In the days when he"d been an employee of the Redaction Unit for the Secret Intelligence Service, Frank Trench"s cryptonym had been Iago. It was a name which fitted him perfectly, for like the character from the Shakespearean play, he was always plotting, scheming and involved in any number of double crosses. He was a man who thrived on the art of conspiracy and secrets and this, he was sure, gave him the perfect mindset and practical experience to solve the mystery of what had happened to his team of contractors.
IagoHe was sitting on the bed in his Bangkok apartment, n***d except for a loose sarong tied around his waist. He had all his toys around him. The bottle of half-finished Chivas Regal, the young – probably too young – Thai girl he"d bought for the night and the opium he was savi
