Flabby edged over to the Puma pilots who were still deep in conversation. He called Ryan over and asked him quietly to clear the pilots out of the way. Ryan’s last meal had been Devonshire Crab Timbale, Rocket Leaves, Fresh Tomato, Mango & Basil Salsa, drizzled with a Lemon-infused Olive Oil as a starter followed by Honey-glazed Lamb Shank on a Bed of Minted Mash with a Rosemary & Port Jus, then Caramelised Lemon Tart with a Raspberry Compôte and Freshly-brewed Coffee & Mints, washed down by a bottle of wine and eight pints of Guiness. Flabby moved to one side as Ryan strained. Even at that distance, Flabby could smell the terrible odour and he felt Rab C go limp in his pocket. The Puma Pilots drifted off to the other side of the room, then quickly rushed outside gasping for air. Flabby called the team over and despite the smell, they pulled off and examined the last bug. “Definitely Russian” said Rikshaw. “How the fcuk do you know that?” asked Jock. “Because it says made in fcuking Russia on the back of it” replied Rikshaw crushing it under his boot heel.

Rikshaw was a dashing, handsome sort, certainly not incapable on a job but his real skills were providing the team with anything they required if it meant buying it, stealing it or even making it. A sort of Mr. T. but without the fear of flying, the idiotic use of welding gear and the lack of Ratner’s round his neck. He was a real magnet for the women but sadly after a serious accident with a Dremel and a scale model of the Bismarck, he could no longer pursue his interest in women. So he put all his energy into his work and was a real asset to the regiment.

“We have to suss this out before the job goes off” said Flabby. “Any ideas” he asked looking at the rest of the team. “We need to get in touch with somebody at the embassy, you know, the trade attache, nudge, nudge, wink, wink, so it is” joked Danny Boy. “Yeh, but how do we get in touch with him, without attracting too much attention?” asked Taff. “Phone the fcuker up” said Jock, always straight to the point.

Flabby found a telephone and using his SAS Visa card was able to get through to the British Embassy in downtown Falafel. Giving the secret password “I’m phoning about some sterling” he was put straight through to the trade attache who knew exactly who he was and why he was there but refused to talk on the phone as he knew the Yanks were bugging all calls but wasn’t sure who else could be listening. The embassy had just been kitted out with the latest communications and the contract had been carried out by KGB Data Inc from Pittsburgh but they all had Russian accents and he had been suspicious. The attache said he would be at the airport in half an hour if he could get his Kebabstani 4x4 to start.

The attache arrived exactly half an hour later and to confuse them wasn’t wearing a tie so they weren’t exactly sure which branch of the intelligence service they were dealing with. “You talk to him Nige” said Flabby as Nige had been to the same school as the attache and had actually beaten him to within an inch of his life but in the school tradition this was half an inch short but Flabby hoped he wouldn’t hold a grudge and Nige was a smooth talking barsteward and could talk the birds out of the trees if he wanted to. So Nige and the attache who was called Prendergast, talked at great length. Nige called Flabby over and they talked for another half an hour.

It seems that the Russians had known exactly when the job was going down thanks to a few additions to the embassy décor. The embassy had been swept afterwards and no bugs had been found but somehow the Russians had found out. It was only when Johnson of Visas had too much of a liquid lunch and fell over in trap two that a bug was found inside the broken toilet. The plumbing had just been upgraded by KGB Plumbing Inc, also from Pittsburgh and also with Russsian accents but Prendergast had been away from the embassy for a couple of weeks and missed them. On his return he had ordered another sweep but no bugs had been found but then all tradesmen had been looked into and the KGB Bakery in Falafel had come under suspicion as well as the KGB Dairy Products also in Falafel. So any communication in or out of the embassy was obviously compromised so they would have to work independantly of the embassy.

“We’ve still got our satellite phone” said Rikshaw rubbing his injured parts, much to everyone’s disgust. The scars played him up from time to time and he had to be careful where he drank as he’d been arrested five times, had many offers of sex or marriage or both and was a gay icon in Brighton. “Yeh but is it secure?” asked Flabby. “You can switch on the scrambler mode” said Prendergast showing his intelligence credentials and not something a mere trade attache would know.

They all stepped outside and Rikshaw switched on the satellite phone and pointed the dish until the meter showed green. Prendergast pointed out the button marked scrambler mode and Rikshaw pressed it. Immediately a garbled sound emitted from close to the satellite phone but by then it was too late as Ryan had let one go again and everybody ran onto the pan leaving Rikshaw and Prendergast gasping for air while Ryan just stood there smiling. Leaving a decent amount of time, they all wandered slowly back and attempted to call the Boss back in Hereford.

