says a female voice from the speaker.“Yes, er, I have a meeting with Alan and his team,” says Tracey into the plastic box.“Fourth floor,” says the voice.The door swings open.She walks up. Four floors. This can be her exercise for the day.At the fourth floor, another door. Alan Makin is standing in front of it, beaming.He is in a white suit with a thin beige stripe and a beige tie with thin white stripes. Beige European sandals. Thin cream silk socks. Cufflinks.“Tracey! Marvellous. Come right in. Drink?”Tracey finds herself grasping a cup of coffee, and sitting in a large, vaulted chamber alongside Alan’s ‘team’.Vast pictures of Alan Makin in charasmatic mode grin down from the walls.She suddenly notices that there is a large illuminated vitrine in the corner. In it is sitting a rather big iguana, on a stick. It does not appear to be moving.“Oh, God. Is that thing alive?” asks Tracey.“I should co-co,” says Alan. “Gets through a bag of live crickets a week. The Munchkin, we call him.”His assistant giggles.“Now,”
