'The service takes a dim view of moonlighting.'
'It was Stoker at SO-17,' I told him. 'I was deputised – all above board.'
Flanker went quiet. His intelligence-gathering had obviously let him down badly.
'Can I go?'
Flanker sighed.
'Listen here, Thursday,' he began
in a more moderate tone of voice, 'we need to know what your father is up to.'
'What's the problem? Industrial action standing in the way of next week's cataclysmic event?'
'Freelance navigators will sort it out, Next.'
He was bluffing.
'You have no more idea about the nature of the armageddon than Dad, me, Lavoisier, or anyone else, do you?'
'Perhaps not,' replied Flanker, 'but we at SpecOps are far better suited to having no clue at all than you and that chronupt father of yours.'
'Chronupt?' I said angrily, getting to my feet. 'My father? That's a joke! What is your golden boy Lavoisier doing eradicating my husband, then?'
There was silence for a moment.
'That's a very serious accusation,' observed Flanker. 'Have you any proof?'
'Of course not; isn't that the point of eradication?'
'I have known Lavoisier for longer than I would care to forget,' intoned Flanker gravely, 'and I have never had anything but the highest regard for his integrity. Making wild accusations isn't going to help your cause one iota.'
I sat down again and sighed. Dad had been right. Accusing Lavoisier of any wrongdoing was pointless.
'Can I go?'
'I have nothing to hold you on, Next. But I'll find something. Every agent is on the make. It's just a question of digging deep enough.'
'How did it go?' asked Bowden when I got back to the office.
'I got an "F",' I muttered, sinking into my chair.
'Flanker,' said Bowden, trying on his Eat More Toast cap. 'Has to be.'
'How did the stand-up go?'
'Very well, I think,' answered Bowden, dropping the cap in the bin. 'The audience seemed to find it very funny indeed. So much so that they want me to come back as a regular … What are you doing?'
I hurriedly hid under the table, slithering to the floor as quickly as I could. I would have to trust Bowden's quick wits.
'Hello!' said Miles Hawke. 'Has anyone seen Thursday?'
'I think she's at her monthly assessment meeting,' replied Bowden, whose deadpan delivery was obviously as well suited to lying as it was to stand-up. 'Can I take a message?'
'No. Just ask her to get in contact, if she could.'
'Why don't you stay and wait?' said Bowden. I kicked him under the table