Steve headed back to his apartment to wait it out. What happened next depended on Mr Haughton-Handley's response. Max had told him that the victim had twenty-four hours to respond, and if he didn't then they would have to up the ante. Max wouldn't reveal any more details than that though.

Steve dialled Cheryl on his cell as he drove.

"Everything okay?" she asked.

"It's kicking off," Steve said. "The next victim is a Mr Haughton-Handley." He gave her the address. "Can you do some background on him, find a bit of info, but only from your desk. I don't want anyone to notice the police sniffing around."

"Sure thing," she replied. "I thought you spent hours in the library doing this though."

"This hit was researched before I got here," Steve said ruefully.

"I'll do it, so we're prepared," Cheryl promised.

Back at his apartment, Steve fixed a meal for dinner and sat in front of the television again. He watched a film for a while, but still couldn't concentrate. The boredom was making him tired, and for lack of anything better to do he headed to bed.

X X X

Despite his apprehension about the job ahead, he slept well, waking when the sun was high in the sky. After eating some toast for breakfast, it was once again into the waiting game. Steve would have loved to get out of the horrible apartment but dared not in case the phone rang. So there he sat, checking the clock. He imagined the waves hitting the shore by the beach house and felt a longing for his surfboard, or anything that would keep him active. But he had to stay by the phone.

It was dark before the phone rang. It was Max.

"No dice, he's not bitten. We've got to do something that'll grasp his attention even more."

"What?" Steve asked.

"Sorry man, you're not in the loop on this one. We'll give you a call when it's happened. We've got all the man power we need for the minute."

Steve sank back into his couch in disappointment.

X X X

Jesse stretched his arms above his head and winced as he felt a joint click. It was the end of another long shift, and he had promised his friend Nathan that he would check up on him. He had a nasty flu type virus that was persisting.

He got into his car and drove away from the hospital, glad that he didn't have to work at Bob's later. Perhaps if I'm not too long, I could even pop into Amanda's and join them for dessert. The thought cheered him up and he turned on the radio to keep him company on the half hour drive to Nathan's residence. Soon he was pulling up outside.

There was a van parked across the street; the logo on its side read "Wish Wash Window Cleaners". Window cleaning in the dark? Jesse thought. Perhaps the person who works for them lived here. But it was a rich area, it seemed unlikely that someone living on this street would clean windows for a living. Nathan's apartment was small but luxurious. Jesse wasn't sure where he'd got the money from. He had a good job but was still in his early twenties. Jesse suspected his parents were rich.

He had earlier had a message from Nathan to say that he was going to leave the door unlocked so Jesse could just walk in. It was. "Nath?" Jesse called as he entered, and heard his friend calling from upstairs.

"Why don't you have some lights on?" Jesse asked. "Your whole place is dark."

"Hey bro," Nathan said with a weak smile from his reclined position on the bed. It was a running joke between them that they could be brothers; Nathan shared a similar build and the same blondish hair as the young doctor. "Reading makes me tired, and the television gives me a headache. I don't really need the lights for anything."

"Do they hurt your eyes at all?" Jesse asked, switching on a small lamp and checking Nathan's eyes with a penlight.

"Nah, don't worry. I'm just feeling too lousy to want to do anything."

Jesse checked his friend thoroughly, but there was little he could do. "You've just got to wait for the bug to pass I'm afraid," he said. "It's a nasty one though."

"Don't I know it," Nathan said wearily. He closed his eyes.

Seeing that his friend only wanted to rest and not make small talk, Jesse bid him goodbye. "Drink plenty of fluids," was his parting advice.

He let himself out, closing the door behind him. On returning to his car he heard a voice hail him. "Hey man, can you lend me a hand?"

Jesse looked about and saw a man in a check shirt and jeans bending over one of the rear tyres on the window cleaning van he had noticed earlier. "What's up?" he called, keen to get away and get some dinner.

The man straightened up. "I got a nail in the damn tyre. I wanna change it before it blows. Could you help me?"

