Episode Six: On The Job

Don soon guided the white, and mildly rusting, multicab to Aviles Street and Robinson’s Centrum. Unlike the other, newer, malls in Ormoc, there were plenty of parking spaces in the car park outside the mall.

‘Get ready for the hair dryer.’ He warned Verity, as they opened the doors simultaneously, were swiped by a blast of hot, humid air, scampered for safety into the open door of a convenience store, sighed in relief at its aircon, passed straight through without buying a thing, and found themselves in the central hallway of the mall. Don led her down the hallway, stopping off at a concession stand selling hot siopao rice buns and bought five, before taking the escalator to the first floor.

They came to an office marked with the logo of the Island Times: a cartoonish white sand, palm tree topped island with a bugle under the tree. The blinds were drawn. It looked like no-one was around.

Don rapped on the wood and glass door. ‘FoodPuti is here.’ He joked, combining the name of a well-known food delivery company with the Bisaya word for ‘white’. ‘Get it while I'm hot!’

A middle-aged Filipino man with a slight paunch, a balding head and his glasses on the end of a metal chain came to the door. ‘Ah! Mister Don! You’re here. And you brought something delicious with you.’ He replied to Don.

‘Aye, and I brought some food too.’ Don joked.

‘Letch!’ Verity coughed.

Don led the introductions. ‘Gabriel De La Cruz, also known as “Gabe”. Never “Gabby”. His personal pronoun is “Sir”, meet Verity Amihan Defensor, also known as ‘Ver’. Since she’s half-Scottish, her personal pronoun is “Hen”.’

Both of them smiled at Don’s silliness and shook each other’s hands.

‘Glad to meet you, at last.’ Gabriel told her.

‘Likewise. And you can ignore him. You can call me anything but “Hen”.’ She smiled, before turning to Don and scalding him lightly, ‘That kind of thing can get you on a disciplinary, you know. Or fired.’

‘And that’s why I’m retired.’ Don quipped.

‘You come here highly recommended.’ Gabriel told Verity. ‘From your Editor especially.’

Something triggered Don. ‘Hold on a minute. Hold on a wee Glasgow minute. You said “your Editor”. But she’s been fired from the Morning Edition. She doesn’t work for that wee nyaff Doug Brodie anymore. She works for you. That means you’re her Editor. But you said ‘your Editor’ implying it’s someone else... Hold on: my head hurts. I need a lie down.’

‘Or a siopao.’ Verity took one of the round, white rolls wrapped in thin paper from the plastic bag they had been handed at the concession stand and offered it to him. ‘Still no idea why we need five.’

Gabriel looked like he was about to intervene, but Verity stopped him. ‘Leave it. Those cogs are turning. His geriatric brain will get it eventually.’

‘Hold on! Hold on! Got it!’ Don exclaimed excitedly. ‘You were not really fired, you were transferred. But Doug made it look like a firing so you could get some money by suing the paper for wrongful dismissal.’

‘Not quite, Sherlock. Shall I explain it to him?’ she asked Gabriel.

‘I would. He will obsess over this and we need him to not be distracted.’ Gabriel told her. ‘Although I know how hard that is.’

‘I was fired by Doug, and we made sure the firing was as acrimonious and as public as possible because of who it is we’re investigating. I’ve been pestering Doug to do an article for years on how Shiloh Stalker Valdez drove my friend Charlotte Chapman to kill herself. But, of course, they're practically untouchable because they’re from a sexual minority and an influencer with millions of followers...’

‘...Go after him, and the Morning Edition loses a small fortune in advertising.’ Don interrupted.

Verity continued. ‘...Not to mention our Diversity and Inclusion folks go nuts and create havoc in the company...’

‘...Which could cost wee Dougy-boy his job. So, by firing you, Doug’s freed you up to go after Valdez without the editorial controls of a culture too blinded by its worship of inclusion to see the problems right in front of its face.’ Don realised.

