WHAT AROUSES OSCAR IS THE DEGREE TO WHICH HIS KIDNAPPER reminds him of a younger version of his wife, Pippa. They’re both skinny blonde chicks with that brittle finishing-school lacquer, cheekbones sharp enough to hone knives on, firm, rounded breasts just about bursting out of the top of her cocktail dress, long, stockinged legs that go on forever, arms sheathed in black satin gloves. She has natural-blonde hair up in a ponytail, bee-stung lips, glistening like . . . don’t think about it. Pippa’s gone slightly to seed in the past few years, rosy-cheeked from the vino, saggy skin and stretch marks from dropping the crotch-fruit, skin showing the first wrinkles from over-exposure to sea and sun. But this girl could be Pippa’s mad-eyed party-animal jailbait younger sibling, from back in the day. Except that Pippa’s an only child.

Being kidnapped by someone who looks like your wife’s demented younger sister in a party frock is a very strange experience, but he’s enjoying it so far. Yes, she’s got a gun and she’s obviously unstable. But since he became a PHANG his senses have become acute. He can smell waves of lust rising off her like steam: if there isn’t a puddle in her panties with his name on it, his name isn’t Oscar Menendez. And if that minx Mhari isn’t putting out for him right now, beggars can’t be choosers, can they? (Even if they’re really millionaires, soon to be billionaires.)

It’s all a bit of a joke, really . . .

It had started at eight o’clock, when his cellphone rang. It was the car alarm monitoring service. “I’m sorry to bother you, sir, but did you know your car alarm is going off? According to out tracking system it’s not moving, but someone’s opened the door.”

“Which car?” he asked.

“It’s the, ah, the Mercedes Vito, sir.” The getaway van. He blinked, taking a moment to remember, relieved that it wasn’t the Porsche. “It’s still in the car park at—”

“I’ll sort it out,” he said, mildly irritated. “That’s a secure pound under my office; it’s probably a false alarm. Can you call me again if it moves? It’ll take me a while to get there and reset the alarm.” Hanging up, he took the elevator down to the hotel lobby and hailed a cab to the bank. Going to his long-lost place of work for the first time in what felt like years (even though it was only a few weeks) was alienating. It felt even weirder to be making the trip in home-casual rather than office uniform. Like a dream, complete with the same sense of something-not-quite-right. Not for the first time he found himself wondering if buying the van hadn’t been a mistake right from the start.