Madness spray.

After involuntarily sliding onto the pavement Sukoloff dragged himself onto his feet, to explode into laughter at the sight of the man shaped, and sized, impression he had made in the hood of Klyne’s car. He was still chuckling to himself as he caught up to Klyne and Dwire at the entrance of the city zoo.
    No one had, as yet, been informed of either his death or his capture as a suspected spy so he felt at ease as he brazenly issued his orders to the two young men.
    "OK, the guy’s here somewhere so let’s go find him. Use tranquillizer darts, I want him, but I want him unharmed!"
    This done, he turned sharply and loped off into the zoo leaving Dwire and Klyne in his wake. Some half of a mile later Dwire scowled after him. Sukoloff, twice his age and supposedly unfit, was moving effortlessly well ahead, while he and Klyne were struggling at every step just to catch their breath. Without a word passing between them they mutually slowed to a walking pace and sauntered away in different directions.
    Dwire saw nothing of their quarry or Sukoloff and presumed they must have taken the sky lift. He headed in that direction dreaming of being the one to catch the Professor.
    When Sukoloff reached the enclosures the animals became berserk, tigers roared—monkeys banged on their cages and birds flapped their wings so frantically they began to look oven ready. There was so much noise that everybody turned and watched as keepers ran backwards and forwards in vain attempts to calm the terrified creatures.
    "Klyne! The Prof is east of you. Run! I guess," yelled Dwire into the Complink.
    Klyne began to run, then stopped as Sukoloff’s voice came over the Complink. "OK guys, I’ve got him. Come on, come on, be quick please."
    Now what? Had he gone in the wrong direction? It took him five minutes to reach Sukoloff and another five had passed before the panting Dwire arrived.
    Standing over the unconscious figure of the Professor was a smug Sukoloff. "OK, take him home. You can take the credit for his capture. No need to mention I was here."
    Klyne watched him as he walked away and the strange reactions of the animals as he passed by them. Something was really giving him the creeps.

A re-read of Dwire’s report confirmed to Henn that he had read it correctly. He compared it to Klyne’s version which was identical. The men wrote that Sukoloff had been with them, yet Joseph Proctor had been outside the holding cells at the time of Sprecville’s capture. Within minutes Proctor had taken Sukoloff to one of the interview rooms. How could he have been with them as they had claimed? Why would they lie about it?
    And... To cap it all, he had been informed that Professor Sprecville had managed to take a drug before capture so he now had the mind of a child. They had to either wait for the drugs’ effects to wear off or for an antidote to be found. Both would probably take way too long.
    "Mr. Henn?"
    The question snapped his train of thought and he looked up at the door with weary eyes. "Dr Taylor." The words sounding like a long deep sigh. "Have you examined Vacily? What I mean... Is it him?"
    Taylor sat and thumbed through the files he was holding. "Alex, There’s something very strange about the body."
    "Then it’s not Vacily?"
    "I’m sorry, I know you were hoping that Mr. Proctor was right. I’ve done every necessary test on him. It’s him, but it’s the method of death which is puzzling."
    "Don’t tell me. He has wasp stings?"
    "No, his death was from massive gun shot wounds to the chest. Alex, try not to think about it, death would have been almost instantaneous as that video showed. The trouble is, either at the same moment as death or seconds afterward his body was exposed to radiation. There is also evidence of electrocution."
    "They really wanted him out of it, didn’t they," Henn said sadly.
    "Now we do have another major problem, that of the impostor."
    "Problem!" Henn snapped. "What problem?"
    "It’s like this, I re-ran the tests from his physical and his fingerprints are Vacily’s."
    "That’s impossible. In that case the one in the holding cells must be Vacily."
    "I know it is impossible. But the DNA samples taken at the hospital also match those in Vacily’s records. Somehow, Kijac have managed to create a near perfect copy. I say near perfect because one thing is wrong. His chest x-ray is different."
    "Different? How different?"
    "Several of Vacily’s ribs had been cracked on his left side. The third left rib had a particularly interesting break. However, the x-ray only shows an injury to the right fourth rib, none at all on the left hand side. The impostor is I’m afraid exactly that. And the body? That is the remaining earthly trapping of Mr. Sukoloff. I am sorry."
    Henn felt a lump grab at his throat. How could KIJAC have been so accurate in the manufacture of a double? Well at least now he could order the prisoner’s interrogation without the terrible feeling he was going to inflict pain on a friend.
