Pawser set off early to Porton Down. It was still oppressively dark. Over the high ridge of the Hogs Back past Guildford the swirling snow twisted and danced in the glare of the car's headlights, a million tiny angels fleeing the unexpected appearance of a vehicle swishing rapidly through the snow.

Killerman, month open, eyes half closed sat with his coat draped over his knees, dosing in the passenger seat. Sensing that conversation would be scant on the trip down Pawser flipped on the radio and played with the unfamiliar dials to pick up a radio station through the maze of drifting signals.

Sometime later they passed by Stonehenge, a circle of stones growing out from the flat landscape like a row of jagged grey teeth piercing the white dusting of snow. A lone, brightly coloured camper van had pulled over by the side of the road. Standing next to it a bearded hippy, long hair floating in the wind was fighting his flapping poncho while attempting to urinate into the hedge. Pawser slowed and tooted before he sped off. In his rear view mirror Pawser caught the hippy raising one finger in causal acknowledgment of his solitary visitor.

Porton Down was marked by an eight foot electric fence running parallel to the road, its top strung with long loops of razor wire. Rusted signs hanging off the fence jangled up and down in the wind warned potential inquisitive visitors in large red letters that the place was off limits. Passing over a small rise Pawser slowed as they approached a rickety wooden structure that looked like a remnant from the last war. Bolted to its wooden cladding a notice read, HMG Defence Establishment. All visitors must report to the gatehouse.

Hearing their car a white face crowned by a small red bobble hat peered through window before a hand wiped the misted glass and beckoned them in. They jumped from the car and pushed through the door, the wind snatching it from Pawser's grip and slamming it closed behind them. Pawser and Killerman squeezed into the small reception area and peered over the counter.

'Sorry about getting you out gents but if I open the window all the hot air rushes out.' The guard folded up his Daily Mail and slung it on the counter. As if to prove his point, he signalled to a two bar electric heater sat on the floor fighting the draughts chattering through the baldly fitted window frames. He'd replaced his woollen hat with a small peeked cap that matched his worsted blue uniform. 'It takes bloody ages to warm up again. What can I do for you?'

'We're here to see Dr Venter. Pandora Venter.'

'You've just missed her. She's gone up to the kennels. You probably passed her on the road.' The guard shrugged and looked at the back of his paper.

'Leatherhead.' Pawser snapped.

'What!' responded the guard stiffly.

'Small Surrey Hills town on the river Mole..... Leatherhead,' Pawser lifted up the paper, 'Your crossword.'

'Yes, silly me, Leatherhead' he picked up the paper, carefully wrote in the answer and crossed out the clue.

Killerman coughed noisily, stamped his feet and clapped his hands at the fire as if preparing it to do an impromptu trick. 'The kennels, are they far?'

'No, I'll give you directions. She'll be up there all day. I'll call ahead and let her know you're both coming. You might as well put these on before you go. He rummaged beneath the counter and threw two hooded, one piece chemical suits across the counter. You don't want to be faffing around outside getting these on in this weather. They'll not let you in there without them –regulations. You know.' He shrugged his shoulders.

'Sure,' Killerman kicked off his boots and undid his belt.

'Er, mate they go over your clothes.'

'I knew that.' said Killerman.

As they shot off down the gravel drive, Killerman checked back up the road with a furtive gleam in his eye. 'Do you think there was a loo in that gate house?'

'I doubt it, it didn't look big enough. He probably keeps a potty under the counter. You'd know when he was using it –you'd just be able to see the top of his cap peeking out over the top of the counter when you drew up.'

'Do you think it's far to the kennels?'

'I take it you are somewhat indisposed, Killerman?'

'Too right, Pawser, curry last night and I'm carrying the thirst of a diuretic camel. Look there's a wood up there. You couldn't pull over for a mo could you?'

Pawser drew in under a thin line of ash trees, allowing Killerman to exit the car like a whippet on steroids and shoot off into the sparsely wooded woodland struggling out of the top half of his suit as he went. Pawser picked up yesterday's paper from the back seat and checked his horoscope. Virgo did not look good, he'd have to borrow someone else's. He tried Capricorn which promised exotic overseas travel and a promotion at work. Promising but not quite good enough. He looked up and followed the unfolding pantomime in the woods as Killerman ran furtively from bush to bush trailing the white overalls at half-mast behind him like a giant albino squirrel looking for its lost winter's store.

Pawser returned to his horoscope. Taurus looked hopeful, the death of a work colleague followed by a new relationship with an attractive stranger. Barry and Pandora perhaps? Catching another movement in the woodland out of the corner of his eye Pawser wound down the window and yelled, 'Come on Killerman, if any early morning commuter sees you they'll think it's a giant ethereal white rabbit having a dump. Out here they'll probably put it down to too much scrumpy last night or an accidental release of a mind bending psychedelic chemical from Porton Down. It probably happens all the time down here.'

