I'm fifty-three, and five feet nine, I'll go and be a Lodger!
I gat some gear wi' mickle care, I held it weel thegither; But now it's gane, and something mair- I'll go and be a Lodger!
Conan pulled out the cattle prod he had liberated from Niko's room, oh so long ago...
The creature's insane eyes widened and said
"Ermf oh atsh wayt ent."
"Eh?" Replied Conan eloquently.
A mask was unzipped. "Yew were wot nicked it, when yew dun over my gaff yew cant."
"Pardon?" Said Conan, equally mystified.
"Dreadfully sorry old chap, trying to stay in character, don'tcha know."
It all clicked in Conan's head.
"You're S.I.S...." He gestured at the bodies. "But they were on your side..."
"Don't be a fool!" Spat Niko, pulling of his mask and with a hint of regret, tossing it onto the pony-tailed shambles behind him.
"Haven't worn one of those since Oxford...no, they were getting a bloody liability old boy."
"Stupid MI5 wankers! They were doing more harm than good, practically recruiting for the damned SNP!"
"So they had to go..." Mused Conan, "But the rest? Subrosa, Brownlie ?
"Subrosa? Deep undercover for the Dundee W.I. She got away...Very jammy that one."
Conan hazarded a guess "Spook is Mossad?" A nod. "Then Brownlie is...?"
Niko frowned " A total kno-" "No! Who he works for!"Shouted Conan.
"Why Conan, he works for The News of the World..."
Conan gasped in horror "...Well at least it's not the Scotsman."
To be continued.