    "Mr. Bayfield, go down to debriefing and try to get something useful out of the impostor. Not too heavy handed please. Remember we are not Kijac. Begin by trying truth drugs."
    "We attempted to do that, the drugs had no effect," Proctor interrupted. "Also we used the lie detector. This place is in great need of a total refit because most of our equipment is outdated or defective. The lie detector broke as soon as we turned it on. In-fact," he mused. "All the instruments broke. We could not even register his pulse."
    "Let’s keep Pia alive before we think about a re-fit." The inside of his head began to scream like the taut steel wire rigging of an old windjammer as it fought a gale. Henn wanted to run and be left alone with his grief. He wanted to get away from the responsibilities of being the controller.
    "Go on, Mr. Bayfield, you’ll think of something that doesn’t involve torture. Off you go." The tired reproach worked and the office door slid shut behind him to the hissing sound of its pneumatic operating system. He turned to Proctor. "I have a funeral to arrange and an announcement to make. Keep an eye on Gent for me, see he doesn’t go to far with the interrogation."

Adjusting the stand so the powerful beam of light shone onto the pale face, Bayfield barked. "Last chance! What is your name?!"

Blinking back at the light Sukoloff squinted to see past it into the shadows, into Bayfield’s face. It was all becoming too much now, he had always liked this man, the happy smiling Gentleman Bayfield. Though he didn’t have much to smile about now. Nor did Henn and Proctor, all because of him. It had to stop. He had caused too much grief already.
    He sighed with tiredness, all the running around. Nipping out to assist agents, seeing Jodie at night and always rushing to get back to the cells. Tired? He blinked, yes of course I can sleep! He had not dared to for fear of fading, but he had forgotten, Gross’s fixing drugs made it possible to sleep without the fade out.
    "Gent, I’m so tired. I so very tired and want it over. I talk, but Alex must be here when I do. Let me sleep for five minutes."
    Bayfield looked closely at him and sneered. "Talk now, then you can sleep. For ever if you like."
    "I know you hate me, but let me sleep, then call Alex. I’m so tired of this so called life. Maybe I was wrong but did think could stay... With Pia... And with Jodie. But it causes too much sorrow doesn’t it? I should have died and now I want to." Even as he spoke sleep overtook him and his head rested on the table.
    As his eyes closed, Bayfield frowned at him. He wanted to kill him, or just to grab him by the hair and wake him from his slumber, but there was something. Was it because he looked so pale? Was he ill?
    "Did you gain any information?" Proctor’s question was asked in the tone of voice that expects a negative answer.
    "I know now," Bayfield’s answer was a soft hesitant mumble, which continued. "We should have left him alone, you know? It wouldn’t have mattered because it’s the same man. The same mind... The same feelings... The same memories... It was Vacily."
    "Precisely what is the problem?" Proctor bit his lip as he surveyed his fellow agent. His eyes were filled with tears and his giant hand rested gently on that of the impostor, he was obviously distressed.
    "For what reason is this man asleep? Has he talked?"
    Slowly and deliberately Bayfield rose and switched on the main light only to return to his seat again and gently replace his hand on that of the impostor. "I think I’ve known all along but it’s so impossible," he rambled. "Yet his character was just the same. I think they’re not long lasting. Maybe a production fault made this one run down so fast. The others will probably run down just as quickly."
    "Pardon?"
    "Sasam is clever and may yet take over the world. If they can make them last longer. If they learn how to destroy the original character. They couldn’t with him. Don’t you see it, Joe?"
    Proctor choked a laugh and wondered if KIJAC were using some kind of madness spray. "Gent, I hate to ask this, but what are you talking about? Did he tell you about Sasam?"
    "No, he said nothing. Except he was going to tell Mr. Henn all about it. He insisted that you were to be there too. Then he said that he wanted to die... So that’s what he did. He just closed his eyes and stopped breathing."
    The impostors head was still resting on an outstretched arm, his skin a deathly white pallor. Proctor leapt up and peered closely at him. Reaching out he touched his cheek and recoiled momentarily, then his fingers sought the jugular vein.
    "Gent, when did this transpire?" Followed by a question based on a sinister thought. "You did not do something contra to orders did you?"
    "No."
    "Did he then... Did he take something?"
    "He closed his eyes," explained Bayfield shaking his head. "That’s all he did. Just closed his eyes. I’m certain it’s a fault in their plan."
