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It trades as the Raging Bull."

Smiling, he inquired. "Have you got your key? You may need it."

In reply, Peter patted his pocket before producing the key Joe had so painstakingly duplicated all those months previously.

"Joe, tell your cabbie that his Hunters Hill fare -- the Arab - is to be dropped close to the doors of the airport departure lounge. I'll be there to greet him and introduce him to the Angel of Death. Tonight he will most certainly not be dwelling in paradise with eight virgins. Now RSM get one of the used cars from the lot. You're my driver."

Peter knew the police would never get the RSM to crack under questioning should anything go wrong.

The drive to the airport was swift and both men were quiet. The RSM concentrated on his driving while Peter, disguised as an Arab, studied the passing scenery as if a tourist.

They timed their arrival so well that the RSM drew up behind the taxi just as the Hunters Hill fare stepped out.

"Salaam Alaykum." The Arab turned to greet a fellow Arab.

Peter grabbed his shoulders and pulled him hard against his chest. Right cheek to right cheek he breathed in the Arab's ear. "Tonight you dwell in hell. You have pig fat on your face and Allah forbids pigs. You used my wife and you came here to purchase her." Left check to left cheek, Peter continued. "The Angel of Death is with you. Enjoy hell and remember you have missed the eight virgins." Then he thrust the cobra ring into the Arab's neck.

Peter was in the car and well away as the Arab sank to the pavement clutching the wound.

As they drove, they heard the news on the car radio. "Gang wars erupt in Sydney."

"Two Middle Eastern horse racing identities who arrived just a few days ago to purchase a mysterious mare are both dead. Some well-known criminal identities died of a drug overdose in the toilets of a notorious nightclub.

"As well, several bodies were in the destroyed home of the crime baron Dingo Ryan. Their manner of death suggests that Thuggees, followers of the Goddess Kali, are responsible but police admit they have no clues to follow."

The newsreader made a dry remark as he introduced an advertising break. "This must be Dingo's unlucky week as his fifty million dollar luxury cruiser sank in the harbor earlier this week."

Peter laughed briefly and then resumed his clear-sighted instructions to the RSM.

"Stop at the next petrol station and ring Andrew," he ordered. "Tell him to meet us with the coach at the brothel in Redfern. Joe will be navigator and is to remain in the coach. They are to bring six Ghurkhas with them as back up. We'll be inside waiting for them. Bring insulated bolt cutters."

As an afterthought he added, "Tell Joe we're at the Service Station on the corner of Elizabeth and Williams Streets. Ask him to send a driver who can lead us to the Raging Bull brothel."

Within minutes, a taxi pulled into the Service Station and the driver walked across to tell Peter to follow his cab. The two cars meandered their way through the traffic until the taxi stopped outside a tidy but unpretentious residence.

Still dressed as an Arab and using the key, Peter swept inside the brothel pushing the security guard aside. "Bring that red headed girl now." He demanded. "I have a use for her." Pointing to the obscene picture of Jennifer on the wall Peter reinforced his order.

"She hasn't returned your Excellency but I'll bring others for your enjoyment." The guard only got as far as the door. The last thing he heard was a soft puff and the last thing he felt was the sting in his neck. He crashed to the floor before he had time to realize he'd been hit by a poisonous dart.

Peter waited to see what would happen as the security camera glared down on the scene like an unblinking, baleful Cyclops. Patiently he stood in the center of the room until he heard the noise of the coach pulling up outside.

First through the door was Andrew. His face was a picture of absolute despondency when he realized Jennifer wasn't there.

"Spread out, take the keys from the goon on the floor and thoroughly search the area

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