The Mata Hari Institute of Culinary Excellence

[Pleater]

I had just set my breakfast tray on the table when I was hailed, and turning I saw Mister McGreagor approaching, carrying the items of clothing he had worn to the disco. He was once again wearing the long denim kilt and his dreadful knitted cardigan.
'I put these in the wash last night, and I ironed them for you,' he declared grinning geekily.
I saw Mister Brown come in, and fleetingly aknowledged his presence before my gaze was dragged to my Eight yards of Darkness peached black cotton kilt - which was now strangely deformed.
A red mist fogged my brain, and I found myself in Mister Brown's arms, being spoken to gently despite his grip on my wrists.
'I'm back.' I declared. 'Did I kill him?'
'No - I stopped you.'
'He pressed my kilt into a flare. Its all gone - trapezoid - ' I began and then gasped as I saw that the shirt, once immaculate and glowingly white was now distitnctly Brand X and the unfortunate hose were now of a size and shape to fit an Oriental Lotus foot.
I murmured some words which caused Mister Brown to laugh, but he did not slacken his grip.
'I'm afraid Ian seems to have no sense of laundry. So you are Navy - that was decidedly salty. Odd how - ' he stopped and smiled.
'You may safely let go now.' I said coldly, and he helped me to my feet, retrieved my garments from the floor and handed them to me with a rather spaniel look, then went to where Mister McGreagor was rubbing his neck and looking rather stunned.

I left the dining room and carried the clothing to my apartment, where I did what I could to recover them. I realised that it was time for the nine thirty soviet with my fellow directors just in time, and hurried along to the board room.

[Pleater]

The Board Room was empty for the first time in my experience. It was actually a minute after the appointed time, and Bronwen and Daphne were not there. This was quite upsetting.

I had already run through the possibilities as having done damage to Mister McGreagor they might send me away, or return me to the dreary employment from which I had been rescued by my transfer to the ICE.

I looked around the room. Everything was just as normal, the tea tray was set ready, the adgendas placed in folders before each chair. I resisted the temptation to waste time in reading what was to have been discussed.

The chairs usually occupied by the other directors were slightly out of place, closer together. I went closer to see if I could discover why that should be.

On the floor between the chairs was a presentation bag, with holographic tartans shining from the words printed upon it. Globo-Fashion, it spelt, a free gift from the visit on the last outing the students had been on. A plastic cover had been left on the table, like those used when posting magazines. I used the tip of my knife to flip it over in order to read the blurb about it being a free gift - the name of the venue had been printed on it too.

I left the room and went towards the private apartments, looking in on the secretary at the offices and enquiring for the other directors.

'They went down to the Board Room, about five, maybe ten minutes ago.' she said briskly. I moved on towards the more private rooms. I checked them, and discovered that both dresing rooms were in considerable confusion, as though they had been searched.

I continued on along the corridor - the ICE was once a much larger organisation and had shrunk, leaving unused accomodation.

I heard giggling, and discovered my two fellow directors standing before a large wardrobe. Both were dressed in white blouses and tartan skirts, but contrary to their normal good taste, they had added accessories of other tartans, waistcoats, scarves - tied around a waists or twisted into a turban, and there were all sorts of items strewn over the bed, all plaid or chequered.

For a few seconds I watched undetected, then they must have seen me in the large mirrors on the wardrobe doors, and they turned to face me.

'Come and help us choose - you know about kilts and things - they're the latest fashion you know.'

It seemed that strange things were still happening, but there did appear to be a reason for them now.

[Pleater]

I aquainted the two ladies with my suspicions about the magazine, and rather bravely they offered to handle the magazine again and see if I could persuade them that the contents of the magazine were not what they wanted.
After an hour of indoctrination the excentric costumes had been discarded and they had placed matching scarves as plaids and would not have looked out of place anywhere. We returned to the board room and the magazine and its wrapper were placed in the flashy bag and then into a sealed plastic bag.