    "This is all Pia needs right now. How are we going to account for a man dying whilst being interrogated?"
    "I didn’t do it!"
    "Right then, tell me what you think occurred."
    "Sasam I think stands for something like Substitute and Surrogate Agents Machine... It’s..." Bayfield began erratically. "What do you call it?... Ancro... Something."
    "An acronym," corrected Proctor.
    "That’s it. It’s an anacro-min for what makes clones of people. I know, Sir, you think me mad. But there are so many Vacily clones. The original we know is dead. Kijac killed him to get rid of the real one. But they didn’t see the main problem. When they cloned the body the mind remained the same. All the memory was kept. Vacily’s clones are still Pia agents."
    "How did you work this out?"
    "I knew when I first saw his body. He was dead the day he first rescued me and Tret. They’ll all die. Just as this one. They’ll run down like worn out toys. I’m not mad, Joseph. I’m not."
    "I know you are not mad. Something is definitely wrong. I for one have seen him in several places. He was reported as being in Paris. According to their reports he assisted Klyne and Dwire apprehend the Professor. Mr. Galloway says he has seen him with Jodie sitting on top of his roof of all places. It is tangible there is more than two and as you say, all short lived. Now it is over, I hope, so let us go and tell Henn of our suspicions and hope that Sasam has not been used to clone more of our agents."

Henn listened intently to the two agents offering their theories. Far fetched their ideas may be but he knew them well enough to seek expert advice on the plausibility of their story.
    "Theoretically it’s possible," said Dr Taylor having read their report. " There have been successful experiments in sheep and pig cloning. Each one was identical to the other. I presume scars would be replicated in the way that Joseph suggested, but they would be the same as the originals and they’re not. The small neck scar is there, but x-rays show bone breakage’s that are not consistent to our records. I don’t believe they’re clones but I agree that they’re some kind of replication. I’ve had the body moved to the morgue and will do an autopsy on him straight away."
    "Who snuffed out?" Tzavros’s head appeared from behind a magazine.
    "The impostor," Bayfield muttered in a still unsteady voice. "No, Steele, I didn’t touch him. He said he was tired, closed his eyes and stopped breathing."
    Impassively Tzavros continued to flick through the pages. "Oh, yes, he often does that. Just leave him, he probably worn out..."
    Steele nudged him and whispered. "He’s dead, Zav! Taylor is going to do an autopsy! You know that dissection stuff. He’ll cut him up into bite sized pieces and fit him neatly into a row of jars."
    The magazine arced through the air and landed on the table, catapulting a full ashtray to the floor. In the confusion he whispered urgently. "Oh, that blown it. He fell asleep that all. If very tired he not bother breathing, he has no need now. Oh! Is Vacily going to be more than ever before pissed off if Taylor cut his bits from him. I don’t even know if they can grow back." He raised his voice and asked. "Er, Gent, where is he, impostor. Where is body?"
    Bayfield frowned, wearing old cigarette ash had never been a favorite. "He’s in the freezer," he said, to which Steele added with a snort, "And he’s Russian so at least he likes the cold."
    "Droll, very droll. He likes cold, but he not Eskimo. Mind you it won’t hurt him, at least I think not. No, skin deep cold not through to bone cold."
    Henn re-capped the facts, if Sasam was indeed what Bayfield had suggested then any one of them could have been cloned. He could even be a clone and how would he know if he was? If memory was reproduced was not any duplicate really an original. The very thought set him shivering, then he shivered again, this time violently.
    "Alex? What is wrong with you?"
    He blinked at Proctor as another bout of shivers coursed through him. "I don’t know. Ever since his death... Maybe it’s just the side effects of that machine. If I see a Doctor I’m sure I’ll be declared unfit for duty."
    "Tell me, then we will know if you need to consult the doctor."
    "It’s voices in my head, always weather reports and mostly in Russian."
    Steele’s elbow excitedly nudged Tzavros between the lower ribs as he blurted in one breath, "Russian weather reports? Oh, oh, do you think it could be? No it couldn’t! Could it?"
