Icabalde Mayheme stood in his usual position at his window. The snow had melted a bit overnight. Outside the Police Officer at Number 10 stamped his feet and made jokes with a camera crew setting up their equipment in front of the door. An extra officer had joined him. Two plain clothes officers stood further down the street on Icabalde instructions, ready to fend off the impending feline assault on the Prime Minister's residence.

At this morning's Cabinet meeting, Icabalde had presented his briefing paper, drawn up overnight with the Head of the Metropolitan Police and the Solicitor General, on the civil and criminal proceedings that could be taken against the owner of the cat, once identified. Inquiries, he had confidently informed the Cabinet were at a well advanced stage and he, Icabalde had been assured that an arrest was imminent. When the PM had asked if the plain clothes officers were armed Icabalde had confirmed him they were. You can never be too careful with cats he had reassured the PM. The PM seemed satisfied. Icabalde made a mental note to call the Chief Whip later that morning and give him a confidential update on the situation.

Luckily they had not had time to review the morning papers.

Icabalde had.

'I take it you've seen the first editions?' Icabalde said, rounding on Devon Piper and Sir Berty, 'Forgive me gentlemen but was it not but twenty four hours ago that you were both sitting in this very room while I gave you an insight into the great distress your actions were causing both the PM and his Government.'

There was silence. Devon looked at his shoes and Sir Berty's chair creaked in a somewhat distressed manner.

'No? Well let me bring you up to date. Shall I?' Picking up the newspaper on his desk, Icabalde read out aloud, MI5 love rat cheats on wife with Dominatrix. Or how about this one, Oh, Oh, Seven doing it for King and Country. I suppose that's what you would call R&R is it?'

'I cannot imagine how this got into the press. They must have been tipped off?' ventured Sir Berty defensively.

'Really? Do you suppose, Berty? Let me think who that might have been. I know, perhaps it's half of Special Branch who you've left in the shit over your refusal to put your hand up over the poodle incident,' sneered Icabalde.

'Deveruox's always been most discreet.' Sir Berty's eye was caught by a plate of biscuits on Mayhems desk. Sir Berty, despite himself, found he was irrevocably drawn toward them. Sitting as they were, well back on Icabalde's table left them out of reach, so he was unable to casually lean forward and sweep them up. He would have to stand up, walk over, pick them up and return to his seat. Given the present situation that was clearly out of the question.

'Discreet eh? Hmm, let's see shall we,' muttered Icabalde.' I have the piece from one of the Nationals here. 'Officers were called to the scene when Miss Wendy Wildley, known locally as Wendy Whippy, no doubt based on her business card as left in numerous phone boxes around Chelsea. Anyway, early last evening Miss Whippy was heard calling in an agitated manner from her house by a passer-by. Unable to gain entry, officers were required to force an entry to her premises where they found her tied naked to a bed with a man covered in olive oil wearing nowt but a batman mask and cape unconscious on the floor at the base of the bed. An ambulance was called and the man was subsequently identified as a married man and a member of her Majesties Security Services- you can thank Special Branch for that. He was taken to St Thomas's hospital to treat his injuries. MI5 have made no comment.'

'I hear his injuries are fairly bad.' Interjected Devon.

'Possibly made worse by the fact that when he was being carried out on the stretcher he managed to slip off and fall down the stairs , a situation made possible no doubt by virtue of his high state of lubrication,' observed Icabalde.

'It's just a bit of high jinks, Deputy PM,' stretching his neck Sir Berty could see the plate held six custard creams and three pink wafers.

'Ah I see. More like Mr Slippy meets Miss Whippy, as the Sun so poignantly sums it up.' Icabalde passed them a crop of photographs. 'Have you seen these pictures of what was confiscated by the police from the scene that belonged to your man? How do you explain a small bag of white powder?'

'Recreational use only, I'm sure,' answered Sir Berty. He liked custard creams but he had a particular weakness for pink wafers.

'How about a blond wig, spangley knickers and yellow cape?'

'They could be Miss Whippy's,' asserted Devon studying the photographs closely.

'Not if the little name tag that was sewn into the cape would have us believe. They belong to one G Deveroux. No doubt kept from when he left school. I'm informed by those in the know that it is reminiscent of one Wonder Woman, a seventies TV icon who I'm thankfully unfamiliar with.'

'Ah yes. I knew I recognised it,' Berty clicked his fingers with satisfaction.

'Look at this Berty,' Devon handed Sir Berty one of the pictures.

'Ah, they have those down at my local pizza restaurant observed Berty. Giant pepper mills.'

'Look again Berty. You need to get out more.' remarked Icabalde disdainfully.

'My. Oh my!' Sir Berty raised his hand to his mouth.

'What he takes along to amuse Miss whatever her name is, is not of our concern.' said Devon dismissively.

'It should be Devon, as according to Miss Whippy, it's what she used on him. When this gets out half of the Chelsea set will be on the phone to the PM's wife complaining that having such a character in the area is likely to unnerve their livestock.' Icabalde stretched out to pick up a biscuit.

Sir Berty held his breath. Icabalde changed his mind and picked up the file again. Sir Berty breathed a sigh of relief.

'How long before he gets out of hospital?' asked Devon.

'How long to fix a broken leg, two broken ribs and to carry out a thorough clean up?' muttered Icabalde reading the hospital report. 'Degreasing him alone, will take a week I should think.'

'He'll be taking it steady on crutches for a while,' said Sir Berty with an air of concern. He hoped Icabalde don't like pink wafers.

'He'll be galloping off down South Kensington High Street with his peppermill up his jackski if I get hold of him. Tell him that from me,' responded Icabalde.

Devon stared at his fingernails, Sir Berty wondered how long his chair could stand this dressing down.

Icabalde, deep in thought, started tapping his blotter. 'Who else have you got? Less oily may be a good starting point. We need someone who's been around for a while, who knows people in the services. Someone with a low profile and can do a bit of snooping,' Icabalde reflected. 'Someone that if it all goes tits up we can off pretty quick and deny all responsibility.'

'Well, I suppose....' Sir Berty ventured uncertainly.

'Yes,' perked up Icabalde.

'We have a small specialist team, who have just become available,' Sir Berty looked at Devon for reassurance. Devon shrugged his shoulders dismissively. 'They're led by an old hand in the service. They could follow this up. They'd be pretty discrete and I'd have no problems getting rid of them if there were an issue of any sort.'

'Nice to see your showing a bit of backbone Berty. Get them in and get them briefed. 'Icabalde flipped the file closed to indicate the meeting was now closed.

Sir Berty rose and walked over and slipped the photos back on to Mayhems desk and then headed for the door with Devon.

'Oh and I want to be at any briefings, so make sure you let Miss Timble know when you're seeing them. I can't afford for that maritime martinet Haggard to take control of this. He'll end up scuttling the whole of MI5.'

Icabalde sat back, took a sip of his tea and reached for a biscuit.

His noticed to his dismay that three pink wafers were missing.