'You can be a bastard at times, can't you?' Corridon said, and laughed. 'You know what you can do with your dreary little savings. I don't want your money, and I don't want your job.' Ritchie smiled.
'Well, I'm glad to hear you don't want my money,' he said. 'Pity about the job. Perhaps I can appeal to your sense of patriotism?' Corridon pushed his chair and stood up, 'You're wasting your breath. Why pick on me?' Ritchie said evenly, 'I picked on you, Martin, because the job can only be done by a man without honour; a man who is a twister, a liar and a cheat.' ----- Milly Lawes a Piccadilly streetwalker, found a strange ring in her room one day. An hour later, Milly was dead, and the ring gone. Scotland Yard knew all about the ring though; so did the Secret Service - and so, before very long, did Martin Corridon, ex-Commando, ex-MI5, ex-ethics of any kind... Corridon didn't really want to know, didn't want to work with the Service again - but Milly had been a sort of friend, and the thought of her cut throat and blood-soaked bed was enough to send him off on a trail of sabotage and murder. A trail that had him running as hunter - and hunted...
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