A Fortune-At Death

By Ian Trigue

A young man with big dreams, and no ambition to chase them, comes across a beautiful maiden who gives him an opportunity to get rich quick. However, it is not all legal. Soon, he discovers that this girl’s interest in him may not be romantic at all. Will he be able to pull off this elaborate con? Join him on his journey and witness his destiny unfold.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley
• Release date: Nov 30, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463168219

Ian Trigue

Ian has been married to Christine since 1991, and a driving instructor since 2001 who endeavours to develop the potential, confidence and abilities of others on the road safely within the boundaries of legislation and practicality. From Essex and trained in engineering development, his intention here is to let readers contemplate ultimate possibilities while looking at what might be achievable within the extremes of normal and practical boundaries.

Book preview

Chapter 1

How It All Began

Dan awoke with a start at the sound of a bell – not that of an alarm clock, but mid-morning break at the junior school that neighboured his rented bedsit. It had been another heavy night with mates at the local pub, where they had been ‘talking up’ big ideas for their bright futures (a topic that had reared its head many times since leaving university). Dan’s results, however, had never been that good, and apart from a few ‘bigging himself up’ lies, it was a discussion he tried to steer clear of, as he had little to gloat over from three-years of study.

What did he have to show for it? A dingy room with a threadbare carpet and magnolia walls that hadn’t seen a coat of paint for many years. The only decoration was the famously classic Athena poster of a knickerless tennis player rubbing her behind. Although, fading and curling up at the edges, its unusual position near the cooker was obviously to strategically hide evidence of a cookery disaster. In the bathroom, the cold tap on the sink trickled continuously, the lid of the toilet cistern was removed so flushing could be effected by manually raising the plunger as the handle was no longer connected, and the scum line around the bath was so permanent it was eating into the enamel.

Scratching his head as he came to, Dan realised it was signing on day and he would have to again be resourceful with evidence of job searches to suggest he had been for interviews and seeking employment since his last visit – to escape threats of enrolment in a compulsory CV writing course. Otherwise, government-backed-drinking-money would dry up!

Avoiding the screwed up kebab wrapper from last night, Dan cautiously picked his way across the cluttered floor towards the bathroom. Unfortunately, he failed to step over an old T-shirt, letting out a sharp yell as he trod on an upturned mains plug hiding beneath it. Grimacing at the pain, Dan soldiered on towards the bathroom and a quick drenching under the cold tap to help invigorate his waking up process.

Emerging from the bathroom nearly five minutes later came a different person – chin shaven and hair (sort of) brushed. He didn’t want the job centre to ever think he wasn’t trying to find employment! Something befitting the Media Studies, Acting and Drama, together with Business Management courses he had taken was unlikely, but he had to show interest in the centre’s attempts to find him a placement in the outside world of nine to five employment.

He began looking through the wardrobe for a collared shirt that had lost most of its creases since the last outing and found one that didn’t look too out of place with his only pair of smart jeans. A quick spray of deodorant to lessen stale odours, both from clothes and the room – and Dan was ready to face the outside world, unusually before noon!

Leaving the flat, he thought twice about shutting the door properly, thinking perhaps that he could claim the flat had been broken into and get compensation from the landlord’s insurance for non-existent items of value that had mysteriously disappeared, as well as trauma compensation and perhaps a move to a better room. Sadly, this was unlikely to work again, so he shut the door firmly and walked into the lobby.

A quick sift through the letters that another resident had already moved onto the hall table, he was hardly surprised to find there was nothing for him. Not unusual, considering he’d given this address to as few people as possible, not wanting to be chased for cash requests when he felt the world should be paying him.

He was in no hurry to get to the job centre while excuses were still formulating in his head, but was brought back to reality on leaving the hall by the sudden breeze on his face as he drew a breath of the cold, wet early spring air.

