VM sat at his desk, twisting the gold ring around his left pinky which had the insignia of the MOPS group engraved on it. He was feeling calmer now, reassured that the two thieves were being followed by his trusty Giovanni. They would soon lead him to the treasure and they could recover it and restore it to its rightful place.
The phone on his desk rang. It seemed even more shrilly than usual, or was it just that his stress increased his sensitivity to the noise? He picked up the phone. The voice at the other end was low and deep. VM nodded, agreed and reassured, and in so many ways grovelled, as the ultimate leader of the group told him exactly what would happen to him, and his band of idiots, if the box was not restored to its rightful place - and by tonight. Retirement of the terminal kind would be his, no pension no pleasantries, just a Spartan funeral.