    Proctor asked Henn to explain exactly what he was hearing. "Well it may sound silly and I don’t know how to explain a voice inside my head without condemning myself to a padded cell. But it was there inside my head, it was fuzzy and it sounded far away. There it is again!!... It’s saying... Brrrr it cold... Put on heat... Oy, what is?... And where is?... Very sly. Very very sly... You all dead are... Guess were am?... Who listen?... OK, I pished off now me am... Got frost bitted. Who idea to put me in freeze?... Stweel?... Bet was him, when unfrosted will keel you dead. See you like it... Weel someone listen!!... Zip on outside, get me out it!!"
    With a great effort of self control Steele kept a straight face as he addressed Tzavros. "You were right, Zav. He is pissed off. I think that his wings must be frozen. And it sounds as if the body-bag zip is stuck. I don’t fancy mounting a rescue mission because guess who’s going to be top of the Sukoloff hit list."
    "Coward... I go. Wonder if Trixie lend me hairdryer?"
    "I do not know, Alex," cautioned Proctor. "Maybe Vacily’s death is playing on your mind and the voices you are hearing are echo’s from the past. Perhaps in time, when the funeral is over, you will come to terms with it as we all will."
    "Maybe you’re right, but even when I’m talking there’s still something there. Now it’s like teeth chattering together."
    That was the final straw, Steele lost his self control and burst into hysterical chortling.
    "Mister Steele!"
    Henn’s admonishment had only momentary effect. Steele dissolved into bouts of laughter again, through which he just managed to make the odd comment. "I was wondering if anybody had an icepick... Or perhaps we could give him a transfusion of antifreeze... Oh, whoops... Er it’s the abominable snowman, Sir... Well... Oh, I’ve got a headache, perhaps I’ve been working too hard or something."
    With eyes burning fury Henn bellowed. "Explain yourself, Mister!"
    The laughing stopped, after several false starts Steele began. "The wire, Sir, do you remember the experimental communications wire? The one we had fitted into the fillings of our teeth? Yes?" The nodding head showed he did, Steele continued. "Oh good, well it’s like this, Sir... Oh, yes... Sorry I can’t remember what I was going to say."
    "Then," rasped Henn dryly, "may I suggest you try just a little harder, Mr. Steele."
    "Oh, yes, Sir, the wire, I’ve got it on today... You must be getting some feed back... Somehow. I’m sure all you’ll be getting is broken mush from Tzavros’s transmissions. He’s reading stories from Pushkin and some other things like abominable snowmen and things. See?"
    Henn did not see but was luckily side-tracked from asking more embarrassing questions by the appearance of a soaking wet, and livid Tzavros, followed almost immediately by two minor operatives who both looked the worse for wear. The one who handed Henn a letter still visibly shook as he stammered, "We was jumped. We was roughed up a bit, given that letter and let go, Sir."
    "Has this been checked over by security?" The question was still on his lips as he lurched to his feet and slammed his fist onto the table. "Mister Tzavros! Are you forgetting that I know Russian? And are you forgetting that that kind of language will not be tolerated in this organisation? Who turned the fire hose onto you in gratitude? And please don’t exaggerate, in all my years I have never seen anybody become so angry that they turned faintly green! Or that their teeth suddenly became pointed."
    Poker-faced Tzavros shrugged his shoulders, silently.
    As Henn re-took his seat Tzavros whispered to Steele. "He did too. Puke green." Fortunately for them Steele maintained his composure, but only just.
    Once the young agents had confirmed the envelope had been cleared by security Henn opened it and read the contents of the letter inside. "OK, we’re on standby. How many agents do we have out at the moment?... No, you idiot, I mean here in New York!... As many as that? Right, Kijac say they have captured two of our men and want us to exchange our two men for the Professor. I’m to phone this number to make arrangements. Mr. Tzavros, without leaving to much water on my floor get ready to trace the call."
    Steele scanned the grid map before staring questioningly toward Henn
    "Steele, I know what you’re thinking but the Professor holds valuable information about Kijac. I know what’s on your mind but I can’t authorize a swap. We all know the risks. I’ll do my best to find those men but that’s all I can do." Impassively Steele returned his gaze to the grid map.
    A pool of water fed by droplets from Tzavros’s clothing was steadily spreading under his chair as he concentrated on his work at the communications console. Henn made the call, after three rings the receiver was lifted at the other end. He barked into the mouthpiece, "No exchange!" Instantly the line went dead. Hopeful eyes all looked intently at Tzavros who shook his head slowly. "Too quickly to trace. Call box probably."
