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front garden.
    He knocked and was surprised to see Sir Mathew open the door. ‘Hello Mathew.’ Lawton said, putting a friendly hand on the old man’s shoulder, the chairman didn’t do ‘man-hugs’. ‘Is Mrs Hodges off for the day?’
    ‘Hello, William, come on in, come in. No, she got a call this afternoon to say her mother has taken a turn for the worse. It’s lung cancer now,’ he said leading him into the library. ‘They don’t expect her to last the month.’
    ‘How awful.’
    ‘Well if the old bat had given up the ciggies when Kate told her to, all those years ago, she wouldn’t be in the place she is now.’
    Markham eased his large bulk into his favourite leather armchair while Lawton sat on the bright but comfortable flower-patterned settee, and placed the folder he had been carrying beside him. The chairman had already started on the whisky and was reaching for the bottle to top-up his glass. This was a bad sign as booze clouded his crystal-clear judgement and brought out an argumentative nature that always seemed to be bubbling below the calm, studied exterior.
    The chairman offered him one but he declined and in the absence of the redoubtable housekeeper, Lawton headed into the kitchen and made coffee.
    When he resumed his seat on the settee, he opened the folder.
    ‘How did the monthly meeting go on Monday?’ Markham asked.
    ‘Fine, Mathew, no burning issues to report.’
    For the next few minutes he briefed him on recent software developments, sales levels, new ideas and what the senior management team were up to, with particular reference to wives, girlfriends, divorces, and children, as he liked to hear all the personal stuff. He then moved on to the three main items topping their agendas whenever they got together, company accounts, the proposed sale of the business, and progress or otherwise on Project Kratos.
    ‘I’m a bit light on the financials this month, Mathew I’m afraid, but what I've got is the Flash Report, sent out last week by David’s number two before the numbers were finalised. It’s ninety-five per cent accurate and fine for our purposes.’
    ‘Oh. Where’s David? Is he away somewhere?’ Markham asked, reaching for his coffee cup. The whisky was on the back burner now as there were more pressing issues to discuss.
    ‘David wasn’t at the meeting. We haven’t seen him at work since Friday and as he didn’t make an appearance this morning, I asked Jules to call round at his house but when no one came to the door, he called his home number. He heard the phone ringing inside but no one answered. I’m getting no reply from his mobile either.’
    Markham sat back stroking his neatly trimmed beard. At one time it was black, giving him the air of a television presenter or a West End actor but twenty years ago, it turned silver to match his thinning hair and he now resembled the esteemed professor of Egyptian hieroglyphics at a Cairo research facility, a pose he cultivated.
    ‘How odd. David’s never gone AWOL before, especially at this time of the month. You know how he likes to have a go at the poor sods for spending too much money.’
    ‘I agree but–’
    Markham’s hand shot up. ‘It’s more important than that, William. I’m in the middle of delicate talks and if word gets out that our Finance Director has suffered a heart attack or a nervous breakdown, it could all fall apart. You know what it’s like with those Koreans, trust is everything.’
    Trust? Koreans? What the hell was the old fool babbling on about? What talks with Koreans? Was it in reference to the sale of the company? If so, nine companies had stuck their oar in; two Japanese, three Americans, three British and one Russian but no Koreans.
    ‘Find him William. We need David back at his desk pronto.’
    A bewildered Lawton talked him through the financials and other major software developments but by the time they started to talk about Project Kratos, normal service had been resumed. He handed