Olga slipped in to replenish the teas, pausing briefly to take in the large recently arrived cartoon of Mickey Mouse's head on the wall. 'Oh, here's the Deputy PM,' she said looking up through the door.

Icabalde Mayheme swept into the room, elegantly attired in a long woollen overcoat and carrying a glass topped walking cane. 'Olga, Olga, how splendid to see you again. Had a good Christmas I hope?' he stooped and kissed Olga on the cheek.

'Lovely. Thank you, Deputy PM.' Olga glowed, 'Shall I get you some Earl Grey?'

'That would be splendid Olga,' Icabalde shrugged off his coat to reveal a dark pin striped Saville Row suit and stood back to admire the sketch on the wall.' Ah Berty, you've added some modern art to your glass masterpiece, not sure it's in keeping though, but I dare say it's difficult to find the right tone for the Head of MI5's office, is'nt it?' Icabalde turned to Pawser and offered his hand, 'Now, who do we have here then?'

Icabalde's handshake was quick and efficient handshake -a politician's handshake Pawser felt. Pawser had seen the Deputy PM a number of times on television. He was taller than Pawser expected. Up close, Icabalde's face portrayed a strong angular nose with receding hairline. Pawser guessed he was in his early fifties so his dark black hair was probably dyed. His face looked slightly tanned, the skin leading up to his hairline was slightly reddened, a recent holiday Pawser deduced.

'Well,' remarked Icabalde slipping into the seat next to Pawser. 'My apologies for being late but you know how it is. Why don't you push on while I make a few notes?' For a moment he paused and in what Pawser took to be a nervous tick, quickly sniffed the air.

Instinctively Pawser checked the air to be hit by the aroma of glass polish, baked chilli and smoking tobacco, the latter of which he put down to Barnacle Bill who sat rummaging in his beard opposite him.

Icabalde drew out his notebook, laid it on the table and entered the time and the date before looking up expectantly, 'Come on gentlemen, no need to be coy. Let's crack on shall we?'

'What we need is some decisive action. Isn't that right Berty,' remarked Haggard, taking the lead.

'Well yes, Horatio, for sure but what exactly,' Berty looked somewhat doubtful.

'You know what you need in these circumstances, Pawser. Eh?' barked Horatio.

'A plan?' answered Pawser hopefully.

'No, not a plan,' Horatio snapped at Pawser.' Come on, you're a naval man. Think, dam it!'

'A strategy?' Pawser floundered.

'For Gods sakes, man! It's obvious,' cried Horatio his red face turning purple.' Balls, that's what you need. Don't you agree, Deputy PM?'

Icabalde seemed lost in his thoughts, writing in his notebook. He ignored Haggard. Pawser thought he could detect the Deputy PM talking to himself under his breath. He leaned toward and caught the refrain coming unconsciously from Icabalde lips.

'Underneath the mango tree me an me honey watch the moon,

Underneath the mango tree me and honey make boopaloop soon.

Underneath the moonlit sky me and my honey sit hand in hand.

Underneath the moonlit sky me honey and I can make fairy land'

Seeing he'd lost his primary audience, Horatio turned to Sir Berty. 'I've got the biggest balls you've even seen, eh Berty .That's why I'm head of MI6 not some small balled flunky. My balls are huge, gigantean. Eh? Aren't they Berty, aren't they?' he stared aggressively at Berty.

'Well I, err.' Sir Berty stared down at his notes, fell into an embarrassed silence and took solace in a large chuck of cake.

Haggard turned to Pawser, 'You know what you have to do when you go to a meeting eh, Pawser. Do you?'

'No,' said Pawser although he had a strange premonition that it would feature balls somehow.

'Walk in like you've got the biggest balls in the room. That's what you've got to do.'

'I see.' said Pawser. He didn't.

'And what do you do if you find someone else who thinks they've got bigger balls than you?'

'Well, I?' Pawser looked at Dirk who he felt sure had considerable expertise in this area. Dirk had somehow re-acquired Haggard's file and was reappraising himself of its contents.

'You slap yours on the table. Call his bluff .That's what you do! And in all the years I've been doing this job nobody's ever slapped a pair on the table bigger than mine!' Horatio sat back crossed his arms and nodded vigorously at Pawser.

'We all know who's the person with the largest set of balls here is and she's just gone off to make the tea,' said Icabalde abstractedly, carefully annotating his notes.

'What Olga!' said Haggard dismissively, 'I wouldn't let her polish my capstan.'

'Well, I would if I were you,' remarked Icabalde casually, 'because it's beginning to appear rather tarnished of late, Horatio.'

