A real beauty. Or am I becoming attached to my abductor? Is Stockholm syndrome already possessing my psyche? "What's your name, my dear?"

"You don't need that information."

She had a slight accent.

Portuguese or Spanish. Soft vowels. "I suppose if you wanted to kill me, you would have already done so. Can I know where you're taking me?"

"Let me just say that you'll be leaving London. A nice vacation."

"Will I be able to return?"

"Depends. If you cooperate, maybe. If you don't, you'll be food for the fish."

"Your country must have a sea coast, then. How nice. I hope it's warmer than London. My arthritis is not so good here, you see."

"All right. Time's up. Let's go."

The woman threw her cigarette to the ground, grinding it into the concrete with her boot.

During the next four days a massive manhunt for Britain's leading expert on fusion devices was carried out. Max Klein was already in Caracas.