    Now all they could do was wait. Trixie began to call the agents to learn who was missing. Once this was determined they would have a clue where to begin their search. With nerves on edge they waited as the agents answered one by one, finally Trixie turned and announced. "Klyne and Tret aren’t answering me, Alex...Sir."
    A ham sized fist from Bayfield thudded viciously onto the table, "I’ll go and find them."
    Henn impatiently signaled for him to sit. He had decisions to make, hard decisions. With the touch of a button he had the power of life and death and he did not want a hot-head disturbing his train of thought. He felt as if each of these young men were his closest friend, but the problem was—if he let the Professor go—what earth threatening scheme would he be helping to unleash?
    Steele tossed a scowl at Tzavros. A sneeze so loud came from his direction the table moved and even Proctor managed a smile.
    "Gesundheit! Mr. Tzavros. If I were you I would get out of those wet clothes."
    Another sneeze ripped through the air as Tzavros’s pen clattered to the floor. Steele watched as he groveled under the table before re-emerging some minutes later, "TT message from Sepia five," he grinned.
    "You can’t TT!... Can you!... The Count, he’s not under the table is he?"
    The cracked grin remained on Tzavros’s face as another muffled sneeze echoed around them. "He in Disappear mode... Oh, Mr. Henn? Do you remember communications wire?"
    "Mr. Tzavros, if anybody else tells me about that infernal wire I am literally going to blow a fuse!"
    Unthwarted Tzavros continued. "Mr. Tretow wearing one and me. As we speak I am in direct contact with him."
    Henn blinked then jumped slightly. "I thought Mr. Steele was wearing it?... Wait! Are trying to tell me that you can communicate with an agent outside of this building? Perhaps I underestimated both you and one of your scientific botch ups. Please continue."
    Tzavros secretly read the note Sukoloff had passed to him then said aloud. "They’re in airplane. Both are well and will send us directions if we need them to."
    "Now that is clever, Mr. Tzavros. But please try to stop that infernal sniffing."
    Another note, an internal memo from the main switchboard, was brought in which Henn read aloud. "Do exchange or in ten minutes one man dies." Apparently, according to the switchboard operators the call had originated at Broadway subway station. Henn turned to Tzavros. "Get Tretow to give us the co-ordinates." Then he called the Kijac number again, there would be no exchange!
    The pen, with only a little artificial aid, flew under the table again closely followed by Tzavros who magically re-appeared with another piece of paper upon which were scribbled the required co-ordinates. Instantly Henn ordered the take off of his rescue choppers, while Tzavros, for the moment out of mind, slid under the table again.
    He was sitting cross legged on the floor watching his pen that was seemingly suspended from nothing in mid air as Sukoloff wrote down a message from Tretow. Then he gasped as he found himself the object of Proctor’s curiosity.
    "My pen appears have legs today." Was the best excuse he could make and he sighed with relief as Proctor tutted and sat back at the table.
    Sukoloff started writing again then stopped and pointed with the pen. Tzavros looked to where it was pointing and began to snigger, he was staring straight at a wide mouthed Bayfield.
    Sukoloff calmly handed Tzavros the note, grinned over at Bayfield and said, "Hi, Gent, nice day don’t you think?"
    Bayfield jumped up, looking first from Henn to Proctor then on to Steele, and pointed. "U... Under the T... Table!"
    Henn bent down to look, seeing nothing he asked, "What’s under the table, Mister?"
    The fearful eyes were fixed wide open. "G... G... Oh, Him, you know? G... G... Ghos..." The babbling stopped abruptly.
    "Bayfield, are you all right?" Henn’s question received a nodded answer from Bayfield, the fear opening his eyes wider still.
    "Let him go! He not tell anyone. Are you, Gent?" whispered Tzavros to the unseen Sukoloff. The wide eyed and gaping mouthed head shook furiously, there was the hiss of a deep intake of breath as Sukoloff removed his hand from Bayfield’s mouth.
    "Ghos...!" The gag was hurriedly replaced.
    The message which Sukoloff had written was quickly relayed by Tzavros. "It message from Tret, Sir. They in trouble. Klyne be thrown out plane in five minutes. I better send some reassuring reply." While he gave a pleading look towards Bayfield, Sukoloff talked to Tretow.
   You can hear Sepia one?... Good, listen me... Snow flurries... Eyes wing walk... Jump... Snow flurries will catted him.