‘Well, that sounds a little homophobic. I’m not sure I would put it quite like that.’ Verity contended

‘So how would you put it, then?’ Don countered.

‘Same sentiment, different words... Less homophobic. Doesn’t matter.’ Verity brushed it away.

‘Verity was fired and is working for me now.’ Gabriel added. ‘But I struck a deal with Don so that she is able to work here on full UK pay, we get a nice little facilitation payment on top, and both newspapers get a joint exclusive when Shiloh Stalker Valdez is eventually exposed.’

Don whistled. ‘Sweet deal.’

‘See? Us non-Mensa members can also have good ideas.’ Verity joked.

‘Oh, I never joined Mensa.’ Don told them.

‘You talked about it so often to Doug. Why not?’ Verity asked him, in mock dismay.

‘It’s name. It’s too gender-specific.’ Don replied. ‘Men...Sa...’

Verity chuckled. ‘Did you just man-splain your own joke? What I don’t understand is why you bought five siopao and there are only three of us. I mean, my maths might not be brilliant, but even I know five into three doesn’t go.’

Right then, there was a knock at the door.

‘And there’s your answer.’ Don told her.

Gabriel walked over to the door, opened the latch and welcomed two people – a man and a woman – into the room, introducing them with, ‘Lady and gentleman, allow me to introduce to you Detective Roberta Gonzalez of the Philippine National Police here in Ormoc, and Rohelio Gomez of the National Bureau of Investigation, also in Ormoc. Ma’am Roberta, Sir Rohelio, this is former Detective Donald Mac-Leish...’

Gabriel continued. ‘It’s “McLeish”. The ‘A’ doesn’t exist.’ Don corrected him.

‘...and Verity Amihan Defensor, an investigative reporter from the British newspaper the Morning Edition.’

Roberta was tall, skinny, in prim and perfect blue uniform and seemed to be unusually severe. Verity could sense that she had needed to go through a lot to get where she was. She gave off a quiet aura of earned authority.

Rohelio, on the other hand, had a relaxed, laid back manner. He was dressed more casually in a pair of common slacks and a shirt. Even his non-designer stubble looked as if it didn’t really want to emerge from his pores. He was older – fifties, she would say. Not far from retirement.

Don was excited. ‘Okay, folks. Let’s get this show on the road. I bet you didn’t come here for the free siopao.’ He led them all to an office table with a white board in a corner of the office. They were the only ones there. Everyone else had long since left for the day, especially since Gabriel had given them the rest of the day off.

This was their secret: their plan to bring a serious criminal to justice.

Not so far away, the criminal was enjoying the fruits of their injustice. Shiloh was back at the Sabin Hotel now, chilling by the pool on a sun lounger, wearing the most ridiculous luminescent two-piece bikini that was just not designed for their still-male body. Their beautiful people, evidently not yet tired of having a good time, were splashing around like children in the hotel pool, ducking and chasing each other, while taking selfies and videos for social media.

Shiloh looked on their antics through their over-sized and over-expensive sunglasses with no little disdain. ‘You see? That’s why I pay for exclusive use.’ They muttered.

Their phone rang again. ‘Hello?’ they replied. ‘Oh, so good to here from you. Yes, Maja Hernandez made the reservation in my name. No, she is not available. She is in the shower right now. Okay, you are just calling to confirm the function room for tomorrow? That’s great. See you then!’ He said down the phone before announcing, ‘Well, people, our auditions are on for tomorrow!’

Their beautiful people cheered loudly, before continuing their boisterous play.

‘Of course you’re cheering. You don’t have to work.’ Shiloh muttered disapprovingly.

‘Dearly beloved, we are all gathered here today to put a plan together that will put Shiloh Stalker Valdez behind bars for good.’ Don began.

‘Yeah!’ Verity pumped the air.

Don continued. ‘Because he’s a filthy pervert who makes way more money than me.’

