Together they inspected the large hole in the plaster on the wall above Dirk's desk. 'We need to cover this up.' Pawser croaked, feeling certain this was not the first time this had been said in the hushed rooms of MI5. His voice was still hoarse from shouting at Killerman. The gun had been confiscated and was now safely locked in Pawser's top draw next to something black and shrivelled that Pawser suspected was old banana skin but could have been something considerably more dubious. He had decided not to investigate it further, it had been there for the last ten years, it could lie in state for a few more.

'It's pretty big,' observed Killerman, 'I'm not sure what's going to fill it.'

'How about your head?' Dirk suggested, 'I'm sure I could stuff it in there if I pushed hard enough.'

'No, that won't do,' Pawser said.

'Thanks,' replied Killerman

'Don't be. It's just I couldn't stand the thought of your ugly nonce staring out at us every day, otherwise I'd be happy to hold Dirks jacket while he rammed it into that hole.'

'Hold on. I've an idea,' said Pawser. 'Wait here.'

Pawser disappeared along the corridor and retrieved an old portrait of Maggie Thatcher that had been dumped in the photocopying room along with various other decrepit pictures of other ex-British Statesmen. After a bit of work involving a bent nail retrieved from the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet and a large paperweight, they managed to hang the picture. The frame just covered the hole in the plaster.

'I admire the concept, it's just the execution that's a bit lacking,' said Dirk as they stood back to admire their handiwork. 'I won't be able to work with her staring over my shoulder, it's unnatural. Did you check to see if they had a Lenin or a Chairman Mao in there?'

'It's not a bloody poster shop down there Dirk.' Pawser was rather exasperated. He stood by the door to get another angle. 'Mmmm I know what you mean. A little sinister perhaps, the way her eyes seem to follow you around the room. Have either of you got anything more suitable?'

Killerman shot back to his desk and produced a magazine which he held up next to the picture like an auctioneer's assistant.

'I think you'll find a picture of an AK47 assault rifle is probably less politically correct than one of Maggie and equally disturbing to some.' Pawser reflected. But in truth he was not absolutely sure.

'Best assault rifle ever made,' Killerman retorted.

'Even so we are supposed to be representatives of her Majesties Government not a military junta. Dirk, have you anything more appropriate?'

Dirk eased himself back into his chair and tugged open the bottom drawer of his desk to pull out a large pile of papers.

'Oh, here we go,' Dirk was onto something. 'How about Miss January..... from..,' he paused to get his facts right,' a 1972 copy of Penthouse.' He held up the lovely Miss January's picture against the frame.

Killerman's eyes bulged appreciatively.

'Nnnnooo.' Pawser interjected, knowing he was probably alone on this one. 'That's probably more politically incorrect than Killermans. Anyway you shouldn't have that here. Get rid of it.'

'I'll have it,' said Killerman unduly quickly.

'You can't get Miss January by attempting to kill me Killerman. She's class and she coming home with me tonight.'

'Wait a minute. I have just the job.' A most excellent idea had occurred to Pawser. 'I shouldn't be too long and no funny business with Miss January while I'm gone.'

Pawser exited from the office, left, past the men's loos, walked briskly along the basement corridor, up the stairs, through the near empty reception, to catch the lift to the first floor where he headed toward the library. He pushed through the heavy wooden doors and went in search of the Chief Librarian.

The library, as an estate agent would have boasted, had an enviable view. The large panes of glass that ran floor to ceiling along the southern side of the huge gallery gave way to a vast panorama of the river Thames. The winter's sleet that had arrived that morning had stopped falling and little patches of blue sky revealed themselves and then disappeared as the snow bound clouds scurried hurriedly past.

The room had a central podium, which looked as if it had once been a lectern in a church. The elevated platform was where the Chief Librarian sat. It gave her an uninterrupted view between the central aisle that separated the vast bookcases that ran down the long room which formed part of the Service's extensive manuscript collection.

