At last – communication from on high.  My contact came into school posing as being from the fire inspectorate – whatever that is.  She was in her twenties, had a nice friendly smile and looked tough enough to eat Ms Bland without thinking – which come to think of it was probably the best way.

We went out onto the playing fields so I could show the inspector where everyone would gather in the event of a fire.   Once there she said, “What you see here is happening around the country – newly formed groups moving into schools and taking them over, driving them in new directions with their own philosophies.   The department is worried.”

“We’re worried,” I told her.  “The whole place is wired for sound and vision – Bodger’s putting in disruption devices, but it’s never safe to assume you aren’t being watched.”

“Bodger’s a good man,” she said.   (She knew Bodger!  Was he one of “us”.)   “So what you got?  Books removed from the library, special ways of talking to people, complete computerisation of everyone’s comings and goings…”

I nodded glumly.

“You are fortunate you are not on your own here – but I have to admit it is a nasty outbreak,” she told me.

“When you say ‘not on my own’ who exactly do you have in mind?”

“It’s never my place to let anyone know the other agents in the field, you should know that.”

She looked at me sternly.  “It makes you relax too much – but you should know that when push comes to shove, its all hands to the pump.”

I thought of asking what that last bit meant, but decided to leave it.

“So who are these people who are running the school?”

“The New Order,” she said.  “Neo-Nazi’s with CCTV.  Nasty bunch.  Still I’m sure you can cope.”

“Cope?” I asked.  In what way ‘cope’.”

“See them off, return the school to normal.”

“But I was excepting back up, support, cavalry arriving over the hill, D-Day…  How am I supposed to cope against an organised take-over of a perfectly normal school in a perfectly normal town by a bunch of fascist nutters?”

“I’d have thought that was obviously your job.  Hardly my place to tell a field officer what to do.   After all, you’ve had your training.”

“No I haven’t,” I protested.  “I’ve had a twenty minute chat which told me nothing.”

“Tricky,” she agreed.  We were almost back at the main building.  “Still do your best.  Head man thinks the world of you after you pulled off that Slovenian stunt.”

“What Solvenian stunt?”  I was getting hysterical.

“Quite right, mums the world.   I’ll be off – and I can tell you, if you can get this place sorted and back to normal by Christmas, the head man will be thrilled.  World’s your oyster after that.”

And with that she got back into her car.

I turned round and almost bumped into Havoc Blythe who had crept up in his normal manner.  “Pretty little number,” he said.

“What?”

“The car.”

“Oh.”