Free A Choice of Evils by Joe Thompson-Swift Page A

was to get into the Tropical Research Lab and search for the formula so I made my way home to make the necessary preparations.
    Back indoors, I read over the print outs again. The problem now was that a different picture was unfolding before me. If Bruce was the real scientist and Ahmed wasn’t, then the formula was about something extremely important that only a foreign power would be interested in too. My guess was it was anything other than a formula for gene cloning. But what? I wasn’t in a position to ask and I knew no one in a position to tell me. Ahmed’s story was a plausible one, but now the voice on the tape and the print out all pointed against him as a bona fide scientist. I reproached myself for getting into such a dangerous situation. Ahmed’s story was a clever one alright and my advantage now was that I knew he was a liar.
    I couldn’t help dwelling upon it all. There was a bit of scary paranoia about this whole thing and I felt that I was now a victim as much as Dr Bruce would become. More so, it seemed I had become an unwitting agent in some kind of espionage in stealing a government secret. What if I tried to back out now? Return the money? What if I told Ahmed what I now knew about him? Would that frighten him off? Christ! What was I bloody well going to do? Did I carry on and pretend I was none the wiser? After all it was just a ‘steal to order’ job. Forget the paranoia and get on with it. Steal the formula, hand it over, take the rest of the money owed and forget about it! But then why trust Ahmed to keep his part of the deal? Wouldn’t I become a liability to his organization? Maybe a thief like me was an expendable commodity? There was nobody I could turn too. There was no doubt Ahmed had checked me out before he approached me. He probably knew as much about me as I knew about myself, especially as he had read my autobiography THE MIND OF A THIEF.
    I cursed myself for being such a fool. I was compromised from both sides. If I told Bruce, then I would become involved with the government and police and get arrested. If I about turned on Ahmed, I would become his liability. If I carried out the theft, the government would move heaven and earth to find the culprit responsible. It seemed the lesser of the evils was to carry out the theft and play it by ear. I was cornered.
    It was now 4pm. I stuck a passport photo onto the forged pass and gave it a signature. That went straight into my pocket. The jemmy, screwdriver, twirls, torch and gloves were already in my briefcase. I wore a pin stripe city suit to look the part now my thieving mode had returned. I was now on auto pilot just like I used to be in my old thieving days. Such was the head upon my shoulders as I left home and got in my car.

9
    As expected, the traffic was heavy as I drove down the Old Kent Road through into Blackfriars Road. It took me almost an hour to drive the six miles, but I found a quiet location to park at. Within minutes, I was walking along the pavement towards the Tropical Research Lab. Trying my best to measure up to the task, I soon approached the foyer and flashed my pass to the security guard. After a brief scrutiny, he pressed the entry button from inside to let me in.
    There was a vast array of staircases and landings, each housing classroom sized rooms. I could see male and female boffins, seriously engaged with microscopes doing research. It was a quiet studious atmosphere as I watched them through a chink in the whitewashed windows. A board gave details of the Lab’s No’s and names of who was occupying each one. There were eight in all. I found Dr Bruce located on floor three, and made my way up, listening to the echoes of my footsteps as I did so.
    Bruce’s Lab was no bigger than any of the others. I examined the door lock from the outside. It was an ordinary 4 lever E type. My twirls would attend to that. A peep through the whitened window saw me a darkened room, where a figure was huddled over a