'm guessing you did it then, if little Jessica is still alive. Thank you for saving her.' He hugged me tightly as well.

'Not.. .not yet. That's why we are here Dave. We need your help.'

We discussed the bare bones of our plan, giving just enough information to make David feel included and, after a little persuasion, he allowed us to walk out of there with his laser pen.

'Be careful. Hold the button down for no more than ten seconds or it may overheat. It hasn't been safety tested yet!'

I smiled and put it in the trouser pocket, making sure to zip it up.

Two hours and forty-five minutes until we had to be at the warehouse. We were on schedule... just about. The plan was all set but it still seemed an impossible task. I was confident that Blaine would handle his end of the deal and David certainly believed the pen could cut through anything, but it would take a miracle to get it all together at one time.

There was something else to worry about. Something that was nagging in the back of my mind. A problem that had been there since I first found Emma but it was time to confront it. If we did pull off this job, there was no way the Kozlovs would just let us walk out of there. We knew too much and as soon as we delivered the final ewer, they would put a bullet in our heads for our efforts. This was the whole reason I had found Emma instead of fleeing to Mexico and waiting for her. Surely she must have a plan.

She didn't. After we left David's, we attempted to come up with one. It was difficult; Emma was completely focused on the task ahead and it was hard to get much out of her. She was worried now, more worried than I had ever seen her. I would have to come up with something. I ran my finger over my gun and considered it. No. I'm not a murderer. Not unless I absolutely had to be. I was going to beat them (once and for all) with my brain, not a gun.

We drove back to our flat to collect the last few things we would need, preparing ourselves in silence for what was coming. I changed clothes into something more appropriate. I slipped on some dark cargo trousers, a jet-black t-shirt and a light weight jacket, also in black. I wasn't really sure why I dressed in black but people did it in movies and I look good in it. It would make me stand out less which was an obvious benefit as well. Emma reappeared looking incredibly sexy, in very tight, dark clothes. This was not the time to find her attractive, but it didn't stop me. As Emma was much smaller than me, she was going to have to be the one to get inside the van when the time came. The tighter her clothes, the less likely anything would get caught.

As we were applying the final touches, my phone rang. I answered it and Emma used this opportunity to turn on the news and get a glimpse at what we were going after. There was no live coverage of the van but there were pre-recorded images shown on a loop on the news channels. She had a fair idea of what we were dealing with. I held the phone to my ear and spoke.

'Hello?'

'I'm in London,' spoke Jack calmly.

This instantly made me feel safer. There was nothing Jack could do to protect me but it helped knowing he was here.

'You want to fill me in with the plan?' he asked.

'No time but...' Suddenly I had a new plan. Not for stealing the ewer, but for protecting us long term. It was mental (literally) but it could work!

'I need you to listen,' I said quickly. 'I don't have much time.'

# Chapter Twenty-Nine

'Change of plans. I need you... now!'

'Blaine, we're set! Count us in.'

I was talking to Blaine through a wireless earpiece on my phone, which picked up a remarkable signal considering I was underground hovering beneath a manhole cover. Half an hour ago we had 'gone underground', working our way through a complex network of underground sewage pathways until we were waiting under an agreed manhole cover. The manhole had a ladder built into the side of the wall and there was just enough space in it for the two of us to fit side by side. It was completely dark, save for the light flashing occasionally from my Bluetooth headset. We had almost 90 minutes to get to the warehouse with the final vase and with the van already in transit we estimated it would be above us in less than five minutes.

'Blaine, where are we?' I asked.

'Sending them left on Gerard Way... now!'

They were getting close. If Blaine was doing his job right they were very close. He was blocking up several streets ahead of the van so they would look for an alternative route. When a clear pathway became available they would take it. So far it was working well. The hard part was going to be timing the lights perfectly to stop the van directly above us.

'Watch the timings,' I said nervously. 'This all falls apart if it's not above us.'

'Easy chief, I've got it covered,' Blaine replied. He was cockier now that I wasn't holding a gun to his head.

'Listen Blaine, I think you're doing a great job (and I'm not accusing you of anything) but if you double-cross us I will find you and rip your head off with my bare hands. Am I clear?'

He went silent for a second before replying, 'I'm not going to screw up. But you better give me my hundred grand!'

'It's yours when this is over. How long?'

'Less than a minute. Get ready.'

I looked at Emma, sensing how she was feeling, although I couldn't see her face through the darkness.

'You ready?' I asked.

'You?' she replied.

'Definitely!' I lied and she agreed.

'Ready when you are, Blaine,' I muttered.

There was silence for about thirty seconds. It was quite possibly the slowest thirty seconds of my life. We stayed perfectly still and silent, meaning all we could hear was each other's breathing. At long last the call came.

'Go,' Blaine shouted down my ear. The noise shocked me into action and at once I lifted up the manhole cover an inch or two and moved it to the side. It was brighter outside but we were not hit by sunlight. We must be covered. We were underneath something at the very least. I raised myself up one rung on the ladder until my head was in the fresh air up to my nose. I looked around quickly, checking if anyone could see me. I doubted it. We must be under the van. It was fairly high off the ground, riding on large wheels and it stretched on for some distance. I could see the wheels of motorbikes on either side but there was no way they could see me. Blaine could hold us here for a minute maximum, before people started getting suspicious. No time for messing about.

I pulled out the laser pen and held it to the bottom of the van. There was a tangle of different pipes underneath and, although I'm not a mechanic, I quickly found a space I thought would be easy enough to burn through without destroying the movement of the van. I pressed the button and a wave of heat hit my hand, flying into my face. It was just warm air but it was a heat I hadn't experienced before. It made a crunching noise but was so intense that it was cutting through the van with ease. I had made half a circle before the heat became too much. I bit my tongue to stop myself from screaming out as I burnt my hand. I'd held it down for more than ten seconds. Idiot. I had no time to stop so I switched hands and completed the circle with only a few momentary pauses. I was sweating to the point where I was wet through but I carried on. The hole was cut. I bent my knees and forced my body up into the new circle. The cut-out was no longer attached to the rest of the van and the force of my body was enough to push the shape up into the vehicle. We were in!

'Alright baby, you're up,' I whispered and took her by the arm to help her up. She didn't need any help from me. Within seconds she slithered past me and was halfway through the hole. I'd judged the hole acceptably but I hadn't given Emma a lot of space. Luckily she was used this sort of thing and she used her upper-body strength to pull herself inside. She was quick, but even so we were falling behind schedule. I looked at my watch and could see it had already been a minute, I could hear the first few beeps of frustration with drivers using their horns. Please hurry Emma!

The worst part for me was the waiting. I couldn't see inside the van and had no idea how it was going and whether she was going to be able to do it. We had agreed with Blaine that ninety seconds was the limit before he moved the lights on. Anymore and the authorities might start checking the system. We couldn't risk it. However, Emma now had twenty seconds to be back here with the ewer: she wasn't going to make it.