'It shouldn't be. I polish it regularly.'

'I'm sure you do Horatio. I'm sure you do.' Icabalde pushed his pencil back into his notebook's spine, flipped it shut with a loud snap and slipped it back into his suit pocket. 'Well Horatio, if you could remove your colossal knackers from the table, slide them into your copiously crutched baggy trousers. And ZIP them UP!' Icabalde barely contained his irritation. 'Now let's get back to some modicum of common sense. I do assume you have been talking figuratively Horatio, if not let me assure you now is not the time to put anything of yours on the table, big and floppy or otherwise. Save it for you internal meetings over at MI6 if you will.'

Horatio harrumphed and looked around the table. Pawser looked down at his shoes through the glass table.

'Excellent, knackers suitably tucked up are they? Good, we can proceed.' Icabalde turned to Pawser. 'What's your plan?'

'I guess we should go and have a look around her office just in case.'

'Yes, seems sensible. I doubt if she's left anything there but let's not rule it out. How easy is it to get into without being seen? You don't want to be observed snooping about in there.'

'Well not through main reception but I can always go in through Admiralty's entrance, there's only CCTV there after seven pm. I can go up the back stairs, if something can be done to distract the man in the security office. Olga will be able to organise an Admiralty pass.'

'I'll come up with something to distract the CCTV operative,' said Horatio sullenly.

'As long as it don't involve flapping your nether regions about in front of his face, Haggard, that would help. Tonight then.' confirmed Icabalde.

Pawser nodded hesitantly. This was getting hairier than he'd first thought. Breaking into the ex head of MI5's office was not going to do his constitution any good. Any good at all.

'And then, what next?' pushed Icabalde.

'Well assuming we find nothing, I guess we'll have to turn over her property in Devon,' replied Pawser rather hesitantly.

'Much as I find the thought rather distasteful. I concur. Even if she has a draft that you can lay your hands on then the Government would like to get the heads up of what's in the final manuscript.' Icabalde nodded in agreement.

'You and Dirk can go down there and give it the once over,' prompted Sir Berty.' Skippy will give you the plans. Dirk, I'm sure you can find a way around the security system.' Dirk nodded.

'I'll ride shotgun,' mumbled Killerman through his Christmas cake.

Sir Berty shuffled uncomfortably in his seat looked if he was going to say something but thought better of it.

'Good. Get down to Dartmoor as soon as possible and I want an update right after you've been in there. I pop by tomorrow first thing to see if you've picked up anything from her office. It goes without saying gentlemen, that this conversation never took place. Pawser, if you or any of your team are caught you are not in the employ of MI5. Do I make myself clear?' Icabalde looked sternly at the faces around the table.

'Yes,' said Pawser, somewhat uncertain of his current employment status.

'Do you think I might be mentioned in her book?' asked Haggard hopefully.

'Oh yes. I'm sure Ferker-Rose will have plenty to say about you Horatio. Plenty!' Icabalde made little effort to conceal a wry smile.

'Oh goodo,' said Haggard brightening somewhat.

Olga knocked discreetly on the door, 'We have a situation sir. Sorry to interrupt, could I just have a few moments of your and the Deputy PM's time?'

Left alone there was a long embarrassed silence. Haggard tugged irritatingly at his beard. Dirk tried to look as if he hadn't slipped one of the pictures of the peroxide blond into his pocket. Pawser had no intention of engaging Haggard in conversation following his previous encounter. Enough had been covered on the subject of Haggard's nether regions already. Killerman halfway through his dissection of his Christmas cake looked up and glanced around the room as if he'd just become aware of the silence. Pawser's heart sunk.

'Sir, I hear you keep one of the largest herds in the Country?' Killerman jumped off in at the deep end.

'I hope you haven't been rummaging around in any security files, Killerman?' Despite his tone Haggard appeared relieved by the distraction.

'No sir, not that we would have one on you of course, you being an obvious patriot and all that,' replied Killerman with unusual diplomacy.

'I should hope not Killerman. As it happens I have one of the largest herds in the country. It's made me enormously rich by the way.' Haggard nodded assuredly.

'How do you keep them in, if may ask sir?'

'The same as everybody else Killerman, in fields surrounded by fences. You do have fences in where you live don't you?'

Pawser was slightly thrown by this and could only vaguely imagine how high a fence would have to be to contain a vast roaming herd of cats.

'Yes sir, of course and you say they are very profitable to keep?' Killerman pressed on.

'I'm glad you asked Killerman, not enough people are interested in what goes on in the countryside these days.' Haggard threw out his chest. 'Their skins go to a tannery in China and are turned into boots which I sell under a sole supplier agreement to the British Army.'