We then discussed the security of the House.

The gels were to be more closely supervised, Amber was to be given an official warning about her behaviour, security in the kitchens was to be tightened. The last item on the agenda was my behaviour.

'You seem to be doing quite well, we expected to have a lot more trouble.' said Daphne.
My astonishment must have shown.
'Mister McGreagor really should have left the laundering of the clothes to one of the household staff, it is what they are there for.'
'We understand your reaction was due to the clothes being spoilt.'
I nodded. 'Though it isn't as bad as I first thought, at least, I hope not.'
'Good. Now it is rather late, we must adjourn until tomorrow.'
'I hope to go home tonight.'
Daphne made a note, and I rose.
'We must let the minister know, and I am sure there are people who will be interested in the magazine. We must speak to James.'
'Are you certain that you can trust him?'
They hesitated. 'Well, he is not the most reliable of men - but he'll do'

[Pleater]

I went about my duties, which included a visit to Mister McGreagor. He looked at me warily, I gave him more space than usual.
'How's your neck?' I enquired.
'A textbook illustration of the technique. You are fast.'
I shrugged. 'When one does not have strength, speed is essential.'
'But -I only spoilt the clothes - I gather, but it isn't all that big a deal is it - you can always but more.'
'I made them, hand sewn and knitted.'
'Oh. I'm sorry I didn't realise.'
'Just remind me never to lend you clothes again. How is the - system?' I indicated the equipment. He gave a rueful smile.
'Back on form, and I found out where that virus came from. I think someone hates Australia - that is why the conjunction of o and z caused trouble. It was included on the cd included in the free items from the Globo Fashion event the students went to. I have one I cleaned up. It seems innocent enough - it is a message from Ivana Rulital, she runs Globo-Fashion. It puts some quite powerful -' he paused, I knew that he was seeking words I might understand.
'Those cookie things?'
'More than that - it skews searches - for instance, if I 'Kilts' into a search engine - rather than the normal result, the Globo-Fashion kilt page comes up - not at the top, but far higher than it should be.'
I told him what I had discovered about the drugged magazines.
'But - its not us they're after, its kilt wearing?' I concluded
'No - if I route the search as though it comes from an infected pc in the Highlands close to where Globo-Fashion handed out similar packs - the kilt search is not skewed, but I looked at a surveillance camera in the local town, close to the college. There is almost eighty percent of the students and some tutors wearing black trousers - and guess who's name is high on the list for black trousers.'
'So it isn't us.' I persisted
'Not yet a direct attack.'
'But its clothing.'
'No, it is fashion - and fashion dictates how things are cooked, and what is cooked just as much as what people wear - more so in fact.'
'The cookery courses teach many ways of cooking - that reminds me, if the Internet is working for us again, I must confirm the visit to Scotland for the course on langoustine, crab and squat lobster.'
'Also the visits to the distilleries, the three castles and salmon fishing.'
'Well - they might as well get the full flavour of things whilst they are there..'
'And you'll be chartering a jet, and they will travel to the airport in the people carriers.'
'Yes - of course.'
'You don't feel that you spoil the boys?'
I shook my head. He sighed and continued.
'The thing is, if Globo_Fashion is dictating to people, any part of daily life could be affected - they might decide to persuade people to eat prepared meals at home rather than go out to eat. They might start to manufacture the foodstuffs - they might even put something in the food..'
'That's dreadful.'
He smiled.
'You teach the girls how to do that.'
'Well - yes - but very specifically - not everybody.'
'But you could - if you wished.'
'But we would not - things such as the Homeopathy of Population Control have been in a sealed vault since the 1950's.'
'Are you serious?'
'Deadly.'
'Have you ever thought about taking over the world, personally?'
'I'm far too busy as it is. This is something that has got to be put right, we can't have Globo-Fashion interfering.'
'Shall I find out where the top people in the company are located?'
'Could you?'
He grinned. 'It could take a little time, but I am sure I can find them. Or rather - they can.' He indicated his multitude of boxes. 'By the way - my father wants to talk to you - about some soldiers.'
'Royals.' I corrected absently.'
'What - the cavalwy wegiment?'
'Not the Blues and Royals, Royal Marine Commandoes. The ones who look after the grounds after dark.'
'Oh - I thought his fixation with Queen Victoria had affected his thinking.'
'Oh of course - that was his costume last night - presumably your ancestor was the Queen's ghillie.'
'I come from a long line of batchelors - there is no link. Not on paper.'

