First of all thanks to all those who read the last chapter and again special thanks to those who took the trouble to review. Apologies for the delay in updating - cause: real life = time poverty.

I think this sci fic style chapter might the result of overdosing on Dr Who. On the other hand no sooner do we think something sounds impossible than advances prove us wrong.

EYES ONLY

Memo

Code Name: Frankenstein

Recently a whistle blower reported that a fellow employee in the Science Division of the Security Services Laboratory was undertaking unauthorised experiments: the intention of which was to implant certain aspects of human cognitive ability into non human life forms. The ultimate aim of this project was to develop a set of hybrid life forms whose enhanced skills could be utilised for the purposes of intelligence gathering. For the most part these experiments proved fatal to the animals involved. Nor has evidence has been provided to suggest that the project was successful. Had this irresponsible attempt at cross species genetic engineering succeeded in its aim the consequences to our national security, and to humanity in general, are unthinkable. The employee involved has been dealt with as appropriate, all details of the experiment wiped and as a safety precaution the surviving non human victims have been humanely destroyed.

Huh, so the memo claims but I escaped. You've heard of the 'fly on the wall'. That's me. The result of a hush hush scientific exercise, designed to utilise the flitting tendencies of a fly with some strange DNA cognitive experiment. Something to do with emotions being a form of energy creating electrical impulses that can, under certain conditions, be harnessed and interpreted. I don't understand how it works, or what exactly they did to me, but the end result is that I can read minds! Pretty amazing yes.

We, as in all those who received the treatment, were supposed to be destroyed in case we bred and ended up in the wrong hands - whatsoever they belong to. But like I said I can read minds and so I knew what was about to happen, which was more than my creator did. Debatably a lethal injection in the neck delivered via a foolishly trusted colleague is more humane than a fly swatter. Me I took advantage of my implanted ability and escaped into the ventilation system. Now I dodge my way around Thames House. Avoiding the cleaners who infest this establishment was not the mission I was bred for, but at least I've survived to retire, which is more than will be said of most of the people who operate out of this building. As the experiments have apparently extended my life span I've had plenty of time to explore. I can get into most places, and I do, but my preferred spot is inside the office of a balding overweight bloke called Harry Pearce. The bright red walls that enclose him may not be restful, but the several artefacts displayed on his office shelves provide a useful cover for someone my size and, since it is a private area where few dare to venture, there aren't many people to spot me when I feel the need to stretch my wings.

I quite like old Harry, which is very strange considering that he's a bit like a spider. He has a web of contacts you wouldn't believe and a tendency to wait and then suddenly pounce on the unwary. Incidentally the contrast between what these humans say and what they think is fascinating, and it becomes even more interesting when you are privy to the mental darts that take place during what purports to be a civilised exchange of views. I was lucky enough to be the unseen witness to a prime example of that the other day.

It all kicked off with the arrival of an obnoxious suit from the Foreign Office, one Toby McInnes. Resplendent in a Savile Row tailoring that rivalled Harry's. He, Toby not Harry, emerged from the pods and paraded himself across the Grid, oozing with the smug condescension that only a Whitehall mandarin can achieve. You could tell he thought he was a cut above everyone else when he entered Harry's office without knocking and then sat down without an invitation. He was closely followed by Tom Quinn, so badly upset he was in no condition to be coherent. Harry presented with a façade of calm, an appearance that was at complete variance with the flare of anger he experienced as the suit waltzed in, followed by a quick glance at Tom and a stab of concern cum curiosity at his agitated state. I of course knew why, although given the heartless way humans kill my kith and kin pardon me for not being very sympathic. My main feeling was to thank the God they keep swearing by that for once Tom's mental musings weren't fixated on Ellie Simm. Human beings don't half make a big deal out of sex, it must be something to do with having to strip off and endlessly fondle one another's bits, whereas with us it's a case just getting stuck in.

Anyway I don't often get an audience that allows me to showcase my abilities so I suppose you'll have to do.

Now if I'm presenting something I must be organised, something else I've learnt from watching Section D so to give a professional flavour in the report that follows – S = Suit, T = Tom and H = Harry

The opening gambit in the verbal chess match was begun by the suit, clearly under the impression that he was the King while Harry and Tom equated to the pawns, negligible and there to be pushed around.

(S) I presume you are aware of an oral contraceptive called Mendocrine.

(I know your reputation Harry Pearce)

(H) I'm a little out of touch with those

(Ever since Berlin I've preferred to use condoms rather than rely on women to take precautions. Plus I'd rather avoid a visit to the clap clinic)

(S) Alpha Pharmaceuticals base near Cambridge they've developed it here but are now looking for a licence overseas specifically.

(Let's spell it out for you)

(T) America.

(Where else would you seeking a licence from, The Vatican City?)

(H) And should Mary Kane be delayed any further?

(Come on I'm busy, so spell it out you patronising shit.)

(S) We have it on good authority the licence will hit trouble in the Land of the Free

(Yes it's blackmail but so what – we have to keep the Americans happy.)

(T) You would wouldn't you even now with all that could happen.

(Money before lives. You're actually saying that it is acceptable to have more seven year old girls killed.)

(S) The Foreign Secretary wants you to sit on your hands and that is exactly what you are going to do. Special Branch can take over from here.

(Don't even think about arguing Harry Pearce. You're ex military and will obey orders.)

(T) They'll have to find her first.

(Harry, surely you're not roll over for this smarmy sod.)

(S) This licence is worth three billion pounds a year to British industry and losing that would be catastrophic.

(So a few plebs might die. MI5 can take the blame, that's what they're there for. The government will get the credit for bringing jobs to the country. And mosre importantly I'll get my gong)

(T) You spirit her out of the country and more innocent people will die. That's what I call catastrophic.

(I really don't believe what I'm hearing. I have to get out of here before I smash my fist into this smug establishment git's face)

(H) (Thank God Tom's stormed out. He wasn't helping. The best way to deal with this turd is to pretend to humour him.)

I signed up here because I knew who the enemy was and I wanted to fight them. These days the enemy doesn't even have a flag to fly.

(Especially when our Foreign Office is prepared to treat with them, in fact sometimes I'm not sure that the Foreign Office isn't our greatest enemy – I hate politicians)

(S) At least you knew where they were I suppose.

(Stick to what you know about, which is not business)

(H) Gave them something to put over the coffin.

(Yes and I ate them for breakfast)

(S) So where is she?

(Finally he's been forced to sign. Now to rub in that when I say jump, even you, Harry Pearce have to jump. We need to return her to the Yanks quickly so do as you're told and hand her over.)

(H) No idea old boy. We've lost her.

(You can take this Parker pen and use it to stick your instructions where the sun doesn't shine. Old boy)

I told you. Good isn't he! You should have seen the suit's face fall when he realised he'd been played. Anyway, apologies for the up coming pun, but at that point I judged it time to fly, even I was becoming uncomfortable with the thoughts Harry was having. Let me put it this way, despite the air of Zen calm, once the suit departed Harry's musings made his office walls look positively pale.

The hanging question as I flitted out being: had Toby McInnes realised when he was coming the 'Great I Am' that Harry knows all about his penchant for baby faced rent boys? I suspect not.

Thanks for reading. Given the bonkers format of this chapter I'm not sure I should ask for reviews, but if the fingers move you...