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two days a week of his billable hours—it was an increasing struggle to keep up with everything the man was doing. Warning bells were most definitely clattering. ‘Close to what?’ he asked sharply.
    ‘ To the ultimate cure-all vaccine. For some cancers, certain heart conditions, AIDS and hep. B. More things than even I can guess. We both know that Temple Bio-Labs has to get a real market boost if it’s to survive. If we ever needed a big financial push, it’s now. And here I am, about to pull off a launch that will stand the medical world on its head, and force the whining brokers, analysts and journalists to eat their words.
    ‘ I’ve found it, Tom. I really have. Snake oil. The medicine man’s dream. The medical Holy Grail. Don’t even think of asking me how, but I’ve done it. And now I need your help to explain the product to all the cynics in the City. Once they realise what we’ve got, they’ll be clamouring for stock.’
    And, he thought to himself, given the free hand he had been granted by the Aruba Mutual Alliance to fight the US President’s anti-drugs initiative, he would now be able to raise the £15 million of his own money he needed to deliver. A £15 million investment that would earn him billions more as part of the astronomic success fee he would extract from the drugs cartel. With it he would finally bury the tarnished image of titled, criminal bankrupt, of disgraced Foreign Office Minister and media joke...to become quite conceivably the richest man in Europe.
    And it all hinged entirely on the next crucial four weeks.

 
    Chapter Two
     
    ‘Are you up for it, Lady Lydia? Yes or no?’ He knew that, unlike her father, she did not have a title, but still pretended she did to get under her skin.
    It was the direct question that she had been dreading for months. She had joined the Animal Freedom Militant Warriors over a year earlier, having become impatient with the other animal rights groups with which she had been involved from her university days. Since then, her commitment and courage had never once been questioned, a veteran of numerous hunt sabotages and raids on farms, laboratories and meat-product factories. But this was different.
    ‘ Are you really sure of the facts?’ Lydia Barton parried, feeling exposed before the small action unit. This was a long way from her cosy ad agency world.
    Sam Thrower, their commander, snorted. An out-of-work college lecturer, he was no less a class warrior than an animal rights militant. He disliked Lydia and people like her. Privileged rich bitches, he thought, who wore their fashionable social consciences like their tiaras and designer labels. He had engineered this showdown and intended to enjoy himself. ‘Of course we’re sure. They’re using mice, rats and macaque monkeys in there. And, of course, the stars of his show—the transgenic, not to say photogenic little piggies. You’ve seen the colour supplement article on the “reformed bankrupt”.’ He tossed over the magazine, but she had no need to look at it again. The image of the two young pigs jostling for the cameraman’s attention, and smiling cheekily at him, would never leave her. ‘And we had a lab assistant temping in the place last month. She’s seen it all. Now come on, your ladyship . If you haven’t got the bottle for this one, just say so, and make room for someone who has.’ His Midlands accent sneered the words.
    They were asking her to raid and fire-bomb one of her own father’s biotech plants.
    ‘ Stop making speeches. Just tell us when we go in,’ she responded, her voice sounding more confident than she actually felt.
    ‘ You’ll be told when we’re ready,’ he replied smugly. ‘I’m tightening security. MI5 will be throwing a lot of resources at us again, trying to justify their poxy existence. So sharpen up and shut up. Got it?’
    The small group muttered assent. All except Lydia. She stood up, breathed in deeply and pushed her tight polo-neck sweater