The bathroom was a temple to white tiles and gleaming chrome. It's altar, a single cistern and bowl stood at one end with a message from its' god written auspiciously in gold across its top, Crappers No 1. That sums it up, thought Pawser. He looked at it suspiciously for a moment then checked the vanity cupboards. All empty. He climbed on the loo, pulled up the top of the cistern and looked in. It was empty too. He dropped it back into place.

Olga came in and lifted up the cistern top.

'I've just done that. Come on Olga, this is a waste of time, there's nothing here.' Pawser picked up the toilet brush gave it a cautious sniff.

Olga placed her hands on her hips and assumed the countenance of a disappointed aunt. 'Ein schwacher Witz.'

'What?'

'Not funny, Pawser.' Olga pulled a face to show her displeasure and lifted up the toilet seat.

'I'd hold on, if I were you. There's no toilet paper.'

'Pawser, I can see something peeking out from the under the U tube.'

'Well try not to catch its eye and we can go.' Pawser peered in. Looking down the toilet he could just make something out sticking out from around the pipe.

'No seriously Pawser. There's something in there. Fish it out,'

'Were not on Margate beach, whelk dipping,' said Pawser indignantly. 'You fish it out.'

'It might be something important.'

'I don't care if it's a hunter killer sub sent by Haggard waiting to catch Ferker-Rose in an unguarded moment. I'm not sticking my hand down there!'

'You've got some gloves. I saw you put them in your pocket earlier.'

'They are real kid gloves, given to me as a Christmas present by Penny. I'm not getting them all... all shitty.'

'This is the ex Head of MI5's rest room,' Olga took Pawser in her steely gaze.

'Apart from the fact that we all know 'resting' is the last thing that would have being going on in this room, are you saying when I pull it out it will be smelling of roses and singing Rule Britannia in a cockney voice?'

'This is your mission, not mine. Given to you by the Head of MI5, the Head of MI6 and the Deputy PM.' Olga glared at him before pausing for effect and adding sternly. 'Pawser.'

'No need to trivialise it, Olga.' Pawser pulled up the sleeves of his coat in irritation, grabbed the gloves out of his pocket and angrily pulled them on. 'Alright, alright. Stand back.' He knelt down by the loo, lowered his hand into the loo and grimaced as his glove filled up with cold water. When his shoulder was resting on the rim Olga knelt down next to him.

'What's it feel like?'

'It feels like I'm a county veterinary surgeon with my arm struck right up a cow's rear end and you've just wondered in and asked me the time,' Pawser muttered.

'No, the package, what does it feel like?'

'The package? There's a euphemism if I've ever heard one. It feels soft and sticky like...' he gave it a pull and lifted his dripping hand free of the bowl, 'like a plastic bag with something in it.' He pulled the package out of the loo and held it up. They studied it for a moment. It was a small roll wrapped in plastic bound tightly in a myriad of rubber bands.

'Have you got a hanky? I'm going to sneeze.' Olga screwed her eyes up and rubbed her nose.

Pawser quickly pulled his handkerchief out of his pocket with his spare hand and passed it to Olga.

'Danksaguengen,' said Olga. Taking his handkerchief she grabbed the package and wiped it dry.

'That was a pretty shoddy thing to do.'

'I don't think so. After all that moaning about your gloves what was I supposed to use? I was going to rub it through your hair.' Olga smiled calculatingly and waved the damp handkerchief at him. 'Want it back?'

'No keep it. It'll remind you of the wonderful evening we've spent together.'

Olga spread out the package out on the desk, pulled off the bands and slowly slid out its contents. Pawser picked up the outer wrapping of glossy paper and a stack of photos fell out on the desk. Pawser carefully unfolded the piece of paper. 'Bloody hell, its worse than we could have possibility have imagined, don't look at this Olga it will make you ill. I can't believe anyone would stoop so low.'