Verity was somewhat taken aback. ‘Eh, what? I thought it was because they are a serial criminal who exploits those less well off than themself.’ She corrected him.

‘A man can have two reasons.’ Don corrected her. ‘I mean, why is it that all the good guys are poor? I keep asking myself that?’

Roberta, the sensible one who had barely spoken up to that point, chipped in. ‘The main issue is that they seem to be untouchable. They have diplomatic immunity, so we cannot arrest them. If we do, we will cause a huge international incident.’

Verity responded to her level-headedness. ‘So our only course of action is to put the British government in a position where they have to remove their diplomatic immunity.’

‘”Their?” How many people are we arresting? Does the Ormoc City police have a big enough police van?’ Don quipped.

They ignored him.

Rohelio piped up. ‘Gabriel told me of your Editor’s plan, Verity. He’s a smart man.’

‘Aye, but I bet he didn’t almost apply to join Mensa.’ Don pouted.

Again, they ignored him. So Don started biting into a siopao, and got ketchup from the filling all over his five o’clock shadowed chin.

Rohelio continued. ‘I think he might have another reason. You see, finding out that someone with diplomatic immunity has committed a crime – even a lot of crimes – doesn’t normally get their immunity lifted.’

Roberta completed Rohelio’s train of thought. ‘Usually nothing happens, or, if it’s too embarrassing, they are just sent home and given a lesser job in the civil service.’

‘But what if the negative publicity was so great and the outcry so loud that the British government would have no option but to lift his immunity to save face.’ Verity thought out loud.

‘So, what we need is absolutely watertight proof of the crimes he has committed and how he’s gotten away with it for so long.’ Roberta added.

‘Once we have that, then Verity and can help generate the outcry, which should not be hard, given what he has done.’ Gabriel said, much to Verity’s approval, while Don took another bite and made the ketchup situation worse.

‘I have a potential witness who might help.’ Rohelio stated.

‘That would be great.’ Roberta commended him. ‘I’ve seen posters up all over town promoting some form of auditions tomorrow.

‘I could infiltrate that. See what I can find out. Shiloh never met me, so they can’t recognise me.’ Verity volunteered.

‘You see, that might actually work.’ Roberta agreed. ‘Gabriel told me you are an investigative journalist back in Scotland. I’m sure you’d be good at that.’

Having wolfed down the siopao, Don slammed its paper down onto the table. ‘Okay, now you’ve all had your say, and I’ve finished eating – and very good it was too – but now the support act is done, it's time for the main attraction to take to the stage.’ And with that, he stood up, puffed out his chest, attempted unsuccessfully to dab the remaining ketchup from his chin with a dirty tissue, and took a deep breath.

Verity shook her head in bemusement.

Doug was dead right about this guy. He was eccentric. And then some.

Don continued his speech, with the slightly pompous air of a man who knew it all but wasn’t willing to tell it all. ‘Sending Verity in there to infiltrate their little recruitment event? Good idea. Good idea. She has the benefit of not working for the police and the nous of an investigative reporter.’

‘I think your nose is fine.’ Roberta whispered to her.

Don wasn’t done. ‘But there are two flaws to that plan. Firstly, these are dangerous people who have no conscience and are not above asking her to do things that are simply out of the question.’

Verity laughed mockingly. ‘I’ve lived in Glasgow most of my life. I can handle myself.’

‘I’m sure you can, but you will need backup.’ Don told her.

‘Agreed.’ Rohelio interjected. ‘But what is the second flaw in this otherwise brilliant plan?’

‘These people are clearly trafficking women – and men, let’s not be sexist here – for sexual gratification. Now, the typical body that men find gratifying has the form of a Coca-Cola bottle. No offence, Verity – and I mean that most sincerely – but you're more “mini bottle of Irn Bru”.’

Verity snatched her siopao paper and angrily chucked it at him. ‘Shut up, you sexist pig! Don’t you body shame me! Leave that to my parents and grandparents!’ she snapped.

