CHAPTER TWO
“Spratz!” Yelled Colonel Vladimir D’ark the head of this section of the CGB from his sparsely furnished headquarters office.
A small man, almost goblin like, shuffled into the Colonel’s office, “Yes Colonel.”
“I have received intelligence that the Britannicans are sending their best man to retrieve F10N-A.”
“Is it intelligent intelligence?”
“It is a lot more intelligent than you.”
Spratz assumed a look of displeasure, “So who is their best man then?”
“It is somebody called Arthur Pendragon.”
“I have heard of him, his is a buffoon.”
“Are you sure?”
“He has failed every mission he has been sent on and has destroyed millions of roubles worth of expensive equipment.”
“Millions of roubles aren’t worth much.”
“Dollars then.”
“American, Canadian or Australian?”
“Pounds.”
“Britannic?” ‘
“Yes millions of Britannic pounds worth of equipment.”
“If he is such an idiot then why are they sending him?”
“Maybe they have run out of good agents and are scraping the barrel.”
“So the intelligent intelligence is not so intelligent after all.”
“It may be disinformation, he may in fact be an espionage genius and not a bumbling fool after all.”
“Either way we must be ready for him so double the guard on the compound.”
“How long for?”
“If his plane leaves at 18:00 and he is parachuting into St Cyrilsburg via a light aircraft then he should be here by tomorrow.”
“That is good intelligence, we must have a mole at TCHQ.”
“We like to call him a vole just to put the Britannicans off.
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