The Man had ordered Diogenes Fernando not to leave the hotel under any circumstances during his stopover in London en route to the British Virgin Islands with $600,000 worth of concealed bearer bonds. And the ex-SAS minder/bodyguard was there to make sure he didn’t.

So, while he twiddled his thumbs at the Heathrow Hilton, he had time to reflect on the ups and downs of the past few months, and how he came to be the errand boy—and likely fall guy—for The Man and his banker buddy.

He can’t say he wasn’t warned. Uncle Testosterone had been his usual loudly belligerent self when he said, in no uncertain terms, that “you have to be stark staring mad to have anything to do with those two gangster schmucks”.

Even the renowned West Coast astrologer Madam Moonbeam had hinted darkly during their crystal-ball sessions that “there may be trouble ahead, so if I were you I would take extra care and think about doubling my health insurance”.

Aunts Harmonium and Euphonium, on the other hand, we’re focused on reward, not risk. After all, they said, you don’t want to be a glorified tuk-tuk driver all your life, and working for The Man means there’s much to be gained in wealth and status…

Meanwhile, loan-shark Boris ‘The Bite’ Fernando also had something to say, no doubt coloured by his exclusion from the CatAstrophe investment and asset-relocation venture on account of his ruffian underworld connections: “If you get disappeared without trace,” he said, “it will be no more than you deserve.”

Which is what?, thought Diogenes. He had survived the Venezuelan adventure in one piece, hadn’t he? His stock is—so far—riding high with The Man and the banker buddy, and the British Virgin Islands are run by the British, not a gang of South American bandits. So what could possibly go wrong?

He nevertheless recalled the words of his father’s Ancient Greek philosopher namesake, Euripides the Tragedian: “There is naught more serviceable to mankind than a prudent distrust,” and “I would rather die on my feet than live on my knees.”

In short, thought Diogenes, don’t believe a word they say, hope for the best but fear the worst, and as the late great reggæ superstar Bob Marley, born and raised not far from his Caribbean destination, sang: Get up, stand up, stand up for your rights!

That was yesterday. He is now sipping a glass or two of Veuve Clicquot in First Class, 35,000 feet above the Atlantic heading for Tortola via the Terrance B. Lettsome International Airport. So for the moment, at least, he can relax.

And think about what comes next. As The Man had made clear, when you join the Mafia, you join for life, however long—or short—that might be. In other words, when you sup with the Devil, your only choices are what’s on the Devil’s menu.

All of which, thinks Diogenes, begs the $600,000 question: How do I get off my knees and stand up for my rights, but avoid dying on my feet..?