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change but Donaldson was then to hand him a second envelope containing a full briefing. Simple, thought Donaldson. He slipped the two sealed envelopes into his inside jacket pocket and concentrated on memorizing the instructions. When he’d finished he took the file out into the back garden. This time he didn’t bother with the Wellingtons.
    Grey was at the bottom of the garden, to the right of the orchard, gathering up dead grass and fallen twigs with a rake. As Donaldson approached Grey sprinkled lighter fluid over the damp pile and dropped on a lighted match. He stepped back with a satisfied smile on his face as the bonfire flared into life.
    ‘I’ve read the file, sir,’ said Donaldson, handing it over. Grey reached into his back pocket and pulled out a third envelope.
    ‘This contains your tickets and travelling expenses.’
    Donaldson took it and put it into his pocket with the other two. He was starting to feel like a postman.
    ‘Your flight leaves tomorrow, Cathay Pacific to Hong Kong and then Garuda to Bali. I suggest you phone in sick first thing tomorrow morning. On no account are you to tell anyone where you are going. You’re not married, are you?’
    ‘No, sir.’
    ‘Family?’
    ‘My mother and father live in Cheshire. They won’t miss me.’
    ‘Good man,’ said Grey. ‘Can you see yourself out?’ he added, dismissing Donaldson with the rhetorical question.
    When he heard the man’s car start up and drive off Grey dropped the file on top of the bonfire and watched as its edges browned and curled in the heat. As the pages shrivelled and burnt he absent-mindedly patted the black Labrador on the head.
    ‘Two birds with one stone, Lady,’ he said softly. ‘Two birds with one stone.’

    Much the same thought was going through Donaldson’s mind some forty-eight hours later as his Garuda flight approached Denpasar airport. There were two things he liked best in the world. One was immersing himself in a good thriller and the other was having sex with small boys. Preferably small boys that were tied down and whimpering. The assignment from Grey looked set to satisfy both passions. He’d heard that the boys in Indonesia were simply gorgeous, big brown eyes and soft, smooth, brown bodies. Just the thought gave him a hard-on.
    The Garuda Airbus looked new, the blue and grey interior trim sparkling clean. The plane seemed to be a cheap version, though, with none of the optional extras, no movie screen and no music. It was cold, too, bitterly cold. But instead of turning up the heat the cheerful stewardesses doled out blankets soon after they’d taken off from Hong Kong. His legs were cramped and he cursed Grey for only providing him with economy-class tickets. Cheapskate, he thought. It wasn’t as if getting the expenses approved would be a problem.
    It was pitch dark outside and there seemed to be hardly any lights on the island below as the plane descended. He took a last look at the Garuda brochure, which told him that Indonesia consists of 165 million people spread among 13,677 islands. Half of the population are aged under twenty and, thought Donaldson eagerly, half of them are boys. The 300 ethnic groups speak 583 different languages, but he didn’t plan to do much talking. His palms were sweating, despite the cold in the cabin.
    Donaldson didn’t see the airfield until the plane slammed into the ground, bounced fifty feet or so back into the air and then landed properly. Third bloody World, he thought sourly.
    The Airbus came to a halt a hundred yards from the terminal building and Donaldson was annoyed to discover that he and his four dozen fellow passengers were expected to walk. God, it was hot, and humid, and before he’d even descended the mobile stairs to the tarmac he felt beads of sweat on his face and was gasping for breath. The air was filled with the sound of crickets and other night insects proclaiming territorial rights or offers of marriage or whatever it was that insects found