“I see,” Gil responded, curiosity piqued. “How long do I have before Douglas defrosts?”

Bellwood looked at Gil as if she had uttered a vile expletive, but then he replied respectfully.

“The blue lights indicate a satisfactory internal temperature. There is a battery and a small condenser unit in the base. It is cold outside and so you probably have around six hours before you need to attach the case to the mains with the built in lead.” The dour man pointed to a mains lead built into the back of the case.

After a little more funereal banter, Gil asked a question that had been at the forefront of her mind for a while.

“Arthur - I may call you Arthur?” Bellwood’s lips moved from their fixed position, which denoted a frown, into a straight line. Gil took this to be Arthur Bellwood’s smile of assent.

“Why do you meet in this office building when we can see you premises out of the window?” Gil pointed to the end one of three single storey industrial units, which carried the name of Cryogenic Storage UK. The building was probably only twenty five metres away.

“Ah, your perceptiveness has indeed penetrated my little affectation for being overly sensitive. The fact is that I retain a small office here in Network House for meeting clients, as they often feel uncomfortable about being in the same building as a significant number of departed carbon based life forms of the same species.”

“Frozen dead bodies, you mean?” Gil said, cutting to the chase.

“Indeed so. Your talent for assembling a blunt précis has, once again, lanced my sentient sentimentality with the sharp point of factual observation.”

“Now he is taking the Mickey,” Gil thought, and Arthur’s lips quivered at the corners as if fighting to lift in the semblance of a smile, but all the while being hindered by the underuse of the necessary facial muscles.

***

Twenty four hours later, having checked the contents, Gil would leave the case with Damian Basford, the forensic pathologist routinely used by the service to examine the bodies of those who had died on assignments. She had already written a brief note, which read:

Dear Tim/Damian,

Here are Mac’s remains. Not many, I’m afraid. I used a little more DHX than I needed. Sorry. Attached is a certified DNA printout confirming the remains are Doug’s.

G.

Chapter 27

Vastrick Security, Nr 1 Poultry, London. Monday 17 ^th January 8:45am

The weather had improved dramatically over the weekend and the daytime high was predicted to be as high as ten degrees Celsius, or 50 degrees Fahrenheit, almost tropical compared to the weather a week earlier.

Dee was sitting at her desk awaiting the arrival of Sergeant Scott, who had telephoned to say he would call in on his way to work. Geordie was back in Newcastle, thanks to the East Coast line being open again between Kings Cross and Edinburgh Waverley. It was better for him to be away from the constant reminders of the Hokobus. Many of the staff had been avoiding Conference Room 1, where the Hokobus belongings were being stored now that the police had finished with the apartment. It had been cleared by a furious property agent, who complained that he was losing rental income by the day.

As Dee stared out of the window, her laptop chimed a familiar buzzing tone; she had an incoming Skype call. A thumbnail picture of her husband Josh appeared above a green lozenge shaped screen button that read ‘accept call with video’. She steered the mouse over the button and clicked, opening the video page. The image from her own webcam appeared first. It was Monday morning and she already looked washed out and tired. She quickly pushed her long auburn hair into shape and smiled. An arrow that had been chasing its own tail around the screen cleared, and a large video pane opened. A tanned and relaxed Josh Hammond appeared in the window.

Dee had known Josh for only a few months, but she felt like they had been together for years. They say that love prospers in adversity, and for this particular couple it had proven to be true. Dee had been assigned to protect Josh from a serious death threat just a few months ago, and had managed to get shot on two separate occasions whilst fulfilling her obligations. They married in haste but had no intention of repenting at leisure; the truth of the matter was that they were still smitten with one another.

Josh grinned at her. Unconventionally handsome with short dark hair, and clean-shaven, his white cotton shirt was open at the collar, as it usually was when he was calling from Dubai.

“Hi, Dee. I just wanted you to know that we’ve settled the claim and I’m looking for a flight back, but the schedules have been thrown off by the snow at your end and dust storms here.”

“So, what does that mean, lover boy? When will I have a man in my bed again?”

“Well, if you insist on waiting for me to be that man, I guess Thursday or Friday. The flights out are always packed on Thursday, but Friday should be easier, given that it’s the first day of the weekend.”

They had both learned to come to terms with the weekend in the Middle East being Friday and Saturday. Nonetheless, Josh continually confused Dee when he called from the office on a Sunday proclaiming it to be Monday, obviously confused because he was so familiar with the working week starting on Monday.

“Josh, I have Sergeant Scott arriving shortly....”

“Give him my regards and tell him I’ll bring him back a stick of Dubai rock,” Josh interrupted, unaware that the short time lapse meant that his wife was still speaking. She managed a smile, which faded quickly.

“I will, but I want you to know that this has been an appalling few days. I need you home. I love you.”

“Everybody loves me, but you get first shout. I love you too. I promise I’ll send someone else out here next time. But Dee...”

“Yes?”

“The Hokobus couldn’t have had better friends or more dedicated protectors than you and Geordie, and I think they would be praising you for starting the process that has ended Benjamin Matista’s presidency.”

“What?” This was a surprise to Dee.

“Yes. I forget we’re four hours ahead of you. I just heard on CNN that President Matista was arrested by Congolese troops at the border. He was dressed as a woman and was hiding in the back of a truck. The trucks in the convoy were laden with Tanzanite, works of art, furniture and millions of dollars in various currencies.

They think he emptied the National Bank vaults before attempting to leave the country.

Hold on.” Josh turned his head towards a TV set and his face took on a gentle blue hue.

“Yes, there we are. He’s been taken back to Katamimba to face trial. It seems that he’s likely to be enjoying the cuisine of the Katamimba Prison for a while to come.”

Dee punched the air.

“With any luck they’ll hang the arrogant, thieving bastard.”

“Whoa there! Who has taken over my wife, and where did Dee go? You didn’t even get this angry when you were shot, twice, last year.”

“There was a difference.” She smiled, a warmer and less forced affair than before.

“Oh yes, and what was that?” Josh asked already suspecting the answer.

“Morphine,” his wife replied breathlessly.

“I think I proposed to you when you were under the influence of morphine.”

“That would explain a lot,” Dee joked.

There was a tap on the door and Dee beckoned in Sergeant Scott.

***

After a brief and humour laced chat between Scott and Josh, the various parties said their goodbyes and ended the call. The Detective Sergeant sat down and opened his backpack, retrieving a file.

“OK, Paul, just give me the bad news.”

“How do you know it’s bad news?”