In the gym, in the basement of the building, Gary mused on the likely events of the next few days. Sweat poured off his brow as he pulled at the steel oars on the rowing machine. There were people watching Mr Tan in Shanghai and others watching him in Beijing. Being a diplomat he shuttled between the two cities.

The prospect of catching his quarry with the currency did give Gary a frisson of excitement. It was all a bit Boys Own Paper for the twenty-first century. Most smuggling operations today involved internet fraud, numbers on screens being shifted between accounts, and it was the Serious Fraud Office and Customs and Excise who took charge. But the diplomatic post held by Mr Tan meant MI5 involvement, which was why Gary was on the case.

He showered and changed, then went back upstairs to his desk, flipping through the Independent and the Guardian while working his way through a wholemeal BLT sandwich and a cappuccino.

His mind drifted back to the Friday night dominoes and Tiger’s suggestion that they form a secret society. He could not help but smile. If only they knew.

Then, in the business section of the Independent, his eye lighted on an article about the performance of an ever-expanding chain of Chinese restaurants. It seemed that while everyone else’s profits were dwindling, they were celebrating the opening of yet another of their successful eateries under the banner of the ‘Red Dragon’.

Gary looked at the caption below the photo and felt a dart of tension run through his body. The new restaurant was in Winchester, and standing next to the owner of this particular franchise, smiling broadly at the camera, was Mr Tan. The devil on his doorstep.

Chapter 3

My wife, who, poor wretch, is troubled with her lonely life.

Diary, 19 December 1662, Samuel Pepys, 1633–1703

The roar of the engines intensified as Tiger raised the collective to increase power. The helicopter rose gently into the hover. His feet on the pedals held the aircraft level, and at fifteen feet he eased the stick forward and powered away into the blue. A moment to savour; always.

His passenger grabbed at the handle above his head as the helicopter surged forward with its nose tipping downwards.

Tiger grinned. ‘It’s no use hanging on to that, it’s coming with us.’

The passenger–a dyspeptic-looking businessman en route for the City Airport–gave a wan smile and let go of the handle as the craft levelled out, checking nervously to see that the briefcase he had put on the rear seat was also still with them.