As he descended the steps to the pavement, his attention was drawn to the gutter as something glinted in the wash of water from passing traffic. Seeing it was a £2 coin, he couldn’t believe his luck when no one else appeared to have noticed it, and rushed quickly to the kerbside before anyone beat him to this bounty. Perhaps things were getting better, as this was nearly enough for his coffee at the nearby café he visited most days and was more or less en route.

Once there, he purchased the cheap coffee and went to sit alone in a booth where he began looking around while thinking how much cleaner this establishment was than his flat, in spite of the number of people who came and went during the course of a day. Staring hard at pictures on the walls, he hoped inspiration would come quickly to sort his job centre predicament.

Not being a regular follower of radio and TV news, he thumbed the pages of a newspaper provided and started looking for the cartoons page, when suddenly his eyes were drawn to a photograph that uncannily resembled him if he took his glasses off. Naturally, if you appear to have made the national news you want to know why, and the article around the picture warranted further investigation.

Dan began reading the small print below the picture. ‘Following the death of widower Charles Walker, a millionaire industrialist and CEO of Roadtrax UA last week from a liver disease made worse by a resurgence of the tuberculosis he contracted in Asia 2-years ago, searches for his son, Adam, are to be terminated shortly, as it is now almost certain his body will never be found’.

Dan looked up in surprise and caught the eye of a young brunette, also sitting alone at a nearby table. Both smiled simultaneously and bashfully looked back down to their respective coffees. Naturally, both looked up again in a coy fashion and their eyes met for a second time. Wow, thought Dan, this really is my lucky day! Taking another swig, he looked over again, only to see this vision walking towards him. Dan instinctively stood as she moved into his booth and sat across the table from him.

I’m Dan, he said. Do you come here often? (he grimaced internally on realising his mouth had just spoken before his brain could stop it, and this was the worst chat-up line ever, but it seemed to work).

Almost every day, she said as her pupils dilated. I’ve seen you in here sometimes before as well, but never at a neighbouring table, I’m Sarah by the way.

I… I only came in today because I found a coin in the street on my way here, stammered Dan as he felt he had to say something. Unfortunately, in the heat of the moment, nerves led him to give another foot in mouth answer!

Well, said Sarah, I’m glad you did. I work in the library, what do you do?

Dan could so easily have lied to impress – in the hope of scoring Brownie points, but something in his head said ‘DON’T’, as she’d stayed interested as far as his third sentence, and that automatically counted as a success in his book, so he just said, I’m looking for a job after university.

Me too, said Sarah. I’ve studied Criminology, Computing & I.T, but I’ve taken a year out to experience the work world and, so far, I’m far from enamoured with it. I’ve landed a dead-end job in the library around the corner from here. Anything must be better than that, when there’s little constructive to do. It does give me time though on quiet days to do my own thing, but I want to see the world, take risks by throwing caution to the wind, doing the things most people only ever dream of. I don’t want to look back when I’m old and grey and think ‘if only’ – like most people do!

Dan was attentive to all of this because it seemed that in many ways perhaps, they were like minded souls and could be an inspiration to each other which might start something happening. If so, the only question now should be: what could happen next?

Searching his repertoire for something to say, Dan suddenly remembered the picture in the newspaper on the table and said:

Have you seen this mugshot in this paper? pointing at the opened page on the table, Might it remind you of anyone? while he casually slipped his glasses off.

That’s actually why I glanced over at first when I saw the picture, said Sarah, because I thought it might be a talking point to break the ice with if I came across, but you beat me to it with that corny line.

D…don’t you think I’m uncannily like him, I mean if it wasn’t for the glasses? said Dan as he began to feel more at ease in showing an exuberant confidence.

I think you could be, said Sarah suggestively, and in a ‘chatting-up’ sort of way she added, what are you doing later? to firmly plant a feeling of intrigue and achievement in Dan’s head.

I’ve got a meeting before lunchtime, said Dan, sounding pompous but honest, as she didn’t have to know it was at the employment agency.

