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expecting me.’
    â€˜Expecting you to come barging into my dark roomand ruin the picture I was developing? Why would I expect something like that, man?’
    â€˜My name is Brant –’
    â€˜And my name’s Frank,’ interrupted the man, ‘but what’s that got to do with this non-knocking policy of yours?’
    â€˜Frank, man, cool it, this is Brant Buchanan, the English dude I told you about,’ said a second man, entering the room. This one had lighter hair and an under-chin beard. ‘Pleased to meet you, Mr Buchanan, sir. Sorry about Frank. He gets tetchy. I’m Hunter. I’m the one who spoke to your colleague. I’m really pleased to meet you, man.’ He extended his hand.
    Brant Buchanan tentatively shook it. ‘I’m sorry about your friend’s picture. I didn’t know anyone developed pictures these days. I thought it was all digital.’
    Hunter laughed. ‘Yeah, well, Frank likes to do things the old-fashioned way. I keep telling him to go digital.’
    â€˜Was the Loch Ness monster caught on digital? Were Big Foot or the Roswell alien on digital? No, man, none of them were,’ said Frank, picking up a pile of photos from one of the messy workspaces that surrounded the room. He held out three blurry black and white pictures that Buchanan recognised as apparentsightings of unexplained things.
    â€˜That’s because digital hadn’t been invented then, man,’ said Hunter.
    â€˜Or had it?’
    â€˜Not this again,’ sighed Hunter.
    â€˜It’s what I believe, man,’ said Frank.
    â€˜Not in front of guests,’ insisted Hunter. ‘Remember, we have a rule.’
    Frank hesitated.
    â€˜No, please, I’m an open-minded man,’ said Buchanan. ‘That is why I’m here after all. Say whatever you have to say.’
    â€˜See,
he’s
open-minded, man,’ said Frank.
    Hunter sighed.
    â€˜I believe that digital photography was created in order to stop us from finding out the truth,’ said Frank. ‘Unlike old-fashioned technology it was created by – and is now being controlled by – super-intelligent aliens that live right here on earth with us, man.’ He whispered this as though someone might be listening.
    â€˜And where are these aliens?’ asked Mr Buchanan.
    â€˜They’re all around us,’ Frank whispered. ‘They’re cats, man. You should see the way they look at me. They know I know.’
    â€˜Frank, man,’ interrupted Hunter, ‘you sound crazywhen you talk like that.’
    Brant Buchanan began to edge towards the door. ‘I’m sorry, I think I’ve made a mistake.’
    â€˜No, man, don’t go,’ said Hunter. ‘It’s just Frank. He’s perfectly fine except for the alien cats thing. You want to know about dragons, don’t you?’
    Buchanan paused. ‘Do you know who I am?’
    â€˜Of course. You’re Brant Buchanan, the seventh richest man in the world. You founded Global Sands, the most awesome multinational company in the universe, man.’
    â€˜This is Brant Buchanan?’ said Frank. ‘Why didn’t you say so, Hunter?’
    â€˜I tried, man, but no, you had to tell him your whole cats-are-aliens thing. Man, you should keep that stuff for your film scripts.’
    â€˜Let me make myself clear,’ said Mr Buchanan. ‘I have recently become interested in dragons. I don’t care about aliens or vampires or things that go bump in the night. I’m not interested in any conspiracy theories on how the government covers things up because, believe me, no government in the world has any secrets from me, but a man in my position can’t afford to let anyone find out that I’m in business with gentlemen such as yourselves. My stock wouldplummet. We live in a world of non-believers, my friends. People would think I had gone mad if they thought I believed in dragons.