Pawser was drawn out deep slumber by a hand shaking his shoulder and awoke to the sombre face of Mr Bentley staring down at him.

'You'd better get up Pawser, its 9.00am and all hells broken loose. Mr McBride's on the warpath. He's dispatched his hordes of minions on an urgent mission. They're out looking for you.'

'Oh God, I feel awful. Was it that good?' Pawser put his hand to his thumping head and rolled over and closed his eyes.

'Well the mess was not as bad as last year but everyone got pretty lashed. Someone even pee'd in a bucket in a cleaners cupboard. I've had to put a special order in for white sprit. God knows how they gain access to the photocopier rooms,' Mr Bentley observed dryly. 'I've bought you a cup of tea, some water and a couple of Alka Seltzer. You need to get up there pretty sharpish Pawser. He's got one of my men in his room with him so it looks pretty serious.'

'Has he?' Pawser muttered doubtfully from beneath his blanket. Slowly he sat up in his camp bed and rubbed his head.

The trip up to McBride's office was a subdued one; the few staff in the lift were this morning's late comers clearly still feeling the effects of yesterdays party. They quietly exited on the first three floors leaving Pawser alone as the lift juddered to a stop on the fourth. He walked slowly along the corridor to McBride's office trying to suppress a feeling a sickness that had been bought on by the rarefied air of the forth combined with the feeling of dread of facing the unknown revelations that awaited him in the office beyond. He knocked gently on the door in the hope that he would not be heard and could discretely slink away but the door clicked, slowly swinging open in front of him.

With some trepidation he walked in.

McBride sat behind his desk holding the morning papers. Mr Black stood stiffly to attention by the door. McBride dropped the paper to reveal a black eye together with the battered look of an all-nighter.

'Have you seen this!' he shouted at Pawser chucking the paper across the room.

Pawser picked the paper up from the floor, 'Current bun with face of Jesus found in Margate bakery?'

'Not that you idiot. Look at the headline,' barked Jocko angrily.

Pawser turned the paper over and slowly read out the headline with an increasing feeling of horror. 'Police pounce on poof's pink poodle,' ran the headline with the sub headline, 'Dog shot in botched hairdressers raid. London Police feel the heat.'

'Why the hell didn't you tell me you were there Bingham,' yelled Jocko slamming his hand down on the desk.

'Well I err.' A sudden feeling of nausea welled up inside Pawser. Mr Black strode across the room and passed him a bag which into which he was violently sick. When he'd finished he looked around for somewhere to deposit it and then realising it was Jockos tartan hat from yesterdays party he slipped it back on Jockos table. 'I think with a quick rinse through it'll be fine,' he muttered.

Jocko looked despairingly at his sodden hat before turning back to Pawser.

'You're on suspension Bingham. There'll be an investigation of course but don't raise your hopes. If it goes all the way, which believe me it will, they'll seek character references and I'll be up there with mine pretty quick I can tell you,' he snapped. 'Oh and before you call your cohorts. I've had Killerman and Maine in here this morning. They're both suspended until we get to the bottom of this. You're not to communicate with either of them until I tell you. Do you understand?'

'I just wanted to say..., 'said Pawser regaining his composure.

'I don't want to hear it Bingham. The PM's office has been onto Sir Berty this morning. The shits hit the fan on this one. Shit slides downhill Bingham and I'm not going to be left standing in it. Even if you get a pair of waders that come up to your chin and a raincoat with the water-tightness of a ducks arse they're not going to be enough to get you out of this shitstorm.'

'But ...' Pawser protested helplessly.

'I gave you your chance to get out of the service the other day Bingham and you passed it up so you can save it for the inquiry. Mr Black escort this man off the premises will you?' Jocko nodded to Mr Black who swung the door open to facilitate Pawsers exit.

For a moment Pawser stood speechless. Then he dropped he shoulders, turned slowly, walked past Mr Black and headed back toward the lift.

'I'll just pop down to the office to get my coat and a few things?' Pawser said hopefully to Mr Black as they entered the lift.

Mr Black stared impassively at Pawser.

'No?'

Pawser took it from Mr Blacks silence that it would be some time before he saw his fur hat and old camel coat again. They walked out of the lift and through the turnstiles where Mr Black relieved him of his security pass.

'Have a good Christmas sir.' Black called from the top of the step before turning to disappear back inside the building.

Pawser stood forlornly in front of Thames House holding the twenty pound note that Mr Black had loaned him to pay for the train home. Passerby's wrapped up against the bitter wind pulled up their collars and tugged down their hats barely giving him a glance.

Pawser stood alone, his torn DJ flapping in the wind. Without his jacket and hat he felt very cold, very cold indeed.

Unbeknown to Pawser, his encounter with Mr Pooky the purple poodle had been greeted with considerable unease within the higher echelons of Her Majesties' Government.