[Pleater]

An elderly man with a mild expression and a bureaucratic stoop replaces
the receiver on a telephone of antique design. He rises and straightens up, and for a moment his face is suffused with a boyish glee.

He moves to the door with a jaunty step and hurries along to his secretaries' room. They look up with some surprise.

'Kylie, contact my wife, please, and tell her I have to spend a few days in the New Forest, and I wish her to accompany me. We will be leaving within the hour, and we will need to dress for dinner.'
'Yes, Minister.'
He turned to his private secretary, a rather pale serious looking young man.
'Don, can you and your wife get away for a few days?'
'I believe so, sir - though I will have to check.'
'Good man - the New Forest is beautiful this time of year - all the - leaves, you know. Lots of fresh air. Invigorating walks in the grounds, that sort of thing. Send a couple of cars to collect the ladies and luggage, I expect we can manage the driving between us. Order up a car with a nat savvy box.'
'Yes, sir.'
'Get one with a nice voice if you can - hmmm?'
He moves on past them into his main office, humming a happy tune.

[Pleater]

I suddenly remembered that I had not eaten, and so wandered along the the southern dining room and repeated my breakfast.

As I was eating a Technician came in and handed me a sheet with part of a recipe on it.

'Madam Bronwen would like this made. Please note the time you add the vermouth, she said.'

Basically it was three pounds of mixed dried fruit, comprising raisins, cherries, sultanas, currents, dates, candied peel, preserved ginger plus half a pound of apple stewed in a little water, the rind and juice of a large orange and a large lemon, a large spoonful of apricot jam and another of bitter orange marmalade. To be mixed with white vermouth - martini bianco, that is, covered over and left overnight.

Of course the recipe was far more detailed than that, and I spent some time weighing and chopping the fruit to the specifications. Part way through the final mixing together Mister Brown came in.
'I can't stop.' I said anxiously.
'I'll wait.' he said and found a stool.
When the bowl was covered and I had washed my hands I turned to him.
'Shouldn't that go in the fridge?'
'No, it is left at room temperature for twenty four hours.'
'Mm - I was talking to the ladies about the situation - Globo-Fashion eh?'
'So it seems.'
The intercom set in my pocket went to alert and I started, then pulled it out and put it on over my head scarf. Mister McGreagor was excited.
'I've found the head man who was at the Globo-Fashion event. E.M. Naste - he's a bit of an eminence grise, he only appeared here, not at any of the other events around the world - but he has rented a place about twenty miles away. He got the event organisers to find it for him, and they are doing a food run three times a week - they are supplying food for the staff and two other people. The driver recognised the woman from the cd - it's Ivana Rulital.'

[Pleater]

I'm beginning to like Mister Brown, though he almost killed Madam Erzulie this afternoon.
He called in a unit he has some connection with. They can normally get into anywhere that is on the main drains. They have a wagon that looks just like a drain clearing device, but instead of clearing, it first of all blocks both ends of a section of the main pipe, and then it blows.

They had made a recording of their visit - and had it sent over by motorcycle courier along with the receiver for the bugs they had left behind. Madam Erzulie laughed until she could not breathe.

I went home and watched the new Harry Potter dvd. Luna Lovegood hopes there are puddings, twice. I shall take the disc to the House tomorrow and show it to Mister Brown. It might be nothing, but then again - better have it checked.