Carla ran back to the other car and drove off into the woods.

A loud thump and a glimpse of flames through the trees confirmed to Carla, the Fiat had commenced the destruction process. No traces of fingerprints or forensic evidence would remain on the car; it had done well and was expendable. The car would burn for some time, blocking the track to vehicles from the road, also part of the plan.

The route through the woods was also well planned. It provided a link to a motorway network (SS7, E45 & A1 merge) offering many possible busy routes out of the area. The dense tree cover and dull green paintwork also made spotting the Cherokee difficult from the air.

The track soon petered out and by carefully following the faint tyre marks left days before when the route was worked out, Carla managed to find her way. Ten minutes later, she emerged onto a side road, in sight of the first of a series of roundabouts.

Carla pulled into a large, busy petrol station and drove under the canopy near the car wash. There were two cars ahead of her, in the queue, so she had to wait her turn.

She looked at herself; there was blood on her hands, face and all over her clothes. All she could do was hope no one came close enough to see through the tinted glass.

Five minutes later, it was her turn to go through the wash. With tokens already in the vehicle; all she had to do was wind down the window and put them in the car wash machine.

The wash transformed the Cherokee, it emerged with gleaming chrome and paintwork; no one would associate the quietly burbling vehicle going in with the one growling out.

On the motorway, Carla noted many police vehicles heading the way she had come, and several helicopters watching traffic flow near junctions.

By road, there was no quick route to this section of motorway, from where Carla left the Fiat, so roadblocks were not set up on this stretch. Because of the dense undergrowth, and rough terrain, pursuing police did not consider the cross-country route was feasible. You could spend a day finding a way through.

Carla pressed on keeping pace with the mass of vehicles around her and remained unnoticed.

Five miles later she turned off onto a side road and eventually, into a disused barn, stopping next to an old, silver Honda Prelude.

There were no doors on the barn, but she felt safe in its dark shadows. She got out of the Cherokee and dragged the money bags out of the back, onto the ground. Popping the boot of the Prelude, she pulled out a large plastic sheet and a holdall bag. The sheet was spread out on the floor, and she stripped off all her clothes, piling everything into the middle. Taking a long drink from some bottled water, she used the rest to wash herself, especially those parts normally unclothed. The blood took some removing, and there was not much water to spare.

Fresh clothes made Carla feel better, the denim jacket and jeans, white blouse and peaked cap complimented her ponytail and the Versace shades completed the picture of a cute little twenty-six-year-old blond, on her way home to her folks.

The sound of a helicopter caught her attention, and she peeked out to find it. It was above the clouds somewhere, and she reckoned it would soon be in sight.

She knew the Cherokee had a tracking device fitted, so the helicopter, belonging to Marco the drug-dealing boss who planned the escape route, was expected. Marco suspected Tim had double-crossed him, and wanted to get his investment back.

“Time to go,” she said to herself, leaping into action.

Everything on the sheet and the money was crammed into the boot of the Honda. As she drove out, front first, she pressed the Cherokee central locking button on the key ring twice and threw the keys through its open window, onto the driver’s seat. The sleek silver car glided onto the road, leading back to the motorway, without raising much dust.

A minute later, looking up through the sunroof, she saw a black helicopter starting to descend through the clouds towards the barn. It hovered a few feet from the ground, blowing dust everywhere. Two men with guns dropped to the ground and ran into the barn.

“It’s here,” reported the leading man over his radio. “The bags are in it as well.”

“Check them and get the money over here,” a voice crackled back from the helicopter.

“OK! They are full,” replied the leading man, a few seconds later. The man in the helicopter also heard a long beep tone picked up from the leading man’s microphone, and his scream.

“SHIT! The trembler has activated!”

The Cherokee exploded in the barn in a blinding flash, shooting flame and flying debris, high in the air.

The Helicopter immediately climbed and disappeared back into the cloud.

The plume of flame and smoke caught Carla’s eye and she smirked, “Oh! Naughty Carla” she scolded herself, “You must have reset the booby trap when you pressed the key ring twice.”

Feeling safe now, the long journey to her hideaway home would soon pass, and she could get her investments set up with the drug money.

Chapter - Max imagines the worst.

Max Fortune had been driving for three hours now, in the region of the Lago Matese along the SP331, the quiet purr of the camper’s engine and the never-ending 20-meter strip of illuminated road in the headlamps, made him drowsy. No other traffic had passed him during this time, typical for this time of the night, in this part of Italy.

Throughout the journey, he had relived the events in his mind, which brought him here. His wife had died twelve years earlier, and he had struggled to bring up his son while running a successful business, in England. He had had enough of the struggle. His son James had passed through university with honours with a chemistry degree, but then James switched to the more exciting and rewarding career, in the computer industry. Why should he, Max Fortune, waste his remaining years? He wanted adventure!

There had been many women in Max’s life, but none could see a future with him. He was fully committed to his work. The truth was, he had not found his soul mate, and at forty-five, set in his ways, he did not think there was any chance now. Impulsively, he shut down his business, bought a camper van and set off, to a life of adventure.