Sir Berty looked around the room like a man about to offer his last confession. 'We're facing a very grave problem gentlemen. One that affects both Intelligence Services and possibly our overseas colleagues, mainly the Americans, French and Germans.' He looked warily at Haggard. 'And not only that, it could affect some of our most senior politicians both currently in office and retired.' Berty leant forward and whispered dramatically,' Janet Ferker-Rose, my predecessor is writing her memoirs.'

There was a pause to let this revelation sink in.

'Are you sure?' asked Pawser.

'Well she's not going to openly admit it is she?' reproached Haggard. 'The first thing we'd do is slap an injunction on her. Some weeks ago we heard whispers about her approaching an American publisher. Our enquiries have shown that she is probably well on the way to a first draft, $100,000 was transferred into her account on Monday. An advance we believe. '

'There is another thing,' Berty rose from his chair walked stealthily to the door and quickly pulled it open. Olga's office was empty.

'Yes?' prompted Pawser. 'Well,' Berty slowly closed the door, 'those close to her say she might just be mentioning the rumour, the speculation, the merest assertion...'

'Oh, just get on with it man!' Haggard slapped his hand on the table,' Ferker -Rose thinks there's a mole in MI5.'

'Our enemies will have a field day if this gets out,' added Berty in a rather dismayed tone before carefully choosing a mince pie from Olga's selection.

'The Americans?' Killerman looked confused.

'Well, it more the French in this case, they hate us. Particularly since one of our chaps took a pot shot at a poodle.' Haggard's eyes gleamed at the thought. 'Johnny foreigners like their pets, eh, eh?'

'How bad could it be?' asked Dirk, 'Does she have any proof?'

'Put it this way, I went to see her predecessor, Sir Lockwood down at Berkeley House last week. You remember Lockwood, don't you Berty?' Haggard looked at Berty who nodded sagely before tucking into his pie. 'We met in his study,' continued Haggard. 'He's a shadow of his previous self, I'll say. Gaunt as a starved seagull, no hair. You remember his hair Berty? They used to say he looked like Raphael. He loved his hair. There he was, bald as a coot, all hunched up in his wheelchair.'

'How did it go?' prompted Killerman.

'I must say, bloody brilliant Killerman! He'd only just got it. It was one of those new fangled ones. High powered lithium battery, little joystick to control it, lightweight anodised aluminium wheels. He let me have a go in it, went like a rocket.' Haggard beamed.

'I think Killerman meant the meeting, sir,' interjected Pawser, feeling Haggard was drifting rather of the point.

'Oh that. Not too well, you could say. When I told him about what Ferker-Rose was alleging, he went a deadly pale colour, his eyes rolled up, he gave a little gasp, and that was it. He croaked it. The poor bastard, it was just too much for him.' Haggard shrugged his shoulders.

'How was Maud?' Sir Berty suddenly sat up looking concerned.

'I think I handled it rather well. She was in the dining room with the dogs. I pushed Lockwood out of his wheelchair and whisked it round to her. I told her husband had just snuffed it but on the upside she could now have his new wheelchair. She was over the moon, couldn't even remember who Lockwood was. What's she now? Pushing ninety five I should think. When I left she was chasing the spaniels round the fountain at the front of the house having a roaring time.'

'When was this Sir?' asked Dirk.

'Last Tuesday I think, or Monday. I'm not sure. Does it matter?' Haggard took another slug of tea from his mug.

'That was a week ago,' observed Dirk. 'I haven't seen anything in the press.'

'Oh bloody hell,' Sir Berty reluctantly placed his pie back on his plate. 'Killerman go and ask Olga to contact Berkshire police and get them to drop over at Lockwood's place. If they can't find Maud in the house she will probably be in the garden somewhere.' Killerman rose and walked to the door.

'Not yet man! After we've finished the meeting. Sit down!' Haggard roared.

'What we need,' said Sir Berty looking nervously at Haggard then clasping his hands together in front of him, 'is a discrete look at the memoirs. If there's nothing too hot in there, well, maybe we can let the thing float. If there is, well something more...' he fluttered his hands in the air. 'Erm...we will need to take the appropriate steps to ensure publication never happens.' Berty put particular emphasis on the word appropriate before continuing. 'Apart from you, me, Bertie and the Deputy PM, no one knows that the memoirs exist. The American publisher probably has not seen the first draft, and its best that it stays that way. Gentlemen, get us sight of the memoirs and do it discreetly, Ferker -Rose still has contacts you know. Oh, if you are caught we will deny we had anything do with this. Complete deniability. You understand?'

'You take at look at this and tell me what you think,' Haggard slid the file marked top secret file across the desk.

Dirk opened it; on the top of a well thumbed ream of papers laid a fairly new colour photo of a naked man and phenomenally well endowed peroxide blonde woman in the shower together.

'Well what does your Intelligence Officer think of that!' snorted Haggard.

'It looks like our Chancellor in the shower with a blonde lady,' remarked Dirk quickly flipping through the other photos.

Haggard leant over and grabbed the file, 'Bugger,' he exclaimed looking at the pictures,' wrong file, forget you ever saw this. Luckily I didn't leave it on the train eh!'

'I'm sure Horatio.' Bertie looked a little disconcerted. 'No matter, I have a man outside ready to give our team a quick briefing.'

'Christ Berty. It's not Skippy is it? The man's an idiot, I'm not going to have to sit here for twenty minutes listening to him drivelling on and making that stupid kangaroo gobbling noise am I?'