'Blaine we may need some time. No sign of Emma,' I whispered. No reply. 'Blaine! Blaine can you hear me?' Still nothing. I continued to call for him but I was getting nothing. Shit! I pulled my earpiece out and looked at it. It was a completely different shape to the way it had started. The heat from the pen must have broken it!

'Emma, you have ten seconds! Get out!' I shouted, hoping no-one else would hear us. After three or four more seconds she reappeared, holding the ewer. Thank God! She was smiling for the first time in ages. It was a great thing to see, but time was against us.

'Hurry!' I said.

'Catch,' she replied and dropped the ewer down to me.

'Are you mental?' I called back to her, lucky enough to be holding it still in one piece. Emma smiled her cheekiest smile and sat on the edge of the van dangling her legs out.

One leg was almost within touching distance when I realised something. The car horns had disappeared and in their place was the sound of engines roaring. The traffic was moving. Looking up I could see the van creeping into life. If she tried to drop now Emma would either get run over or cut in half.

'Watch out!' I cried, reaching up and pushing her leg back inside. In a second she was gone and I managed to drag the manhole cover over me with a millisecond to spare. I heard the rumble of traffic overhead and soon enough the van was gone.

What the hell was I going to do now?

I slid down the ladder and placed the ewer down carefully. I ripped the phone out of my pocket and checked if it was still connected to Blaine. It was.

'Change of plan... I need you now!' I bellowed.

'What's up? You didn't get it?' he asked, sounding worried.

'No, I got the ewer but Emma is still stuck inside the van. I need you to find another manhole for them to stop on.'

'I can't... they're close to the airport mate. How are we going to find another one in time?'

'Blaine, you're the best. I know you can do it. I need you. I will double your money if you can do this. I believe in you.'

There was a pause for a second.

'I'll slow them down for a moment while I think. Give me time,' he replied.

'Be quick,' I said and waited patiently. I found the rucksack we had brought and, using the light from my phone, I wrapped up the ewer and placed it carefully in the bag. I slipped it on my back and filled my pockets with all the loose items we had brought with us. I was ready to move.

'Shit! That could work,' he shouted suddenly. 'Listen, I have found somewhere but they are going to be there in less than five minutes and it's not a straight pathway for you. You better run.'

'Tell me where,' I replied, ready to go.

He pulled up a map of the sewage works and began guiding me.

'Go to your left. The way the van went. Run. I'll track you through your GPS on the phone.'

I didn't wait for a second invitation. I started sprinting, using all of my energy and control to stay upright on the slimy footpath. It was incredibly dark but I ran my hand along the wall the whole time, letting me know where the corners were. My eyes were adapting to the light a little and, whilst I wouldn't say I had twenty-twenty vision, I could just about find my way.

'There is a sharp left coming up. Take it.'

I did as he asked and pushed on. The air down here wasn't the cleanest and my lungs were beginning to burn. There was no way I was going to stop, but it didn't stop my legs filling with lactic acid. They were aching beyond belief; I really did need to work on my fitness. Three more minutes passed and I wound my way through the underground passage, pushing my body as hard as I could. I had taken several more directions from Blaine and according to him I wasn't far.

'Go now! They are almost on top of the manhole. Turn to the right and up the ladder.'

I bent round to my right and caught my hand on the ladder. Climbing the rungs was incredibly painful as it burned in my legs but I was marching on through it. I reached the top and burst the manhole cover away, breathing the fresh air in.

The van was once again above me but the hole was not lined up with the manhole.

'Don't move the traffic until I say,' I said to Blaine and I pulled my body up on to the street until I was lying under the vehicle. If anyone looked at the van they would be able to see me but I didn't care. I wasn't going to lose Emma again.

I dragged my body along the floor until I was directly below the hole. I wanted to shout out but the roads were quieter here and I couldn't risk the police escorts hearing us. I took the pen out and threw it through the hole. Moments later, Emma's face appeared, looking completely amazed.

'You came back for me? What about the Kozlovs? We're running out of time.'

'Well, you better hurry up then!' I whispered back.

I moved out of the way and she slipped out behind me. I dropped down the hole and felt Emma just behind me.

'Blaine, move the traffic,' I said down the phone, completely exhausted. Emma shuffled in next to me and pulled the manhole cover over us once more.

Presently the traffic rumbled off, in the direction of Heathrow.

We had done it! The fifth ewer was in my bag and now all we had to do was get to the Kozlovs in record time and hope my plan for survival worked. No pressure.

We gathered our breath quickly and Emma kissed me before we set off in a run along the pathway. We had positioned our car near the previous manhole cover and just had to find our way back to it. For the first time in a long time I felt like things were finally going my way.

*****

Words could not describe the smell my clothes had picked up but that was the least of my worries. Fifteen minutes later we were safe and in the car. We had an hour to get to the Kozlov's warehouse and according to an internet journey planner, the route was meant to take almost an hour and a half. Trust the Kozlov's to give us a huge drive, just to make things a little more challenging.

I had my foot down to the floor for most of the journey and we were making good time. We ran over the plan one final time. So many things had seemed impossible when we first attempted them, we had achieved them so why couldn't we do this last one? This seemed the least likely to succeed somehow but there was a glorious feeling that if we pulled it off we may have finally reached the end of the tunnel. Emma reached over and held my hand; I couldn't work out whether this was because she was scared or because she believed we were almost out of the woods.

I weaved my way through the parked cars and slow moving traffic of London and pushed on towards our goal. We were going to be late if we weren't careful. Hurry up. I am not the greatest at controlling my emotions when driving at the best of times, but when racing to avoid execution from the deadliest men in the world, my temper rises to new levels. Especially when arrogant, convertible-loving, BMW drivers have the ability to go much quicker than they actually do. Move!

Eventually the traffic seemed to die down as we moved into a more industrial side of town. Well, it would have been industrial fifty years ago. The place looked derelict now and it was rare that we would pass another vehicle at all. It was like a ghost town (which wasn't a good sign). We were almost there. According to my expensive watch we had thirty-nine seconds to spare when we arrived at the warehouse. The large door had been raised and the warehouse was open. Taking a deep breath, I swung my car through the entrance and moved inside.

The warehouse was a large, open space with vast wooden boxes lining each wall. There was no way of seeing what was inside but knowing the Kozlovs, I would bet it was expensive and illegally-obtained. The centre of the warehouse was empty except for a large, black van which was being loaded by the Russian cronies and a beat-up old banger of a car. Igor and Vitali stood by, keeping a careful eye on proceedings but not getting their hands dirty. Same old Kozlovs.

I pulled in and placed my car strategically. Not too close to the van, but not too far to convey fear. This was going to help later. I hoped. I switched the engine off and squeezed Emma's hand. I couldn't look at her. I was worried I would burst into tears. My phone lit up silently and I realised I'd got a text message. I looked at my phone as I opened the door; it was from Jack: 'Good Luck.'

I smiled, hoping I wouldn't need it.

# Chapter Thirty

'You have exceeded my every expectation.'

