“Please step out of the vehicle,” the policeman said, stepping back and gesturing. He also hadn’t pocketed the money.

“Why?” the driver said. “I’m not drunk.”

“I need to ask you a few questions,” the policeman said, waving again with is left hand and placing his hand on the butt of his service pistol. “Out of the truck!”

At this the passenger side door was yanked open and the officer on that side grasped the driver’s mate, pulling him down to the road.

“Okay, okay!” the driver said raising his hands then lowering them to open the door and climb out. “What’s the big deal?”

“To the side of the road,” the policeman said, sternly. “Hands above your head.”

“Fine, fine, whatever,” the driver replied, shaken. “What is all this about?”

The answer was a cold sensation in the back of his head and then blackness.

The “police officer” slid the silenced Makarov pistol back into the rear waistband of his perfect uniform trousers and looked at his watch. As he lowered his hand a man wearing the identical coveralls to the driver, right down to the Arenska Pharmaceuticals badge on his left breast, walked out of the woods carrying a body bag. He unrolled it next to the body and then the “driver” and the “policeman” lifted the driver’s body into the bag. The “driver” zipped it shut and then the two lifted it and carried it to the rear of the panel van.

When they got there six men in heavy battle dress were already there, opening up the back door. Four of them boarded and caught the tossed bodies, rapidly stacking them on the shelves lining the side of the panel van. The remaining two were carrying weapons, coveralls and body armor.