Greed by Chris Ryan

thirty million is your pay-off for the mission. Even after it's fenced, that's got to be worth ten million or so. Ten million dollars between five men. You can do the maths yourself. Not bad for a week's work.'

'Think about it.' Alison took a step closer to where Matt was sitting. Her eyes locked on to his, peering down at him, the expression hovering between sympathy and a challenge. 'It's the perfect crime. Lucrative and patriotic.'

FIVE

Matt slammed the door shut on the Boxster and dropped the keys in his pocket. He walked swiftly towards the doors of the Novotel Hammersmith. Another day, another anonymous hotel – those Five boys should think of a new trick sometime.

Matt's head was bowed as he walked, the lines of his forehead creased. Before stepping inside he glanced up towards the sky. Sunshine was breaking through the clouds, sending a shaft of light down on to the traffic snarling its way across the flyover. 'Room 662,' he told the receptionist. 'They're expecting me.'

'Sixth floor,' she said. 'The lifts are over there.' Matt walked purposefully. The decision had been easier than he might have imagined. After the meeting with Alison and her two stooges he had gone back to the flat by himself. She had suggested coming with him but that hadn't felt right: this was a decision he needed to make by himself. There were plenty of friends in London he could have gone to see – his parents, schoolmates, even Gill's brother Damien – but it was a conversation he needed to have with himself. It was his choice. Nobody else could make it for him.

He went out for a curry and a beer. One thing the Regiment had taught him was that you shouldn't fight on an empty stomach – and you can't think straight if you're hungry. After a chicken jalfrezi and two bottles of Cobra, Matt reckoned the calculations had been made and the odds stacked neatly into place.

He could say no. Nobody was forcing him, he could just walk away. From somewhere, somehow, he'd then have to find a lot of money very quickly. Either that, or disappear somewhere where Kazanov and his thugs would never find him. Tempting, but there were two problems. What would happen to Gill? And how much of a fife would that be? You can hide for a while, if you have to. But for the rest of your life? Never see your mates or your family again? Never walk through the streets you played football in as a kid? Never admit who you really were? That wasn't any kind of life worth living.

Or he could say yes. The mission would take a month at most. It was a lot of money, enough to pay off all his debts and set up himself and Gill with a new life. It was the fresh start he needed. It would be dangerous, sure, but he didn't mind that. He had risked death before. One more trip around that carousel wouldn't make any difference. He'd take his chances, the same way he always had in the past. One boat raid, then they'd be home. They would have surprise on their side, they would have the right gear, and they would be trained. Al-Qaeda were good, hardy fighters, and he would never underestimate them. But he fancied the odds, they were plenty good enough to roll with. There was just one problem: he had to trust Alison, and he had to trust the people he was working for. His fate was going to be in their hands.

Trouble was, the Regiment had been full of stories of missions for Five going wrong. They looked after their own people, but when it came to soldiers they were reckless, they took chances. They reckoned that's what soldiers were there for. Spies were for thinking. Soldiers for dying.

Matt added that up as two problems with saying no, and one with saying yes. When you laid it out like that, it wasn't much of a choice at all. He'd do it. Whatever the risks.

The door of the lift shut as Matt pressed the button for the sixth floor. A door closes, a door opens, he reflected to himself. If I take these next few steps I'm committed, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness