Chapter One
"It's tough being a spy," thought Dave wearily as he glanced through yet another issue of "Hello" magazine. Dave was one of those rare breed of celebrity spies, following in the great tradition of James Bond, Austin Powers and Johnny English. He sat in the lobby of a London hotel, leafing through pages of his magazine looking for pictures of himself.
One of the downfalls about being a celebrity spy is that everybody knows who you are. The "Hello" magazine that Dave was reading through, for example, contained the following top ten lists: "The top ten spies of the world including their telephone numbers"; "The top ten secret assignments assigned to those spies"; and "The top ten bounty hunters hired to kill those spies". The entertainment section even lists dates and times of when covert acts were being performed.
Dave sighed. Since the inception of the whole 'Celebrity Spy' business, it had been impossible for him to do any real spying, apart from the time he had been assigned to investigate the owner of "Hello" magazine for claims that he couldn't quite remember. It was something about a bucket of water and a bar of soap… did the words "squeaky clean" come into it? It was too far back. He dropped the magazine on the table beside him, heaved himself up from the chair he was sitting on and decided to mope around a little bit, wondering why on earth he'd decided to accept the current stupid assignment.
The hotel lobby was, relative to small and poky hotels, slightly bigger and less poky. It was not the kind of hotel that you would usually expect to find a superstar celebrity spy in. It only scored a measly 17% on the "Superstar Celebrity Spy's Guide to Hotels around the Civilised World and England." The only reason Dave was in such a hotel (so he found himself reasoning) was so that he wouldn't get attention from fans of celebrity spies – the hotel wasn't the kind of place you would expect someone who read "Hello" magazine to be.
Something stirred in Dave's memory. Something that hadn't been touched for a long time… what did this place remind him of? Ah, yes. He had been given his first assignment in this hotel. Not the kind of thing you forget. The then head of the Secret Spies Organisation™, Sir L, had 'tasked' him with finding the headquarters of a little known mafia uprising in London known only as: "The Little Known Mafia Uprising."
Dave paused in mid-stride, a far-away look on his face. Those were the days! When procedure was as simple as following people carrying violin cases until you had the right one. Yes, in those days the mafia were real mafia – right down to the identification badges they used to wear at all times. The group Dave tracked, "the little known mafia uprising", were particularly violent. The full extent of their violence can only be glimpsed at by this statistic: out of all the complaints to the mafia trade union, the Little Known Mafia Uprising made 76.3% of them. Of course, this statistic is counterbalanced by this one: 48.2% of all statistics are made up on the spot – or, in the case of the British government, in 45 minutes1.
The Little Known Mafia Uprising were eventually tracked down and caught because their leader, Brother Jim, was partially deaf. He overheard the Women's Institute Raffia2 Work society to be the mafia work society. The WI became slightly suspicious when forty or so men wearing Armani suits and dark glasses tried to join the society, and sensibly called the police. Not at all sensibly, the police decided to turn up wearing Armani suits and dark glasses. Confusion reigned for a few minutes, until one of the astute WI ladies realised the policemen – having of course been trained in Raffia work at great expense on taxpayers money – were building name badges for themselves, and everything sorted itself out.
Back in the hotel, Dave decided to wander towards the bar. He tried to walk as nonchalantly as possible, stopping occasionally to tie his shoelaces or dodge behind a pillar. "If people want to see a celebrity spy", he reasoned, "I might as well behave like one even when I don't have to. You never know who is watching." And it is just as well that Dave does not know who is watching him currently, because it is of no consequence whatsoever.
The bar was more or less exactly the kind of bar you would expect to find in a small and poky little hotel. Cheap cigarette smoke hung in the air, in small jars on strings from the ceiling. Around the edges of the room, small groups of scientists clustered around packs of cards, trying to work out if the strange symbols on them had anything to do with crop circles. Even the bar itself looked a little downtrodden, having been used as the walkway for the local fashion show for the last seven and a half years.
Dave walked up to the bar and spoke to the bartender.
"Half-pint of blackcurrant and lemonade. On the rocks. Make it a double."
Wordlessly the bartender obliged, slowly and carefully pouring out a double-half-pint of blackcurrant and lemonade into a glass. When it was full to the brim, he reached into the fridge behind him, pulled out a couple of frozen rocks and dropped them into the drink.
"Rocks?"
"Yeah, they're re-usable like that. Unless of course you're drinking the special…"
The bartender had a rough, gravely kind of voice. The kind of voice you'd expect someone to have after they'd eaten a bunch of gravel.
"Yeah, yeah. Here. Keep the change."
