"See, that's what you always say." Robbie picked up the burger wrappers and paper cups and dropped them into the rubbish bin.
"You're rich, though."
"Who says so?"
Robbie waved his arms around the kitchen.
"Dad, look at this place. Look at the Rolex on your wrist. Look at how much it costs to send me that school. You're rich and you know we are."
"Not as rich as Bill Gates."
"I didn't say mega rich. I didn't even say rich rich. I said rich."
Donovan smiled at his son's intensity.
"So what's your point?"
"There is no point, but you don't have to say that you wish you'd stayed in school when you know that's not true. You want me to stay in school because you want me to do something boring like be a doctor or an executive."
"I do, do I?"
"Yeah. That's what Mom wanted, anyway. She was always going on at me to read science books and stuff. Kept saying she didn't want me turning out like you."
"Maybe you don't want to turn out like me. Maybe you'd rather be a doctor hanging around with sick people and working yourself to an early grave."
"No fear," said Robbie scornfully.
Donovan stood up. He rushed forward and grabbed his son around the waist, laughing. He swung Robbie over his shoulder and started to spin around.
"Are you sure?" he shouted.
"Yes! I'm sure. Stop it. I'll be sick!"
Donovan continued to spin.
"Dad! Stop!"
"Do you give in?"
"Yes!"
Donovan put Robbie down carefully. His own head was spinning and he put his hand on a chair to steady himself.
Robbie was giggling and shaking his head.
"You're mad."
Donovan took a step towards him, his hands reaching for his head.
"You want some more?"
"No!" laughed Robbie. He turned and ran out into the hall and up the stairs. He stopped halfway to check that Donovan wasn't chasing him.
"Come down when you've finished your homework," Donovan shouted after him.
"I'll make cocoa."
There were two of them, dressed in dark clothing and wearing black leather gloves. One picked the lock while the other kept watch, though at two o'clock in the morning they were the only two people in the office block. They'd come in through a skylight. It had been alarmed, but the man who was picking the lock had worked for more than twenty years for one of London's top security companies, and there wasn't an alarm system built that he couldn't bypass. Now he worked freelance for ten times what he used to earn as a technician. Men like Juan Rojas were happy to pay a premium for his skills, and for his silence.
He made short work of the lock, pushed open the door and headed for the beeping alarm box. He already knew the make of the alarm, and had memorised the manufacturer's four-digit access code. The alarm stopped beeping. He nodded at his partner and pointed at a door with "David Hoyle' on it in gold capital letters at eye level. His partner went into Hoyle's office and started going through a mahogany veneer filing cabinet.
The man who'd disabled the alarm went through the filing cabinets in the general office. He was looking for any file with the name "Stewart Sharkey' or "Victoria Donovan'. Once he was satisfied that there were no such files in the cabinets, he accessed the office computer system, checking word processing files and e-mail address books. From Hoyle's office he heard the muffled tapping of gloved fingers on a keyboard as his partner accessed the solicitor's private terminal. After twenty minutes he was satisfied that there was no mention of the two names in the system.
The man went through all the desks in the office, checking address books, but found nothing. His partner came out of Hoyle's office, shaking his head. The two men left the same way they'd come.
The alarm buzzed and Donovan rolled over, trying to blot out the noise. It carried on buzzing. Donovan groped for the button on top of the alarm and hit it with the flat of his hand. He squinted at the digital read-out. Seven-thirty. Donovan groaned. He wasn't an early riser at the best of times.
He padded across the bedroom, put on his robe and opened the bedroom door.
"Robbie, are you up?" There was no answer so he walked along the landing and banged on Robbie's door. There was still no reply.
Robbie was curled around his pillow, snoring softly. Donovan shook him.
"Come on, it's time to get up."
"Five more minutes," said Robbie sleepily.
"You don't have five minutes," said Donovan. He pulled back the quilt.
"Come on, rise and shine."
Donovan opened the curtains wide and went downstairs. He switched the kettle on and made toast, but when he opened the fridge he realised that he'd forgotten to buy butter. Or marmalade. He filled bowls with Sugar Puffs and poured milk over them, then made a pot of tea. Then he poured two glasses of orange juice. Upstairs he heard the shower in Robbie's bathroom burst into life.
The doorbell rang and Donovan went to answer it. It was Alex Knight carrying a leather briefcase and a moulded black plastic suitcase. He seemed to be wearing the same dark blue blazer and black slacks that he'd had on the previous day. He smiled cheerfully at Donovan.
"Didn't get you up, did I, Den?"
"Bloody hell, Alex, what time do you call this?"
"The early worm catches the bird," said Knight, carrying the cases in to the hallway.
"I'll start in the study, yeah?"
Donovan showed him through. Knight swung the suitcase up on to Donovan's desk and unlocked the lid. It was packed full of electrical equipment. Knight took out a small black box the size of a paperback book and showed it to Donovan. There were two lights on the front, one green, one red, and an LCD readout.
"Hookswitch bypass detector," explained Knight.
"It'll also tell you if the line's tapped. Two for the price of one."
Donovan nodded. He'd seen similar devices before, but not that particular model.
"Green light means it's safe to talk. Red light means they're listening in. The LCD tells you if the phone's active. If it is, your best bet is simply to pull it out of the wall." He winked at Donovan.
"Or make sure that anything you say, you want them to hear. I'll put one on every phone, then I'll sweep the walls."
"You want a coffee?"
"Black with four sugars," said Knight. He grinned.
"What can I say? Sweet tooth."
"I'm surprised you've got any teeth left at all."
Donovan went back into the kitchen and made coffee for Knight. As he was carrying it through to the study, Robbie came rushing downstairs.
"There's cereal on the table. Sugar Puffs."
Robbie frowned at Donovan's robe.
"You're not driving me to school in that, are you?"
"What do you mean?"
"Why aren't you dressed?"
Donovan gestured with his thumb at Knight, who was taking apart the telephone on the desk.
"I'm sort of busy here, Robbie."
"Typical," sneered Robbie. He turned his back on Donovan and went into the kitchen.
"I'll call you a minicab," said Donovan.
"I'm not going to school in a grotty minicab."
"So walk."
"Mum always ran me to school," said Robbie.
"Yeah, well, she had fuck-all else to do except spend my money and shag my accountant."
Robbie took a step back as if Donovan had pushed him in the chest. Tears pricked his eyes.
Donovan realised he'd gone too far.
"Oh God, Robbie," he said quickly.
"I'm sorry."
Robbie picked up his backpack.
"I'll walk."
Donovan put a hand on his son's shoulder but Robbie shrugged him off.
"Look, I'll call a cab. I know a firm, they've got Mercs. How about that, you can go in a Merc?"
Robbie ran down the hall and slammed the front door behind him. Donovan cursed and took Knight's coffee into the study.