Roberta reached a hand over to calm Verity down, while gently setting Don straight. ‘Mister Don, it is my experience that men like all sorts of women these days, and all sorts of men.’ she told him.

‘Yeah, you know, I was on a raid when we rescued these women who could have eaten Verity whole, and still have room for halo-halo.’ Rohelio added.

‘Not cool, guys, not cool.’ Verity shook her head in distaste.

‘Okay, we still send Verity, but with back-up, and we have a psychologist on hand in case they reject her.’ Don offered.

‘Back-up? Absolutely. Psychologist? On our budget?’ Rohelio corrected him.

Don was not done. ‘Okay, but there is something else we need to bring to the table: intelligence. Namely, mine.’

‘Only if it's not sexist or demeaning.’ Verity interjected. ‘Otherwise I’ll put my Irn Bru somewhere where it'll take a huge medical bill to retrieve it.’

‘What exactly is this “Irn Bru”?’ Roberta asked Verity.

‘Tell you later.’ Verity told her.

‘Unbeknown to all of you, I have been receiving packages each night for the last three nights. These packages have contained otherwise unknown information about the operations of Pink Boy Media and its associated criminal enterprises.’ Don informed them. ‘Valdez’s gang is leaking.’

‘Wow! That is truly impressive!’ Roberta gushed.

‘Yeah, that could turn this whole investigation.’ Rohelio agreed.

‘Wait a minute: the gang is leaking... to you?’ Verity intervened. ‘I mean, you leaking I could understand. Because, let’s face it – no offence, Donald – but men of your vintage do that.’

‘Ageist!’ Don protested.

‘Yeah, you do not like the Hush Puppie on the other foot, do you?’ Verity scolded him.

‘Okay, you’re good.’ Don commended her.

‘But the question remains: why you?’ Verity asked.

‘Honestly... apart from my charisma, maturity and all-round likeability... I don’t know.’ Don admitted. ‘All I do know is that every night, I get a text to go to the LBC office on Rizal Street, I go in and they have an envelope for me. I open it, and inside is some information about Valdez and his gang of hoodlums.’

Beneath them on the street, out of their sights, coming into the city from Bantigue, a lone, slight female hotel worker, having finished her shift, rode a tricycle driven by a man in a tatty t-shirt and ripped jeans.

‘Unsa nga LBC, Dai?’ he asked above the loud clatter of his two-stoke engine.

‘Sa Rizal, Kuya. Dapit sa Cebuana Lhuillier.’ She replied gently.

‘Sige.’ He confirmed.

‘So what have you learned so far?’ Roberta asked him.

‘Well, the first piece of information I received was ground-breaking.’ Don told them. ‘Wait for it... Shiloh Stalker Valdez.... is...’ He held them in suspense.

Verity beckoned the words out of his mouth with her hands. ‘What?’

‘... Not. A. Woman.’ Don announced.

Roberta and Rohelio both chuckled. ‘Oh, you are funny, Mister Don.’ Roberta told him, with a level of enthusiasm Verity thought was a classic tell that she was being too polite.

‘Well, you know, nowadays people can declare themselves to be whatever they want and you have to respect it, so...’ Verity pouted.

‘Aye, right!’ Don argued. ‘So if a man walks in here and tells me he's the King of Great Britain, I'm supposed to bow down, show him respect and let him take my money so he can buy a house in Romania and pretend he’s Vlad the Impaler? Away wi’ ye! I’d have a hard time doing that with auld Charlie Boy himself!’

‘And I believe you.’ Verity told him. ‘But can’t we agree to say that they are not a biological female?’

‘His plumbing is external. His bits dangle. He stands up to pee. He is a man!’ Don shot back. ‘Okay, maybe that wasn’t such a revelation. But wait until you hear the second one.’

‘Okay, we’re listening.’ Rohelio told him.

‘Our Shiloh is the son of a Filipina, Consuela Valdez, and a retired Scottish businessman, Sandy Stalker, right?’ Don asked.

