Peter walked round the outside of the house to the garage, instead of using the inside door. It was a dark autumn evening with a damp gusty wind blowing, and a fine drizzle turning the crackling leaves into a treacherous slither. Peter took a deep cold breath and reflected that being alive was wonderful and that for all his concerns, he was a lucky and fortunate individual.
As he approached the garage, the doors slid back, activated, he knew, by one of his father’s assistants who would have been watching on the closed-circuit television. He gave an acknowledging wave to one of the visible cameras, and a wink to one of the hidden ones he had eventually located.
In a room in the centre of the house, the assistant in question watched impassively as the car moved slowly out of the garage and
