Ari the Greek or Ouzo as he was known to his friends owned a kebab shop strategically placed next to the Albert on the corner of Whitechapel Street. 'Aristotle's Kebab House-The Best Traditional Greek Food,' proclaimed the soot stained sign above the smoked plate glass window. This was a bit rich given that slightly dodgy kebabs and yesterdays doughnuts seemed to cover the whole gambit of Ari's culinary skills but it did capture the essence of his cunning conceived marketing strategy aimed solely at kebab hungry drunks wandering home from The Albert and early morning engineers who could not be bothered to walk to the BR station up the road for their first hot drink of the day.

Cupping his gloved hands against the glass Pawser peered into the steamy interior. Behind the battered vinyl counter he could make out Ouzo standing in his dressing gown and slippers slapping sausages and bacon onto a blackened iron grill. The place looked reassuringly deserted.

Stepping over the snow drifting up against the entrance Pawser pushed through the door. Alerted by the tinkling of the bell over the door, Ouzo looked up briefly from his murderous endeavours. Removing a cheroot from his lips allowed a slow smile of recognition to spread across his face. 'Eello Mester Pawser, long time no see. Eeeess back there. I'll be over in a miineete,' he growled. Returning his cheroot back to its rightful place, wiping his hands down his dressing gown Ouzo returned to chasing the contents of the frying pan with his spatula.

'Back there', referred to the two rickety round wooden tables at the rear of the shop. At one sat Dirk with a small espresso studiously trawling the stock movements in the FST100 listing in yesterday's edition of the FT. Seeing Pawser, Dirk laid his paper down on the table. 'Save your look of disappointment Pawser, Killerman is on his way. He called me yesterday to say he'd had the call. What happened to you? You look like you've been dragged through a hedge backwards.'

'Close encounter with a couple of Latin speaking Romany's I'm afraid Dirk. Ended up taking a beech hedge at thirty miles per hour. I'll update you later. Any idea why we're here?'

'A run in with the Pavee? I'm intrigued. No. I only got the elliptical call from Berty this morning probably much like yourself.'

Ouzo appeared at the table and slipped a large doughnut and a steaming cup of coffee in front of Pawser.'Eeess on the house,' he affirmed.

'Thanks Ouzo. Very generous.' Pawser noted the dressing gown had Hilton Hotels written in gold on the lapel. Ouzo hovered. Pawser sipped the hot coffee. It tasted vaguely of kebab,' Great coffee, I'll tell the guys back at the office.' Ouzo nodded contentedly and slipped away.

'I'd leave the doughnut alone if I were you. I've gone for the toasted sandwich.' Dirk grimaced at Pawser's bun.

'You been away?' enquired Pawser, cautiously inspecting his doughnut. 'anywhere nice?'

'Took the opportunity to take a couple of days in Shagaloof. Came back for New Year, so I got the call this morning.'

'I got a nice Christmas message from McBride.' Pawser remarked pushing his plate away.

'Oh, I got one of those as well. I ticked the box marked -'hanging' as my preference. I've never liked the thought of 600,000 volts whistling up my exhaust pipe. Oh wait up, here's the malevolent mutt molester of old London town.' Dirk nodded toward the door before burying himself back in his paper.

Killerman waved across the room at them, picked up a few things from Ouzo before coming across to join them. 'Hello, old man,' He dropped a bacon butty and a cup of milky tea onto the table. 'Good to be back in the game. Eh?'

'I'm not sure any dogs around here are going to want to play any games with you Killerman. They've all been reading about you in the Nationals,' muttered Dirk from behind his paper. 'Hold on look at this.' Dirk rummaged in his pockets and pulled out a chrome ring which he placed on the table.

Killerman picked up the ring and inspected is carefully, his moustache bristled with concentration. 'What's this? Something from an ex wife? Eh Dirk?' He winked suggestively.

'No, it's my old ring, I've had an upgrade,' Dirk beamed.

Killerman jumped and dropped the ring into his tea. 'Shit!'

'Would you like sugar with that Killerman?' Pawser picked up the sugar leaving Killerman frantically fishing around in his cup with the end of a teaspoon. 'Not that I really want to know what's going on down in your nether regions Dirk, but is there any particular reason why you might want to further decorate what you would have us believe is your magnificent appendage. I cannot believe Santa bought you a new one in his sack?'