It was, without doubt, Pawser's favourite haunt. Many an afternoon he had whiled away here reading through war dairies, stolen letters, and libellous pamphlets on the rich and infamous. These had been collected over the years by MI5, MI6 and the Yard to eventually found their way into the MI5 archives and were yet to be released to the public.

Looking around the room, Pawser saw it was a typical day. A researcher sat in one of the booths on the nearside wall, his head buried in large leather bound volume, the only noise being the scratching of his pen as he made notes in a small pad he had bought down for the purpose. A couple of old buffers sat on some lurid orange seats, left for those that wanted to duck in and spend a few moments catching up on the day's news. Various editions of The Times and Jane's Defence lay scattered on the low desks in front of them.

'Are you OK, Pawser, you look a bit down?'

The face of an angel smiled down on Pawser from the pulpit. At that moment the sun broke through the gloom of the day and momentarily lit up the room. The angel's blond hair took up an iridescent glow and her face transformed to an ethereal whiteness. Her eyes were the most piercing blue he had ever seen. 'Hold on,' she said,' I'll be down.'

Her head disappeared. Pawser could hear her padding down the little circular stair the other side of the platform before she walked round to see him. She was wearing a long white woollen dress that hugged her figure in just the right places. In fact looking at her today, like most days, Pawser realised that he would like to hug her figure in all those places.

'So,' she said, 'why the gloom?'

'No. No gloom, Lucy, just contemplative. What are you reading?' Pawser waved to the book in her hand.

'Oh it's the unpublished MOD UFO journals - 1942-1965?'

'Any good, I don't remember seeing that before down here?'

'No, no you wouldn't have it. Didn't quite make it onto the shelves,' she tapped her nose conspiratorially.

'Reeeeaaallly.' Pawser's interest was aroused. 'Anything I should know about.'

'Well,' Lucy leaned forward and lowered her voice, 'did you know that Churchill was replaced by a doppelganger created by aliens for the last two years of the war. Churchill was killed during the Blitz on London and had to be replaced .The whole of the allied effort would have collapsed without him as the figurehead. The Americans were behind it.'

'Oh come on, Lucy you don't believe that?'

'No, no listen. One single alien ship arrived in the States in the early thirties and made contact with the Americans. They wouldn't get involved in the war although their technology would have allowed it to end much sooner. But they did agree to produce a double of Churchill as they could see the war would drag on without a replacement. After the war they stayed on until the sixties and then crashed their spacecraft as they tried to leave - you know Roswell. The first alien they found was the one that had been modified to look like Churchill hence all the problems when the army found it. All the pictures are in here you know - proof absolute.'

Pawser stared at her, amazed.

She laughed, displaying a perfect set of white teeth, her blue eyes glistened with pleasure. 'You're so gullible, Pawser. I'm surprised they ever took you on!'

One of the old duffers looked up and shushed them. Lucy waved at him and blew him a kiss.

'Hold on, Pawser. I've got something for you.' Lucy disappeared and reappeared holding a large volume in wrapped in a clear plastic bag.

'What this?'

'It's the book you wanted, 'Orifices and Crevices. The fine art of Physical Concealment. A Practical Guide'. You'll be pleased to hear it is, as we would say, handsomely illustrated. I must say Pawser your tastes are becoming rather eclectic. I'm not sure I approve.' She turned her lips down.

'Just research, Lucy, just research.' Pawser reassured her.

'Sign here.' Lucy presented him with a little brown card which he duly signed. 'So as usual its D Rated so must not leave the premises. Return within seven days otherwise I'll have one of Mr Bentleys' mob visit you. A word of warning, while the leather work and binding might look in good condition, a number of pages, how shall I put it, seem to be stained. I recommend you put on your Marigolds before you read it.'

'Ew,' said Pawser. 'That nasty eh?'

'Up to page 117 which will probably have you reaching for something of more industrial strength. I switched to my gardening gloves. Anyway, what are you after this time, Pawser?'

'As I recall, I remember seeing a book down here some years ago. It was bought over in around 1941 by Rudolf Hess when he was trying to do a deal with us on behalf of Hitler. You know, when he flew into Scotland in that Messerschmitt. Mrs Coaker showed it to me once.'