‘I guess so, yeah. So what?’ Verity asked him.

‘Actually, he’s not.’ Don grinned knowingly. ‘He is the son of Consuela Valdez, but not the son of Sandy Stalker. Consuela was married to a Filipino by the name of Efren Valdez. They had a boy – yes, a boy...’ he said pointedly in Verity’s direction. ‘...but Consuela was a little naughty and left the Philippines, ostensibly to become a nurse in an old people’s home. However, in reality it was because she'd met Sandy Stalker – who just happens to be older and very rich – on a dating website. Much to his family's chagrin, they were married. But, and this is the kicker, she didn’t properly annul her marriage to Efren. She just got a dodgy judge to say she was never married to him at all.’

Verity doubted him again. ‘So far, so very Tagalog soap opera. So what?’

Roberta knew. ‘If Shiloh is not Sandy’s son, then his biological family would have a stronger claim on the will should Sandy die. Shiloh could lose any inheritance.’ she realised.

Verity still looked a little doubtful that this could be of use, but Don could not be deterred.

‘Look, I also found out that his mother has been with a number of younger men since her sham marriage, so if we want to get to him, we could always make a lot of “Yo’ mamma” jokes...’ he proffered.

Verity wasn’t convinced at all. ‘Has your intelligence actually come up with anything useful?’ she scolded him.

‘You mean, apart from knowing that some of the biggest people traffickers in Asia, Europe, the Arab Gulf and the Americas are on their way to the Philippines right now for an event Shiloh is hosting?’ Don shot back.

‘Now that... that is useful.’ Verity admitted. ‘Do we have the deets: date, place, time?’

‘Not yet.’ Don confirmed. ‘But we might be receiving them around...’

His phone buzzed. He snatched it triumphantly from his pocket and placed it on the table in front of him. ‘Now.’ He grinned.

They stared at it on the screen. Sure enough, he had a package waiting for him at LBC Rizal Street.

‘So, anyone wanna come for a ride?’ He invited them.

‘Don’t say that. Like, ever. Just, don’t.’ Verity instructed him.

‘Are you not coming?’ Don asked her, surprised even at the thought that she wouldn’t.

‘Yeah, but first I've got to see a man about a hog.’ Verity replied, pointing her hands down like a rapper.

‘Letchon after siopao? You are truly Filipina.’ Rohelio laughed.

Don sighed. ‘She’s hiring a motorbike.’ He turned to Verity and told her, ‘Okay, see you there, provided you don’t end up dead in a ditch on the way.’

All four of them got up from the table and made their way to the office door.

‘These Scottish people can be so mean to each other.’ Roberta said to Rohelio quietly.

‘Mao ba. Imagine how they are with the English.’ Rohelio concurred.

They locked up the office and left the mall, which was close to closing. They boarded Don’s multicab and he (somewhat grudgingly) gave Verity a ride towards Bantigue (away from the city) so she could pick up her Yamaha Mio Max 125cc bike – which was jet black with green flashes. She also rented a black helmet, fished a black leather jacket from her duffel bag, boarded her bike and zoomed off into the distance, leaving Don, Roberta and Rohelio behind her.

‘Well, that’s gratitude for you!’ Don snapped.

Twenty minutes later, they were reunited outside the LBC office. Both parked on the spacious car park where a mall had once stood and crossed the road. Verity, Roberta and Rohelio stood back in anticipation as Don accepted the package.

It was a brown envelope. Just a plain brown, unsealed envelope.

‘Obviously this was sent in haste.’ Don noted.

‘Did you see who sent this? Do you know them?’ Verity asked the goatee-bearded clerk.

‘No, ma’am, I do not.’ He told her. ‘But I did notice that she was wearing a uniform from the Sabin Hotel.’

‘Has this happened the same way the last few nights? I mean: she comes here at approximately the same time and asks you to text this guy to tell him he has a delivery?’

