***

Tall, dark, distinguished, expensively dressed Billy Forester opened the front door of his plush country home and stepped inside the foyer. He was flanked either side by his huge, hired musclemen, Brendan and Phil.

"Go and park the Jag, Phil, and then take the baggage upstairs," he instructed, throwing the keys towards his employee who caught them deftly.

"Sure thing, Boss."

Billy strode assuredly across the entrance lobby, his steel-tipped shoes echoing his footsteps against the flagstone floor. He reached the huge paneled double doors to his collection room, eagerly turned the heavy guilt handles and swung them wide open. Brendan viewed the figure of his employer, now encircled with the bright sunlight that was streaming out into the lobby via the floor to ceiling length leaded windows inside the chamber. He watched as Billy walked forward a couple of steps before stopping short, his hands curling into claws and slowly rising to his head. "WHAT THE?" he roared, "BRENDAN, PHIL, GET IN HERE – NOW!"

Brendan rushed forward, and stood at his Boss’s side looking with amazement into the room. Phil, who had just returned to the house with the bags, heard Billy’s bellowing command, dropped the luggage and ran in a couple of seconds later.

Billy advanced slowly into the room, the sound of broken glass, crunching under his feet and surveying the callous destruction of his pride and joy. Showcases were smashed, the safe door hung open, and one of the tapestries has been torn down from where it had previously beautifully adorned the wall. There was a discarded silver brooch by his feet, which he bent down to pick up.

"No, Boss," said Brendan, clamping a warning hand on his shoulder. "Don’t touch anything, the Bizzies will want to dust for fingerprints."

Billy turned on his employee, a look of disgust on his face. "Are you a complete idiot, Brendan? The Police are the last people I want involved in this. Have you forgotten that the goods were stolen by us in the first place?"

"Oh yeah, sorry Boss."

Billy shook his head despairingly and turned away. He picked up the brooch and rubbed it lovingly between his index finger and thumb and approached the smashed display-cases. He knew full well before reaching them that they were going to be empty and was proved right. He next went to the safe and looked inside, also not surprised to find it had been cleaned out.

Brendan and Phil watched him in dreaded silence as he drew himself up to his full 6’3 height, his broad shoulders beginning to shudder. His hands clenching into fists, the muscle on his forearms shuddering under the pressure. A trickle of blood seeped from between his fingers where the brooch dug deeply into his hand. He threw his head back, roared his frustration and began storming around the room, noisily pushing over furniture. He swept his arm across the top of the fireplace, sending personal items flying, smashing to the floor. He pulled the remaining tapestries from the walls sending up clouds of choking dust, and finally vented the remainder of his anger by kicking out the bottom windowpanes.

Spent, he leaned on his fingertips against the window frame, his head down with his shoulders heaving. Silence reigned for a full minute before he raised his head and ever so slowly looked across the grounds. He addressed his hired muscle who had backed themselves up into the doorway to give their Boss room to vent. He spoke quietly, menacingly, dangerously, without taking his eyes for an instant from the view, "I have spent the last five years building up my collection, and now some…some…AMATEUR…has dared to enter my home and steal it. Whoever this is will pay, oh yes, they will pay dearly. Find out who has done this boys, and bring me back my treasures, and his HEAD!"

***

Frank caught site of a newsagent in the distance and spied rows of brightly colored magazines. "Joe, I want to see if I can get my computer mag, can you wait here and keep your eye on things while I go look."

"Okay, but don’t be long, I don’t want to be stuck in this airport for ages, I’m feeling pretty beat. I couldn’t sleep on the plane – god knows how you managed too."

"Natural talent." smiled Frank, walking away.

Joe maneuvered the trolley into the side, out of the way and gazed aimlessly about, humming and tapping out a beat on the handlebars. He looked down at the bags and realized they looked pretty unstable; he bent down and started to straighten up the pile to make them more secure. As he did so, he heard footsteps pounding up behind him and glanced back just in time to see a hand grab one of the smaller bags and lift it cleanly away. He shouted in surprise and straightened up to watch the figure of a young man, not much younger than himself, running off in a lopping fashion through the milling crowds. Realizing he couldn’t leave the bags and pursue him, he yelled to his brother who was just leaving the kiosk empty handed, "Frank, quick, stop that guy, he just snatched one of our bags."

Frank’s head snapped round to see whom Joe was pointing madly at and took off in pursuit. A murmur began to build up in the crowd as they realized something exciting was happening in front of their very eyes. Frank shouldered his way through people, apologizing as he went, attempting to pick up speed. Finding himself trapped in the center of the crowd, he shouted for someone to stop the fleeing figure, who by now had a good head start on him. He realized in an instant that if no one came to his aid, the thief was, in all likelihood, going to escape. Finally forcing his way through, he sprinted like crazy, gaining on his prey by the second.

The bag snatcher was forced to weave his way slowly around a small group of people waiting against a barrier, all their faces holding expressions of bemusement, obviously wondering what all the commotion was about. The thief took the opportunity to glance back fearfully over his shoulder towards his pursuer.

Frank locked eyes with a young woman who had stepped forward away from the main crowd to observe what was happening and saw her appraising the situation. As the thief drew level with her she stood baring his way and Frank watch as the bag snatcher took a couple of panicky steps backwards to avoid any confrontation. The woman kept step with him and caught him under the knee as his leg came up mid-stride, she held it, and pushed her hand into his shoulder, sending him completely off balance. Sprawling on his back, he lost his grip on the holdall, which landed a couple of feet away. The woman let go of the limb, allowing the male companion she’d been standing with to leap upon the bag snatcher and hold him down by the shoulders. Two security guards began to run toward the writhing couple, one stopping to retrieve the bag.

Frank caught up. "Thanks," he said breathlessly, "that goon stole our holdall."

"So I, and the rest of the airport heard." she jested. Her eyes widened for just a second and she stared up at him intently, tipping her head curiously to one side.

"Hey, that was a pretty neat move," he observed. "Do you do martial arts?"

"I’ve done a little kung-fu and self-defense in the past," she replied modestly, "nothing serious." Her eyes didn’t stray from his face, a cheeky smile beginning to spread across her lips.

Her constant intense observation was starting to make him feel strangely vulnerable and he shifted unconsciously backwards on his feet. He saw that the woman stood around 5’6, had long auburn hair, gray/blue eyes and a fair complexion. He estimated her age to be around 21 or 22.

"Sorry, I don’t mean to stare at you," she said, noticing him redden a little. "It’s just that you look just like someone I know."

"Do I?"

"Very much so, yes."

"Who?"

"Well…" she turned slightly and jerked a thumb towards her companion who was now getting to his feet to allow the security staff to take over,"…him, actually – my husband."