For a moment the oversized squirrel paused its scampering between the bushes to disseminate this advice before stealthily darting behind a large oak tree.

Pawser turned the paper over and started the crossword. It took until 20 across before the door swung open and Killerman jumped in. 'Christ, it's cold out there.' he gasped.

'It is if you've got your arse sticking out one end of a chemical suit,' Pawser chucked his paper in the back. 'Ready?'

'Sure, mind you if we see any dog walkers we should stop and tell them to give it a wide berth.' Killerman zipped up the front of his suit and settled back in the seat. 'That's it, let's go.'

They drove for ten minutes down a maze of high banked roads before coming across the signs for the kennels. At the end of dead end lane they found the research centre, discretely tucked away behind a thick hedge of conifers. A large board warned potential intruders -Beware dangerous dogs. Pawser pulled up at a white and red barrier with a roadside box on pole with an intercom on it. For a moment his nasal sensors deployed, a slightly unpleasant aroma had filled the car. 'You haven't trodden in any skunk-funk have you while you were out there communing with the squirrels, Killerman?'

Killerman cautiously checked his bottom of his brogues. They were clear of any animal detritus. 'Like I said, I'd give it five.'

'Hmm, well if you're sure.'. Pawser wound down the window and punched the buzzer.

'Yes?' the box protested. The voice within was strained and slightly foreign. Male or female, it was hard to tell. Certainly not Pandora.

'We're here to see Dr Venter.'

'Yes, yes.' The disembodied voice interrupted him impatiently, 'they called ahead. I'll be down.'

They waited. In the distance Pawser could make out the sound of barking dogs. 'Leave your gun in the car, Killerman could you. There's temptation beyond human endurance beyond these gates. Once inside, you may feel the need to run back and get seriously tooled up for a canine killing spree. It you do, just say the word and I'll get them to lock you in a kennel while I talk to Pandora. OK?'

A pensive looking Killerman drew his gun from its holster and slid it into the central console.

A white figure suited figure appeared beyond the barrier strolling briskly down the path. 'And the other two, Killerman.' Pawser added nonchalantly, tapping the console.

'OK, Ok you've got your suits on.' The suits occupant was small, grey haired and breathless. He was the owner of the voice in the intercom Pawser surmised.

'I'll lift the barrier. If you could give me a lift back to the kennels, Dr Venter is waiting.' He produced a large bunch of keys and jiggled with the pole.

Pawser pulled through the barrier. Their host jumped into the back and they pulled up the track. 'I'm Dr Gerber. Nice to have visitors, I'm usually here alone. Dr Venter drops by here once a week to check on me and the dogs but that's about it. What's the purpose of your visit?'

'I'm Mr Steel and this is Mr Pie. We're here to see the Doctor. One of her friends has had an accident and died. He was a government employee. We needed to talk to her about close relatives who we are trying to track down. We're down from London.' Pawser slapped on his best sombre face and tried to not think too hard about Pandora.

'And you stopped off to stretch your legs I can tell.' their bespectacled guest peered around the car, set his gaze on Killerman and accusingly sniffed the air. 'Most unfortunate about Dr Venter's friend. My sympathies. Oh here you must have one of these. He rummaged in his pockets and produced a card which he passed to Pawser's hand.

'What's this?'

'If you track down the relative ask them if they'd consider donating his body parts to us. It can be so hard getting fresh meat if you know what I mean. Those students get all the best cadavers these days. No one ever thinks about biological research and all it's given us.'

Pawser nodded, dropped the card discreetly into the ash tray and wished his was wearing his leather gloves. The road roughened, turned to grass and as they drew past the line of trees revealed a line of weather beaten wooden huts with a block of kennels running off the side. In front of them there was a large wired exercise area. Pawser swung in and pulled up by a Messerschmitt three wheeler and red VW golf.

'My research labs, gentlemen,' announced Gerber proudly pushing open the door to the block. 'Let me show you the labs. Dogs are my business.' With a flourish he introduced them to a cacophony of bubbling fluids, drips and glowing Bunsen burners. Killerman scuttled off to a shelf-full of dusty spirit jars containing a series of twisted skeletons, picked one up, held it up against the weak sunlight and shook it hard. 'Please don't touch that, Mr Pie!'

