He thought of what Alan had told him that morning. So Georgio was a beast. Big deal. What the fuck did he care about that? Alan Cox should have done a stint in Viet Nam, where the children were used to carry weapons and messages, and blow up fucking roads. They weren’t just used for sex out there, mate. They weren’t children in the European sense of the word, they were tiny old men and women, advanced enough at seven to barter their services. Old enough at eight to sell a sibling.

He shook his head in wonderment at the world and the people in it. Alan Cox was like a big tart. Imagine expecting him to give up the chance of forty grand over a few kids! It was laughable. And as for insinuating that maybe Georgio wasn’t such a good payer of debts, maybe he wasn’t, but he’d pay Eric out all right. Because if he didn’t Eric would haunt him until he did, and Georgio knew that. Anyone who knew Eric knew that.

He’d slit a throat for the price of a pack of fags if he was skint enough. That’s why he was where he was; that’s why he was called on by villains, terrorists and the like. He had no scruples and didn’t see the sense in gaining any at this late stage. Let Brunos carry on beasting when he got out, that was none of his business. All Eric knew was that once Georgio was out, he would be paid out in full. He would see to that himself.

His mobile phone rang and he answered it.

‘Yeah?’

He listened for a few seconds.

‘OK, Jonnie, make the break. See that the vehicles are ready and able in one hour from now. I’ll ring when I’m on my way.’

He turned off the phone and went back to his contemplation of what he would do with his forty grand.

First on the agenda was a little Somali woman he’d had his eye on for a while. With forty grand tucked away, he could buy her, her sisters, and the whole village if he wanted to. But she would do for starters.

He needed a holiday, and had always liked the anonymity of Africa. It was like his second home. He smiled as he thought that. In reality, it was his only home.

You could get lost in Africa. You could buy anything and live out there for a pittance, and live well. He had worked for most juntas, been involved in enough coups to write a handbook about them, and he had enjoyed every second of it.

Yes, Somalia would be his first stop, then he might even take a trip to see one of his wives.

South America was always good for a laugh.