OK, can you meet me back here at 2 o’clock? Don’t worry, I’ll buy the drinks, she said, obviously seeing through Dan’s chivalrous façade, or maybe knowing him better than he realised. Either way, Dan was now cornered by a girl for what was probably the first time in his life. Realising he could be on to a winner here, he was still perhaps a little hasty to agree – but what had he got to lose?

Chapter 2

The Idea

Sarah’s flat seemed strange, not just because it was clean and tidy (something Dan hadn’t known since leaving home where his mum would clear up after him), but because it actually smelled of flowers and air fresheners, not well-worn socks and underclothes. Slowly, his eyes circumnavigated the room before he felt he could dare to move, while still trying to establish his relevance within it – without accepting that he didn’t really remember how he’d come to be there, as his memory was more blurred than usual and faded from about 4p.m. yesterday.

The ceiling was white, a much more dazzling-white than Dan had been accustomed to for many years, and the lamp had a shade on it rather than a bare bulb. Not only was he revelling in a feeling of assumed success that helped ease his hangover, but also the sound and smell of coffee brewing in the kitchen. Everything seemed all too perfect.

Espresso, Cappuccino or Latté? called Sarah from the other room. A proper kitchen with a door and not just the grotty end of a bedsit.

Cappuccino, replied Dan, not really knowing the difference, but quoting a name he’d heard of, as his knowledge of coffee went little further than ‘Instant’, or what he was drinking yesterday. He couldn’t believe his luck when she then shouted, Bacon and eggs, and do you like mushrooms?

Great, he called back. Mushrooms were something of a novelty to him, but he felt sure he’d be able to force them down to maintain some sort of dignity and decorum.

With things going on out of sight he felt he ought to at least struggle and get up, as the last time he’d had breakfast in bed was hospital two years earlier after badly breaking his left arm when jumping out of a first-floor nightclub window while drunk enough to think he could fly!

There’s a clean T-shirt on the end of the bed, said Sarah. It’s my brother’s, but I’m sure he forgot he ever owned it, and I’ve got no chance of seeing him in the foreseeable." Dan’s luck was just getting better and better, so why should he care if it belonged to one of her exes.

Dan walked, slightly grey, but now fully attired into the kitchen, just as a small, but beautifully cooked breakfast was put down in front of him on the hardwood table.

Dig in, said Sarah, It’ll make you feel better and it might be your last proper meal for a while. She then added, Judging by what I’ve seen of you so far.

What had she seen of him so far? Where had they been last night, or what had she given him with his drink that clouded his memory? Was she just making an assumption based on yesterday or had she been keeping an eye on him for a while? And if so, why?

Putting such thoughts aside he asked, What are you having, I feel uncomfortable eating alone, especially if you’re just going to sit there and watch me?

I’ve already eaten, she said, resting her chin on her entwined fingers, supported from her elbows on the table, while you were sleeping ‘cos I like to get up early before the rush of the day sets in. You were still snoring, so I decided to let you lie in while I went to the greengrocer around the corner. So the mushrooms are about as fresh as I could get. Are they OK?

Mmmm, said Dan, not really being too enamoured with them, but knowing which side his bread was buttered on, he decided to keep quiet on that score.

What time is it anyway? he asked, when early to him usually meant before 11 a.m.!

Half-past-eight, said Sarah, half the day has gone.

Only the worst half, thought Dan as he asked, Have you got any sugar for my coffee? It was his way of saying he found anything other than cheap stuff exotic, but he didn’t want to let on by masking it with half-a-dozen sugars.

Sarah got up to take a stainless steel sugar bowl from the kitchen cupboard and a teaspoon from the cutlery draw before sitting back down to face Dan. This was now starting to get a bit creepy, he thought as he recalled the servitude of the women in the ‘Stepford Wives’ film.

I’ll wash-up, said Dan, feeling it was the least he could do in repayment, but you’ll have to tell me where things go.