Dave dropped a handful of coins onto the bar. "Celebrity spies shouldn't have to pay for things," he reflected as he took a long draught of his drink. "In the movies you never see them paying for anything. Then again, I guess they don't come to seedy joints like this…"
He sat there quietly at the bar, occasionally raising his glass to his mouth, and then lowering it again. He would sometimes take a sip of the drink as well. Something considered happening, then decided not to and to wait another five minutes until it happened. In another five minutes it almost happened, but then decided to give it a miss completely and go to other somewheres.
Dave finished his double-half-pint of blackcurrant and lemonade and ordered another (without the rocks). He wondered idly when he was going to be sent for. The new Sir L was supposed to be a stickler for punctuality and detail. "Be there at precisely 5:30 PM", the message had said. His watch said 5:28 PM. The clock behind the bar said 5:28 PM. The talking clock behind the bar said, "Batteries need recharging."
Dave pontificated. Then he ruminated for a bit. Then he finally decided it would be best to ponder. "Be there at precisely 5:30 PM." Did that mean he was not supposed to be there early? With celebrity evil geniuses being in short supply now, he didn't have much to do so he'd decided to head down there early. How was one supposed to arrive at precisely a certain time anyway? Dave could never get the hang of that one. What was one supposed to do, arrive a little early and wait outside with an atomic clock until the given time? One wouldn't have thought so. One would have thought one would be able to allow a little leeway, so that one could arrive with, say, plus or minus ten minutes before or after the specified time.
Dave's ponderings were cut through like a laser through Sean Connery's you-know-whats by a voice that seemed to come from nowhere (but did, in fact, come from somewhere, as he is to find out in approximately two seconds time): "These are not the droids you are looking for." The Voice was carefully modulated, intoned with a precise Alec Guinness accent.3
Dave turned round to see a carefully modulated, precise Alec Guinness look-alike. He knew the phrase was some sort of test, something to check whether he was a real celebrity spy or not. The snag was, he had no idea what the correct response was. He looked at the Alec Guinness look-alike more closely. His face was giving away nothing. In fact, Dave very much doubted whether it had ever given anything away its entire life. It was a gorilla mask (albeit a gorilla that looked very much like Alec Guinness).
"This is getting me nowhere", he thought. "There's only one thing for it: this guy is obviously completely mad. In fact, I would say that he wasn't just mad – he's crazy. Therefore, I'm going to try something random. It's crazy, but it just might work."
Hesitantly, with a questioning tone in his voice, Dave said, "You want to go home and re-think your life."4
The Alec Guinness look-alike appeared satisfied, reached to take off his gorilla mask and revealed himself to be none other than… Sir L. Of course, Dave was not actually aware of this fact, as he had never met Sir L. At least, not this particular Sir L. Sir L had never met Dave before, at least, not this particular Dave. Hence, the need for the security phrase. Although Dave didn't know the correct reply (there wasn't one), at least Sir L had the comfort of knowing – he tried! Of course, there is the small question of how Sir L had known to whom he should ask the password. The small answer is that as Sir L read "Hello" magazine.
Sir L (who, by now, was getting fed up of hearing his name in the narrative) spoke at precisely 5:30 PM: "So, you're Dave. I've been looking forward to meeting you! I'm sorry about the gorilla mask, but in my job it's always wise to keep a low profile. Always at risk of being attacked by a rampaging mob of undercover spies or newspapermen, you know! I'm Sir L, by the way."
A light of comprehension dawned in Dave's eyes, before it realised it didn't really need to, and promptly set again.
"I should have guessed! I knew you must be someone in authority by the subtle way in which you tried to deduce whether I was an agent or not."
"Of course! Star wars quotes are always best for pass phrases. They certainly beat the boring mundane ones that we used to have."
"Yes, shouting out 'Schnell, Schnell, Kartoffelkopf'5 in the middle of public places was always so incredibly boring."
"Not to mention the boring reply: 'No thanks, I already have a penguin.' Thank goodness those days are gone!"
"Absolutely."
"By the way, who's talking now?"
"I have no idea. Hold on; let me check… I appear to be Dave, Sir L."
"Ah good! Otherwise, I might have had a bit of an identity crisis. Right, will you follow me please, Dave?"
Sir L began to walk briskly away from the bar, rather rudely considering that Dave hadn't answered his question yet. Dave just shrugged his ankles and, with a sigh, walked after Sir L.
1 The British government had an infamous row with the BBC over claims that before Gulf War II, the government had 'spiced up' the "Dodgy Dossier" by claiming that Saddam Hussein could launch weapons of mass destruction with 45 minutes.
