"But why is someone like Buck Rockgut picking on little me?" Moon Cat whined his hand twitching compulsively. He snapped his other hand onto it to hold it still, bit it was obvious he was more than a little intimidated.

"Look," Rockgut sighed, "As long as Skipper's chasing after that dame, he's not thinking straight."

"Yeah, that incident with Savio," Moon Cat concurred, "Skipper's head really isn't in the game." Rockgut raised an eyebrow wondering just how 'Moon Cat' Max knew about that.

"I wanna find the dame – I don't know, lock her up, make her talk, offer her an armed guard or a new identity - whatever will keep her away from Skipper. Do you see what I'm getting at?"

"But I don't know where she is!" Moon Cat protested, "Alright, I contacted her, but we met in a random café in Covent Garden, and I don't follow or pry about clients. Well, not if they're a Blowhole."

"She wanted an assassin. Why?"

"I dunno, she said she was tired of running or something like that, that her brother had been right about some things, even if she didn't like it. That was all she told me. I gave her a name, and she left."

"And what was the name?"

"I recommended Lulu. I figured she'd be the most gentle on an amateur – you know, keep the price down and stuff, not be too intimidating. She'd met her before, too, you sent Lulu on the Antarctica job." Moon Cat complied. He noticed Rockgut frowning, "What, she's one of your best people?"

"She was one of our best people."


Hans crawled out of the hole in the ground that was the beginning of the tunnel, drenched in dirt and sweat. Johnson looked up from the intricate patterns he was drawing on the dirt.

"My turn?" He questioned. Hans nodded, gasping up the air that was at least somewhat more breathable than down in the tunnel, even if Savio was showing signs of age.

"Y'know, this reminds me of that time Skipper got stuck on the Eiger," Johnson reminisced, "there was a rockslide, and Skipper got caught in it, broke an arm and a leg and was just dangling from a fraying rope – first time I'd ever seen him terrified. He was up there five hours before…"

"You told me this one already." Hans interrupted. Johnson shrugged and stood up, walked over to the hole and disappeared down it to assist Manfredi. In an half an hour he and Manfredi were going to swap places, so he was going to see if he could get some stuff done in that half hour.

Hans took out his phone. He'd already been informed by Manfredi that he'd rather they starved or rotted alongside Savio before the police were called in, not only because it would be humiliating to be merely bailed out, but also because Rockgut would apparently freak out about security. Manfredi had called Rockgut and Rockgut had informed them they were short staffed but would be able to get an operative out in two to three days. Well, they might or might not die, but none of them wanted to be stuck down there that long. Still, he could go online and read an article or two, text Kowalski, check on things in New York etc. He noticed a text from Skipper: "Gone to Switzerland. Tell Rockgut if he asks that I'm in Madagascar with Julian. He won't follow me there."

"Hans! We're just about through!" Manfredi yelled from in the tunnel, "come on down and start setting up the supports, we'll be out within the hour!" Hans was down there alright – except he got stuck with digging after setting up only a few supports – and forty five minutes later he broke through to the blue of the sky and took a deep breath of fresh air.

"We're out!" he yelled just about jumping out through the ground. Manfredi and Johnson gave a yell of joy and crawled through at double time after him. Then there was the sound of something shifting, and a groan of earth shifting before the whole thing collapsed down on itself. Manfredi's hand was just outside as the earth came down.

Immediately Hans had noticed a tool shed only a few meters away. He broke in the door and grabbed a shovel and started digging as fast as he could. Manfredi's hand clawed at the earth but soon began to slow. It was only three feet to dig but the earth just kept shifting. Finally he managed to get a shaft of air down to Manfredi and Johnson. Manfredi didn't look good, a deep gash where some rock had fallen on him marred his forehead and he was mumbling incoherently. Johnson, on the other hand was conscious, but he was buried in a much deeper section, partially under the house. The pressure was at a bad angle for Manfredi – he looked like he definitely had a broken arm if not ribs and legs, but it seemed to be crushing Johnson. It was then Hans noticed there was a wheelbarrow full of stone slabs over the earth. He moved that right away and resumed digging.

