Greed

'Matt,' she answered quickly. 'You OK?'

'Never better,' he answered. 'The mission went like clockwork.'

'Good work, Matt. When are you coming back?'

Matt hesitated before answering. 'It will be a few days before we can get the goods fenced. We'll be in Rotterdam, then back in London.'

'I'll plan a celebration,' said Alison. 'Maybe even cook you something.'

Matt put down the phone and walked back into the sunshine. There was easiness to his mood he hadn't known for months. A burden had been lifted from his shoulders — the burden of debt and failure. He could walk more freely now.

At a table next to the pool, the rest of the gang were collecting bottles of Keo, the local Cypriot beer. It wasn't the best Matt had ever tasted; nothing could beat the Filipino San Miguel he'd sampled when he'd spent two months fighting some communist insurgents in that country. But when the sun was shining and you were about to fold two million into your pocket, all the beer tasted sweet and all the girls looked good. Or was that the other way around?

He collected a round from the bar and slammed the bottles down on the table. 'Get these down your necks, boys,' he said.

'You're paying for a round, Matt,' laughed Damien. 'Now we know you've made a lot of money.'

Ivan was shuffling a deck of cards, but Reid had already told him to forget it. They had better things to do than sit around playing games. Such as, Ivan had asked quizzically?

'Drink beer, and work on my tan.'

'And you?' Matt looked across at Ivan. 'What do you think you might do when we collect the money?'

'I suspect I'm going to suffer from too many choices,' answered Ivan, putting his cards down on the table. 'I must become a different man, yet I will still be who I am, with the same wife, and the same children.'

'Translate that into English for us,' said Reid

'I can go anywhere, and be anyone,' said Ivan. 'So I reckon I'll go to Boston, somewhere around there. There's a good Irish community, the air is clean, and it's not too hot. But I don't know. I might feel differently tomorrow. How about you?'

'Use the money to make more money, that's my plan,' said Reid. 'I'm through with working for other people. Building, that's what I want to do. Buy some land with planning permission, put up some new houses, sell them on. Try some barn conversions as well. There's always money in that game. You just need some capital to get started. Well, now I've got it.'

'And what about you?' Ivan said, looking towards Cooksley.

'California,' he replied. 'That's where Jane and I are going for a year. The kids are getting booked in for gene therapy. We'll spend the next year with them, doing everything we can to make sure they pull through.'

'And when they recover?' said Matt. 'What then?'

'I can't even think about that, Matt. Until I know whether the children are going to be OK, I can't focus on anything else.' He paused, sipping on his beer, lost in his own thoughts. 'And how about you, Damien. What's your plan?'

'I'm with Reid,' Damien answered. 'Money is for building, not spending. Sure, I'll spend a bit, but the rest I'm going to invest. The gangs in London are wide open right now. There's an opportunity for one man to take charge, impose his will, bring some order to the city. With the right amount of capital, that could be me.'

'The Godfather, right?' said Ivan gently.

Damien swigged back the remains of his beer and reached for another bottle. 'Somebody get me a horse and a large carving knife.'

'And you, Matt?' said Ivan. 'You've brought us all together here. What happens to your two million?'

Matt glanced towards Damien. 'I get married, that's what,' he said firmly. 'A new Porsche, my own yacht, a gorgeous babe hanging off my arm, and nothing to do all day but run and drink beer, and I'm happy.'

'We risk our lives to make all this money,' Ivan said,

'and when we get it, we do things we could have done with much less.'

'You're saying we don't need the money?' said Cooksley.

Ivan shook his head. 'I'm just saying maybe it's the pursuit we enjoy, not the possession of it.'

* * *

The night was drawing in, and the moon was already rising over the bay. Matt had just completed a five-mile run along the beach, picking his way through the tourists and the volleyball players, and the blood was pumping through his veins. He felt refreshed and relaxed. He had thought about it during the run, and his mind was made up. It was time to make the call.

He finished his shower, dried himself off, then picked up the hotel phone. It sat in his hand, a small, inert lump of plastic and copper wire. He put it down, walked once around the room, paused to look at the sun setting on the horizon, then picked the phone up again.

Christ, Matt. You killed at least two men last night. I can't believe you are frightened of calling a girl.

'Gill,' he said into the receiver as she picked up the phone. 'Is that you?'

There was a pause on the line. He could hear her breath, and he could imagine her expression, yet for several seconds she remained silent. 'Matt Browning,' she said eventually. 'The man who is too frightened to go through with his own wedding.'

The words stung more than Matt had imagined they would. He'd always known this was going to be a tough conversation, but he'd thought she might have softened in the weeks since they had last spoken. 'That's not fair, Gill,' he said firmly.

'Try telling all your girlfriends your wedding has been called off,' said Gill. 'You try taking your dress back to the shop, and calling up the cake-maker and the florist and all the rest of them, and telling them not to bother, your boyfriend can't be fagged to go through with it.' He could hear her choking back the sobs. 'That's bravery, Matt. Not clearing off and leaving me to clear up the mess.'

'I was in a jam, Gill,' said Matt. 'I could have been killed. So could you.'

'What kind of a jam?' she said. 'What's happened to you?'

'I can't tell you, Gill, it's against all the rules.'

'You're not back with the Regiment, are you? I thought you were finished with all of that.'

'No,' said Matt.

'And where's Damien gone? I haven't been able to get him on the phone for days. He's not involving you in a bit of crime, is he?'

Matt winced. 'No,' he replied. 'I can't talk about it, but it's almost over now. I just wanted to hear your voice and make sure you're OK. And to say, this will all be over in a week or so. I'll have my life back together.' He hesitated, allowing a moment for the words to sink in. 'When that happens, I want us to be together again.'

Matt held the receiver in his hands. He couldn't be sure how many miles separated Cyprus from Marbella. They were at opposite ends of the Mediterranean. Yet, despite the distance, it was as if she were sitting right next to him. In his mind he could see her eyes and smell her hair. 'Gill,' he continued, 'would that be OK?'

'You think you can just break off the engagement, piss off on some stupid mission, then call me up and say, oh, I think its back on again — with one phone call?' Her tone was starting to harden.

'Two phone calls, then,' said Matt quickly. 'And a text message.'

She hesitated, then laughed.

First base, thought Matt.

'Twenty phone calls, and the biggest diamond you ever saw,' said Gill. 'And then I might just think about it.'

Well, at least that can be arranged.

* * *

The street market in the centre of Limassol was thronging with people. The sun was beating down and there was a sharp smell of citrus fruits hanging in the air. Matt walked slowly through the crowds, his eyes scanning the stalls. Most of it was just the usual tourist junk: T-shirts, ornamental daggers, salad bowls and poorly made leather handbags. He paused over a knife, argued briefly with the shopkeeper about the price, then went on to the next stall.