‘Yes, ma’am. She's here at almost exactly the same time.’

‘So that would be around five-thirty?’

‘Yes, ma'am.’

‘Salamat kaayo.’ Verity thanked him somewhat enthusiastically. She returned to the others, ‘So, what did she send you, Don?’

Don was, quite simply, thoroughly befuddled. ‘What on earth is this stupid wee thing?’ He held up a plastic box, not much bigger than his thumb, that appeared to have a sliding switch on its side.

‘It’s a pen drive, grandpa!’ Verity teased. ‘Hold on. I have my laptop in my bag.’

The three others followed her out to the multicab. Don opened the front, she took her rucksack out and they moved to the back of the multicab, sitting on the benches watching intently as she started up her laptop.

‘Should you be doing this? That could have malware on it.’ Roberta told her.

‘Mal Ware? I think I arrested him for drunken and disorderly after an Old Firm match. He swore he hadn’t peed on that horse’s leg. But CCTV and a hoof to the nether regions don’t lie.’ Don recalled out loud.

Verity wasn’t perturbed. ‘I have a strong antivirus on my laptop.’

‘Aye, good things, auntie viruses. Uncle viruses? Not so good. They just make you smell bad, dance badly at parties and give unwanted birthday presents.’ Don quipped.

No-one laughed.

Don resigned himself to defeat. ‘Tough crowd.’ he admitted.

‘Right, we’re in.’ Verity told them, and with a few intentional clicks of her mouse, she saw something that caught her attention. ‘Folks!’ she pronounced. ‘It all just got real.’

‘Why? Were we all fiction until now?’ Don asked her.

She didn’t answer.

‘That gathering with the other traffickers? It's happening on the twenty-ninth of June, according to this email. That’s three days from now!’ she exclaimed.

Rohelio looked over her shoulder. ‘And it's happening an hour after the Piña Festival Parade of Lights! Does this guy have no respect for police overtime?’

Alexei Orlov’s plane made a straightforward landing, on time, into Cebu Mactan airport. He disembarked, followed the directions to immigration (which was very quiet and remarkably quick) and headed to the luggage belt, which also seemed to be deserted, almost as if no-one else was on his flight.

He did not have a long time to wait until his bag appeared. After less than ten minutes, it was there. He grabbed it and headed towards Customs and the exit. As he was leaving the terminal building, he noticed a Filipino man, dressed very nicely in a white shirt, dark trousers and a dark tie, was stood behind the metal barrier at the exit, holding a paper sign with his name printed on it.

Alexei wasn’t expecting this.

He walked over to the man and introduced himself tentatively. ‘I am Alexei Orlov.’

‘Pleased to meet you, sir. Hope you had a pleasant flight. I am Arturo, your driver. I was sent to take you to meet your handler, and then to your hotel.’ the man responded.

‘Okay. I was not aware I had a handler. Does this mean I am a secret agent?’ Alexei asked.

‘I am not sure, sir. I am just your driver.’ Arturo replied, as he offered to take Alexei’s duffel bag. Since Alexei was tired, despite flying business class the whole way, he didn’t mind.

They left the parking lot, drove through Mactan, before crossing the bridge to Mandaue. The city seemed quite unfamiliar to Alexei. The heat, the palm trees, the market stalls selling barbecue and rice so close to the road – it was all new. But it was something else that really took him aback. He had not seen such a close juxtaposition of wealth (in the form of giant commercial buildings and malls) and poverty (in the form of shanties and slums) so close to each other. It was quite striking.

Soon they left the city and found themselves in the countryside, heading towards the hills, just as the sun was starting to set.

Alexei was really not so sure about this at all. He wondered if his own curiosity had walked him into a massive trap. Uneasiness crept over him with each passing kilometre.

