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CATCH ME IF YOU CAN

Marco approached the driver. 'Listen, my friend, I have to go to Kuta, can you open the door now?' He slung him another 100,000 rupiah. With cash the magic password, the doors swung open and Marco jumped as the bus slowed.

His instincts saved him again. The depot was already under surveillance, with police passing around photos of the fugitive. They'd suspected he'd flee to Bali, as many of the 300 photos in his professional book left behind at Jakarta airport were taken on the island.

Now on familiar turf, Marco's ego and cockiness resurged with gusto. He was acting bizarrely, almost tempting police into a game of catch me if you can. Instead of going straight into hiding, he took a taxi to his favourite restaurant, the bustling La Lucciola, an expensive beachfront place patronised mostly by westerners. There he phoned Rafael, who'd unwittingly invested in the run but planned to stay well clear. Dimitrius, another investor, turned up, as well as Ron – a wealthy friend who'd flown at the same time as Marco as a back-up horse to help him on arrival. Andre, his rental partner in Amsterdam, came too, although he wasn't an investor in this run.

Marco was sitting at an exposed table at the front, wearing his pink and white Nike cap and sunglasses, waiting for his friends. He was typically restless, indiscreetly leaping up and down from his chair, pacing back and forth, with a glass of wine in his hand, to a little footbridge that led to the car park to see if they had turned up. As soon as he spotted them, he dashed across the footbridge to meet them.

He was happy like a kid. 'Hey guys, nobody can take me. I'm Mad Max, David Copperfield, nobody can take me. I'm the man.' Dimitrius the Greek, fuck he's angry. 'What the fuck, shut up. Are you crazy, man?'