Listening to the aged Doctor Gerber babbling on about Jung, Pavlov and behavioural traits in his little furry friends, with his thin wire glasses, upright military stance and undefinable accent, Pawser pinned him down as the sort that had been active during the last war, abet on the wrong side. Gerber, he concluded had probably not been in the right line of work to have been seen as entirely wholesome, enthusiastically producing obnoxious agents to be used on our brave boys whilst expounding the National leadership by wearing over-tight leather lederhosen, drinking pilsner and pursuing genetically perfect blond girls in racy little Dirndls'. No doubt the end of hostilities put an end to this wanderlust and he'd been forced to go on the run, spending the next five years fleeing through various South American countries while using an assortment of ill-chosen aliases to avoid being identified. At some point he'd been swept up by British Intelligence, done a deal to save his raggedly little Prussian skin and ended up working in the line he so clearly enjoyed. He was without doubt, living his rather ideological suspect dream.

'Your friend?' Doctor 'Van der Graaff Generator' leaned to Pawser and whispered conspiratorially. 'I've been studying him, he seems remarkably hirsute. Is there any history in his family of the wolf originated, Lupine k Disease?'

'Half his family are barking if that's any indication.'

'Ha, a history of mental illness, I thought so. You should get him tested. I could do it here if you'd like?'

'I'll bear it in mind, I'll book an appointment with his veterinarian in the meantime.' Pawser decided Van de Graaff had clearly spent too long in the kennels with his dogs. No wonder they left him up here. Pandora obviously came up once a week to change his blankets and top up his dog bowl with copious quantities of Winalot. 'But we were here to see Doctor Venter.'

'Yes of course. Follow me.' Dr Oetker guided them past a series wooden tables full of testing equipment to where Pandora was standing, absently mindedly mixing juice in a large glass. Seeing them, she put it down and extended her hand. Pawser's hearts jumped, did a little Saute and settled back gracefully to its normal rhythm. Bereft of her eight tentacled companion she was more glamorous than Pawser remembered. Her hair tumbled round a pretty face still aglow from the cold outside, her close fitting chemical suit tugged lovingly at the gentle curves of her shapely figure. Pawser was taken, Barry had been a lucky man. Well, right up to the point he'd been stabbed in the back he had been.

'Mr Steel and Mr Pie,' Pawser said quickly grabbing her hand.

'Of course, Steel and Pie,' She confirmed slowly with a flash of recognition. Her hand was warm and soft. Pawser held on to it for a little to long before releasing it. 'Is there anywhere we can talk?' he asked warily eying the lurking form of Dr Van Helsing. 'I'm sorry, we bring bad news.'

'Of course, the kitchen.'

'I'll have a quick shifty around if that's OK?' Killerman nodded at them.

'I suppose,' said Pandora slowly casting her eye round the lab taking a mental inventory of her stock, 'but don't touch anything.'

The kitchen was a rundown affair, with peeling lino floor and a few doorless cupboards crammed with an array of chipped mugs .The shifting wind beat against the walls as he watched Pandora make the tea. 'I already know why you're here. A lady called Olga called me, she was very nice. Thank her for me, will you.'

'I'll do my best.' Goddam Olga! Pawser cursed. This was supposed to be his moment. He could have been standing here holding Pandora's gentle little hand, offering her totally insincere sympathetic platitudes over Barry, ready to step in when she broke down and told him she needed a man like Pawser in her life. 'Had you known Barry long?'

'Long enough, it's difficult meeting people in my line of work. When they know what I do things tend to turn a bit cold. And meeting people at work, well you know, many of them are a bit odd, you know like him.' Pandora poured the tea and tilted her head toward the door.

'I know what you mean, that Dr Gerber's a real wacco, eh? Looks like a relic from the V2 rocket research program.'

'Actually I meant your associate, Mr Pie.' She passed Pawser the tea and motioned toward the table. 'I suppose we'd been going out for about three months when I met you at the Christmas party. It was meant to be fun.'

'I'm sorry about that, the punch up with Bettys husband was just a misunderstanding.'

'No, the fling with Barry, it was just meant to be fun. I'm not sure I'd really have chosen him otherwise. But working at MI5, he made it all sound so glamorous.'

'You know he was murdered don't you. That's why we are here. He was found with a knife in his back.' Pawser slowly stirred his tea and wondered what she was wearing under her suit.

'I know, it's terrible isn't it?' she wiped her sleeve across her watering eyes. 'Do you know why?'

'What exactly is it you do here?'

'Well, chemical research, you know, this and that. With what you do surely you understand this has to be done?'

Pawser did know. He'd got Dirk to do a little digging before they'd come down. Pandora had a bit of history doing 'this and that'. If a 'little bit of this and that' was what one of the four horsemen of the apocalypse put on his CV after he'd left medical school with a First in Practical Applications of Apocalyptic Agents, then she'd nailed it. According to the update Dirk had phoned through, she'd studied chemistry at university, stayed on to get her Doctorate in communicable diseases, worked three years in Berlin for a bio-manufacturer before joining the chemical research facility at Portland Down. According to Dirk, Pandora was no longer allowed to take holidays outside the UK without express permission of the UK Government.