'While you are correct in your assertion that my appendage is indeed a stupendous sight to behold, I recently acquired an object that was crying out to be added to my Christmas baubles ,' observed Dirk smugly,' Killerman should know, he's already handled it.'

'What?' Killerman looked at Dirk incredulously. 'You cannot seriously suggest I've ever handled anything that ended up down your grape smugglers.'

'The bullet!' Pawser snapped his fingers, 'I wondered where it went!'

'Ah Ha!' cried Dirk, 'Inspector Clouseau has it!'

'I see it all,' Pawser picked up a battered glass ashtray and stared mysteriously into it. 'You take the bullet fired at by your arch nemeses Mutt Man. This is the bullet with your name on it so you decide to keep it close to you for the rest of your life. A place you know Mutt Man will never be able to lay his hands on it. After all, considering where you are going to put it, who would want to? So you take a trip to the far off magical isle of Magaloff. There you have it loving prepared by the islands Master Craftsmen, known for their almost magical skill in working metals. And once they are finished you take the enchanted ring to a fly blown back street, where in a some grimy parlour, a half drunk, sweaty, tattooed baboon, whips out your old one and rams in the new one.'

'That's about it. Although you do make it sound slightly squalid,' Dirk observed sourly. 'Have you managed to retrieve the old one out of that cup yet, Killerman? No? Here let me help you. Blimey it's hot. Wait a minute, I can see some sort of inscription on the inside.' Dirk held the ring up to the light. Killerman peered over the top of the paper. 'It says,' Dirk twisted the ring to catch the light, 'One ring to rule them all, one ring to find them, ' he twisted the ring slowly through his fingers as he read. 'I don't know, can you make out the rest of it Pawser?' He passed the ring to Pawser.

Pawser held up the ring, 'Yes, here we go, it says -One ring to rule them all, one ring to find them, one ring to bring them all, and in the Darkness bind them.'

'Let's have a look.' Killerman grabbed the ring and held it up to the single light bulb above their heads. 'I can't see anything.'

'It's probably cooled down Killerman. Drop it back into your tea.' 'Wait up. Here's Maximus Fattius,' said Dirk shooting a glance toward the door. A chauffeured Jaguar sat outside the cafe in the early morning gloom.

The enormous figure of Sir Berty entered sideways though the door, stopped at the counter, picked up the menu and had a long discussion with Ouzo. After much consultation and head scratching Sir Berty placed his order and waddled across to join them. A tough looking Close Protection Officer slipped in behind him and took up sentry duty by the door.

'Stand by your beds Centurions. Fattius is about to conduct an inspection.' Dirk muttered into his coffee.

'Shut-up Dirk. If he hears you we'll be in the shit,' hissed Killerman.

'I think we're in the shit already. Don't you Killerman?' Dirk glared at Killerman.

Sir Berty stopped at their table and looked suspiciously at the spindly wooden chair that they had left for him. It looked remarkably similar to the Queen Anne variety that carried with it so many unpleasant memories. Slowly he turned and gently let himself down on it. Then leaning forward with a slight grunt, he placed his enormous forearms on the table.

He sat for a moment and studied each of their faces before his small recessed eyes fell on the plates of food crammed onto the table. A bead of sweat appeared, glistening on his head before turning into a rivulet to run down his forehead and fall onto Pawser's doughnut.

'Morning, Sir. Can I offer you I doughnut and a tea,' said Dirk breaking the silence. He pointed at Pawser's doughnut and slid Killerman's tea over the table. Sir Berty nodded appreciatively, took a large bite out of the doughnut and a swig of tea, keeping his eyes fixed on the three of them.

'Sir...,' Killerman began. Sir Berty put up a large white hand. Killerman spluttered into silence. Sir Berty held up the half eaten doughnut. 'What's in this, the flavour, it's like ....' He clicked his fingers as if to conjure up a picture.

'Chilli, sir?' proffered Dirk.

'Ah yes, Dirk, I fear you're right.' Sir Berty crammed the rest into his mouth, chewed thoughtfully for a moment of two. He inspected his fingers one by one and brushed the sugar off on his jacket lapels. Eyebrows furrowing, he collected his thoughts, 'I am predisposed to think you may be wondering why I bought you all here at this time. Am I right?'