“Hello Boss, this is Flabby” shouted Flabby only just being heard over the phone but clearly audible in most Middle Eastern countries. Prengergast held a finger to his lips and Flabby realised he might have been a bit loud. “Boss, the Bears are listening” shouted Flabby only slightly quieter. Residents of downtown Falafel were mystified as there hadn’t been any bears in Falafel since the 15th century and only dancing bears at that. “What the fcuk do you mean Flabby?” shouted the Boss, not used to the ‘Allo ‘Allo type code that he was using. “I repeat Boss, the Bears are listening” repeated Flabby further mystifying the Falafel residents. “What fcuking Bears are you on about you docile cnut!” shouted the Boss, waking Joe the security guard. “The Russian Bears Boss” repeated Flabby. “ Well why the fcuk, didn’t you say that at first Flabby!” shouted the Boss, making Joe spill his tea.

“The Russian Bears are listening Boss” tried Flabby again. “ Are listening to fcuking what?” shouted a raging Boss making Joe squeeze his doughnut too hard, getting jam all over his uniform. “The Russian Bears are listening to us Boss” tried Flabby again. “ It’s not surprising you lump of shite, every fcuker east of Cyprus can hear you, say what you mean and stop fcuking me about you t**t!” shouted the Boss, less than diplomatically. “ The Russians have bugged the embassy and us Boss” said a now desperate Flabby. “Then why the fcuk didn’t you say that in the first place Flabby?” shouted the Boss but Joe was ready for him this time and only knocked an ashtray onto the floor. “So what do I do now Boss” asked Flabby, glad he had got his message across so well. “How the fcuk should I know” shouted the Boss and put the phone down, walked out of the office and slammed the door so hard that Joe’s firebucket fell off the wall. “Fcuking amateurs” was heard time after time as the Boss walked to his car. The Falafel residents went back to Kebabstan’s Match of the Day with Falafel Rovers playing Doner United and Couscous Wanderers playing Gyros FC and they were quite used to being listened to by the Russians but were really glad there weren’t any bears, that would have been serious.

“So what do we do now Flabby?” asked Ryan. “We go as planned” replied Flabby but nervous at having to make the decision himself, it would have sounded so much better coming from the Boss. “We go at midnight as planned” said Flabby and tapped his watch which had stopped and the glass fell out. “Fcuking Rolex’ said Flabby gritting his teeth. “Don’t you mean fcuking Rolllex?” joked Ryan showing off his highly tactical Snoppy watch. “I suppose I could just ask the Russians why they are listening to us” said Prendergast surprising them all totally. “I do know Ivan quite well, play bridge with him and tennis” he added. The teams just stared at him dumbfounded. “I’ll give him a tinkle” said Prendergast punching numbers into a rather large mobile phone.

“Hi Ivan, it’s Teddy” said Prendergast walking up and down the pan. “How’s the spying going?” “They didn’t?” “They didn’t?” “They didn’t?” “They didn’t?” “They didn’t?” “They did?” went on Prendergast. “ Look Ivan, I’ve got got nine of my lads here, yes SAS that’s right and yes they’re going to Iranistan, yes midnight, that’s right as well and blow up the nuke facility, yes that’s right, yes invasion, that’s right as well but then why did you bug us, yes I know you always bug us but then why did you bug them?” he went on. “You wanted to hear what the Yanks said, ok thanks Ivan” said Prendergast and pocketed his phone but only just, mobiles weren’t so mobile in Kebabstan. “There’s your answer boys, it’s the Yanks” explained Prendergast.

There had been a build up of troops for months now, the Americans had ample troops in the north of Kebabstan but had similar numbers in Turkistan and the Royal Dutch Shell Republic of Arabia and were ready to strike. There had been frantic negotiations in the UN but mainly at OPEC as oil production would be temporarily halted if there was a conflict in any shape or form. The Americans had considered a direct invasion too dangerous but had asked their most loyal allies to clear the way as it was election year in the US and body bags do not make good electioneering. The British government still led by Tony Blair in his eighth term as PM had agreed and tasked the SAS to prepare the ground for the US led invasion. Gordon Brown from his retirement home had not agreed with the action and John Prescott had just dribbled while watching Countdown.