'And do you have access to biological agents that may be of interest to foreign powers.'

'No, well, yes but...are you cleared to ask questions like that?'

'And what about, chemical suits....rubber masks ...white rabbits ...'

Pandora's face whitened, her head dropped into her hands. Through a curtain of hair she whispered slowly. 'He told you that?'

Pawser waited. Aside from what she may or may not have under her suit, Pawser found her even more irresistible now he had her on the ropes. She looked up, pulling the hair off her face, 'It was just meant to be a bit of fun, Barry said. You know, we have lots of that sort of thing here. We never get through it all. Most of it goes out of date and gets thrown out.'

'What the rabbits?'

'Bloody rabbits! I used to give Barry the old stuff so he could flog it on. He used to sell it to Ron. You know the storeman Ron?'

Pawser nodded.

'The rabbits were Ron's idea, it was Christmas and Ron thought he could do a nice line in rabbits – to kids. I gave them a few baby ones but then told them it had to stop.'

'And did it?'

'Yes, until just after Christmas.'

'And then?'

Barry came back. He was panicking. Said he'd been approached by someone. Someone wanting more stuff, he wouldn't say who. To be honest I'm not sure he knew. He gave me a list of what he wanted.'

'And?' Pawser was suddenly interested, very interested.

'It was the sort of stuff he shouldn't have known about. No one should know about. I told him I'd have to report it. He went wild saying we'd both lose our jobs, he was being blackmailed. They were going to let Sir Berty know about the little side line we had. It was crazy. I said I wouldn't do it.'

'What happened then?'

'He went off. I didn't say anything. It was stupid I know but he was right, I'd lose my job. I'd said no and just hoped it would go away. He rang a few days ago and said he knew who it was and had something on them that would sort it out.' She put her hand in her hands and sobbed. 'I told him not to do anything crazy.'

Pawser sat back. So Barry was involved and so was Ron. And the mole, as a diversion from spying at MI5 had targeted Barry. But what a coup if he could pull it off. Chemical reagents from the government's top UK secret facility would certainly get any Russian controller a new executive Lada and balcony tickets to the Bolshoi Ballet for life. Vosimov must be pulling the strings. Could it be Ron? This was something he hadn't considered.'

He put his hand on Pandora's shaking shoulder. 'You'll need to come with us.' He said gently. 'Back up to London. You need to tell all this to Sir Berty.'

Pawser looked up, at the door stood Killerman and a pensive looking Dr Van Hire. 'Are you Ok Pandora?' Van Hire asked.

'It's all been rather distressing. The details, Dr Gerber. I'm going to drop her home. I hope you won't mind the inconvenience.' He stood and placed his tea cup on the side. 'I should think she'll be off tomorrow. Shall we go?'

Killerman nodded and placed his glass next to Pawser's cup.

Pandora lifted the glass and held it up. It was empty. 'Where's it gone?'

'I'm sorry I was a bit thirsty. I drank it.'

'It wasn't a drink you idiot. I told you not to touch anything.'

'Why, what was it?' Pawser took the glass and held it to the light. A single dollop of gloop slid down the side and dribbled onto the floor.

'It was snark, the glass was full of snark.'

'Snark?' Questioned Killerman in a puzzled tone.

'Do you really want to know? Come in the kitchen. Sit down.' Pandora sat Killerman down, lifted a washing-up bowl from the sink and placed it on his knees. 'You may need this.'

Pawser held his breath and waited for the worst. It looked like his horoscope, or someone else's in fact, was about to come true.

'Dogs snark,' Pandora offered.

Killerman shrugged his shoulders, baffled.

'Dogs drool, Mr Pie. The glass was full of dogs drool.'

Killerman sat like a rat in the sunlight, blinking slowly in the dawning realisation of his consumptional blunder. He stood up and returned the bowl to the sink. 'Shall we go?' He said weakly.

Back in the car, a pale looking Killerman beside him and a subdued Pandora in the back, Pawser considered it was the pink poodle's ultimate revenge that carried with it the doggy odour of canine karma. He was amazed by the strength of Killerman's constitution. A sideways glance at Killerman told him all he needed to know – he still had the robust air of the lupine about him and combined with the intellect of a Yorkshire terrier he'd probably have forgotten the whole thing by the time they reached the end of the lane. He'd be fine.

As he sat back and pressed the accelerator, Pandora leant forward, her breath warm in his ear, 'Just one thing, Pawser. Does your friend know his hood's full of poo?'