Baghdad was slowly returning to normal. The looting had stopped and the sound of gunfire was a less frequent occurrence. Even the street markets were open for business and it was in the aroma rich coffee shops on those bustling little alleys that I first heard about the missing millions.

There had been rumours before. An employee of the national bank was alleged to have been accosted by a chief executive and a Ford Mondeo packed with men wearing ties with beige V-neck jumpers who demanded the Standards Funding in cash. But no-one could confirm or deny the story. Sometimes it was a Transit rather than a Mondeo and in one case it was a team of consultants who staged a frightening dawn raid with a dodgy government cheque. That attempt was foiled because not knowing their way around they mistook the Ministry of Agriculture for the bank!

This morning though the coffee shops’s chat seemed firmer than usual. I tracked down the source, a young Armani suit with rimless glasses and a number 4 haircut with government written all over him. At first he denied everything but after some gentle persuading and with the help of the editor’s budget he agreed to show me something ‘interesting’.

He took me out to his car, a beaten up limo that had seen better days and we set off. I asked him where we were headed but he put a finger to his lips and gestured for me to be quiet. We stopped for a drink at Nasuwt, a town which was firmly under government control so much so, in fact, it was hard to tell the government officials and the townsfolk apart. It was easy to get served in the bar because there were assistants everywhere, taking your jacket for you, moving a chair up. No wonder the people were smiling!

This was the end of civilisation though. Further along the road we skirted round the sprawling houses at Noot, still a hotbed of dangerous radicalism and with a strange mix of inhabitants. The old ones were safe enough but the young had no time for the government and were likely to shoot from the hip. We could hear occasional explosions as we passed and the shouting from demonstrations.

Finally, after another hour of driving we reached our destination – a ruined, bombed out palace in the middle of a rough scrub desert wasteland. We approached cautiously but there was no need - the place was deserted. In the main entrance room, once grand but now wrecked by war, a piece of paper fluttered by in the warm air. Something about it attracted my attention and I reached out for it. It was dirty, torn and the corners were missing but it was undoubtedly a cheque, Barclays in Croydon or somewhere of that ilk made out to a local school for £50,000 and it had not been presented. We were on the right trail.

We moved into the next room and then came face to face with an astonishing sight. Bag after bag of glimmering golden £1 coins were stacked against the wall, covered in a veil of dust. Against the other wall were stacks of notes, £50s and £20s, neatly banded rising from floor to ceiling. I knew this was it but I needed proof.

As if reading my mind, the taciturn young man kicked a box file in my direction. It fell open and documents spilled out. There was a confidential memo from a Finance Officer in a big metropolitan area labelled overseas investment, a torn off letter where the last sentence read, ‘For God’s sake don’t tell Clarke or …’, more cheques made out to individual schools and a flyer about how to invest your reserves in a tax free haven in the sun with total discretion assured.

I moved closer to the bags of coins. Each was neatly labelled with the words Standards Funding – Pass Directly to Schools. Some had sub-headings like music, foreign languages, after school clubs, enrichment, catch up and the names of schools. There was no doubt I had found the missing millions.

Or, was there? Why had the silent young suit brought me to see this treasure? Was I being duped? Could it all be an elaborate forgery? Then, he turned to me and spoke for only the third time that day. ‘There are weapons of mass destruction too,’ he said, ‘want to see them as well?’