Finally he had the two of them out, neither of them looking good. He fished the car keys out of Johnson's pocket and jogged off in the direction of the car, which he drove over with and dragged the two in to. Then he broke every speed limit in the book getting them to accident and emergency.


Kowalski glanced at his watch for what seemed like the millionth time. He was well aware of how the shadow of one of Cambridge's gothic spires behind him grew longer and longer as time elapsed. It wasn't raining, the sky was as close to pure blue as spring in England had gotten so far, and the park was alright. He'd watched a punter get his pole stuck and topple into the Cam, and that had been funny for a while but now he was starting to get the sense he'd either been stood up or had misread the text. He re-read the text. He hadn't.

"Dreadfully sorry to have kept you waiting." Mason's voice behind him greeted. Mason was a tall, gawky fellow approaching thirty whose ears had always reminded Kowalski somewhat of a chimpanzee, as did his brother Phil. Phil practically looked like a twin, save that his hair was a slightly different shade of brown. Phil made a series of rapid fire sign language gestures to his brother who promptly translated, "Phil says that our lecture ran over." Kowalski glanced at his watch again.

"Well, alright, I can still catch the four fifteen to London." He sighed. The two students joined him on the bench.

"Well," Began Phil, "I hear you're after a girl. Blonde or brunet?"

"Do you remember Dr Doris Blowhole?" Phil raised an eyebrow and signed something to Mason.

"Don't speak ill of the dead, Phil! Yes, she might have been a bit harsh, but you were quite tardy a number of times!" Mason then seemed to notice he'd told his brother off in front of a somewhat estranged friend, "Sorry. Now what was it you wanted to know about Dr Blowhole – the non-evil one?"

"Well, for one thing she isn't dead." Mason and Phil looked thoroughly shocked by this but did a pretty impressive job of keeping it to themselves, "I wanted to know if anyone had been asking about her." Mason and Phil looked at each other.

"What about those odd chaps in red jumpers…?" Phil began rapidly signing, "Yes, quite right, they were odd." Phil pointed to Kowalski as if to say 'you need to translate for him', "Two men in red jumpers turned up at the collage along with a fellow in a long black leather coat wearing sunglasses. Looked like something out of the Matrix or an action film. He had an odd spike on his boot."

"Parker?" Kowalski inquired.

"He gave the name 'Smith'. They said Dr Blowhole – the evil one – had left some stuff behind with Phil when he was expelled. We took a look around and found a couple of old notebooks. They saw something they liked and left."

"What was in the notebook?" Kowalski asked.

"Well,…" Mason began, but Phil frantically cut him off, "Quite right, Phil. Quid pro quo, Kowalski. We'll give you the notebook if you do something for us."

"I don't proof read papers anymore."

"Not what we were thinking of, but tempting." Mason smiled, "Do you remember Dr Lulu Malory, the one who disappeared suddenly? I hear that not-a-secret-agent friend of hers found her address. Give it to Phil and you can have your notebook." Kowalski shrugged and scribbled the address and telephone number on the piece of paper indicated, "Excellent. The gentleman in the crazy outfit suddenly became very interested when he found reference to the old Craneby-Morrison mine, which, I believe, is on the border of Devon and Cornwall. Apparently young Dr – evil – Blowhole kept a nice little hide away from his family there where his tendencies towards the evil began to develop. You might check it out."

"Thanks."

"Oh, one more thing, Phil reads lips – brilliant trick for finding out what people are saying behind your back."

"I know." Kowalski answered, not quite seeing the relevance.

"But he saw guy with the spike on his boot say something about meeting someone with access to the Blowhole bank accounts somewhere in Greenwich, under the Thames." Mason explained. Kowalski caught onto his train of thought.

"And the only people with access to Blowhole's accounts would be one of the Blowholes," Kowalski concluded, "And they probably meant the foot tunnel at Greenwich."