Olga held out her hand and Pawser passed over the paper

Olga held it up to the light. 'It's a cover of Good Housekeeping.' she remarked dourly.

'I know. Bastards eh, forcing people look at stuff like this. Haven't they heard of the Hague Convention?'

Olga picked up the photos. 'The cover was probably just being used to protect these from the light. Look, these look like pictures of Vosimov. Who's that he's with? Hard to tell, looks like the other chap is wearing a tartan cap.'

'I'm surprised Vosimov still around,' ventured Pawser. 'I would have thought he's a bit past it by now. Would the SVR still have him operational? '

'He's about your age Pawser. So yes, a bit past it by now. Louche and old. How does that feel?' Olga smiled as much as her German ancestry allowed and flicked through the pictures. They were old and grainy. 'I don't know who he's with, all these pictures were taken at night and they're not up to much. Ferker-Rose obviously thought they were important enough to hide here. Unless they were planted here by someone else of course.'

'I feel just fine, thank you. My downbeat loucheness sits well with my advancing years.' Pawser grabbed the photos and stuffed them it his pocket. 'Come on Olga, we'll look at them later. Let's get the hell out of here.' He flicked off the light and pulled her toward the door.

They made their way back up the stairs to Berty's office. While Olga dropped the photos into the safe, Pawser had discovered Berty's bottle of brandy in the drinks cabinet. He poured two large shots with shaking hands and gulped one down to steady his nerves.

'Pawser, mein Schatz.' Olga, now bereft of her overcoat, stood in a black corset, her brilliant ashen hair flowing down around her shoulders, her shapely body silhouetted in the light from her office.

'Jesus, Olga!' Pawser gasped at Olga's positively Olympian figure. Her arms were strong and toned, the plunging neckline of her corset exposed a pair of huge breasts that swelled alarmingly at him.

'Pawser, this is your moment, you must grasp it with both hands.' Olga strode forward grabbed both his hands and lifted them to her breasts.

'Olga, I can't. After all I have Penny.' And she has Nobby, Pawser thought. And Nobby has Mephistopheles. The evil pie maker and his luciferin steed sent by Satan to mock him. And together they form the dirty little ménages à trios that they flouted daily in Pawser's face.

Olga leant forward, a shock of hair spilled over Pawser's face.' And you can have me too, Pawser. I'm here, ripe as a peach ready to be plucked.' Her breasts heaved in front of Pawser's face.

There was no doubt he found her irresistible and she had a whole lot of peach to be plucked. 'Oh, Olga!' He gasped as he reached for her corset and scrabbled at the laces.

Olga stood back and wriggled out of the black bodice and let it slip to the ground. Pawser's heart was pounding as she strode to the glass table, turned around, spread her feet apart and lent forward across the table displaying a superb set of muscular buttocks.

'Take me Helmut, take me now.'

Pawser slipped off his coat and frantically pulled his black jumper over his head. Olga turned and pulled down his joggers, 'Oh Helmut, you've gone Kommando.'

He grabbed Olga roughly by the waist.

'Durchstechen Sie Ihren bratwurst in mein Sauerkraut,' she gasped.

'Olga I need you, I need you.' gasped Pawser breathlessly pulling her to him.

'In German, Pawser. Mein Gott!' Olga gasped.' Do it in German,' she jumped up on the table and flung her arms around him. 'In German. Now!'

******

Pawser slumped down in Sir Berty's chair and wiped the sweat from his brow.

Olga lay back on the table and wrapped her toned legs around his neck. 'Pawser you were so commanding, you must be a God in bed. I never thought I'd find anyone like my Helmut. Are you ready to go again?'

Pawser looked down; apparently he was. 'Let's do it on Janet Ferker-Roses's desk!'

''Yes, yes, lets.' Olga urged.

They pushed their way into the stairwell, bodies wrapped around each other. Pawser turned, grabbed Olga's hand and led her down the stairs, jumping two steps at a time in his enthusiasm. Olga ran behind laughing and whispering excitingly in German.

