The sound of a classic Ferrari’s engine starting was more beautiful than any music to Clive’s ears. It was a sound that touched his heart and soul. Poetry in motion. But the engine noise resonating around the steel walls of this shed had little of that music. Just like the smell of the Ferrari’s interior, the engine noise was also not quite right. He stood behind, waving the car down the ramp, watching the wheels, the tyres. The way the car sank on its haunches as the rear wheels reached the concrete floor.

He walked around the car, having to force himself to focus on his task and not simply be blown away by its sheer animal beauty. Yet the more he looked at it, the more something else did not seem right. He guided the driver, smiling pleasantly all the way, along the shed and over to the left onto the weighing platform built into the floor. He made the driver back up, move over further to the left, go forward, reverse again then stop and get out of the car.

Clive looked at the readout. And his excitement began to rise. He had checked earlier, when he’d received the manifest, the kerb weight of a proper 1962 Ferrari 250 SWB. It should be 950 kilograms.

This car weighed 1,110 kilograms.

Why?

Many classic cars were rebuilt, or even faked from new, some using chassis numbers from written-off wrecks while other rogues brazenly copied existing numbers. And not always with the original expensive metals. Some were rebuilt for an altogether very different purpose. Was he looking at one now?

In a few minutes he would find out.

He walked over to the driver’s side of the Ferrari, smiling, giving the impression that everything was OK. Instantly, he could see the change in the driver’s demeanour.

Mickey smiled back, relief surging through him. Got away with it! Got away with it! Yesssss!

He was so gleeful that he wanted to text Stuie. He would be with him in a little over an hour, on the empty roads at this time of morning. But he decided to wait until he was well clear, to get out of here as fast as he could in case the officer had a change of mind.

Then the Border Force officer stepped up. ‘Just before you go on your way, sir, I’m going to have my colleague drive it through the X-ray gantry.’

Mickey felt a cold flush in his stomach. Be calm, deep breath, smile.

Clive Johnson stood in front of the X-ray’s monitor, watching as the vehicle was driven through the scanner, until he had the completed black-and-white image. Almost immediately, he could see an anomaly: the tyres should have been hollow, filled with air as all tyres normally were. Instead, the scanner showed they were solid.