Walking confidently is harder than it looks. I wanted to convey a confidence as if this was an everyday occurrence for me. But walk too slowly and everyone ends up staring at you, waiting for you to arrive. Walk too fast and you can appear aggressive, too eager to get things started. Not good. I attempted a rhythmic swagger that was medium paced but ended up almost limping towards the Kozlovs. I had seen cool guys in movies do it but I looked like one leg was significantly shorter than the other. I bounced towards the Russians and after an eternity reached the theatre of conflict, determined not to be embarrassed for what I had just done. Confidence.

Emma was clearly concerned but she followed by my side and we stood tall and strong in the face of certain danger. Igor looked impressed as we walked towards them and Vitali removed his focus from the van and turned it solely to us. Igor was the first to speak.

'Very impressive. Whatever anybody says about you, you've got balls Thomas. You had a gun held to your head this morning and you still have the guts to walk in here. That takes courage. I admire courage.'

I didn't say anything.

'Now, the most important part,' he continued. 'Did you get it?'

I remained silent once more, but opened the bag and pulled out the vase carefully. It was intact, which was good, and looked as beautiful as the others had. The fifth one was soon to be reunited with its family.

'Well, I never. You have exceeded my every expectation. This task was impossible to everyone. But you two... You must feel very proud.'

I turned to look at Emma but she looked more worried than proud. Igor was playing with us and we both knew it.

'Do you want to see the others?' Vitali asked gently.

'Sure,' I replied quickly, buying some time.

He disappeared behind the van and I assumed we had to follow suit and did so. The van had two doors at the back of it which were opened and as I walked around, I could see the van's contents. There were lots more wooden boxes, a few of which were open and full of jewelry, but the focus of our attention was clear. Five plinths were set up in the back of the van and inside four of them were four Yuan Dynasty Ewers in mint condition. Each one had a golden animal emblazoned on it and each was a spectacle to behold. I recognised the one we had taken from Amsterdam and the one Jack had shown me in pictures a lifetime ago. Vitali had taken the vase from Igor and leaped inside the van, placing it on the final plinth. He rejoined us and for a moment we just stood there, admiring the craftsmanship. They were truly beautiful and I could see how they were considered to be of utmost importance to the whole of China. It wasn't the seventy million they would raise on the street. They were priceless and it broke my heart to see them in the clutches of unworthy criminals. Still, it would break my heart more to see Emma with a bullet in her head, so it was a price we had to pay.

'Quite amazing,' breathed Vitali. 'These vases have been our obsession for the longest time. You will never know how many times we have attempted to get a hold of them, but each time we have failed... until now! We have you to thank for that!'

We strolled back round to the front of the van and an accomplice I'd never seen before closed up the van and locked it. He whistled and soon the rest of the men appeared. There were seven Russians in the warehouse in total. I was amazed how many had been busying themselves and was rather worried they were all going to take it in turns to hit us. To my relief, four of them piled into the worn down car and drove off. Their part was done. That just left the two Kozlovs, a driver and the two of us. The atmosphere was incredibly tense and you could feel something big was going to happen. Looking down at my watch I could see it had just turned four minutes past twelve. One minute left.

'So, we are even?' I asked carefully. I kept my gaze with both of them and refused to break my stare. I was not backing down now.

They remained silent, toying with our emotions.

'Remember. That is what you said: men of honour. We've pushed ourselves further than I ever thought possible to get you the ewers and now they are yours. You have the whole set. So whatever Emma did to wrong to you in the past, however you were offended... it's over now, right?'

I was desperate for them to agree. Surely, they wouldn't go back on it now. Then we wouldn't have to fight anymore and we could go back to something... whatever that may be. Igor began laughing sickly. It wasn't that sinister but it certainly wasn't friendly either.

'That is what we said, isn't it? You have definitely held up your end of the bargain. But here is the thing. Your little bitch messed a lot of things up for us and we spent years finding her. Then you come into my hotel room and hold a gun at me... at my brother! No, you might have done wonders but nobody ever survives when they pull a gun on my family. NOBODY!'

It was like all of our worst fears coming true. It had been naive of me to think men like this ever operated with honour. There is no glory in the world they live in and I was unlucky enough to have got dragged into it. You only stay at the top if you kill everyone in your way and the two of us now knew too much. We were never going to get away. Like lightning, all three of the Russians had pulled out their guns and pointed them at us. There was nowhere we could go, nothing we could do. I had a gun under my jacket but my hand wouldn't get two inches before a bullet was inside my brain. I was too sick to feel anything. I was completely numb and I knew Emma would feel the same.

'On your knees!' ordered Igor. He was enjoying this now. He was like a child who knew they were getting a new bike for Christmas but couldn't ride it for weeks. He had waited patiently and now he was going to get exactly what he wanted. Neither Emma or myself moved. If I was to die here, it would be on my terms now. No more listening to him.

'No,' I replied calmly.

He stepped closer and shouted once more.

'ON YOUR KNEES!' This time he was so close that he covered me with spit. Disgusting but not deadly.

'If it's all the same to you I'll stand,' I whispered, cockily.

There was a mixture of anger and respect in his eyes. He was going to enjoy killing me the most. He stepped a little closer and thudded his fist into my stomach. I doubled over a little but I didn't go down. I'd been expecting to be hit and had been tensing my muscles as much as possible. I breathed in deeply, keeping my eyes on him the whole time. The minute has passed. My plan should have been working. Why wasn't it working?

'Fine, if you want to be a hero, let's see how tough you are when I shoot your wife in the head? How tough will you be then?'

I didn't say anything but I did turn to look at Emma. She was so scared. She had said beforehand that our plan was risky and she was resigning herself once more to this fate. A solitary tear fell from her left eye and I raised my hand to wipe it. I let my hand rest on her cheek and hold her beautiful face momentarily.

'It will be OK,' I whispered to her.

'I'm afraid it won't,' came the sneering voice of Vitali and he swung his hand to aim the gun at Emma. This was it.

At that second, there came a confusion of noise and blue lights. A police car had raced around the corner and into the warehouse, screeching to a halt on one side and two police officers jumped out. They were armed and wearing full bullet-proof gear. The sirens stopped but the blue lights continued to flash.

'THIS PLACE IS SURROUNDED. PUT YOUR HANDS UP IMMEDIATELY,' said a calm voice over the police speaker system.

The Kozlovs turned on us at once.

'Smart move, bringing the police. Do you think that will stop us?'

'They are not with us,' I whispered back. I gave them an honest look and I think they began to believe me.

'They must have followed you. Fuck!' spat Vitali. They dived around the back of the van and the two of us followed.

'Igor, what if they have the place surrounded? We will never get out!' Vitali was beginning to look nervous for the first time since I 'd held a gun at his face. They were feeling trapped. Welcome to the club.

'What do we do?' said a thick Russian voice, from their thick Russian crony.

'COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP. FINAL WARNING!'

Igor glanced around the side of the van quickly.

'It is just one car. Looks like two guys. We take them out and drive off. Simple.'

'What if there is back-up outside?'

'Then we take them out too. Listen to me. I will not rot in a jail cell. Not me.'

Igor took his gun out and pretended to walk towards them. He got a few steps away from the van before firing at the police car. A window smashed and both police officers dived for cover, but no one was hurt. Yet.

