Cliffhanger

The gripping final 150 words of the first instalment of a serial thriller

Assured of a handsome income despite the dubious outcome, I relished the Franco Deutsch challenge to salvage the foundering eurozone, sadly torpedoed and sinking fast.

Pietro, who claimed to know Papandreou, had planned our rendezvous, undercover, though actually under a roofless relic.

Primed for action but grossly obese, I gasped for breath atop the Acropolis, rechecked the cryptic, encrypted message I should have swallowed, and spotted our venue which turned out to be the Parthenon’s front, middle column.

Counting eight, but expecting nine, admittedly muddled, I mused upon which was the middle. Had Pietro, I wondered sheepishly, fleeced me? Or was I, just like the Greeks, losing my marbles?

Suddenly, springing from nowhere, Pietro appeared, pointing a pistol. ‘Aha!’ he cried. ‘My friend, you are snookered!’

But was I, or had I the balls to pot the blackguard? The cue was poised, but would he, or could he, be pocketed?