Don’t worry, she said, I’ll put them in the dishwasher and then I want you to come and sit down, as there’s something I’d like to suggest to you.

Fascinated but worried, Dan now started to wonder if her interest in him was darker and much more sinister than his ego wanted to accept.

You know the picture of your ‘spit’ in that paper, Charles Walker’s son? said Sarah, I watched that story on the TV news recently. Then I saw you and it started me thinking.

At this point, heckles rose on Dan’s neck as he started to wonder further about Sarah’s interest in him.

Subconsciously he was half-guessing and fearing what she was about to say next, but she would have to say it before he could really believe her.

As a lead in to the subject, she said, How much would you like to never have to work (again) and be wealthy for the rest of your life?

Sarah knew that answer, and as Dan was mesmerised by her positivity, he stayed agog while she continued, There is something I think we could do between us to achieve that. It won’t be easy and it won’t be without risk, but if you are prepared to take a chance with me, we could clean up without hurting anyone. We might be committing a perfect crime, but we’ve got to act fast as the timeframe to do anything here is limited.

Although appearing calm, Dan was really jittery inside now. She obviously knew what he wanted but was she slightly mad? He started to think over what she was leading up to before she said anything more, and crazy ideas started flooding into his head! Was that T-shirt she gave him from a ‘sucker’ she’d previously murdered and done away with the body of? He’d got no money she could purloin, so how could she afford a flat that was so much bigger and better than his, and full of smarter new things if she worked in the library on a gap year? Why did she know he was the person for her plan? Would his likeness to a dead man be connected to helping her? Were these just crazy worries running through his head before Sarah said anything more, and was his mind just racing off at a dangerous ideological tangent? He innocently asked, Why do you need me? hoping her answer was different from what he half expected.

Because you’re going to become Adam, Sarah said with sincerity!

Dan gulped, that confirmed it: she was beautiful, but gaga. Nevertheless, she did seem very serious and he did like her apparent orderly demeanour and intelligence. This made the concept seem vaguely plausible, if she’d spent time researching the concept, and already it was apparent any of her ideas would be much more than just crazy notions!

Sarah started: "Charles Walker was a millionaire industrialist who had no relevant family, except his son who looked like – identical to you. He’s been missing, assumed dead (nullum corpus), for three weeks since he was probably taken hostage by rebels at a quarry near Kiev where he’d overseen the installation of some rock mining and crushing equipment for his father. Ironic really, as it was his first ever assignment with Dad’s company. A dirty and risky job at the best of times, but because of the war situation between Russian-backed rebels and the US & EU militants, anything of strategic value has been seized by one side or the other and taken for their advantage, by fair means or foul. Any Western European there could either be a rebel target, a bargaining counter for demanding ransoms, or may simply become collateral damage.

An initial ransom demand was made, but not followed through to give it credibility and contact has now been lost, since Charles was in no fit state to negotiate with terrorists. A sudden resurgence of his TB virus left him seriously incapacitated and as the kidnappers refused to let Adam speak or be shown to cameras anyway, things didn’t add up. Adam knew his father was only quite ill at this point but even so, had it been a viable demand or possible to make contact, then surely negotiations would have continued about such a worthwhile asset, or he would have tried to get in touch since. It is fairly apparent he got caught in the crossfire and, I imagine, they might have disposed of his body in the rock crusher. That’s never going to leave any viable DNA evidence in what comes out of the machine and gets distributed as gravel."

What a horrible way to go, said Dan (Adam), feeling slightly queasy.

Man up, said Sarah, now, because it’s his dad’s company, there’s pages of stuff on the internet about both of them, so much in fact, that since I first saw you walk into that coffee bar a while back, I’ve been studying it in intense detail. I think I know more about Adam now than he would himself. I know his school history, family background, likes and dislikes, as well as eye colour and blood group which luckily are the same as yours.

