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His poor results are primarily due to a severe lack of parental reinforcement with regard to academics. I believe his abilities are worth our level of risk. Fox is the perfect conduit to our success.”
    “Yes, yes, but can we realistically achieve this? Given these current incidents, the board needs to be assured that our goal can be safely accomplished.”
    “If Mr Vogel’s spy has your trust, Antonio, then yes, it can be accomplished and earlier than we’d previously planned. It’s an opportunity that we can’t easily discard.’
    “I disagree, Mr Chairman.”
    Both men looked at Frederick Vogel with surprise.
    “This is not an acceptable risk. We must remove this threat at once. These incidents tell us that our opposition are now aware of his worth.”
    The priest squeezed his lips together. The Assembly’s head of security remained a servant in this company. He knew the required protocol, which meant he interrupted with a purpose. Vogel played the opportunist. If he got to Fox first, then he could own the information himself and only God knew what might happen, if that cold-hearted bastard discovered the location of the Prize.

Chapter Three
    T om hurried through the thick morning fog and it swirled around him. He could hear people and vehicles, and at times caught brief glimpses of them through the murk. This suited his purpose. He didn’t want to be recognised and no-one could follow him.
    He continued walking until an imposing red-brick building emerged out of the mist. As he approached, the expansive double archway rose above him with a metal sign attached to the top, which read: ‘Squatter’s Flat Station’.
    Tom remembered the decrepit state of the entrance. Eight years of disuse, scattered clumps of pigeon droppings, and the refuse from countless vagrants, caused a lot of filth.
    Come on, Tom. Keep concentrating, just for a little longer.
    He searched about for the tunnel entrance and any signs of danger. Everything remained the same as his last visit. Old slabs of timber and rusty sheets of corrugated iron covered the doorways, windows and ticketing booths.
    He crept towards the east tunnel and tugged at the tin barrier at precisely the right place. It moved just enough for him to push through. He fumbled in the darkness for his miniature Mag-lite, twisted the metal shaft and the tunnel became visible. As he looked around, he realised that his body ached from tension and his brain felt as foggy as the dank environment outside.
    He looked up at the dripping walls. Graffiti covered most of the surfaces. Just above his head, a religious slogan claimed God to be a murderous despot, only loving the rich.
    He stifled a laugh.
    The rich of London acted like Gods, so he supposed it held some semblance of truth. His neighbourhood’s only blessings involved violence, depravity and suffering.
    Tom found the driest piece of concrete not covered with faeces or broken glass and tried to make himself comfortable. As he lowered himself to the floor, he wondered about that; the idea of being comfortable. It didn’t seem to fit with his reality; a double murder, probable gaol and the possibly of his own, violent death.
    Yeah. Very comforting.
    His chest hurt as he sucked in a breath. He tried to stop the unwanted thoughts, but the same images kept returning; his date, Jacqueline and the youth in the long dark coat; their eyes searching, questioning, asking him why.
    He took another deep breath and tried to think of something else.
    Then he remembered the letter. For the past hour, every time he moved, he felt it like a hypersensitive part of his anatomy.
    He removed the envelope from his pocket and brought it out into the beam of his torch. Despite his impatience, he opened it and removed the contents with reverence. As he unfolded the paper, the memory of bloodied teeth filled him with revulsion.
     
    Tom,
     
    My name is Noah. We need to meet. I have something of great interest to you. There is a bookshop near your