It took a few seconds for the bullets to be fired back. Both police officers drew weapons and fired them in our direction. Igor threw himself onto the floor and slid back behind the van. A bullet hit the side of the vehicle and all of us hoped the ewers would stay intact.

'You two go that way,' called Vitali, talking to his fellow Russians, and pointed in the opposite direction to the way he was moving. They spun out either side and rained bullets down on the police car. It lasted several seconds and as quickly as it began, it stopped. We waited in eerie silence for a second to see if they were successful and at first it seemed possible. The silence and the Russian's hopes were broken by the sound of gunshots in our direction.

We were stuck in a stand-off. The police were protected by their car, although it was taking some severe bruising on the one side. We were safe as long as we stayed behind the van. The conflict lasted another few minutes with neither side really affecting the other. The Russians had not been prepared for a full-scale war and were beginning to run out of bullets.

'I swear to you Thomas, I will save two of these bullets to put in both of your heads,' Igor spat at me, angrily.

'Yeah, bringing the police won't protect you,' chirped in Vitali.

'I didn't bring them. They must have been following us. Probably since Amsterdam!' I shouted back as they opened fire, once more.

'Either way, you're dead as soon as they are!'

The driver spun round once more, having just reloaded his gun with his final round. I didn't know his name but I could see how eager he was to impress the bosses. You kill two police officers and maybe there is a promotion in it for you. At first he had been cautious, only throwing his arm loosely around the corner of the van. But as the stand-off continued his courage grew and he decided to take a step to the side and get a good look at what he was firing at. It would give him a good chance to hit somebody but it had its drawbacks. Potential death, for one.

As the driver spun round, he didn't even have to focus his view before a bullet had struck him in the shoulder. One of the policemen was particularly accurate. He let out a whimper and fell backwards on to the floor. Igor turned his attention and saw his colleague fall down. He shouted out a name in Russian and slid over to him. They looked more like friends at this stage than criminals. Perhaps they were both.

Igor was whispering quietly in the ear of the driver. Were they praying? Vitali didn't know what to do. His gun was now empty but he raced over, picked up the driver's gun and sent a few shots over the bonnet of the van. Wasted shots and he knew it. He decided to save his last few.

Emma and I had been standing pressed up against the side of the van whilst all of this had been going on. We were safe, although a little shaken by proceedings (as you could imagine). This was all about to change.

Vitali charged at us and held his new gun an inch away from Emma's forehead. The movement was so quick that it took us by surprise, and she had no time to move.

'THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT!' he shouted. 'Time to die.' I had to do something. I pulled my gun from under my jumper and held it to the side of his face.

Check.

'Put the gun down. I will kill you,' I breathed quietly.

From behind me, the cold touch of steel brushed my temple and I could just see in my peripheral vision, Igor holding his weapon to my head.

'Not before I kill you,' muttered Igor.

Checkmate.

We had no way of getting out of this one. I might be able to take down one but not both. There was no way Emma and I would both get out.

'If you kill us, you will never get out of here. I can get you out of here but you leave us alone forever,' said Emma quietly. 'Our lives for your freedom. That seems fair. Or you can kill us and rot in jail for the rest of your lives. Your choice.'

There was a silence. Once again we had a small window of opportunity. They needed us one more time.

'How the hell do you get us out of this?' Igor asked, desperate for us not to be lying.

'We cause a distraction. We will walk directly to them, turning ourselves in and you get in the van and drive out. Simple.'

'Why would you turn yourself in? This is a trick!'

'How can it be?' Emma replied softly. 'We would rather be alive and face some jail time than die here today. But if you ever come within a hundred miles of us in the future...'

She left the sentence hanging in the air but we all knew exactly what she meant. I was beginning to see how brilliant she was. In times of crisis she rose out and began showing who she really was. It was incredible.

The Kozlovs thought this was a perfect plan. So what if we got arrested? They would send someone to kill us within days, whether we were in prison or free. They knew it and we knew it. But it was a start. Igor lowered his gun tentatively and I followed suit. That just left Vitali. With a grunt he did the same and soon we were all breathing a little more easily. Death was something I was getting used to being threatened with, but as far as I can tell, it never gets easier.

'Right. I'll go first. You guys get into the van and get out of here when we get in the car. They will be happy to have some of us, and my guess is they won't go after you guys before you can get away.'

Emma smiled and kissed me on the cheek before walking out slowly. This was the hardest bit. She had to convince the police she was not a threat, but walking slowly and raising your arms just gives your opponents an easier target to hit.

Emma made it a good way out into the warehouse before the speaker system was used.

'KEEP YOUR HANDS UP AND STAY WHERE YOU ARE.'

Emma kept her hands up but continued to walk towards the police car.

'DROP TO THE FLOOR AND STAY WHERE YOU ARE,' came the voice of the law.

Emma continued with her pace, arms aloft and head held high.

'EMMA STOP,' I yelled but she didn't hear me. Or if she did, she didn't listen. She continued walking as before.

'FINAL WARNING. DROP TO THE FLOOR!'

Emma, in all her beauty and glory, marched on towards the sunlight and towards the danger.

'STAY WHERE YOU ARE!'

There was no sound for a second and then...gunshots! Three insignificant bullets were fired in quick succession of each other. I screamed before I had heard the third, but it was no use. The bullets hit her square in the chest and knocked her off her feet. Emma was thrown to the floor and crumpled over, completely lifeless.

'EMMA!' I screamed, my lungs filling with air and propelling it out at full volume.

Both the Kozlovs had heard the noise and seen her fall. For a moment they said nothing staring at me; they knew what I had been through.

'Give me your gun,' I said quietly, but forcefully.

Neither of them moved.

'GIVE ME YOUR GUN!' I said again.

Igor blinked and handed over his weapon.

'Tom... what are you...'

'Get out of here when I shoot.'

'Tom... you don't have to...'

'Wait until you hear my shots!'

'Tom! We are even. You are truly a man of honour.'

Everything had gone out of focus for me. Their words meant nothing anymore. Nothing did. Behind me, I could hear them readying themselves to leave but it seemed another world away. I pulled out my gun until I held one in both hands and took a deep breath. For Emma.

I ran with full speed at the police car, crossing half the warehouse before they knew what had hit them. I was spraying bullets everywhere and destroying the car in front of me. I knew I wouldn't have many bullets left but I wouldn't stop until they stopped me. It didn't take long.

The first bullet caught me in the bicep, ripping my flesh and spinning me around. I remained on my feet but struggled to balance. Blood was swimming out of my arm and although it should have hurt, I felt nothing. I marched on with my good hand still firing before a bullet caught me straight in the stomach.

This knocked me onto my knees. I was broken. Inches away from Emma's lifeless body, I dragged myself so that I could be near her. It was impossible work but two bullets wouldn't stop me. A third did, however. The third bullet caught me square in the chest and sent me tumbling over Emma and laying there to rest.

As the third bullet had shredded through my clothes, my eyes began to close and (somewhat stereotypically) everything faded to black.