Ah, thought Dan as this all confirmed that yesterday wasn’t just a chance meeting, like a date. He felt slightly deflated at that and realised perhaps Sarah didn’t see him as quite the Adonis he considered himself to be! Nevertheless, he hoped things might change…

Well, I first saw you a few weeks back, but it was only when this picture appeared it gave me an excuse to come over and talk, she said turning a cutting from that paper towards him, as I thought you were quite hot really.

Dan didn’t know quite how to take what seemed a backhanded compliment, so he asked, I suppose you don’t work in the library either, that’s just a cover for something far more sinister. He didn’t want to think what might be more sinister, but if she’d blown her cover perhaps she’d loosen up and tell him more about herself.

"No, I do work there, part-time, but it can be so boring. I’m brilliant with computers, but all madam (the Librarian) wants me to do is sort the ‘returns’ and shelve books properly using the Dewey Decimal system, while she chats about what she got up to last night and what she plans for her retirement. You know, I want so much more out of life as I feel I’m dying inside and getting nowhere. My mum and dad worked all the hours they could to support us and put me and my brother through college, and for what – an easy job in that poxy library?

This is our time to do so much better as it now appears, Adam will soon be legally dead. We’ve got to act on what could be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to make something of the good fortune that has landed in our laps. I’ve accessed all of the internet files to read up on and record everything about Roadtrax UA or what Adam Walker’s ever done."

How did you manage that, asked Dan, somewhat overwhelmed.

I told you I was a bit of a head cracker on computers, didn’t I? I’ve dedicated much of my time, since I first started watching you, to devising a plan. Often, finding a password is just logical: 55% of people use the same password for all their files, locks and programmes! The commonest password used to be ‘password’, although now it’s 123456. People can sometimes make a hacker’s life really easy!

What is it, asked Dan.

It doesn’t matter now, but there are several used in different ways. I might tell you later on a need-to-know basis, Sarah said.

But if you can do that, then surely someone else could do the same thing? said Dan.

Maybe they could, but as computer manager, I’ve noted certain unusual character references in his files, including information and facts that may be of benefit if someone else looked, and deleted them, said Sarah.

You’re a dangerous person to know, said Dan.

That’s true, but I’ve already told you more than I should, so it shows I already trust your integrity.

Dan liked that, as someone who thought he had integrity gave him a confidence to fall back on, but he persisted, What sort of things have you deleted?

Well, for instance, once gran was reminiscing in a letter to Charles and mentioned the time she finally threw out Arthur. He was a toy kept at theirs, she said, and he’d lost an eye, his growl didn’t work and his balding fur was sticky since you put him in the honey. Now, I think it’s a fairly safe assumption that Arthur was a teddy bear, so should it ever come to light and you get quizzed by someone asking you what was the name of your teddy bear at the Grimshaw’s, you’ll know, but there won’t be an internet record that anyone else can find to corroborate that. The executors of Charles’ estate will only have the personal memories of a few remote family members to call upon, and I’ve edited their records down anyway. Once I’ve schooled you on facts, we’ll aim to get to a point where you can withstand interrogation.

Sarah went on: There were no suspicious circumstances around Charles Walker’s death, so his body has been cremated, at his own request, conveniently leaving no DNA evidence. Generally, two months are allowed after someone is declared dead before affairs are wound up, and we’re now into that period with Charles for any claimants on a will to come forward. As you can see, we’ve got to move fast to get up to speed within the time available to us. After that, lawyers could hold the case open for six further months if they consider anything is not properly resolved, but if we build a cast-iron case around your fantastic and unexpected reappearance, the need for that will seem unlikely if it all appears clear-cut. Beyond that, any claim is on you, but if the real Adam’s dead, how can that happen? If someone doesn’t intervene, and no one has yet, so much of that money will go to Her Majesty’s Treasury, and we don’t want that to happen, do we? Think about it, you believe in fate, don’t you? It’s almost like coincidences are coming together just for our benefit: Your good looks, Sarah cleared her throat, but smiled wantonly, my charm and intellect, and the timing.

