*

Inside the warehouse, nobody moved. Nobody so much as breathed. Spread out between the shelves and tables the soldiers tensed, hands gripping their weapons. The big man behind Salt trembled, his meaty hand clutched tight around the diamond, the woman across from him breathing quickly, her fingers slowly fanning out, eyes darting between the barrels of every glinting gun. Only Salt and the old man appeared unmoved by the sudden tension; and of the two of them, Salt’s free hand tremored and small drips of sweat beaded atop his forehead. The buyer, on the other hand, seemed completely unperturbed.

“See, I know wha dis is,” Salt repeated, “I know wha it can do. I know wha it’s used for.” He pointed again at the TV. “And now s’as everyone, see? Not just our little secret. They all know what it’s for.”

“Mr Glasscock-”

“Salt! It’s effin Salt, I, you-”

“Mr Salt,” the spectacled man said plainly, without a hint of emotion or malice, “Or whatever you choose to call yourself.” He smiled, a thin, bland smile of grey dishwater and flaking paint. “I’m not in the habit of wasting time. Nor reneging on an agreement. You get the diamonds. We get the hair. It’s as simple as that.”

“No, not ‘at simple,” the thief replied. He took a step back, shaking his head – causing a scattering of clatter as every gun in the room raised half an inch. Salt froze to the spot; then his head continued shaking. “This ‘ere? This is national security.” He held up the velvet box, letting it glimmer in the moonlight. “This is a game-changer. This ‘ere’s priceless.”

“Then name your price,” the buyer said, “And we will pay it.”

The Englishman froze. His mouth hung open. He glanced quickly back at the other members of his crew, then at the armed men around him.

“It’s not just money,” he said, almost pleading, “Look, I ain’t no monster. Imma crook, but I still got family. Folks I got do right by. This…” His eyes lingered on the box. “I gotta know where this’s going. In good conscience. I can’t jus’ let it go.”

“Mr Salt,” sighed the old man, sounding thoroughly bored, “You came here voluntarily. You stole the hair, and you brought it to us. Nobody made you. Nobody forced you. Which means either you had no idea what you were stealing – which I highly doubt – or you came here possessing a willingness, however tepid, to part with what you stole. Your moral concerns are noted, but let’s not kid ourselves; even if I assured you I was on the side of angels, you would have no way of knowing it was true.”

The greasy-haired thief’s mouth twitched and he looked distinctly uncomfortable, though he made no move to run. The spectacled man drew in a deep sigh.

“Very well. Let us play this game. I am a collector. A scientist. A philanthropist. I have no ability to take the power of Captain Dawn for myself nor the desire to use it to rule the world. I am curious.” He paused. “And I am wealthy. So it becomes then, Mr Salt, and I think we’ve known this all along, less a matter of whether what I’ve said has assuaged your conscience, and more to three simple words: Name. Your. Price.”

For a moment, Salt said nothing, simply twisted uncomfortably in place. Behind and to either side of him, both his thick-built associates whispered, trying to catch his attention – but he paid neither any heed.

Finally, Salt met the buyer’s eyes.

“Double,” he muttered.

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“Excuse me?”

“You ‘eard me. Double. A billion dollas. And nunna this sequenced bills or wire funds, I wan’ diamonds, pure diamonds, like-”

“Done,” the man said curtly, cutting him off. The thief halted mid-sentence and he stood there, mouth agape. Still sitting on his folding chair, his counterpart ignored him, instead nodding to the soldier to his left. “Jackson. Take the case from him. Then give him the extra briefcases. Both of them.”

Salt’s mouth hung slightly open and his jaw started to work, but try as he might he couldn’t seem to summon up either words or resistance. Still scowling, as he had been the entire time, the lead soldier Jackson strode over and yanked the jewellery box from the Englishman’s hands, then returned and placed it in the old man’s lap. One after the other Jackson then turned, overturned and eviscerated two more heavy wooden worktables, tearing open the metal boxes bolted onto their undersides and pulling out dual leather briefcases. With one in each hand he stalked back over to Salt, where he flung both cases unceremoniously into the Englishman’s arms. Salt staggered beneath the sudden weight.

“But dis is… but dis is…” he mumbled. He stumbled, seemingly delirious, gawking at the two cases in his hand and the other resting at his feet. “I gotta authenticate… gotta check…”

“You do what you have to do,” the buyer told him. He had already beckoned another of the soldiers over, who without speaking had opened a silver carry case and was setting up a specialised‑looking microscope. “Just do it quietly. Confirm the DNA.” The microscope soldier nodded and, reverently, as though carrying something infinitely delicate, took the box from the old man’s hands and pinched the hair inside between forefinger and thumb. Gently, he placed it on the glass slide of the microscope, then began twisting various knobs and dials. Breathless seconds passed.

“It’s his,” the examining soldier said finally.

“Are you certain?”

“SNPs match heritage records.”

“Then our business here is concluded,” said the buyer. He turned back to Mr Salt. “You have your payment, three times what was agreed. One-point-five billion dollars, real and uncontaminated. You can leave now. You’ll no doubt want to confirm your haul.” He pulled the last word into the barest hint of a sneer. The British thief stood speechless, the two briefcases still in his arms. Suddenly, Salt snapped out of his trance and gestured hurriedly for his companions, who trundled quickly into place, the hulking man grabbing onto the first briefcase with one hand as both held Salt on either side. Salt closed his eyes, knuckles white around the two other cases, his lips murmuring.

“Oh, and Mr Glasscock?”

The thief’s eyes opened to find the old man fixing him with that same, implacable smile. A shiver ran down his spine.

“What?”

“Before you go, a word of caution. I want you to consider, for a moment, what has taken place here.” The buyer gestured broadly around him, to the warehouse, to the darkness, to the armed and glowering guards. “We chose this place. We outnumbered you. We could have prepared, I think you’ll realise, any number of traps or methods to prevent your escape. You are slippery – I don’t doubt it – but at a certain point sheer numbers-” and he gestured again at the waiting soldiers, “-can create a stranglehold on odds. We didn’t do that. We did not rob you, or cheat you, or make any attempt to take our payment back. Think on that. We let you walk in here, extort us for a billion dollars, and walk out. Do you know why we did that? Do you know what that means?”

He paused. Salt shook his head.

“I’ll tell you,” said the old man, “We did it because we are those for whom a billion dollars is irrelevant. For whom the diamonds you carry are irrelevant. Think on that. Think of how much power we must hold if that kind of money is insignificant. Think of how feeble you are, how little you mean in comparison. We gave a billion dollars to a man we were indifferent to.” His smile broadened. “Imagine what resources we would expend if you suddenly did matter to us. If, for example, you ever spoke of our deal or what you’d seen here tonight. If you told anyone what you’ve done.”

The old, thin man leaned forward, and Salt and his companions flinched. “Imagine how thoroughly we could tear you and everyone you love apart if we learned, in any way, that you’d betrayed us.”

The Englishman gulped.

Suddenly, the man in the glasses leaned back, reclining in his thin metal chair. “Go on now. Get going. Teleport away. Enjoy your newfound luxury, once you pass the sleepless nights you’ll undoubtedly spend ensuring every one of those diamonds isn’t booby-trapped. They’re not, for your information. Like I said, we only care about your silence. Not your wealth.”

Then he waved them away, and with patches of sweat staining beneath his armpits the thief clutched tight to his companions and vanished in a rush of sulphurous smoke.