Until, that is, they turned left just as they approached the Mountain View Nature Park and began to slow down. Sure enough, the car drew to a halt outside the Temple of Leah – without a doubt the most ostentatious building in the entire city. One man's declaration of undying love to his wife – but who, according to local chatter, had several mistresses – the Temple impressed him with its multiple Greek-style columns, spectacular continental-style fountain and, as far as he could see when he emerged from the vehicle, a seriously classy inside.

Arturo got out of the vehicle too. ‘They said to head over to the view of the city.’ He told Alexei. ‘They will find you.’

Alexei did as he was instructed. And the closer he got to the wall at the edge of the view, with its multiple Mediterranean style plinths, the more he wanted to drink it in all the more. He could see all the way from Bagacay Point Lighthouse, to the airport and Mactan island, with its three bridges, to Fort San Pedro, the port, the traffic crawling along Colon Street and the bright lights of SM Seaside mall, as well as numerous other malls, and everything in between. He could even see the Mactan channel and boats navigating it slowly, both towards Cebu and away from it.

This truly was a marvellous view.

He took his phone out and snapped some pictures. He had to. It was too good to miss.

‘First time here, Mister Orlov?’ A taller than average Filipino, with the distinct local accent, wearing cargo shorts and an obviously fake branded shirt, sidled up to him.

Alexei looked at him in evident disbelief. ‘You are CIA?’

The man glared at him as if he wanted him to be quiet. ‘Hey, don’t spread it around. But yes, I am CIA.’

‘No. This is crazy. No way.’ Alexei objected.

‘Look.’ The man pulled out an ID card from his shorts and gave it to Alexei.

He examined it carefully. As far as he could see, it seemed genuine. He handed it back to the agent. ‘What, so the CIA is outsourcing now?’ he asked, with typical Slavic sarcasm.

‘Little racist, don’t you think?’ the agent retorted. ‘Think about it: it's thirty degrees. Eighty percent humidity. We have a serious problem here with communists and Islamic rebels in the south. How well do you think a white guy in a trench coat is going to be able to do his job?’

Alexei admitted defeat. ‘That’s fair, I suppose. So, why did you bring me here? I guess it’s not to promote this place on my Instagram.’

‘I sincerely hope you do not do that.’ The agent replied. ‘It’s to give you this.’ The agent handed Alexei a Manila envelope. ‘Don’t open it here. Inside you have ten thousand pesos in unmarked bills, a hotel reservation for tonight to get over the jetlag, a ticket for the overnight ferry tomorrow, your hotel reservation in Ormoc City and a city map. The map also tells you where to find weapons. Once you've got them, destroy the map.’

‘Deniability, right?’ Alexei noted.

The agent nodded. ‘Yes. No-one can know that we, or the Philippine security service, are behind this. You are carrying out an extrajudicial killing. You are on your own. As far as anyone is concerned, you are taking revenge for what happened to your wife. We played no part in it.’

‘But where is Valdez? How do I get to him?’ Orlov asked him.

‘There’s also a burner phone in your hotel room. I’ll call you tomorrow. We have information but need to confirm it. Remember: full deniability. We did not assist you. I was never here. All the best, Alexei Orlov.’

And with that, he walked off into the night.

Alexei stared one more time at the city lights beneath him. All the noise and chaos and smells seemed so far away now.

Within days, he would kill the man who had enslaved his wife.

He would kill Shiloh Stalker Valdez.

The agent drove back down the hillside before Alexei. As he did so, he was talking on his phone. ‘Salamat sa information, Dai, but it would have been useful to have this around ten minutes ago, you know.’ he said, his frustration plain.

‘I know, Sir Michael. I’m sorry. I've only just made it home.’ The female voice on end of the line told him.

‘Hey, I guess it doesn’t matter. We’ll still get him. And by the sounds of things, a few others too. Anyway, sleep well. You will be needed tomorrow.’ the agent replied.

‘Salamat na pud, sir. Goodnight to you too.’

And with that, in her scrupulously neat living room, Detective Roberta Gonzalez ended the call.