2 Raffia is a type of wood found in Africa which you can use to make mats and stuff.
3 That line was spoken by Alec Guinness in "Star Wars IV: A New Hope"
4 Star Wars II: Attack of the Clones.
5 This is meant to be "Quick! Quick! – potatohead" but my German spelling isn't brilliant.
"It's tough being a spy," thought Dave wearily as he glanced through yet another issue of "Hello" magazine. Dave was one of those rare breed of celebrity spies, following in the great tradition of James Bond, Austin Powers and Johnny English. He sat in the lobby of a London hotel, leafing through pages of his magazine looking for pictures of himself.
One of the downfalls about being a celebrity spy is that everybody knows who you are. The "Hello" magazine that Dave was reading through, for example, contained the following top ten lists: "The top ten spies of the world including their telephone numbers"; "The top ten secret assignments assigned to those spies"; and "The top ten bounty hunters hired to kill those spies". The entertainment section even lists dates and times of when covert acts were being performed.
Dave sighed. Since the inception of the whole 'Celebrity Spy' business, it had been impossible for him to do any real spying, apart from the time he had been assigned to investigate the owner of "Hello" magazine for claims that he couldn't quite remember. It was something about a bucket of water and a bar of soap… did the words "squeaky clean" come into it? It was too far back. He dropped the magazine on the table beside him, heaved himself up from the chair he was sitting on and decided to mope around a little bit, wondering why on earth he'd decided to accept the current stupid assignment.
The hotel lobby was, relative to small and poky hotels, slightly bigger and less poky. It was not the kind of hotel that you would usually expect to find a superstar celebrity spy in. It only scored a measly 17% on the "Superstar Celebrity Spy's Guide to Hotels around the Civilised World and England." The only reason Dave was in such a hotel (so he found himself reasoning) was so that he wouldn't get attention from fans of celebrity spies – the hotel wasn't the kind of place you would expect someone who read "Hello" magazine to be.
Something stirred in Dave's memory. Something that hadn't been touched for a long time… what did this place remind him of? Ah, yes. He had been given his first assignment in this hotel. Not the kind of thing you forget. The then head of the Secret Spies Organisation™, Sir L, had 'tasked' him with finding the headquarters of a little known mafia uprising in London known only as: "The Little Known Mafia Uprising."
Dave paused in mid-stride, a far-away look on his face. Those were the days! When procedure was as simple as following people carrying violin cases until you had the right one. Yes, in those days the mafia were real mafia – right down to the identification badges they used to wear at all times. The group Dave tracked, "the little known mafia uprising", were particularly violent. The full extent of their violence can only be glimpsed at by this statistic: out of all the complaints to the mafia trade union, the Little Known Mafia Uprising made 76.3% of them. Of course, this statistic is counterbalanced by this one: 48.2% of all statistics are made up on the spot – or, in the case of the British government, in 45 minutes1.
The Little Known Mafia Uprising were eventually tracked down and caught because their leader, Brother Jim, was partially deaf. He overheard the Women's Institute Raffia2 Work society to be the mafia work society. The WI became slightly suspicious when forty or so men wearing Armani suits and dark glasses tried to join the society, and sensibly called the police. Not at all sensibly, the police decided to turn up wearing Armani suits and dark glasses. Confusion reigned for a few minutes, until one of the astute WI ladies realised the policemen – having of course been trained in Raffia work at great expense on taxpayers money – were building name badges for themselves, and everything sorted itself out.
Back in the hotel, Dave decided to wander towards the bar. He tried to walk as nonchalantly as possible, stopping occasionally to tie his shoelaces or dodge behind a pillar. "If people want to see a celebrity spy", he reasoned, "I might as well behave like one even when I don't have to. You never know who is watching." And it is just as well that Dave does not know who is watching him currently, because it is of no consequence whatsoever.
The bar was more or less exactly the kind of bar you would expect to find in a small and poky little hotel. Cheap cigarette smoke hung in the air, in small jars on strings from the ceiling. Around the edges of the room, small groups of scientists clustered around packs of cards, trying to work out if the strange symbols on them had anything to do with crop circles. Even the bar itself looked a little downtrodden, having been used as the walkway for the local fashion show for the last seven and a half years.
Dave walked up to the bar and spoke to the bartender.
"Half-pint of blackcurrant and lemonade. On the rocks. Make it a double."
Wordlessly the bartender obliged, slowly and carefully pouring out a double-half-pint of blackcurrant and lemonade into a glass. When it was full to the brim, he reached into the fridge behind him, pulled out a couple of frozen rocks and dropped them into the drink.
"Rocks?"
"Yeah, they're re-usable like that. Unless of course you're drinking the special…"
The bartender had a rough, gravely kind of voice. The kind of voice you'd expect someone to have after they'd eaten a bunch of gravel.
"Yeah, yeah. Here. Keep the change."