   "Mr. Tzavros, you’ll have to fix that feed back," Henn, hopeful of improving reception, was poking merrily away inside his ear. "I’m getting those Russian weather reports again." Without warning Bayfield flopped onto the floor like a dropped doll. "Mr. Bayfield! Stop doing that!"
    "Is he going in for a rescue?" Steele whispered urgently.
    "If you mean the spinning spook it’s gone!!" spat Bayfield while scrambling onto his feet.
    "Mr. Bayfield, you seem lately to have great difficulty in keeping your feet in this office," observed Proctor wryly. "I supposed you were pushed again?"
    "I was wasn’t I? He’s done it before only I didn’t see him that time. Steele? You can’t either can you? Yet Tret can and usually so can I. Right from the first day he’s been helping us, you tried to tell me didn’t you, Steele? Go home and think you said and I wouldn’t..." he started to laugh. "Just a puff of fresh air all this time."
    "Please enlighten us further on your sudden knowledge of encrypted balderdash," said Proctor.
    Bayfield’s Cheshire Cat grin ran from ear to ear. "Air, that’s what I needed. Fresh air. My head was spinning from too much grape juice and I needed fresh air. Oh wow, does it feel good. Zav? Did he look blue? Oh, you wouldn’t know would you. Yes he did, he had an icicle on the end of his nose... Oh yes, I’m shutting up, oh wow. I am, I’m shutting up right now."

Inside the Lear-jet the ice cold air hurtling through the open door burned their faces. Tretow looked around. First to Klyne, who, hair whipped upward by the sucking current and face devoid of any color, was strapped into the seat nearest the howling aperture. A weak smile from him failed to reassure, it only divulged undiluted fear. Then he looked over to the self-confident cut-throats and past them, out of the small window. He smiled inwardly, realizing what was planned, for there on the wing crouched Sukoloff, having landed perfectly for the first time anywhere ever and two thumbs pointed upward below the widest and smuggest of grins.
   See! I wing walk. The words rang inside Tretow’s head. Suddenly realizing that Sukoloff may have trouble he rapidly replied, Vacily, listen carefully. Klyne is bigger and heavier than you. You’re new to this game, you can’t catch him. As usual he only got half an answer.
   Cats can.
   Was that catch can or catch can’t? And had he added snow flurries or not?... It was all academic now as the assassins threw Klyne out of the door.
    There was one long agonizing cry as Sukoloff watched him fall, somersaulting over and over below him, then there was silence. Hoping against hope that Klyne had passed out, Sukoloff jumped from the wing to soar like an eagle after its prey. The instant Sukoloff grabbed the unconscious man he knew he had problems. Tretow’s warning had been well founded, Klyne was heavy—much too heavy for him and the ground was coming up much too quickly for comfort. Sukoloff struggled to fly upward, straining every sinew to breaking point. This just was not going to work. Frantically he looked around for something useful, a landing site labeled, "Humans 210 pounds plus from 20,000 ft" would be ideal, please.
    "Thank you!"
    Its outline was only faint and just above the horizon but he was sure it was a haystack, and to be able to see it at this range it must be a very large haystack. A trained parachutist, he began to steer himself and his cargo towards what would hopefully be safety.
    "Sukoloff?" whispered Klyne wavering on the edge of consciousness.
    "Don’t be silly, I’m... I’m superman," he laughed. The words were heard but unanswered, as Klyne lost consciousness again.
    As they plummeted toward the hay Sukoloff continued to pull upward to slow their descent as much as possible. Every muscle screamed as he maintained the effort. Then they landed. It was a hard landing, but only like jumping from an upstairs window. The hay flew in all directions, Sukoloff bounced off the stack and into a tree where he lay for a minute or so to compose himself. Then he flew back up to see Klyne. He was nearly covered by hay, but as Sukoloff quickly checked him over he yelped in delight, Klyne was alive! And he would probably only have a few bruises as a momento of his spectacular high dive.
    Seconds later Sukoloff made another perfect landing next to Tretow. Totally exhausted and surprisingly sore, he managed a thumbs up before vanishing again to make a less than perfect landing that knocked Bayfield to the floor.
    "Mr. Bayfield! Hello, how much fresh air did you drink today?"
    Bayfield grinned widely. "Only one glass of super cyclone elixir. You should try it sometime. Talking of drink, Zav, that Russian pop you use to remove your insides? Could you pour me a glass, let’s say a very large one!"
