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years he’d spent too much time in an office instead of being outside, getting his hands dirty.
    He glanced down at the reproduction paddle-steamer going up the river, the late afternoon sun casting its shadow along the embankment as it went along, full of tourists clamouring for a three-course buffet dinner. He snorted with amusement.
    His gaze shifted to the plaza below, where a small group of protestors gathered around the entrance to the building, their sad placards flapping in the breeze coming off the river. Down with Delaney. Wind not Coal. Coal Equals Global Warming . Apparently the London office was attracting the same sorry bunch of misinformed members of the public.
    Delaney didn’t mind protestors – any publicity was welcome as far as he was concerned – it gave him an opportunity to go to the media and explain to the masses why the environmentalists had it so wrong and then publicise his latest mining acquisition.
    He glanced down at the newspaper on his desk and smirked. The Mail always misquoted him. He tossed it into the bin. He knew his facts, even if the journalists didn’t.
    Only three years ago, the UK government had received information from one of its key advisors that the country would be facing blackouts within the next five years as the old coal-powered power stations were decommissioned, because the wind and solar plants wouldn’t be operational in time and gas was so expensive. Delaney shook his head in wonder. The public always wanted renewable energy – as long as the wind farm or solar array wasn’t built next door. It made it so much easier for organisations like his to continue touting coal as the fuel of choice. Dirty, yes, but so what? Coal was still cheap, it was safe – and there was plenty to go around, not to mention export opportunities.
    He noticed the reflection in the glass of his office door opening as his secretary knocked and entered the office, her high heels silenced by the thick carpet.
    ‘What is it?’
    ‘A new report from the mine – it just came through.’ She held up an envelope and stood in the doorway, hesitant.
    He nodded to his desk. ‘Leave it there; I’ll get to it in a minute. Any surprises?’
    ‘I- I didn’t read it.’
    ‘Good,’ he growled. He knew how secretaries in the small city networked and gossiped; it was a strict policy at the organisation that access to senior managers’ post and emails was never provided to administration staff. Still, he figured it didn’t hurt to check and keep them on their toes on a regular basis. ‘Leave it and get out.’
    The secretary placed the package where he indicated then turned and quickly walked out of the office, closing the door quietly behind her. Delaney wandered over to his desk, ripped open the envelope and scanned the pages of the report.
    The equipment development had been going well. Now the extraction method had been perfected and scaled upwards, the schedule was going smoothly. Building the entire operation near the existing coal mine had ensured the process hadn’t raised suspicion.
    A piece of notepaper protruded from under one of the reports. Removing a fountain pen from his jacket pocket, Delaney drew out the notepaper carefully with the nib of the pen. He had a team of security agents which monitored all reporting about his company. More diligent than a typical press agency, his agents also monitored conferences, lectures and government campaigns. If anything threatened the reputation or success of his organisation, it was brought to his attention.
    A vein on the side of his head began to pulse as he read the message. His fingers tightened on the file cover. Pulling out the notepaper completely, he read it again before he picked up his phone, dialled a three-digit number then slammed the receiver back down. No need to say anything – his number would be displayed at the other end. No-one asked questions. They came when they were summoned.
    A minute later, a knock on the door