'Are you going to reveal the identity of the murderer, sir? Colonel Mustard, with the toilet brush, in the downstairs loo, was what I was thinking.'

'It is your inability to put a reign in that disrespect for authority, Maine. Your ability to shoot with apparent disregard for life anything with four legs, Killerman, and your,' he looked pointedly at Pawser, 'apparent difficulty in reigning in these two that has bought you all here. Here, a point in time that hopefully history will look back on and have no recollection of what- so- ever.'

Sir Berty paused briefly, stretched over and opened Dirks toasted sandwich to inspect the contents. Satisfied he pulled the plate over and began devouring it. Killerman reached out in an attempt to surreptitiously move his bacon butty slightly further away from Sir Berty but catching Berty's eye thought better of it.

Berty pressed on, 'I am here to offer you all a chance to redeem yourselves. One of the two angels sent to offer forgiveness to the inhabitants of Sodom, if you will. I have the need for some operatives who can display skill, fortitude and ability under pressure, but for reasons that will soon become apparent I am forced to turn to you three instead. I ask only one thing of you, apart from you don't shoot anything Killerman. Can I trust you not to disclose anything to anyone about what I will tell you today. To anyone. And I mean anyone. I remind you again of your obligations under the Officials Secrets Act.'

Pawser nodded earnestly at this revelation.

'Can I take it, Bingham that your promise extends to your wife?'

Pawser nodded. Looking down he saw that Killerman's plate was empty. Sir Berty already had half the butty in his mouth. 'Good, Good. I had imagined it would,' Sir Berty carefully licked the tomato sauce off his fingers. 'Well, gentleman we will meet in my office in half an hour. Admiralty entrance if you will. There you will be supplied with visitor passes. Please use the names on the passes when you sign in. I apologise for the subterfuge but you are still officially on suspension pending an investigation. It's still the Christmas break for most staff but should you encounter anyone, you are reporting to the office for further questioning over the dog incident. You understand? When we meet I expect you to conduct yourself with the up most decorum and show the due respect to my guests. Which is why you are here, to forewarn you I will not have you taking any liberties. If you not prepared to do that, don't bother to turn up.' Sir Berty looked at his watch, 'I must go, Gracie will kill me. See you shortly, remember what I said.' He heaved himself up and wobbled off back toward the counter.

'There before the grace of god walks the fattest angel I've ever seen,' remarked Dirk.

'So,' said Pawser, 'would anyone like to hazard a guess whether Gracie is, his wife, his budgie or his bodyguard.'

The bodyguard paused at the door, his eye falling on Pawser 'I heard that,' he called gruffly, then slipped out of the door after Sir Berty.

'Haggard, I bet its Haggard.' Killerman sat back, crossing his arms.

'What, Barnacle Bill, the Head of MI6? You seem to have the jump on us Killerman. What makes you think that?' Pawser quizzed.

'I still have some contacts you know. Sir Berty called me yesterday afternoon which gave me a chance to make a few calls. Haggard's with Sir Berty this morning, so I've come prepared.' Killerman pulled ragged piece of paper from his pocket and unfolded it on the table.

'What's that?' Pawser reached over.

'Ah, Ah,' said Killerman reproachfully snatching the paper off the table and wiggling his finger at Pawser.' It's Haggard's entry in Who's, Who. A little bit of light research might not go astray I thought.'

'I'll take it you'll not be returning it to the library?' reproached Dirk, 'They'll not be pleased you've mistreated their tome so badly, you know.'

'What? You think if you impress that old seadog he'll give you a job at 6?' Pawser asked scornfully.

'No harm in trying. Is there?' Killerman held up the paper.' Lord Admiral Horatio Haggard -retired. Current head of MI6. Peer of the Realm. Country gentleman with extensive landholdings in Northumberland. Interests - cat farming, sailing, and shooting.' Killerman put the paper back in his pocket.

'Is that it?' asked Dirk.

'That's all you're getting, Dirk, I need to have my edge after all.' Killerman smugly patted his pocket.

'Cat farming?' Pawser was perplexed.

'That's what it says,'

'Pawser knows a bit about rabbit farming, he was with a rabbit expert at the Christmas do. That might come in handy. You'll be able to regale Haggard with your wealth of knowledge on the subject won't you, Pawser?' grinned Dirk.

'Shall I meet you there?' said Pawser standing up.