The US president Arnold Schwarzenoder although just another puppet of that Irish-American family that seemed to like getting shot for a living, had won the last election on a promise of free beer for all Vietnam veterans and that everybody would have the chance to speak English (American) as well as he could. He had been in intense discussions with the Iranistans and at a meeting at Tehrun had promised he would be back much to the amusement of the media but to the surprise of the Iranistans as all his films are banned in Iranistan and they just thought he meant another meeting. Of course the real reason to invade Iranistan was because President Arnie felt that human rights issues were paramount and was thinking of all the extra royalties when the Iranistanis could watch his films or DVDs of Mass Destruction as they were called in the press.

“So what do you think now?” asked Flabby looking at Prendergast. “Well I could ask the Yanks, if you want” replied Prendergast, struggling to get his mobile back out of his pocket. “I know Hank quite well, we are both Masons and he is the president of my badminton club. He punched in the numbers on his mobile and held it to his ear, covering his face and blocking out the sun for at least five of the team. “Hi Hank” he shouted again walking up and down the pan. “They didn’t?” “They didn’t?” “They didn’t?” “They didn’t?” “They didn’t?” “They did?” “Sorry, forgot to ask how the spying’s going?” “And the wife?” “yes, I know she’s not a spy but she does know a good recipe for Fillet of Halibut on a Bed of Buttered Spinach with Grapes and Tarragon Cream Sauce” Ryan’s ears pricked up at this and he made a mental note to add this to his next book ‘Cooking with Compo’ available from all good bookstores or direct from the regiment, address as follows: SAS Publishing Ltd, Sterling Road, Hereford, HF99 9XX or phone 000 999 1234567 or on the website www.sas-publishing.com or email: Sales @ sas-publishing.com

“We would blame the Irish” said Prendergast still pacing the pan. “Oh, you’ve already blamed the Irish” ‘ They have a WHAT?” he exploded. “This is fcuking serious” his tone more serious now. “Right I’ll tell ‘em but I don’t know if they will” Ok, bye Hank, love to the wife and the one in the US” and he hung up, squeezing the mobile back into his pocket. Prendergast looked deadly serious now and his hand shook but then ‘trade attaches’ usually had a drink problem, in fact it was statutory requirement for the job.

“Right boys listen” said Prendergast cutting himself short as a small withered European woman walked rather close to them. “Fcuk off Kate!” they all shouted. Kate Edie had been a journalist back in the first Iraqistan bash and had caused more deaths than the Iraqistan forces as she had made soldiers pose for the camera and had slept her way through the forces, brigade by brigade and division by division. There must be a leak somewhere if she was fishing around here and maybe more leaks than usual as there were always leaks or moles or whistleblowers in any conflict. Mentally derranged politicians would suddenly fly to the opponent’s capital and start important discussions about bugger all as they thought nobody would bomb the crap out of them while they were there. Oh, how wrong they could be as in the case of Dennis Dumfries an obnoxious Scottish MP who started a party on his own because nobody else would have him but while sat in the Iraqistan capital playing with his Medallions of Pork with a Mustard & Cognac Sauce on a Minted Potato Cake with Wilted Spinach, a cruise missile came in and devastated the sweet trolley and him as well.

“Right boys listen in” said Prendergast and Knocker returned to the throng after kicking Kate Edie down the pan. “The whole thing is a cover-up, there are nuclear facilities and they are trying to develop the bomb but this has come straight from the White House and I was lucky to get this, Hank owed me one and it’s the Irish that are to blame or as you lot would say, the Northern Irish. The remnants of the IRA and INLA and CIRA are all involved in criminal activities now. We know they aren’t terrorists anymore but there’s big money in pirate DVD’s and there’s a copying facility right next to the nuclear facility. The president has sanctioned a strike on the nuclear facility to blow up the copying facility and the eventual transformation to democracy will net him him millions as his DVDs of Mass Destruction are sold throughout Iranistan and probably neighbouring countries as well”.

The boys looked on dumbfounded. They were used to slippery politicians, there weren’t any other sort but such a scheme to come from so high up was amazing and not for the principles of civil liberties or human rights or justice but just straight forward hard cash. “Fcuking actors should stay out of politics” said Jock. “It seems this one has” said Nige, astute as ever. “I know one thing” said Nige. “I bet nobody in the media will ever be asking if there were any DVDs of Mass Destruction” he concluded and slapped Flabby on the back trying to comfort him. Rab C woke up and bit him through the smock.