Pawser could hardly believe what he was hearing. What a bastard! Here was a supposed patriot abusing his position by selling boots made of cat skins to the troops fighting our wars overseas and boasting of how it was making him rich. Cat skin leather, no wonder are troops were complaining about sub standard kit. The thing was outrageous; he was going to have to tell Sir Berty.

'And their milk goes to a big dairy producer who makes those little triangular cheeses that kids eat; you know the stuff that comes in little circular boxes. Apparently children love them.'

Pawser felt vaguely sick. Did people know what was in those cheeses? It must say on the packaging. Pawser had never thought to check. Why would he? Come to think of it they always tasted strange to him, slightly salty. He certainly wouldn't be eating one again.

'I didn't know you could milk them sir?' Killerman asked the most next obvious question that was nagging at him.

'Well, where the bloody hell does you think the stuff comes from Killerman, the moon! And the meat goes to slaughter house to make up sausages and burgers. I sell them to the big supermarket chains, you've probably eaten one Killerman without even realising its come from one of my herds.'

Pawser's stomach was beginning to churn, the revelation about the cheese was enough. To know after all these years he'd been eating cat meat made him want to vomit. He looked at Dirk and Killerman and they looked at him unfazed. Perhaps they knew, perhaps everybody knew and his mother, knowing he had as a child a delicate constitution, had never told him. Here he was after countless years of gorging cat burgers, stuffing feline sausages and eating cheese from milk drawn from cat's nipples, having to find it all out from this egotistical manic, Haggard.

'All this from cats!' Killerman gasped, 'I never knew!'

Haggard stopped tugging his beard and stared incredulously at Killerman, 'Not cats, you idiot. Cattle. I rear cattle and dairy herds.'

There followed a ghastly uncomfortable silence, Pawser closed his eyes and prayed. Please Killerman, don't say anything more.

'So do you own a Yorkshire man?'

Oh God.

'I own a Yorkshire Manor in Yorkshire. Have you been sniffing glue Killerman?'

'You play cricket?' Unabashed, Killerman pressed on.

Haggard brightened visibly. 'Yes'

'And you lost a Test in Afghanistan?' Killerman was more of a county cricket man so appeared unsure if the Afghan side were up to much.

Haggard's face went from red to purple to an apoplectic crimson. He stood up, spluttered, 'Give me that!' Snatched the file back from Dirk before chucking his papers into his attaché case. He waved his arm at Killerman and yelled, 'Just get Ferker, Ok. Just get Ferker. That's all you have to do and don't call me until you do.' He stormed out of the room slamming the door behind him.

'Well Killerman, they say cricket can be an emotional sport. You've certainly touched a nerve there. Have you got that entry in Who's Who's?' asked Pawser holding out his hand. Taking the page from Killerman, Pawser ran his eye over the entry. 'It appears Killerman that when you disrespectfully tore this page out of its digest, you left a bit of the right hand margin behind. Cat should read Cattle, Yorkshire Man should read Yorkshire Manor and test should be testicle.'

Pawser turned the page over. 'I think Killerman if you'd bothered to read a little further you would have seen that Lord Haggard was wounded while on a visit to Afghanistan a few years back. An Afghan sniper, probably ill disposed to Haggard's rampant sexual advances to half the country's population decided to cut down on his testosterone levels, and succeeded in doing so by exactly one half. You may think you have just dropped a major bollock here, Killerman but that not as half as large as the one Lord Haggard left behind him in Afghanistan when he galloped back here clutching an empty sac between his legs.'

'I suspect the aforesaid testicle can now be found being whacked around a dirt field by a team of insurgent Afghanistan polo players,' observed Dirk cheerfully. 'It makes you proud to think of the sports we've exported overseas doesn't it. It makes a little foreign incursion all the more worthwhile if it ends up with the locals having a quick chukka with one of Haggard's love nuts.'

'He's clearly got a hang up about the whole thing', observed Pawser.' At one point I thought he was going to drop his trousers and give us all a gander at them but I suppose if one's AWOL then it would be a bit of a disappointing outing wouldn't it?'

'That's a relief,' said Dirk. 'Sitting here gawping at his wounded grapes is an experience I could do without. I wouldn't worry, Killerman, he's probably rushed back to Vauxhall Cross to get an offer letter out to you. A total disregard for either detail or people's personal feelings is certainly no impediment to entry to MI6. After all just look at Haggard.'

They all swung round as the door opened. Berty bustled back into the room. 'Has Horatio gone? Well that,' he said confidently,' went quite well, don't you think? Anyone fancy a bite to eat? '