Ramos had given up his own hiding place and Paz’s men set about hacking up the wooden floorboards in the apartment. Before long, the cloth bags came into view. One by one they were carefully emptied onto the floor to be scrutinised. It seemed perverse to the men that they weren’t allowed to stuff their pockets full of cash and gemstones. Instead, the hunt for the contents of Box 1321 was all that mattered to their obsessed boss. In truth, they were far too scared of the Black Scorpion to even consider risking disobeying his instructions.

Occasionally, they would come across some loose documents or folders that would immediately be handed over to their boss for scrutiny. He was the only person in the room who knew specifically what they were searching for and his frustration grew as, yet again, they were facing another failure.

His men worked tirelessly and, after two hours, there was only one bag left to sort through. It was awkwardly jammed underneath the far corner of the kitchen floor by a couple of stubborn pine floorboards. Using a large carpentry hammer from Ramos’s own toolbox, one of Paz’s men began ruthlessly smashing through the wooden barrier and, after a brief attack, he managed to free the final cloth bag.

The persistent banging noises eventually woke up the old lady who lived directly above Ramos’s basement flat. Martina Soto was an elderly widow who had lived in the housing development for over thirty years. She kept herself to herself and had very little to do with her neighbours. Ramos had lived beneath her for almost a decade and, in all that time, they had only spoken twice. She leaned across the bed and glanced at the clock on her bedside table. It was five in the morning and something was clearly wrong. As well as the banging, she was sure she could detect a number of different male voices emanating from the flat below. She reached for the phone and dialled 101.

Paz was kneeling on the floor, desperately clawing through the final bag. Yet again he was thwarted, as there was no sign of the contents of Franklin’s box. He was about to ask his men to recheck everything one more time when his earpiece broke into life.

“Boss, a police car has just pulled up outside. Two cops are heading your way.”

One of Paz’s men, Thiago Rivas, was positioned outside the front of the building in a black transit and he watched as two police officers made their way towards the front entrance of the housing estate. Ramos’s flat had a tiny backyard that was accessed from the kitchen door.

Paz and his men headed for the only exit left to them and climbed over the wall, which led directly on to a small side street. He screamed down his wrist mic, “Thiago, swing the transit around to the back of the estate.”