# Chapter Thirty-One

'She will always be remembered.'

Whoever said it doesn't hurt being shot if you are wearing a bullet-proof vest was talking bollocks. It doesn't help that one of the bullets missed my vest and hit me in the arm (my actual arm). Forgetting that for one second, the two that caught me in the torso hurt like hell. I don't know how people put up with it.

I remember the third hitting my chest and completely winding me. I recall feeling sick and wondering at first whether it had pierced the vest and indeed, my body. I don't know if it was the impact or the stress of the situation but it really did fade to black and I did pass-out. I have since heard that this is not uncommon and I am not a complete pansy.

Perhaps a few people would like clarification of what exactly happened and I will do my best to clear it up for you. We realised from the off that the Kozlovs would turn on us. It's in their nature and the only way we could beat them was to plan for it and work out a way around it.

When we had headed back to the apartment I had discussed a plan with Jack. Yes, you may have guessed that Jack was one of the policemen shooting at us. In fact, Jack was the idiot who shot me in the arm. Nobhead! But I am getting ahead of myself.

Jack came round to the apartment quickly, having managed to get hold of some vests (of the bullet-proof variety). They were a pretty tight fit but it was important you couldn't see it under our clothes. With my black jacket on you would never have been able to tell. If anything, I looked like I was bulking up. We had pulled off the 'fifth vase job' (I'll come up with a better name later) wearing these vests and, after a while, you get used to it. They are incredibly thin nowadays and most people wear them hoping they won't be hit (unlike us).

Straight away we had headed out to do the job and Jack had gone to work, readying himself. We had given him the address of the warehouse and arranged that he had to be there at exactly five minutes past twelve. Jack already had a police car, and knew people in London where he could get the vests from, but he didn't want to involve anyone else in our business. We had to make it appear that the police were involved but if the real police turned up, Emma and I were going to be questioned...and those answers would definitely lead to long jail sentences. The idea was for Jack to come alone.

I wasn't happy about it, but he insisted. It was incredibly dangerous but Jack had at least been allowed time to get the full bullet-proof clothing on and plan what guns to use. He was good at his job and he was pretty certain he would be fine. I hoped he knew what he was doing. Jack had wanted to help as much as possible from the beginning and I had managed to restrict his involvement to an administrative role so far. This time I couldn't help but admit I needed his assistance.

What happened next I've only learnt since the event; Jack had to fill me in on the details. He'd decided to use our old apartment as a base as it was nearer to the warehouse and he knew where it was. I gave him a set of keys and sent him on his way.

I don't know whether he'd planned it, or if it just came to him on the spot, but Jack decided he needed another police officer. On the surface it would look more realistic; how many policemen turn up to a shoot-out with the Kozlovs alone? At least with two it would look a little more realistic. But who could he ask? There was no way he was going to endanger Rachel; she wasn't with him anyway and was still oblivious to the fact that he was even involved. Rach didn't even know the Kozlovs existed and Jack would have had no time to bring her up to speed. As much as she loved me, there is no way she would have allowed Jack to do it. The only way for us to succeed was for her to be left in the dark.

So who did that leave? The only people he knew in London were Emma, me and a few police officers. I'd already made him swear not to involve any other members of the law for reasons we have already discussed; we just couldn't risk it.

It must have happened by chance but as he walked into our apartment building he found his second 'police officer'. Any ideas? I realise that I can't hear what you're saying but I like to assume that people reading this are of a decent level of intellect (not that the book requires it).

It was Sophie. By all accounts she bumped into Jack as he entered the building and instantly recognised him. We had spent several enjoyable evenings drinking and eating far too much in the company of Jack, Rachel, Sophie and occasionally her scumbag ex-boyfriend. I would go as far as to say Jack and Sophie were friends.

Sophie had been worried about us and in particular, me. Seeing Jack spurred her into question-mode. He had tried to palm her off with a few non-committal answers but she wasn't having any of it and before he knew it, they were sharing a cup of tea and discussing my plight. I think Jack must have been worried about what he was going to have to do (why wouldn't he?). Sophie has a calm, soothing effect on everyone and Jack soon found himself spilling out everything to her. He understood she already knew some of it and the pressure of hiding everything from Rachel must have been enormous. I don't blame him. But what happened next was unexpected, even for him.

As Jack turned to leave, Sophie stood, drew up all her strength and informed him that, in no uncertain terms, she would be accompanying him and helping out. I can imagine Jack protesting forcefully but I knew the inner-strength Sophie had and after compromising to certain rules, she was on board. I would have paid to see Jack's face as he realised he was running out of time and would have to take her.

Sophie was given a gun with blank bullets in it. The whole plan fell down if I wasn't shot neatly in the abdomen and as much as I loved Sophie, I wouldn't trust her shooting as far as I could throw her. In fact, I think I would be more accurate throwing a person at a target than Sophie would be with a gun.

Jack wanted to look after her and covered her in all manner of protective clothing. She was bulked out so much wearing two bullet-proof vests as well as a helmet, and all the time she was positioned behind Jack. He was covered in protective clothing and unlike Sophie, he was incredibly accurate with a weapon (normally). He would be doing the shooting and Sophie would only be there to look like reinforcements.

So that was how we set up our escape. Jack arrived a tiny bit late but played his part perfectly. Sophie was forced out of the car into a safe position behind him and he used his training to keep the Kozlovs at bay. His movement was incredible; never staying in the same place for too long, never showing himself for more than a few seconds. It was a pretty good plan, if I say so myself and whilst a better mind might have been able to come up with a safer way to extricate ourselves, it worked and we are still alive.

You might ask how we could trust that Jack would hit us perfectly. Well the truth is, that's all we could do. We were definitely going to die if we didn't try this so anything was better than nothing. Also, I trusted Jack more than anyone and if he said he could do it, I believed him. Emma went first. This was deliberate. The Kozlovs may have hated me but it was Emma who they had the real problem with. If she was seen to be dead, they would care less about a guy like me. In a way, knowing what I had put myself through to save her, they would almost feel sympathy for what I had lost (if they had hearts that is).

I had to watch whilst Emma walked out, knowing she was about to take a bullet. She played her part to perfection and ignored all the shouting. This added a dramatic touch to it as if she had some great plan which ultimately failed. That is the kind of thing a girl like Emma would have done, if the police car had been a real one. I watched carefully and saw the bullet hit her midriff. I knew she would be fine, but if I hadn't, her performance would have convinced me otherwise. Something told me she had done this before.

Then eventually it was my turn. I felt a little better knowing Jack had done it perfectly once but this time it would be harder. I had to pretend this officer had just killed my wife. I had to be angry and I would want revenge. So, using two guns, I charged at the car, making sure to aim the bullets well away from where I knew the two passengers to be. Maybe it was the distraction of me firing at him but Jack misaimed slightly. The first bullet lodged itself deep into my arm.

