Free Greed by Chris Ryan

said. 'I need to talk to you.'

A path led away from the back of the house into the hills. The border between England and Wales lay somewhere close to here, stretching across the peaceful contours of the landscape. A few sheep were grazing in the fields. A light rain was falling, and Matt pulled the collar of his overcoat high up around his neck. The two men walked in silence. Matt wanted to put a safe distance between himself and the house before he began.

The things we are going to discuss are not for the wife and kids to hear.

He climbed over a stone wall, glad to have the chance to flex his muscles. He had drunk a skinful of beer the night before, and he had felt it when he'd woken up. The air would do him good, and so would the exercise.

'Things aren't OK, are they, Joe?' he said.

Cooksley, he knew, was a man of few words, and most of those had only one syllable. He looked up at Matt, the surprise written on to his face. 'Who told you?'

'Five,' Matt answered.

Cooksley walked on, staring at the ground. 'We're out of that game, Matt,' he said. 'Our time is served.'

Matt shook his head. 'I'm back.' He turned to look at his friend. In Cooksley's eyes he could see something he had never seen before, not even in the treacherous, bandit-infested mountains of Kosovo: fear. 'They've told me to recruit four men,' he continued. 'Men who need money, who'll take a chance if they have to.'

'Bastards,' muttered Cooksley. 'I knew Five kept tabs on us all, but I didn't realise they had access to our medical records.'

'What is it, Joe? Are you ill?'

Cooksley walked on, striding across the open field. 'It's Callum and Danny, they have cystic fibrosis.'

Matt stopped in his tracks. 'Christ, I'm sorry. Is there anything you can do?'

'The doctors don't reckon so,' said Cooksley. 'It's incurable. Both of them are going to die.' He paused, looking down into the mud. 'Sarah's cracking up, I don't know how much longer she can stand it.' He looked around. 'You don't know what it's like, Matt. Think of the worst torture you can imagine, then multiply it by ten. And you still wouldn't even be close.'

Matt started walking again, pushing on through the field. 'If there was any treatment you'd get it on the National Health, wouldn't you? You wouldn't need extra money?'

He could hear Cooksley taking a deep breath, turning something over in his mind. 'There's a doctor in California called Peter Beelah. He's working on a gene therapy. It's completely experimental, and unregulated. Some people think you shouldn't even mess around with genetics. But if it's our only chance, we'll take it. The boys would have to be there for a year, getting treatment every day.'

'How much does it cost?'

'Half a million dollars,' he replied. 'Bugger it, Matt, I'm just an ex-soldier. I sell mobile phone accessories for some crappy little firm in Hereford. I'm making eighteen bloody grand a year, plus commission. But there never is any commission, because the product's rubbish and I'm a rubbish salesman. Where the hell am I ever supposed to get that kind of money?'

'I'm not here to sell you anything,' said Matt. 'You are your own man, and you make your own choices.' He started climbing over the wall they had reached, holding out an arm to help his friend across. He could tell from the way Joe held himself that he was desperate to hear more.

'It's one mission,' he continued. 'It will be illegal, and off the books, but we'll have help from Five, and there will never be any charges. It will take about a month. At the end, the pay-off will be more than enough to take care of both kids.'

Cooksley laughed bitterly. 'Where do I sign?'

Matt rested his hand on his friend's shoulder.

'If it would save my boys, I'd walk through hell,' said Cooksley sharply. 'With a smile on my face.'

 

Matt stepped into the dark room. A chink of light was shining through a half broken pane of glass, but there was nothing else to illuminate his path. He walked over a beer bottle, and