CHAPTER 1
The three silhouettes appeared from behind a tree and moved swiftly across the road. A few street lamps, plus the quarter moon on this clear night, were providing a small amount of light; however, it was dark enough and quiet enough that the figures were moving unnoticed.
At 1.30 a.m. in this exclusive residential area, the only sound that could be heard was a fox screeching out into the still night. All the dwellings here were large, detached, and unique, and most of them were hidden behind large gates set well back from the quiet road. This wasn't Beverly Hills, this was south-east England, but it could only be described as a very upmarket area; it was inhabited only by the rich and successful.
The human shapes were dark, but it was obvious from their gait that they were three adult males. The trio stopped tight up against the boundary wall of one particular property. Instantly, one crouched down and formed a cup by linking his hands together to act as a support, and the other two, in turn, placed a foot in the cup and effortlessly scaled the wall.
The drop the other side was not long – the same ten foot or so they had just scaled – but as they hit the ground one after the other, they landed on stones, scattering them noisily. One of the men, looking sinister in his balaclava, motioned to the other to stop. Both men froze in their stances, as if they were playing the children's game of statues. However, after ten seconds of no sounds or any lights coming on, the same man waved his arm in the direction of the house, and they both set off across the gravel. Meanwhile, on the other side of the wall, the third man, the human ladder, remained tight up against the brickwork, hidden in the shadows.
The largish house was about twenty years old, with the stony driveway area leading to a double garage away to the left, which created an L shape with the main building. The front door was about twenty yards away, directly across from the place where the men had dropped from the wall. The house was a two-storey structure that, judging by the size, probably had five or six bedrooms. It was brick-built, with a few potted plants dotted around this area for decoration, the only vegetation at the front of the property. There was probably a sizeable rear garden, but in this light it was impossible to see. The intruders headed behind the garage at the left edge of the plot, moved round to the side of the house, and soon found themselves at a back door; this was fully hidden from view by the garage structure and the property's side wall. The men seemed to know exactly where to go.
The second man, also in a balaclava, then set to work on the lock of the back door, which would presumably lead into a kitchen or utility room. He crouched down by the door handle, pulled out a couple of tools from his back pocket, and within what seemed just a few seconds, the door was open. This was clearly not beginner's luck. The modern kitchen door with two locks proved no barrier to this seasoned burglar. There was a split-second pause as the two men stared at each other, waiting for an alarm to start blaring. The relief was visible in the men's eyes when all remained silent. As had been promised to them, there was no alarm.
The men stepped into a deserted kitchen, not quite pitch black but dark all the same. It felt cold, due to the floor tiles and the fact that the heating had probably been off now for a few hours. Again the first man, who seemed to be the leader, instructed his expert burglar companion to wait by the kitchen door simply by holding up his right hand and motioning him to keep still. The man did as he was told.
The leader, a large, well-built man, then stepped out of the kitchen into an empty hallway, gently lit by the moonlight coming in through the two panels of glass in the front door.
"The front door," he thought. The man now had his bearings and knew exactly where in the house he was. More importantly, he knew where he needed to go next. With just the mechanical tick-tock of a small wall clock for company, he noticed the time, 1.35 a.m., and then continued his quiet journey. He walked past two doors, one fully closed and the other wide open – through which he could see a large sofa in a sizeable lounge. He was, however, heading to the end of the hall, towards a third door, one which was slightly ajar.
He very slowly and gingerly pushed the door open to reveal a small room, which was clearly being used as an office. This room was a mess. The man thought to himself that if he could get out of the property unnoticed with the prize he had come to steal, it could actually be some time before the owner was even able to report a robbery. There were bits of paper everywhere: across the desk, on the floor, and also pinned to the wall on several cork notice boards. There were shelves on two sides of the room, and these were literally bursting with books, folders, and document holders in no apparent sequence or logical order. The kitchen and the hallway had seemed spotlessly clean and tidy; however, this room was a complete shambles; dusty and disorganised. This villain was going to have a harder job than he'd imagined finding what he was looking for.
He reached into his dark, lightweight jacket and pulled out a small torch, instantly flicking it on. The extra light it produced showed that the room was in an even worse state than the original negative impression he'd formed by the half light. Had someone already ransacked the room and beaten him to his prize? Had he been double-crossed somewhere, leaving his master plan in tatters? He knew the answer to both of those questions was definitely no, but he did feel slightly less confident of success than he had three minutes ago when he and his companion had so effortlessly gained entry to the property.
He walked over to the desk in the far corner of the room, on which stood a computer, switched off and dusty. He pointed the torch at the desk to reveal the sea of papers and discarded envelopes. There were utility bills, bank statements, and even some good old-fashioned letters, a throwback to the pre-email era. He picked up a small picture from the desk. It showed an elderly man and woman being greeted by a dignitary of some kind. Maybe it was the mayor of their town? Who cared? The man knew the elderly couple were the owners of the property, and he also knew for certain they were upstairs – hopefully fast asleep. Under the balaclava, an evil smirk crossed his face.
He suddenly lifted his gaze towards the door of the study – and froze. A figure stood there. He let out a huge breath of relief as soon as he realised that it was his co-intruder, the master burglar, who had ignored his orders and left the kitchen. The shape stood in the doorway, tapping his wrist as if pointing at a watch, reminding his leader that the operation was taking too long. There was certainly no time to be looking at family photographs.
The leader nodded, put the picture back on the desk, and held up his hand and index finger as if to signal one more minute. After all, he had just spotted what he was looking for. He walked over to the bookcase on the wall to his right, pointed his torch at a shelf, and removed a glass container. He slowly lifted the lid and removed a flat A4 card folder. This was definitely it – he recognised it immediately. He shone the torch on the folder. It read "Battler's Theory: 17 July, 2004". He put the lid back on...
