Sitting at his table looking at a curling sandwich doing it best impression of a dying fig roll, Pawser could feel the table vibrate under him as the planes thundered overhead leaving long tunnels of condensing air arcing up over the runways into the still, January air.

'Well, Killerman, what are your plans then? Pray, tell us.'

'I am.' Killerman impaled a sausage roll with a plastic fork. 'I am off to France to set up a patisserie with Rollo and Ralfe as my backers.'

'Very entrepreneurial Killerman,' Dirk watched as Killerman dissected the roll and inspected its contents. 'And have you decided on a name for this centre of gastronomic genius?'

''Fat Fanny's in France,' I thought, just to remind me of home.'

'I'd have thought it would have reminded you of something else,' Lucy interjected, 'a bit like Bettys hedge maze.'

'Eh?' said Killerman pushing his plate aside.

'Don't' spoil it for him Lucy,' Dirk patted her hand. 'I'm sure he'll find out soon enough. But good luck mate, I hope it goes well.'

'And you and Lucy, Dirk?' Pawser asked.

'Istanbul, for three weeks and then, who knows where, hey Lucy?' Dirk grabbed the discarded plate, and stuffed the remnants into his mouth. 'The World's our oyster as far as we are concerned.'

'Good for you, both of you. I hope you enjoy every moment of it.' Pawser was genuinely pleased Dirk had finally seen there was something more to life than returning to GCHQ, which was fortunate as he'd never be allowed back in.

'That's our flight being called,' Dirk gathered up the passports, 'we'd better go.'

'And me.' Killerman stood up and slung an old army kit bag over his shoulder.

'I'll be in touch boys to sort you out as soon as I can.' Pawser stood and shook their hands. 'Good luck.'

Pawser sat and watched them as they walked away. Dirk and Lucy, hand in hand, the tall figure of Killerman forging his way through the other passengers. He'd miss them.

'Hello, Pawser. Have they all gone?'

'Yes, you've just missed them, Mr Bentley. Coffee?'

'Don't mind if I do, Pawser.' Mr Bentley slid into the plastic seat opposite him.

Pawser sat while Mr Bentley struggled with the sugar sachets and waited until he took a sip of his insipid looking drink. 'So you'll want the stuff then?'

'Quite so.' Mr Bentley cocked his head. 'You've got them both?'

'Orifices and Crevices, the illustrated version and one hundred thousand in cash as procured by Killerman and Dirk from the Bonded store.' Pawser pushed two packages across the table.

'Good man, Pawser. It wouldn't have done to have left the Service with your name sullied would it? I'll write you a receipt of course.'

'They only took the money to stop it all going astray you know. They thought if they didn't Ron would have it away. They always intended to return it.'

'I never doubted them for a moment.' Mr Bentley passed him a slip of paper. 'There is one final matter. There appears to be a set of forger's plates that have gone missing. Springer swears they exist and Freddy had them. Freddy, the O'Reillys and Rex deny they ever existed.'

'Really.'

'Yes really, Pawser. Where might Freddy have put them I wonder?'

'If they existed?'

'Yes, if they ever existed, purely hypothetically of course.'

'Well purely hypothetically as you say, if I were Freddy I'd have hidden them close by. Not where I worked, too risky. Maybe next door with his landlord perhaps, under a pile of towels in the back of a cupboard.' As if to demonstrate Pawser slid the empty sugar packets under a napkin.

'I see,' Mr Bingham said guardedly. 'Well Pawser, given the unfortunate circumstances you find yourself in I'll not press the matter. But if you should happen to come across them the Bank of England would pay a handsome commission to anyone who could lay their hands on them. No questions asked, I have received assurances.' He drew a gold card holder from his jacket and placed a business card on the table and tapped it with the tip of his finger.

'Thank you.' Pawser picked up the card and dropped it into his pocket. 'If I had them I'd be sure to contact them first. Hypothetically of course.'

'A sound move, Pawser, you don't want any more repercussions do you?'

'For sure.' Pawser twisted in his seat and surveyed Mr Bentleys's luggage. 'Going away?'

'Off to Tuscany. My annual retreat to my place there.'

'Is that a cat box, Mr Bentley?'

'Yes, that's Longshanks, my cat.'

'Longshanks, that's his name. It is reeeaaally?' Pawser struggled to keep to scepticism out of his voice.

'Yes it is, Pawser.'

'So nothing to do with Wallace, William Wallace?'

'Nothing at all.' Mr Bentley looked out of the window and the long lines of planes lined up at the terminals. 'It was you that left me the anonymous tip off about the meeting in the warehouse, wasn't it. How did you know I wasn't the mole?'

'With what you've got tattooed on your chest, it could never have been you.'

'I see, I suppose that makes sense.' Mr Bentley subconsciously ran his hand down his chest. 'Did you see the PM's resignation is expected this afternoon? Rex's stuff is scattered all over the tabloids, a forged Will has materialised. All sorts of scurrilous allegations are being made.' He placed a small volume on the table. 'Here, I've bought you this.'

Pawser picked it up. 'This is the volume on where the Allies took Hitler after the war.'

'Somewhere in South America apparently. It's all dodo dally loo if you ask me Pawser but you should go and investigate, you might get a book written out of it. The air in England is getting decidedly chilly at the moment; an excursion overseas might be a sensible thing for you and Pandora.'

'I see what you mean.' He ignored Bentley's reference to Pandora. Maybe his phone was still being bugged, he have to check when he got home. He flipped through the yellowing pages of the book and then suddenly stopped. 'Don't you live by Downing Street, Mr Bentley?'

'Yes, I have a small mews property close by.'

'I don't suppose,' said Pawser rolling forward and looking at the black cat lounging in the basket.

'That would be pure speculation, pure speculation.' Bentley stood up and straightened his suit. 'Well I must be off. Good fortune, Pawser.' Bentley held out his hand, shook Pawser's, picked up the cat box and lifted his luggage trolley. Then as if remembering something he swung around. 'Pawser, whatever you think about my methods, you know we never could have a man like Jocko McBride running the Service. You'll agree with me on that point I'm sure.'

Pawser found himself nodding as he watched the elegant figure of Mr Bentley turn away and melt effortlessly into the crowd.

*********************************THE END******************************************