There was something distinctly untrustworthy about the dynamics of the blades and their flimsiness in the face of the slightest gust of wind and covering of grey cloud. The Lake District had both, in spades. He knew that the only reason his associate for the weekend chose to be transported in one, was status. Helipads sounded respectable and impressive. To Donald, though, they rang alarm bells in his head.

He’d flown in enough of them to know. He closed his eyes and said a silent prayer, as he always did before he flew. He’d checked the credentials of the two-man crew, who were both ex-RAF, and they were, as expected, exemplary. However, his sensible brain kept throwing up grave uncertainty, warning him of impending doom. Only Bart could convince him to climb inside a damn metal box that was about to defy logical mathematics, because he had a way about him like that. And Donald had to admit that he was grateful to his friend. Over the weekend, he’d been more than generous. Donald had reached the conclusion that, due to Bart’s wealth and confidence, the chances of him chartering a poorly maintained vehicle were slim. He even smiled at his paranoia.

He glanced over at the house which had been his home for three days, and marvelled at the grandeur. All weekend, he’d been treated to a steady stream of the things in life that were the preserve of the rich and powerful. Bart never disappointed. A flicker of guilt wafted through his mind, as if fluttering into the ’copter on the wind, and he thought of his wife and two children, who were technically adults now, for the first time all weekend. He hadn’t had them on his mind last night when his friend had served up the entertainment just over the lawn there, in the private rooms of Laurie Fell House. But he reassured himself that his movements were protected and Bart’s network watertight. It had to be. As a member of the government, Donald had a duty of care to the nation as, at the very least, an example to them. But that was the fundamental attraction of breaking the law: it was intoxicating and addictive because it was risky.

The jitters hit him once more, as thoughts of betraying his wife and children deserted him. His mind was cast back to his nerves, and again he saw himself facing certain death in an entirely unreliable invention of humanity. The helicopter. He reached for his diazepam, prescribed by his private doctor in Mayfair. That, and the substances he’d imbibed last night, should do the trick, but his hands still shook.