Surely, DNA can be taken well after death to prove genealogy? said Dan.

Of course, but as you know, tuberculosis is contagious and as he died from a resurgence of this adversely affecting the liver disease, his body has been cremated already. The house, office and car have all been sterilised and his clothing burnt. Couldn’t be better.

But what about a family member, can’t heredity be confirmed if DNA is compared with a close relative?

That’s the biggest fly-in-the-ointment, as ‘your’ deceased mum had a sister (your aunt), called Hazel, who is two years younger and will surely provide a sample. That’s almost all I know about her, except in a letter to Jill she mentioned a joint pregnancy, suggesting they were ‘tubbed’ at the same time. You haven’t met each other in 20-years, but doubtlessly, there will be some contact for the will reading. Just try to talk with her as little as possible. Amazingly though, Lady Luck is sitting on our shoulders regarding that DNA problem, and I think I’ve found a way to solve it.

How the heck are you going to do that, asked Dan, short of a head transplant? You can’t change DNA and it can tell all sorts of things about you, from sex to age.

Well, I looked into how Jill (your mum), who wasn’t a well woman, died when you were three and it seems it was during childbirth! Intriguingly though, Walker family records show you as Charles’ only son. Now, I’ve looked deep beyond hospital records of the time and it seems she was giving birth to another son, Alistair, who was born with hydrocephalus, or water-on-the-brain. It was a very difficult birth and that’s what killed Jill! I think Charles always held the baby culpable for her death, even though she was weak from skin cancer, and so tried to deny Alistair’s existence.

Fascinating, said Adam, and…?

Well, said Sarah, there’s no record of Alistair’s death, and when I looked into Roadtrax UA finances, strangely there’s been £5000 each month paid by Standing Order from the business account to a Saint Claire’s in Essex for the last three years, and prior to that, a similar payment to a Saint Winifred’s in Kent. I guessed these might be hospices or religious care homes, so I searched directories to find St Claire’s and discovered I was right. They have a number of permanent residents, only one of whom is called Alistair. Trouble is, there’s no surname given then, and most of their records don’t seem to be on computer, but Alistair was taken into hospital two years ago to have a ‘shunt’ fitted. Now that’s a device to redirect the flow of cerebrospinal fluid out of the central nervous system to where it is absorbed by another part of the body. It’s a procedure done on people with – hydrocephalus! He was hospitalised as Alistair Simmons, so we need to visit Essex, armed with a DNA test kit under the guise of someone who knew Alistair when he was at St Winifred’s. We’ll claim to have moved house and thought we’d see if Alistair remembers us. The fact that he won’t, (although he might think he does), will give us a chance to take a mouth swab. Such saliva swabs can last up to 8-months without degradation, so we’ll take it and freeze it until such time as it is required. The hardest part will be swapping the sample from Alistair for one that you’ll expect to give when we get to that stage. If our sample from Alistair with your name on is swapped for your one, everything will be hunky-dory, said Sarah confidently.

It’s a perfect situation, as long as we’re careful to cover all eventualities. As long as payments are kept up, St Claire’s should never have cause to contact you, unless something happens to Alistair or the hospice. Hopefully, that won’t occur, but even if it does, what are they going to do as long as his upkeep is paid? How can we go wrong and why should other, more distant relatives of Charles have more right to the money than we have? In fact, because of the effort we’re going to invest in this, I think it should give us more of a claim than them – and HMRC!

Acting surreptitiously to keep money from the taxman was a duty that had been instilled in Dan from a young age, so the concept was intriguing. Impersonating someone else would be a challenge. He’d stage-acted several times at university, but mostly visual interpretations and minor parts with his best being nine lines as Snout in ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream’. He had enjoyed it though, and felt he was rather good. This stirred his interest in tougher roles, as reviews had been promising and he found remembering lines really easy.