Dave dropped a handful of coins onto the bar. "Celebrity spies shouldn't have to pay for things," he reflected as he took a long draught of his drink. "In the movies you never see them paying for anything. Then again, I guess they don't come to seedy joints like this…"
He sat there quietly at the bar, occasionally raising his glass to his mouth, and then lowering it again. He would sometimes take a sip of the drink as well. Something considered happening, then decided not to and to wait another five minutes until it happened. In another five minutes it almost happened, but then decided to give it a miss completely and go to other somewheres.
Dave finished his double-half-pint of blackcurrant and lemonade and ordered another (without the rocks). He wondered idly when he was going to be sent for. The new Sir L was supposed to be a stickler for punctuality and detail. "Be there at precisely 5:30 PM", the message had said. His watch said 5:28 PM. The clock behind the bar said 5:28 PM. The talking clock behind the bar said, "Batteries need recharging."
Dave pontificated. Then he ruminated for a bit. Then he finally decided it would be best to ponder. "Be there at precisely 5:30 PM." Did that mean he was not supposed to be there early? With celebrity evil geniuses being in short supply now, he didn't have much to do so he'd decided to head down there early. How was one supposed to arrive at precisely a certain time anyway? Dave could never get the hang of that one. What was one supposed to do, arrive a little early and wait outside with an atomic clock until the given time? One wouldn't have thought so. One would have thought one would be able to allow a little leeway, so that one could arrive with, say, plus or minus ten minutes before or after the specified time.
Dave's ponderings were cut through like a laser through Sean Connery's you-know-whats by a voice that seemed to come from nowhere (but did, in fact, come from somewhere, as he is to find out in approximately two seconds time): "These are not the droids you are looking for." The Voice was carefully modulated, intoned with a precise Alec Guinness accent.3
Dave turned round to see a carefully modulated, precise Alec Guinness look-alike. He knew the phrase was some sort of test, something to check whether he was a real celebrity spy or not. The snag was, he had no idea what the correct response was. He looked at the Alec Guinness look-alike more closely. His face was giving away nothing. In fact, Dave very much doubted whether it had ever given anything away its entire life. It was a gorilla mask (albeit a gorilla that looked very much like Alec Guinness).
"This is getting me nowhere", he thought. "There's only one thing for it: this guy is obviously completely mad. In fact, I would say that he wasn't just mad – he's crazy. Therefore, I'm going to try something random. It's crazy, but it just might work."
Hesitantly, with a questioning tone in his voice, Dave said, "You want to go home and re-think your life."4
The Alec Guinness look-alike appeared satisfied, reached to take off his gorilla mask and revealed himself to be none other than… Sir L. Of course, Dave was not actually aware of this fact, as he had never met Sir L. At least, not this particular Sir L. Sir L had never met Dave before, at least, not this particular Dave. Hence, the need for the security phrase. Although Dave didn't know the correct reply (there wasn't one), at least Sir L had the comfort of knowing – he tried! Of course, there is the small question of how Sir L had known to whom he should ask the password. The small answer is that as Sir L read "Hello" magazine.
Sir L (who, by now, was getting fed up of hearing his name in the narrative) spoke at precisely 5:30 PM: "So, you're Dave. I've been looking forward to meeting you! I'm sorry about the gorilla mask, but in my job it's always wise to keep a low profile. Always at risk of being attacked by a rampaging mob of undercover spies or newspapermen, you know! I'm Sir L, by the way."
A light of comprehension dawned in Dave's eyes, before it realised it didn't really need to, and promptly set again.
"I should have guessed! I knew you must be someone in authority by the subtle way in which you tried to deduce whether I was an agent or not."
"Of course! Star wars quotes are always best for pass phrases. They certainly beat the boring mundane ones that we used to have."
"Yes, shouting out 'Schnell, Schnell, Kartoffelkopf'5 in the middle of public places was always so incredibly boring."
"Not to mention the boring reply: 'No thanks, I already have a penguin.' Thank goodness those days are gone!"
"Absolutely."
"By the way, who's talking now?"
"I have no idea. Hold on; let me check… I appear to be Dave, Sir L."
"Ah good! Otherwise, I might have had a bit of an identity crisis. Right, will you follow me please, Dave?"
Sir L began to walk briskly away from the bar, rather rudely considering that Dave hadn't answered his question yet. Dave just shrugged his ankles and, with a sigh, walked after Sir L.
1 The British government had an infamous row with the BBC over claims that before Gulf War II, the government had 'spiced up' the "Dodgy Dossier" by claiming that Saddam Hussein could launch weapons of mass destruction with 45 minutes.
2 Raffia is a type of wood found in Africa which you can use to make mats and stuff.
3 That line was spoken by Alec Guinness in "Star Wars IV: A New Hope"
4 Star Wars II: Attack of the Clones.
5 This is meant to be "Quick! Quick! – potatohead" but my German spelling isn't brilliant.