‘No Mr Dawes, you misunderstand. I’m talking about something that will make a fuel cell look just like the large battery it really is.’

‘How did you get my number?’

‘On the Worldwide Web - ACF is full of all sorts of useful stuff. Not to mention Velo Vision.’

‘I need to see you,’ the caller insisted. ‘I’ll pay you well.’

Now Dawes was getting mad. ‘I’m sorry but I really need to visit the bathroom – goodbye!”

I’m not going anywhere! It’s just too damn early and it’s only chapter one. The dream was emblazoned in his mind. Reluctantly, he put on his Campagnola Giro d’Italia dressing robe and freewheeled downstairs. As Dawes sat alone, the silence of his home was shattered again by the soft ringing tone of his fax machine. Too exhausted to be annoyed he let out a tired chuckle.

Moeller probably works for the UCI undercover, he thought. If the Union Cycliste Internationale think that they can fool me with this, then they better take their over-regulated bikes and... ‘HOLY CTC!’

Looking at the fax, a wave of nausea hit him. The image on the page was of a bike - a carbon low racer of the type favoured in the low countries. The machine had been stripped of all its components and the handlebars had been twisted and now faced completely backward. On the comfortable looking foam seat was a terrible burn. The bike had been branded... imprinted with an ornate symbol. It was something Claude B Dawes knew. Very well. He stared at the fax in disbelief.

to be continued...

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