All we’ve got to do is work around the facts we’ve got here, keep up the pretence for the next two or three months and we’ll be home and dry. It’s the perfect opportunity to seal our futures. It’s not that simple and there really is loads of work for us both to do, so are you with me? There is still time to back out now and lose nothing. You’ll just have wasted my efforts, but I suppose it’s been more fun than shelving! After all, what’s the worst that could happen? said Sarah looking at Dan with a convincing self-satisfaction that left him finding it impossible to oppose.

20 years in jail, said Dan.

Yes, but at least you get TV and decent meals, remember those? But it’s not going to happen! The only thing that you’d miss from your life at the moment is beer, and me! If you’re on board we’ll sign a contract, 60/40 as I’ve done all the hard work getting it to this stage. Once in, there’s no backing out part way through! It’s all or nothing, so what do you think?

If this ever worked, Dan was worried how he would explain things if asked by his pub mates when he saw them again, as they would naturally question sudden wealth as well as his absence or disappearance from regular haunts. He could never let on to anyone, and he wasn’t sure that would ever be possible. The slightest dropped word in conversation could be picked up on and pursued by anyone astute. He felt Sarah was somehow trained and hard enough to cope with the scenario, but he wasn’t confident he could lie forever, like perhaps she was doing now?

Nothing’s going to go wrong, said Sarah, the first few weeks will be the most difficult, but after that, repeated lies will gradually seem like truth, and any interest from outside will wane, as long as you don’t do anything stupid. I’ve worked out an infallible plan, all you’ve got to do is trust me and agree.

I need to know more first, but I want 50/50. I’m clearly not as ruthless as you and you’d be stumped without me, Dan said rashly. We’ve got to be in this together.

He was warming to the idea as she sounded so convincing, and maybe nothing would go wrong if she was as good as she seemed. It meant putting his faith totally in Sarah and relying on her to sort all problems as he knew little of how legal systems worked and the things he’d have to know. Fortunately, he had a good memory and if she supplied him with necessary facts, he was fairly confident of being able to retain them. Even so, they’d have to be incredibly careful and perhaps have an exit strategy if something unforeseen suddenly occurred.

Agreed, said Sarah, I thought you’d say that, although really, the person who devises a scheme, or builds an invention and has to do all the hard work through prototyping should be the one to make most money from it. Workers in a factory don’t get paid the boss’ salary. As your part won’t be easy though, I think an even split is fair, because now we come to the hard part.

Dan still didn’t really know what to expect and started nervously wondering what she now had planned. Did her spontaneous agreement to a 50/50 split reflect just how hard his part of the deal was going to be, or did it suggest she was revealing more of a romantic interest in him?

He was hoping the latter was true, because his ardour was already at the stage where actions he could take for her would never be too much trouble and like a puppy, he would now agree to almost anything, even changing his given name from Dan to Adam.

Chapter 3

The Risk

Sarah had already been presumptive and astute enough to make out a contract. It was only a single page, yet looked very officious and was full of legal jargon he didn’t fully understand. But as Adam (Dan) pointed out, it would have little value as showing it to any third party would make both of them instantly culpable.

That’s true, she said, but it means if you back out on me part way down the line, I’ve got evidence to take you down with me, and vice versa of course!

Adam hesitated, as he realised this was the point of no return. A signature at this point would show he was ready to cross that boundary and was potentially as bad as she might be.

It doesn’t make a lot of difference whether you sign or not, said Sarah, we can verbally commit each other, regardless of contract, unless I kill you too, she added jokingly.

TOO? It was just the way she said it that made everything seem so frivolous but plausible, as if it wasn’t her first visit to ‘the dark side’ and he was just a fly caught in her web of intrigue.

Adam signed, like a dog pleasing its master. If he did back out later though, her contract would be with a Dan Renton, someone who mysteriously wouldn’t exist anymore if he’d become Adam Walker!