'Fuck her.' said Lucy.

'I think you'll find its pronounced Fokker and it was in fact a Messerschmitt.'

'I know how to pronounce it Pawser. I speak fluent German. I'm not talking about the plane. I'm talking about Mrs Coaker.'

'What, little old Mrs Coaker?' Pawser was astonished.

'She made my life a misery when I was sent down here .Thought 'They' sent me. She was sure I was going to take her job.'

'You did take her job,' observed Pawser. 'Anyway who are 'They?''

'That lot upstairs on the top floor. She hated them. She said they were small men of limited intellect only interested in themselves and their own advancement. Didn't give two hoots about the Service. Once it had been men of courage and vision believing in King and Country but now it was a bunch of talentless wannabes with their petty rivalries against each other. She was fed up with it all Pawser. She called Sir Berty, 'Bollocks up Berty', Jocko McBride, 'Cover my arse McBride' and Piper she absolutely loathed. Mind you she was not alone on that one.'

'I don't' suppose she had a name for me - I got on rather well with her.'

'Oh you were the louche longhaired layabout. You should be honoured, she didn't have many good things to say about anybody really except for Ferker-Rose so that puts you up there in her ranking.'

Pawser scratched his head doubtfully. 'Louche. Is that a good thing?'

Lucy raised her eyes heavenward. 'Look it up Pawser, the dictionaries are over there. You know, no one turned up to her leaving party. It was the ultimate insult? When she left she despised everyone. Them, me, and you. Everyone.'

'Her party? I didn't know she had a leaving party.'

'I told you, Pawser and you didn't show up. Just like the rest of them.' Lucy stared hard at him.

'The book?' asked Pawser quickly changing the subject, suppressing that unusual feeling he took to be a twinge of guilt.

Lucy sighed resignedly. 'I know the book, a sort of photo montage that Hess bought across of Hitler and his associates, just to prove he had access to his inner circle. It's still here of course, where else would it be, Aisle H Row B. It will be close to the window next to the file giving the details of where in South America the allies took Hitler after the war.'

'Ahhh, not second time lucky I'm afraid, 'Pawser said wagging his finger at her.

'No seriously it is.' Her blue eyed gaze held Pawser's unflinchingly.' Do you want me to show you?'

'No thanks Lucy. I'll find it.' Pawser had other plans that Lucy certainly would not have approved of.

'Oh Pawser, be a love and pop your head around Aisle E will you when you walk down. Neville Graydon and Jenny Dearing have been there for the last ten minutes engaging in Ugandan discussions. He's spent the last five minutes trying to unclip her bra. You would have thought he'd cracked it by now; he just joined the code breaking section after all. It wouldn't be seemly for me to go and catch them at it. You understand.'

'It's the cuts I'm afraid Lucy, it's all theory at university now, they can't afford all the practical stuff. In my day we'd have whipped off a bra faster than ...Dearing?' The name rang a bell to Pawser.

'Yes, Colonel Dearing Do. You remember him. He used to hang round here a lot. Sat with that lot over there.' She nodded over to the old duffers. 'Jenny's his daughter.'

'Oh yes. How is the old git?'

'He's dead actually,' Lucy looked serious.

'Ahh, not again,' said Pawser winking knowingly.

'No Pawser, you can check in Obits, Aisle B, Row 2. Col Geronimo D Dearing OBE, MBE. May 1938 to December 2001. Found dead in his bath dressed as Kaiser Wilhelm III, in charge of a small flotilla of antique tin German warships. '

'I am surprised. I remember him as most patriotic. How did his family take it?'

'Oh not too bad. The tin ships went for a bomb at auction and they saved bit cash by having him buried in the uniform.' She nodded down the aisle.' Better get down there fast, Pawser. He might have worked out it's a front fastener by now. Aisle E. They are between Enigma and Entrapment. You can't miss them.' She gave Pawser a little push toward the bookshelves and a cheery wave goodbye.