I will never be able to describe the pain I felt. Not at the time, but as I came to. There was a bullet (an actual bullet) in my arm and I had lost a considerable amount of blood. I don't remember much about how it felt but I think the overriding feeling I had was shock. Your brain cannot comprehend what has just happened, which is why in movies the bad guy always looks down at his wound, completely shell-shocked. I remember thinking, 'this isn't part of the plan,' but I was so determined to finish my role that I marched on and allowed Jack a second and third attempt. Those were much better placed, although I would have a couple of dark bruises for weeks to come.

So as I lay, slowing losing a full round of pints out of my arm, I felt nothing but peace. I hoped it wasn't because I was dying of blood-loss but more because, if it looked as convincing as I had thought, Emma and I were free.

'But what happened next?' I hear you cry. I must stop talking to the audience, I realise just how annoying it can be.

Things worked out better than one could have imagined. Jack used his incredible foresight to call in the van's registration number before the shooting had begun. As the third bullet sunk into my vest, the van began moving and the Kozlovs had made a break for it. The police had been given this head-start by Jack and were in position to capture them, less than half a mile away. Jack followed on and was on sight at the arrest. Sophie stayed and helped Emma up, whilst phoning an ambulance for me.

Jack had taken the police car away and Sophie changed out of her clothes to look just like a passerby. Emma didn't want to leave but couldn't be caught up in any of this and so she disappeared and headed to the hospital, waiting for my arrival. Sophie would just pose as someone who heard the noise and phoned an ambulance. She disappeared when the paramedics were busying themselves with me, taking the vest she had slipped off me. To anyone I would just look like a guy who got caught up with the Kozlovs. I would profess innocence and ignorance and be released as soon as my arm had stopped leaking.

So things worked out pretty great. Emma disappeared and was back to being Emma Sharpe. There was no evidence on her and she was completely in the clear. My arm was patched up and although my days of body building may be behind me, it worked absolutely fine. If anything, I thought the sling made me look rugged and manly. Jack had managed to create a back story where he heard about the Kozlovs and decided to investigate it himself. He was bound to get a wrist-slap for not following procedures but it wouldn't matter. He was a hero! Not only was he responsible for bringing down two of the most dangerous men in the world but he had found the five ewers intact and returned them to the Chinese authorities. It was rumoured he was going to receive every award possible in the police force and be used as an example for anyone. Life was great and the Chinese government were not short in rewarding Jack for returning their items of extreme national importance.

Emma and I were together at last. Jack was the new golden boy and the Kozlovs would spend several lifetimes, rotting in a cell. Things couldn't be any better.

*****

The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes in hospital was Emma. If I had my way, she would be the first thing I saw every time I opened my eyes. Eventually the bustle of nurses disappeared and we were alone. She looked so concerned but beautiful at the same time.

'How are you feeling?' she posed quietly.

'Did they get the Kozlovs?' I asked as my eyes adjusted to light. There was a throbbing pain in my arm, but I had expected it to feel worse. I must have been on some sort of painkillers.

'Yeah, Jack just texted me. It's over. Sophie and Jack are on their way now.'

I settled back and breathed a deep sigh of relief. Looking at Emma though, she did not seem so relaxed.

'What's wrong?'

She looked down at me and smiled sadly. Things were not right.

'It's nothing,' she said unconvincingly.

'We just pulled off one of the most incredible things in the history of amazingness. You don't look that happy about it.'

'Of course I am... it's just...'

'What?'

'This is all my fault. Everything you have been through is because of me. You got shot because of me. The girl you met and fell in love with isn't real. She is gone.'

I smiled at her.

'She will always be remembered,' I whispered softly at her. 'There are lots I don't know about you but there are billions of things I do know. And the truth is I am not the man you fell in love with. This experience has changed me completely but one thing will never change: I love you and we will figure the rest of it out.'

'How?'

'We get to know each other. From the beginning.'

She gave me the kind of smile that told me everything was going to be alright. I loved that smile.

'Hi, I'm Tom.' I held out my hand and waited for her to take it. She laughed and shook it gently.

'Hi I'm Emma. Emma Heath.'

'Nice to meet you, Emma Heath.'

# Chapter Thirty-Two

'...and how does that make you feel?'

Some things never change. England always loses at football, it always rains on your birthday and the office of Dr Veronica Davies will always be perfectly tidy. I sat, drumming my fingers on the side of the sofa, in my traditional fashion. Emma was squeezed in next to me, resting her hand softly on my thigh. Veronica cast her stern stare over both of us, trying her best to understand our situation.

Things were great between the two of us but Emma didn't want to take any risks, so off we went to see a counselor, just to keep things on track after the history we had shared. I said that I knew someone.

Obviously, we had to keep most of what had happened a secret but I phoned her and told her that we had found each other again so had decided to give it another go. Veronica was respectful of our decision to keep some things private but she did allow the two of us to get anything off our chests in an expensive, uncomfortable environment. It was a waste of time in my opinion because things were going wonderfully but Emma pointed out that things may have been going so well because we had counselling.

After a strong discussion we had decided that this would be our last session before we went on our own way. Today the topic of discussion was: Previous lovers. Fantastic.

Emma had just finished explaining that she had spent a year travelling the world with an Italian who was older than she was.

'...and how does that make you feel?' Veronica asked, aiming it at me.

'Well... I guess it matters whether you were in love with him... doesn't it?'

'Does it?' asked Dr Davies, cryptically.

'Doesn't it?'

'You tell me.'

'Well I think it is important... right?'

'Is it?'

'I don't know?'

'You tell me.'

For fuck's sake.

The session continued largely along those lines. Veronica was being even more confusing than usual. Emma assured me that she had never loved anyone else and I convinced her of the same. It wasn't hard to convince her of that as I'd never had a relationship that lasted more than six weeks.

I glanced up at the clock and could see we had less than fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes left of time with Dr Davies... ever, I hoped. It was strange to think about it. Since I had first met her she had always been an option for me; I couldn't deny how much she had helped, no matter how much I had resisted. She had been there for me (although you would expect that at the prices she charged). I had been dependant on her and something told me in the rest of my life there would be situations I would want to talk to Dr Veronica Davies about. Eventually Emma and I had talked ourselves hoarse and it was time for Veronica to sum it all up.

'It seems to me...' she began quietly. '...you two have an...interesting relationship. Clearly things have been hidden in the past and the only way to maintain a healthy relationship is for that to change. Honesty is the only way forward. But, there is no doubt in my mind that you two love each other very much and belong together. Remember that and you won't go too far wrong.'

I looked at her and then turned to smile at Emma. She was right. I had known this since the moment Emma disappeared. Yes, there were things we needed to know about one another and I had concerns whether I would ever know everything about her, but we were in love and that would be enough.

'Thanks Dr Da... Veronica,' I said slowly, standing up and shaking her hand warmly. I owed a lot to her and I wasn't going to forget it. She smiled back in a friendly way and I realised I had never seen her look happy... or even smile. Emma thanked her and we walked out hand in hand.

'So what do we do now?' Emma asked.

'Well, now we have to pay at reception...'

'No, I mean... Now. What do we do now?' she whispered softly, trying to find the path for our future.

'Well... I love you, do you love me?'

'Yes.'