'Skippy, er, I mean, Graveling,' Berty corrected himself, 'may be getting on Horatio, but as we all know he's still a mine of information within the Services. He's one of our senior analysts, irreplaceable after Betty North died in that unfortunate merry go round incident. I spoke to him a little while ago about this meeting. All he knows is we want some background on Russian operators in the UK, likely contacts for our supposed mole and a bit about the security at Ferker-Rose's place in Dartmoor. He knows Pawser and his team will be here and I've told him they're working undercover on a special operation re a potential threat to Ferker-Rose's personal security.' Berty buzzed through to Olga.

Olga escorted Graveling in, a rather elderly man with a shock of white hair and dusty tweed blazer. Pawser recalled meeting Graveling some thirty years earlier wearing what looked like the same blazer. With trembling hands Graveling set up a projector on Berty's desk gainfully aided by Olga. With a bit of shuffling they moved Berty's chair from the head of the table and managed to get a decent projection onto the wall.

When he was satisfied with his set up, Graveling stood back stood up as straight as his bent frame would allow and peered around the room through his wire rimmed glasses. 'Pawser I'm surprised to see you here, I heard.....,' he said in a rather shaky voice.

'Never mind what you heard, Graveling. Stick to your brief. You are to tell no one. You understand? No one!' reprimanded Berty.

Suitably admonished Graveling nodded at Berty, 'The first slide I have, I believe is not suitable for everyone here due to security clearance issues. Sir Berty and Lord Haggard I think you should see it, tsk, tsk, tsk.' Graveling slipped in an impromptu kangaroo impersonation.

'Well, if you think so Gravelling,' said Berty turning to Pawser,' Would you chaps mind looking out the window for a few moments ?'

Pawser sighed and motioned to Killerman and Dirk. They all shuffled their chairs round to face the window.

'This is Janet Ferker-Rose in May nineteen seventy two in the drawing room at Kellworth House with Lords Ratchets butler. I think you'll agree, somewhat compromising.

'Nice jugs', observed Haggard.

'Denby circa 1938 I should think,' commented Graveling.

'I meant the pinks ones. Next slide, Graveling.'

'Review of the fleet, same year, Portsmouth. I just thought I'd slip that one in for you Lord Haggard tsk, tsk, tsk.' gobbled Graveling.

'Crikey Graveling, there's HMS Behemoth, what a lark we had eh? Do you remember, Pawser when the whole dam fleet used to turn up? Those were the days, going into Portsmouth, showing everyone your wares, having a few beers with all the lads, running riot all night and waking up in the morning in some dump of a bar surrounded by a load of exhausted seamen.'

Looking out of Thames House, Pawser was feeling a bit like the naughty boy who had been left in the cinema reception while everyone else had gone to see the latest movie. In his sulk he felt he was unable to participate in Haggard's fond recollections. Dirk leaned over and whispered. 'There's an anatomical anomaly -exhausted seamen. Mind you I'd be pretty knackered if I had to put up with Haggard, twenty four seven.'

The projector clicked. There was an audible intake of breath from Sir Berty. 'My god! What sort of device is that tattooed girl holding? I don't think I've ever seen anything so perverse yet so strangely clinical.'

'It's a milking machine, sir. This photo was taken of Ferker-Rose in eighty seven in a private tent at the Surrey County show.'

'Who's the one in the white Graveling?' Haggard was apparently made of sterner stuff.

'That's a sheep, sir. Tsk, tsk,tsk.'

'I can tell it's a sheep, Graveling. I own a farm in the north of England you know. Actually, come to think of it, it is the north of England I own. I am referring to the chap in the white suit with Ferker-Rose. His face looks familiar.'

'I thought you may recognise him, that's Ivan Vosimov, one of your triple agents. A key Russian operative in the UK.'

'Vosimov, of course. I knew I'd seen him somewhere. British Triple agent eh', mused Bertie, 'that means he's working for us doesn't it?' he looked around the room for confirmation.

'Isn't that a Russian triple agent, sir?' said Graveling.

Pawser, Killerman and Maine stared out of the window at the slewing snow rushing over the waters of the Thames. 'It probably means he's not to be trusted either way,' called Dirk over his shoulder.

The projector clicked again. 'OK .I think it's safe for you to turn around gentlemen.' Berty instructed. 'Actually you probably could have seen the Vosimov picture now we've cleared up the confusion over that device.'

Pawser turned round. Thrown up on the wall was a ground plan of a large cottage superimposed on an ordinance survey map.

'Ah yes. The Ferker-Rose residence. Tsk, tsk, tsk.' spluttered Graveling. 'This is Ferker -Rose's place in Dartmoor where she lives with her two Rottweiler's. Our contractors upgraded the security system just before she retired. She had a central electrical control system, a circular alarmed fence around the property and additional CCTV here, here and here...' Graveling drew out a marker pen, quickly highlighted the fencing and sweeping areas covered by the cameras. For a few moments he rambled on about bullet resistance glass and bomb proof post-boxes making an occasional embellishment to his drawing.

Sensing Graving was running out of steam, Berty rose and turned off the projector cutting Graveling off mid flow. 'Well thank you Graveling. I think that'll be all. You can step out now.'

'Ah Sir. I appeared to have drawn over your wall with my pen, tsk, tsk, tsk. Graveling licked his finger and wiped the wall, 'I seemed to have used indelible ink. I'm sure it will come off, sir.'

'Never mind Graveling, just leave it,' Olga will sort it out. Let her know on your way out will you, Thank you.' Berty waved him exasperatingly toward the door and stood by looking at the ceiling while Graveling shuffled out. Then he turned to the team. 'Well that's the brief. Now what are we going to do? Any questions?'

Pawser couldn't help noticing how the giant sketch left by Graveling on the wall had more than a passing resemblance to a cartoon face, all big ears, nose and whiskers. He wondered if it was just him that had noticed. There were no questions, a fact that Pawser put down to the fact that the others were now as equally disconcerted as he was, by the giant face of Mickey Mouse beaming happily at them over Berty's head.