    "Niet. It kill you will."
    "Purely medicinal for pulled muscles and celebrations..." The head shook. "No? Let’s put it this way, could that stuff be used for refueling fast rescue jets?"
    Tzavros’s nervous questions, "Sepia One? Did he do it?" Turned first to disbelief. "Yes?" and finally to unbridled elation as, arms aloft, he announced loudly, "Brilliant, he caught him!" The cheers from Steele, in the manner of some football fan, petered out as Henn’s stony stare fell firstly upon him and Tzavros then moved down to the grinning, seemingly mad Bayfield.
    "An explanation please, gentlemen? All this floor sitting and indecipherable secrecy will stop immediately and since when have you started to drink Russian Vodka, Mr. Bayfield? Mr. Tzavros, just who did what?"
    The large class of clear liquid passed to Bayfield was in turn passed under the table. "It Mr. Klyne, Sir. He alive. I waiting for further news to give you whereabouts of his up picking."
    Proctor shook his head. "So they decided not to throw him out of the plane then?"
    A piece of paper giving the co-ordinates was passed onto Henn then Steele whispered to Bayfield. "Is Vacily all right?" He shrugged before disappearing under the table again where he examined the prone, half asleep Sukoloff and removed the empty glass from his hand. "Steele wants to know if you’re all right?"
    Pointing to the glass Sukoloff whispered, "Course I am. Refill needed then I’ll talk, but in code in case Alex’s ears are flapping."
    Henn uttered a choked laugh at the sight of an empty glass held by Bayfield’s hand appearing over the edge of the table. Matters were not improved by Tzavros calmly re-filling it and passing it back under the table. The only thing to do was humor his poor afflicted men so joining Bayfield in his secure little hide-i-hole under the table he enquired, "Cosy under here isn’t it?"
    Bayfield nodded as he stared at the recovering Sukoloff who, grinning profusely like an impish leprechaun. He sat cross legged only a hair’s breadth away from Henn with spectral hands raised menacingly towards Henn’s neck. Crawling out quickly Bayfield commented to Tzavros. "It’s getting crowded under there and I think that drink was a bit strong. Somebody’s gone pixie."
    This was ridiculous, Proctor sighed. The office was filling up with young agents, PIA’s controller and one of his men, were under the table drinking vodka and now Agent Tzavros had joined them.
    "Is Sepia Five safe?" The younger Russian enquired of Bayfield.
    Sukoloff shook his grinning head and waved his hands right in front of Henn’s eyes. Not seeing Sukoloff’s antics Tzavros continued, "Mr. Henn, I handle this. You go back upstairs, Gent got wire you see and he doesn’t quite know how to use it. I sure if we leave him to concentrate in peace for few minutes he soon tell us next message."
    Henn shook his head very slowly and blew out gently through his mouth. Humor them, he thought. KIJAC had obviously come up with a wonderful stealth weapon; creeping insanity. Trouble was it had affected him too, he could very faintly hear breathing and then there was the smell... Sweet? No, snow, it was snow and cut grass!
    "OK," Bayfield dragged himself from under the table, "this is the message. ‘Sepia One will assist Sepia Five then going to sleep. Not in the cold but at home. Has quit. If needed will help. But only in D mode. Welcome Sepia Six.’"
    "Damn him, he can’t quit now. Right, Mr. Henn, Tret will be fine and calling you soon." Then Tzavros whispered. "Welcome to Sepia team, Gent." Before Henn could say anything, Bayfield, grinning from ear to ear mumbled, "I’m Sepia Six? Wow."
    Henn stood with the intention of walking over to the grid, instead he tripped and fell headlong in its direction, he lay where he fell, laughing loudly. "He tied my shoelaces together. I’ll kill him when I see him. Every time he drinks that gut-rot he... " The voice faded away, he clamped a hand over his mouth and the eyes became watery pools.
    "It will be better soon. After the funeral." Proctor rested a comforting hand on his shoulder.
    Resounding cheers echoed around the office as Trixie relayed the message, "Yo, New York, Tretow here. Thought we might need an extra jet so we’ve claimed one, complete with shanghaied crew. Home soon." Then Henn and Proctor scowled at each other as Trixie, smiling all over her pretty face, read out a message from the rescue crew, "Mr. Klyne is well but they’re taking him to the hospital wing. He says he was thrown out of an airplane and caught by superman who put him in a haystack... Sir."