'So it makes sense to love each other for the rest of our lives, right?'

'Right.'

'Well, in that case...' I pulled out a ring and knelt down on one knee, the way I had all those years before.

'So, marry me... again... properly!'

*****

Weddings are a painful experience to organise, especially if you are a man. I think it gives you an idea of the extent of my love for her that I was willing to go through it again. After celebrating, we realised the logistical nightmare that getting married again would cause. All of my family were unaware yet that I had found Emma and, while telling them the truth was out of the question, we had to come up with a reason why she had disappeared and why I had forgiven her so easily. I may have been willing to forgive and forget, but my mum certainly wouldn't. Speaking of family...

'Who are those people... were they you're parents? You know, we went round for dinner every other week?'

Emma looked up at me sadly.

'They are... friends. Old friends that I've known for years. They are like parents to me but they aren't my mum and dad. My parents are dead.'

She said it so softly, but it was still clear how deeply those words cut her.

'They died when I was ten. Car-crash. The people you knew took me in and helped raise me. They were... involved.'

'Involved' meant part of the criminal world although I was beginning to realise that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. Life, I was starting to understand, was not always black and white.

'I'm so sorry,' I whispered and wrapped my arm around her shoulder. 'I went to see them after you left and they weren't there.'

'I know. I sent them a message. A sort of SOS. We have a system and they would have gone to ground. We won't be seeing them for a while. One day, they will find us, wherever we are.'

'I hope so. They're good people,' I replied.

Eventually the plan was set. We still had plenty of Emma's money left over and whilst we had agreed to refrain from anymore criminal activities, we both agreed that there would be no harm in spending the money that remained. Family would ask too many questions but there were a few close, loved ones that knew the truth. Two weeks after being shot, we were on a private jet, sipping champagne in the company of Sophie, Jack and Rachel.

Jack had told Rachel everything and although she had been furious for a little while that she had been left out, she understood why he'd been so protective. She was proud of the man he was. We all were (he was a hero, don't you know). It cost a fortune to hire the plane but, being alone with our friends, in an environment where we could be honest and open about everything we went through was incredible. We had hours to talk, drink and laugh. After all, St Lucia was miles away.

There were no stones left unturned as we discussed everything.

'What happened to you Ems?' asked Rachel. 'I mean, how did it start?'

'Well, you know I pissed off the Kozlovs? I was coming back from work and they jumped me. I didn't even see them coming. All I remember was walking and then darkness. I got knocked out from behind, I guess. Next thing I know, I woke up in Parlour Street.'

'Then what?'

'It was pretty horrible. They basically said if I didn't do everything exactly as they wanted they would kill Tom. As I like him, a little, I didn't really have a choice.'

It was hard to hear but I wanted to know. I had always wondered this but didn't want to bring it up with her, in case it was too traumatic or something. Not for Emma though, she was solid as a rock.

'So they gave me two hours to get some stuff and leave a note. I knew they would check everything and so I had to think on my feet and use the lockers. I knew Tom would be smart enough to work it out.'

I blushed a little, perhaps with embarrassment. It shouldn't have taken me as long as it did to find it. I felt like an idiot.

'And for the next few weeks I was kept like a prisoner in the house. Any attempts to communicate with Tom and both of us were dead. Any activities that weren't planning a job or actually doing one were banned under threat of death. It was pretty horrible.'

I had a question I needed to know the answer to. 'Did they hurt you?'

'Not at all. One of the Russian guys with them was a bit rough with me once and I broke his nose so out of respect they kept their distance. As long as I did what I was told there was no reason for anything to go wrong.'

'Were you scared?' asked Rachel.

'Of course, but I was just praying Tom was in the Bahamas somewhere, out of danger. I didn't expect him to turn up the way he did.'

Emma recounted the tale of the way I had walked, portraying me in a very good light, before asking me to explain exactly what happened at the Dorchester that night. I did, making sure to miss out how nervous I had felt and just explain the facts (with a few embellishments). Time passed by amicably as they all listened in silent awe to what I had done.

'You're a fucking idiot, but you are one brave bastard,' summed up Jack. That was probably a fair character assessment.

Eventually most of the questions were answered. There was just one huge gaping hole I could think of. Before I could ask it, Sophie beat me to it.

'So explain to me why you were always at 'Raynmer and Steins' if you didn't work there. What did you do all that time?'

'Yeah,' I added, pointlessly.

Emma smiled mischievously at us before laughing.

'That is a good question. You see, when I met Tom, I panicked and when you asked me what I did, I couldn't very well say I was a professional con-artist so I said...'

'A trainee lawyer,' I finished for her.

'Exactly, so then you actually liked me and I fell in love, I only had the time we were in Mallorca to create this whole life back in London. I had a flat in London and was planning to move there anyway so it made sense...'

'You didn't live in London beforehand?' I exclaimed.

'Not properly, so I found a respectable law firm nearby and decided to tell you that was where I was working, whilst I carried on stealing. Except, I soon realised that I didn't want that life anymore, I wanted to be an honest citizen. But it wasn't that easy because you started driving me to work or meeting me for lunch so I had to keep pretending I worked there.'

'So how did you get past the security guards and reception?' Jack asked.

She gave him a pitying look. 'Please. It's what I do.' We all laughed. I had seen Emma in action and she could do anything she pleased.

'That wasn't the hard part, but it was difficult once I was inside. I had to find a way of getting in and out to look convincing so I found an office which had a fire escape and a big safe and conned the cleaning staff that the management wanted it used as storage. It was easy really. The bosses never communicate with the cleaning staff and the cleaners will do what they think head office tells them to, so before long I had a base to work from. I could come and go from the fire escape as much as I pleased.'

'So did you need to go past the security guards?'

'Probably not, but I enjoyed the challenge,' she smiled.

'OK, so I get why you were in there but what did you do every day for years?'

'I started a business. I used some of my 'money' to set up a little cafe around the corner and ran a properly honest company. I hired a manager and everything so I could just pop in when I wanted to and whenever you asked to meet up for lunch I would go back through the fire escape and back down the stairs.'

'Are you serious? Why didn't you just tell me you had left being a lawyer to work in the cafe... which cafe by the way?' I asked. I guess it didn't really matter, but all the lies... it was still hard to take in.

'I wanted to but how could I? Give up a law degree and where did I get the money to start a cafe? Too many questions. That was the only time I used my money, I swear, until I gave it to you. It's a little place called 'Sweet Tooth' just off Harper Street.'

I wasn't angry. We had been through too much together to let this upset me but it was a shock. All this time she had set up a small, successful cafe and worked honestly amid her world of lies and crime. I was almost proud of her.

'I know 'Sweet Tooth!' shouted Sophie. 'I've been there loads, it's great. What if I had seen you?'

'It was a worry; everything was. I was going to tell you all, I promise.' Tears began filling her eyes. I imagine the weight of all of her lies finally coming off her shoulders must have felt amazing. It was all too much for her and I held her tight until the tears stopped.

'It's alright darling, everything is fine. Is there anything else you want to tell us?'

She looked exhausted but was happy to be sharing.

