“Absolutely, oh Dapper One, should prove a distraction, if there are any hyenas around looking for a meal.”
“The GOM should be here any minute,” said Terry, “he’s just drying off, he swam just in case there were any spies on the road.”
“Or in the harbour, it’s misty out there” said Toppy.
“Tophole swimmer is the GOM,” said Tompkins, “he once swam The Channel underwater with only a snorkel for company, although he didn’t land on French soil, if you like, he turned around and came back straightaway. He was so modest, he didn’t mention it to anyone.”
“Superb attitude,” said Dapper Dan.
“I agree,” said Toppy.
“Huzzaa for the GOM,” said Terry.
At that moment, the door opened and the GOM entered. He was 6ft 4 inches in height, with a mane of blond hair, and extremely broad shoulders.
“Uncle, how the devil are you?” asked Tompkins.
“Tomcat, my favourite nephew, how the hell are you – why fash and dash it’s been too long.”
“I believe you’ve been having a swim, uncle?”
“Merely a splash in The Channel, Tomcat, barely got wet.”
“Around two miles?”
“That sort of thing, wasn’t counting, anyway, Tomcat, enough of talking shop. Let’s get down to basics. How’s the export business?”
“We’re busy with our one-way mystery tours for East European tourists only, though I’m having doubts about their effectiveness. However, our immediate aim is to follow our main opponent when he arrives in the country in three days…”
“You mean Stalin 2.0 is coming here?” asked Dapper Dan.
“Is that the official codename for him?” asked Toppy.
“It is now,” replied the GOM, smiling at the inventiveness of his young companions, “do you know that for certain, Tomcat?”