"Now, I’m afraid we’re going to curtail your heavy nights out down the pub immediately. Friends might wonder about your newfound sobriety, so we’ll say your doctor has warned you, especially vehemently, to cut down the drinking because of an inherent risk of liver disease (like your adopted father!). When I come there with you tomorrow night and meet them, hopefully they’ll appreciate you’ve now got other interests too!

But let’s get back to the main part of our story, and anything you can think of to help with detail might be crucial, as we rehearse it to improve acceptability and not miss anything."

Adam was worried by the way she said that as it suggested there could so easily be gaps in her plans, but mesmerised by her attention to fine detail he just quietly said, ok.

"Right, so here’s the story: It isn’t unfeasible that you, Adam, just managed to escape your kidnappers, but your mobile phone got smashed in the siege of the quarry. That’s who you must be from now on and it’s what I’m always going to call you. We must eat, sleep, think of and refer to you as Adam in everything from now on! Let’s say you took refuge in that old barn (pointing at an aerial map) until you felt it safe to move, under cover of darkness. Next day you began wandering the Brest-Litovsk Highway which luckily led west towards Poland, but ran off into the fields as you got hooted by lorries and feared you were still being hunted by attackers. A mortar exploded close by (yes, I found one we can work with using satellite imagery), so all evidence of your presence will have been obliterated. The blast threw you into a muddy ditch at the roadside where you lay unconscious for some time among grass and nettles. When you came around, you hitched a ride in a trailer and stole a bike, before ditching it to roam aimlessly among trees and through fields. Suffering from shell-shock and amnesia for an unclear length of time, you were found by a local farmer who came to your assistance after seeing your condition and realising what may have happened in what was effectively a war zone. By this stage, you were no longer capable of running away and were prepared to succumb to any punishment he might mete out, but that was never likely to be his intention. Luckily, you appeared to have suffered no permanent harm, just head trauma, cuts, scratches and bruising. Some evidence of which I can inflict on you today, so scars have got time to heal enough and look authentic. But the head blow really steamrollered through your memory, leaving you very edgy and changing perceptions of the world around you. He and his wife took you to their home, although they couldn’t make sense of your mutterings. They had no phone in their small cottage either, or way of establishing who you were as they spoke no English. But out of kindness, they shared their meagre food supplies and looked after you. You felt safe with them and your mood eased. You can’t remember how long you stayed with them for, and we can vary that depending on how long it takes us to sort the finer points of this story. We need time for you to get some weight off, and grow a beard as normally refugees found in ditches aren’t going to be clean-shaven! It doesn’t have to be knee-length as there isn’t time for that and you’d have had a chance to shave at their cottage anyway.

Recovering enough to better realise that this had never been your natural home, you opted to leave secretively in the night and head back towards the main road you’d cycled away from. To you, it was rather like an escape might have been from a prison camp, although ideas of anyone trailing you were only ever in your head. Life was tough away from their warm bed and you had to drink water from cattle troughs in fields. You found little to eat, just stealing from houses and shops. You even got hit with a few pellets from a shotgun by a woman who caught you in her kitchen raiding her cupboards for food. Luckily, her aim wasn’t very good and you had to run for your life to escape a full-on gunshot."

Owwww, squealed Adam, what did you do that for? as Sarah stabbed him really hard in the leg four times with her ball point pen before he could get away, springing him quickly back to reality.

They’re your pellet-wounds, she said, leave them to bleed a little and dry. The ink in my pen will discolour the scabs, so they look convincingly like marks caused from lead shot. I’ll think of other ways to lightly wound you over the next few days.

You sadist, that really hurt, I’ll get you back, Adam said as he tried to grab the pen from her clutches. Sarah realised he wasn’t going to stop and quickly moved her writing arm up and down away from him. Accepting she would lose eventually, she had to get up and run across the room as Adam screwed up his brow, making a fierce face. He chased her through the kitchen, stumbling on a kitchen chair as she pushed it in his path, around the table, back into the lounge and he finally