'Not today.'

# Chapter Thirty-Three

'I bought the wrong teabags; can you believe it?'

Things settled down after the wedding. We held the ceremony on a beach in St Lucia and I made sure this one was legitimate. I know it sounds like a cliché but life really does go on and three months after the wedding, things were remarkably like they had been after our 'first' wedding.

We bought a new flat in a nicer area with three bedrooms. Enough room for guests to stay or perhaps a... baby? We hadn't started trying yet but it was something we were definitely discussing. The new place was fairly spacious for London and the compromise had been that it was in need of some serious renovation. We had taken a month off together and then Emma returned to the cafe part-time, making sure it would continue being successful. We still had plenty of money and I decided to take a few months off to decide what career I wanted and to fix up our new place. It was only a ten minute walk from our old place and Sophie often walked round and helped me with the decorating. After three months we were well on our way to completing it.

I began procrastinating, if I am honest. I realised as soon as the home was made homey, I would have to plot out a future for myself. But what could I do? The only thing I was qualified in was accounting and right now I would rather be locked in a cell with the Kozlovs than go back into accounting. I doubted that Hamilton's would give me a glowing reference after the way I had quit.

There was something else too. I had changed. This whole experience had been a wild journey and one that had altered everything I believed in forever. How could I go back to normality? What was normal? I was just getting used to death threats and difficult con-jobs and whilst I didn't miss having a gun pressed to my head, I did miss feeling... alive.

I wanted to deny how I was feeling but it was the truth. Living without Emma had been the worst experience of my life (and I don't miss a second of that!) but when I found her and what we had to achieve became apparent, it did change me. It was terrifying and horrendous at times, but it was exhilarating. After a while you get to need the rush; the hit of adrenaline. I understood how easy it was to fall into a life of crime now. All you have to do is stumble upon the lifestyle; if you succeed at it, why would you want to stop? Apart from the whole moral aspect of stealing of course.

It wasn't just me who was struggling. Emma was twitchy; I could tell. Something had woken up inside her and although the relief was enormous, the mundane swing of civilian life was stressing her. There would be days of total bliss and then there would be others where nothing I could do would be enough. I would never describe it as 'trouble in paradise' but things weren't perfect. Maybe when the house was finished or when we got pregnant... then it would be enough.

I actually caught myself saying the sentence, 'I bought the wrong teabags; can you believe it?' Emma didn't say anything but she would have been fully entitled to punch me in the face. It is not exactly the most unbelievable story ever, especially after what we had been through recently. It was barely worth mentioning. Scratch that, it was definitely not worth mentioning. Something had to change. Who even has the right type of tea? I'll tell you who: old pensioners. Not young, trendy people in their twenties.

*****

One Sunday afternoon we were resting after a particularly exerting walk and reading the papers. It was nice. Emma had brought some cake back from the cafe and we were content to make our way through both that and the papers. Emma had the main body of it, whilst I was chewing threw the sports (not literally).

'Are you finished with yours?' I asked, through a mouthful of carrot cake.

'Yep,' she replied, tossing me the paper. 'I'm going for a bath. Give me a few minutes then you can join me if you like?'

'I'll be there.'

She disappeared and I began leafing through the news. The usual catalogue of war and political bullshit fell out and I skimmed past it looking for something to capture my imagination. Towards the back of the paper something caught my eye.

It was a large red circle surrounding a particular news story. The red was added recently as it was not yet dry. Emma had done it to draw my attention to it. I smiled and pulled it closer to focus my eyes. It read:

HIDDEN TREASURE UNVEILED IN MEXICO TODAY

The world's largest collection of Incan gold will be put on display next week for the first time in Mexico City. Found two months ago by a team of archaeologists, it has been lovingly restored to perfect condition. The collection, considered to be worth well over $100 million, is now the largest known group of Incan gold and artwork in the world.

I flicked through the rest of the article but couldn't take my eyes off the first paragraph. Why had Emma circled it? As a joke? Unlikely. I knew exactly why she had drawn my attention to it. She felt the same way I did inside. I tore out the article and toyed with it in my hand for a second while I thought.

Well, I guess we could...

I've never been to Mexico.

THE END

### About the Author

### I know the trendy thing to do is to write this section in the third person, but I find it cringe-worthy and will just try to let you know a little bit about myself. I was born in Rugby in the summer of 1989. If I'm honest I don't remember too much of Rugby; I'm sure it was nice and I have fond memories of certain events but when I was eight I moved to Warwick, which I consider to be my hometown. I'll be twenty-five this year and I've still not fallen out of love with the place.

### My family are hugely important in my life, as I hope is the case with most people. My parents are both loving, supportive and exceedingly generous. Their guidance means the world to me. My sister, Gemma, lives up in Yorkshire now, but still plays a humongous part in making sure this book isn't full of errors. She would give up her free time to help at a drop of a hat, and I owe her a great deal for that.

### Writing has always been a passion of mine. There are pictures of me reading books and writing stories when I was so small, holding a pencil seemed like a lot of work. It never became a conscious thought of something I wanted to pursue at school. It was just something I did. A lot.

### I've done every manner of jobs from working in shops, to running tennis clubs and teaching in schools. Each one I have enjoyed and had some success at but there was never any passion there, certainly not in the way that writing offers. When I turned twenty I decided I wanted to take this seriously and began researching and writing different ideas. I don't remember exactly when but this storyline came to me almost completely formed.

### The book was almost not written several times. There would be days where I loved every line and others when my self-doubt would get the better of me and I wondered if it was any good. If you enjoyed the book you have my wife to thank for that. Alice is one of the true angels on this planet. She discovered my abandoned manuscript, read it and was determined I should finish it. Without her, I wouldn't be writing this now!

### As I just mentioned, I am happily married and loving living in a small village with Alice and our (daughter substitute) dog, Bella. Her family (which are now mine and have been for seven years) are truly amazing people, all of whom want me to succeed even more than I do!

### I truly hope you enjoyed the book and please check out the sequel, this summer! I think you're going to love it.

### Someone once asked me what my favourite thing to do was. I ran through the whole list of my hobbies, from football to tennis and many more but the only thing I want to do is create. Being creative is what makes humans so unique and if I can look back on my life and see a large body of work that I've created and am proud of, I can die very happily.

Anyway, that is me. Watch this space as I continue to grow. Don't forget to find me on facebook (www.facebook.com/chrisdohertywriter) or twitter (@cdohertywriter). I look forward to talking to you!

### THE PURSUIT OF PERFECTION

### A year has passed since Tom found Emma, and what a year it has been. With no more lies to hold them back, they are free to be a real couple at last. Just when they decide the time for settling down and having a family has reached them, they are dragged back into the world they are so desperate to get out from.

### They are forced to enter the most difficult of all challenges, 'the Pursuit of Perfection' to protect someone they hold dear. Entering means certain danger, terror and a roller coaster of emotions. But what other choice do they have? When you love someone, you do whatever it takes.

### OUT NOW!

### @cdohertywriter

###  www.facebook.com/chrisdohertywriter
