‘Shit, Faber, if your package was in Fallujah I could extract it.’

Faber licked his lips. Extract. He liked that bit of military.

‘It begins with an F, but it ain’t Fallujah.’

Ten minutes later, Faber had Deacon’s computer on his knee and was scrolling my file.

‘Kee-rist almighty, Daniel. This reads good. You kill anyone over there?’

‘Only the ones that died. What’s in this for me, Faber? If I’m gonna be a criminal, I might as well get paid.’

I figured if anyone could understand greed, it would be a lawyer.

‘You get my package and I’ll give you fifty grand plus your life back.’

He was lying and we both knew it; what we didn’t know was if the other person knew we knew it.

What are you, six?

‘Okay, Faber. You got a deal. Cut me loose and give me the details.’

Faber called one of his boys over, gave him a set of keys and a few whispered instructions.

‘Not just yet, Daniel. I need to make an impression on you first. Show you what a dead serious kinda guy I am. One more taste of electromuscular disruption should do it.’

The house I’m watching is straight out of the opening credits of a suburban sitcom. According to what TV tells us, there should be an overweight dad, a foxy mom, couple of smartarse kids and maybe an in-law down the basement. Work in a couple of catchphrases, like sheesh, Ma or none of you people get me and next thing you know it’s season nine and DVD box sets are topping the charts.

This is the last place you’d expect to find a steroid lab. Nevertheless, according to Faber, this is exactly where I will find one.

‘And a lotta security,’ he said. ‘State of the art. These guys don’t skimp.’

Faber is not risking any of his guys on this run, so I’m on my own. No fake police backup. A pity, as according to Faber, Goran had put together quite the strike force. Pro-bars, oneman battering rams, the whole kit and caboodle.

‘Think of it as a test, Daniel. You bring home the goods and maybe next time I let you take out some of the boys.’

I should call the FBI, that’s what I should do. But once the Feds become involved, the best-case scenario is I live out my days in witness protection; the worst-case is Deacon freezes and I get life without parole. So maybe I put Newark on speed dial, but I don’t push the button just yet.

Newark on speed dial? Your thoughts are beginning to sound American.

Zeb is right. I’ve been here too long. I need a pint of Guinness that’s taken five minutes to pour, and a date with a freckled redhead.