Never one to pass someone by if they needed help, Jesse joined the man over by the van. "What can I do?"

"Can you find the jack? It's in the back of the van somewhere."

Jesse opened the rear doors and spotted the jack near the far end of the van. He climbed in and reached for it. As he did he heard movement behind him, and turned in time to see two shadowy figures silhouetted by the streetlamps outside. They closed the van doors behind them. Jesse saw one of them draw his arm back and he crouched in a futile effort to protect himself. He only managed to let out a muffled yell before he felt a blinding pain in the side of his head and it all went black.

X X X

Steve didn't receive another call until the following lunchtime. Someone, he thought perhaps Greg, abruptly told him to get to the industrial unit. He eagerly set off in the battered pickup, glad to be doing something.

Waiting for him in the main storeroom were Carter and Greg. A new table had been set in the middle of the floor. A large brown cardboard box was on it. Steve approached them, and they greeted him the most warmly they had done so far; that is to say they didn't glare at him.

It took Steve a moment to recognise the glint in both their eyes. He had seen it too many times before. It was the adrenaline and thrill found when people were feeling the effects of power. He felt a slight sense of dread at what might have been done last night and what awaited him on the table. These guys looked like they felt pretty invincible.

"Max said you did well last night," Carter began. "Mr Haughton-Handley certainly got the message. It's a shame he didn't want to act on it."

Steve had learned enough by now to know not to be too inquisitive. He stayed silent and was rewarded.

"So we kidnapped his son," Greg blurted out, as if it was a secret he just couldn't keep any longer.

Steve felt shocked; the gang hadn't gone as far as kidnap before, not of people. He changed his expression to one of glee, hoping they hadn't noticed his initial dismay. "That should get his attention!" he said, grinning and hoping he looked pleased. "So where is he?"

"I know, I know, you want to get in on the action," Carter said, satisfied with Steve's reaction to the news. "But I'm afraid the boss wants to see one last demonstration of your loyalty. You do this one last job for us, and you can join us entertaining the captive."

Steve felt a tremor of revulsion; he hoped they weren't harming the son. His expression this time must have been more apparent, because Greg jumped in saying, "hey, we're not fags, we're not doing anything bad to him. And don't worry, he's not a kid, he's twenty or something."

Steve's worries were relieved a little, though not much. He had been imagining a small child tied up and crying for his daddy. That would have been extremely tough to deal with. Knowing it was an adult was a little easier somehow.

"That's cool," he said. "So what do I have to do?"

"The boss wants you to start on a second person. He reckons this will be a quick one, it will get the guy's attention all right. We're getting quite a reputation now," Carter said proudly. "The rich people know we aren't greedy, if they pay us we stop right there and move on to the next person. It's working in our favour, they are paying up faster now. Except for Mr Haughton-Handley. He's not playing ball." He stopped, looking irritated.

"So who's the hit?" Steve asked. It was hard work getting to the point with these people.

"Mr Brown," Carter said, waving a thin file in the air. "He's got a little daughter, right cute she is too." He opened the file and showed Steve a picture. "Kaitlyn."

Steve looked down at the photo of an angelic looking girl of around eight years.

Carter paused a moment to let the image sink in. Then he indicated the box on the table. Greg opened it and carefully pulled out a smaller box from inside. It was emblazoned with the words "Mr Brown. A gift from a grateful client."

Greg very gently opened the top flap and lifted it to show Steve the contents. Inside was a box of explosives with wires coming out of it. A digital timer on the top was counting down time in bright red digits. Steve took a step back. "That's a live bomb! Are you mad?"

"Don't worry, Wilson here is an expert," Carter said with a grin, patting Greg on the back. Steve had to admit, it did look a professional bomb. He was still very wary of being in its vicinity though. Greg resealed the box and placed it inside a gift bag.

"What we want you to do," Carter continued, "is give the bag to little Kaitlyn when she comes out of school, and tell her to give it to her father. We figure that will get his attention."

Steve stared back, trying to hide his rising anger, but unable to think of a word to say.