Sowerbutt's Authority

Sowerbutt handed the Sergeant their passes and letters. “Mr Sowerbutt, you are acting under the authority of the Cabinet in London. My men are at your command, sir.” “Pronounced Sorbay, Sergeant.” “Sorry, sir. Mr Sorbay.” “We are following two cyclists, a man and a woman, who are a serious threat to national security. I believe you have been warned to keep an eye out for them. We know they came up the Thetford road this morning.”

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Sowerbutt's Guard

“Sarge, Sarge,” called the skinny youth, poking his head into the tent. “Private Futter, how many times do I have to tell you. When you approach a senior rank, you march up smartly, salute and wait to be spoken to,” Sergeant Acorn said wearily. These conscripts were not a patch on the men he had served with in the 1^st battalion, the Norfolks, in India. Too many had fallen in the shambles in France earlier in the year; CSM George Gristock had been awarded a posthumous VC. Private Futter hastily saluted. “But Sarge, two blokes are at the road block. Foreigners, but they’ve got passes and want to speak to the officer.”

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Sowerbutt's Cyclists

Sowerbutt snapped alert. “He mentioned cyclists,” he said to Gerard. “We’ve got them.” The two men had fallen into a daze with Jacko, on his third mug of crab apple brandy, mumbling endlessly. They had finished the delicious stew and were sitting round the fire. Every few minutes, Gerard checked the road.

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Sowerbutt's Warning

Taking a Black Cat from the packet, Polly walked up to Angel Daley. “You come recommended by Spaghetti, Mr Daley, but I am not impressed so far. The sparklers were Missionary’s responsibility, but any idiot should have spotted the pickpockets at St Pancras. Both of you were playing the fool."

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Sowerbutt's Lady

Her face inches from Missionary, Polly pushed the barrel under his chin. “You haven’t seen me use one of these, have you, stupid boy? I won’t give you the satisfaction of blowing your head off.” Staring at him, she lowered the revolver and rammed it between his legs. The colour of purple from the welt on Missionary’s cheek spread across his face.

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Sowerbutt's Ambush

Sowerbutt suddenly noticed Gerard was slowing down. He stopped by a large pine tree, pulled his Gewehr 98 off his shoulders and pointed to a clearing 100 yards down the road. Clipping on the telescopic sights, he whispered: “Someone there. Well-camouflaged tent.”

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