He grabbed the door, it was locked.

'The card, Olga the card!' he waved his hand expectantly at her.

'Why do you think I've got it, Pawser? '

'Bugger, let's go and get it.'

They ran back up the stairs, Pawser pulled at the door. It was locked. A horrible thought started to creep into his head.

He looked around at Olga, standing naked with her arms crossed over her ample chest.

'Why the hell didn't you bring the card?' He tried to control the rising panic in his voice.

'It was your idea to do it on Ferker's desk,' she replied coldly. 'Why didn't you bring it?'

'Shit!' cursed Pawser. 'Now we're stuffed. All our clothes are in Berty's office.'

'I know that, Pawser,' Olga said frostily. 'That's where we left them.'

'What the hell are we going to do?'

'I have a small device used for picking locks that I always keep secreted about my person,' Olga looked rather off at disclosing this revelation.

'You do? Christ Olga, you're a star.' A wave of relief swept through Pawser. He had always considered himself pretty good with a lock pick.

'Yes, it's up there with a tyre jack and spare wheel,' she spat. 'Get a grip Pawser, you're supposed to be an Intelligence Officer.'

'Your right. Sorry, Olga.' He sat down on the stairs then suddenly jumped to his feet.

'You have an idea?' Olga asked hopefully

'No, those steps are bloody cold on my arse.' Pawser turned, grabbed the door handle and shook it as hard as he could. With a sharp snap it came off in his hand.

'Is that something they taught you in training?' Olga looked at him despairingly.

'Well, no harm in giving it a go.'

'The magnetic locks are rated up to one ton, Pawser, you will not be able to force them.' Olga looked belatedly at the handle Pawser was holding. 'How about we go down to Reception and see if there is a spare pass in one of the drawers down there.'

'Great idea, Olga but how do we get through the door, they are rated to one ton, didn't you know that? I' m sure Helmut would have.' Pawser added spitefully.

Olga stepped forward and pushed him back against the wall. Even naked she was intimidating. 'Fire regulations, Pawser. All doors must be able to open outward in the case of a fire, even Adolf and Eva would have known that.'

Christ she's right, thought Pawser. 'OK, let's go,' he peeled his sweating back off the cold wall. Together they ran down the stairs. At the bottom Olga pushed the exit button and they burst through the door into the Reception area. Pawser let go of the door and it closed behind them with a click of the magnet.

'Ah!' He said plaintively. They were now stuck in Reception.

Olga stared at him with the look he imagined she'd had kept reserved all these years for the pilot who had dumped the block of frozen urine on Adolf and Eva.

'It makes no difference Olga, we'd still have needed a pass.'

Olga thought for a moment and nodded in agreement. He looked around the room, a desk sitting in front of some cupboards and behind in a little office, a chest of drawers.

'You search the desk. I'll do the drawers,' Olga suggested.

He rummaged through the drawers. A box of stationary, some old computer manuals and a fire marshals vest. He slipped on the vest; it made him feel a little less exposed.

'Found anything?' He called across to Olga.

'No, just stationery.'

Olga stood and stared at him. 'What the hell are you wearing? You like a steward at ten mile nudist run. Are you worried no one's going to notice you? You're stark naked.'

'I found it Olga and I'm keeping it, I don't care what you think.' Pawser clutched the little green fluorescent vest round his chest.

'Well if it helps you think of a way out of this, then keep it on. At least I'll be able to find you if the lights go out.' Olga returned to rummaging through the drawers.

'Look, there's a phone. Let's phone for help.' Pawser pointed at the phone on the desk.

'Were you drawn to the espionage business by virtue of your innate talent Pawser, some sort of natural affinity perhaps? Two naked people in the Reception of Britain's Intelligence Services. Who were you going to call, the police, the fire brigade? Or perhaps for a takeaway?'

Pawser turned his back on Olga and picked up the phone.