“It’s what my wife calls my willy. She’s an architect.”

“Could you drive a little faster?”

“Give us another street then.”

Icarus sighed yet again. “Sesame Street,” he said.

“Sesame Street?” said the cabbie.

“Sesame Street,” said Icarus.

“Right then,” said the cabbie.

“What, you turn right here?”

“No, not here. You turn left.”

“But you said right.”

“No, I said right then. I was just plotting my course. It’s straight ahead for a quarter of a mile, then turn left into Albert Square. Around the square, right into Coronation Street, third left into Brookside, past Peyton Place, into Tin Pan Alley. Then it’s goodbye Yellow Brick Road, past the House of the Rising Sun, into Blackberry Way, down Dead End Street, taking in a Waterloo Sunset, up Penny Lane, then we’re on the road to nowhere, a Road to Hell and a long and winding road, then we’re—”

“Here,” said Icarus. “Stop the taxi, please.”

“But I haven’t done Route 66, Highway 61, Devil Gate Drive and Desolation Row, and you have to watch out for Cross Town Traffic there.”

“On the corner here will be fine,” said Icarus.

“Turn right at Camberwick Green and you’re in Sesame Street.”

“I think you’ll find it’s left at Camberwick Green then right up Trumpton High Street.”

“Smart arse,” said the cabbie. “You knew all the time. That will be five guineas please.”

“Guineas?” said Icarus.

“Guineas,” said the cabbie. “I’m sure a noble bachelor such as yourself is used to paying in guineas. And that includes the fare for your mate in the box. I wasn’t born yesterday, sunshine.”

Icarus bid the cabbie farewell and humped the case into the multi-storey car park. Here he released Johnny Boy.

The midget climbed out, coughing and spluttering.

“Are you all right?” said Icarus.

“That really is a very stupid question.” Johnny Boy dusted himself down and straightened his dicky bow. “Hide the case behind that wheelie bin over there and let’s go and look for the car.”

Icarus hid the case behind the wheelie bin and he and Johnny Boy went off a-looking.

Behind them a long dark automobile pulled up beside the ticket barrier, a darkly tinted window slid down and a hand reached out to press the button.

“There’s an awful lot of Ford Fiestas,” said Icarus.

“Most popular car in the world,” said Johnny Boy. “Even with that design fault on the inner sill of the wheel arches.”

They were up on the second level now.

“Do you know the number plate?” asked Icarus.

“No, but it has a sticker in the back window that reads ON A MISSION.”

“Very subtle,” said Icarus.

“Just keep looking, lad.”

Icarus just kept looking.

They can be big old jobbies, those multi-storey car parks. And it is a fact well known, to those who know it well, that a race of magic gnomes live in multi-storey car parks. And when you’re away doing your shopping in the supermarket, they get into your car and move it to another level. They are related to the wallet fairies, who nick the ticket to the multi-storey car park out of your wallet, where you’re absolutely certain that you put it, and slip it into one of your carrier bags. So that when you’ve finally found your car that the magic gnomes have moved, you have to go through every single one of your carrier bags to find your ticket. And you drop your carton of milk and put heavy things back on top of your eggs and misplace the bag of sweeties you were intending to eat on the drive home and get yourself into a right old fluster.

“Why are there always burst milk cartons in multi-storey car parks?” asked Icarus, as Johnny Boy slipped over on one and fell with a thud to the floor.

“I don’t know. Ouch. Help me up.”

They were on the sixth floor now and though they’d seen an awful lot of red Ford Fiestas, they hadn’t seen—

“That’s it,” said Johnny Boy. “If I hadn’t slipped over, I never would have noticed it.”

“But it hasn’t got an ON A MISSION sticker in the back window.”

“No, it’s fallen off. It’s here.” Johnny Boy pointed to the inner sill of the offside rear wheel arch. “It’s sticking out through this rust hole, see?”

Icarus saw. And Icarus took out his little roll of tools. Having first assured himself that he wasn’t being observed.

Naturally.

Icarus tinkered and Icarus opened the boot.

“Well well well,” said Icarus, peering in.

“Help me up,” said Johnny Boy, struggling up.

“It’s here,” said Icarus. “It’s all here. Boxes of tablets. The formula. And what’s this electronic doo-dad thing?”

“Oooh,” said Johnny Boy. “That’s the professor’s machine. The one that tunes into ghosts. I thought he’d destroyed it.”

“Spectremeter,” Icarus read from the little brass plate on the doo-dad’s side. “And this is a portable version, powered by batteries.” He lifted it out and tinkered with the buttons.

“Don’t switch it on in here, for God’s sake.”

Icarus returned the spectremeter to the boot.

“He was originally going to call it the Ghostamatic 2000,” said Johnny Boy. “Spectremeter’s probably better. I didn’t know he’d called it that.”

Icarus took his roll of tools and applied his talents to the driver’s door. Then he returned to the boot, scooped up the contents and flung them into the rear seat of the car.

“Come on,” he said to Johnny Boy. “We’re leaving.”

“You’re going to nick the car?”

“I’m going to relocate it.”

“Can you get it started without the key?”

“No, I’ll use the spare one that’s always kept under the sunshield visor thing above the windscreen. At least it always is in the movies.”

“You watch too many duff movies, lad. The professor always kept his in the glovie.”

“Come on then, let’s go.”

“To where?”

“To anywhere. There’s been a big dark car with blacked out windows following us ever since we left the professor’s house. I may have pretended not to notice it, but I do watch a lot of movies. And I know how all this works.”

“What big dark car?” asked Johnny Boy.

“The one over there, coming up the ramp.”

“Let’s go,” said Johnny Boy.

Now, there is a knack to starting a Ford Fiesta. You have to pull out the choke as far as it will go. Give the accelerator pedal a little bit of toe. Turn on the ignition slowly. Keep your foot off the accelerator pedal and let the revs build up. When the revs sound like they are running too high, ease the choke in to about half an inch, and wait until the engine has taken up a regular beat. Then put your foot on the accelerator pedal and pump it a few times, just to sound cool, and then you’re away. Then …

Johnny Boy fumbled in the glovie and fumbled the key to Icarus. “Let me explain what you have to do,” he said.

“No time.”

“But you’ll flood the engine.”

“No time.”

The long black car drew to a halt, boxing the Ford Fiesta in.

“Well. It hardly matters now,” said Johnny Boy. “We’re trapped.”

“Of course we’re not.”

Icarus keyed the engine. And stuck his foot down hard to the floor. The engine roared and the usual glorious cloud of acrid fumes came a-bursting out of the exhaust. Icarus slammed the gearstick into reverse.

“What are you doing? You’ll smash into them.”

“Of course I won’t.”

Icarus dropped the handbrake and let out the clutch. The Ford swept backwards out of the parking bay.

The long black car did likewise out of its path. Very fast, with its tyres screaming.

“They’re letting us out!” cried Johnny Boy. “Why are they letting us out?”

“Because this is a clapped-out Ford Fiesta, of course. And anyone with a decent car knows far better than to get anywhere near a clapped-out Ford Fiesta. It’s a natural instinct with drivers of posh cars. They can’t help themselves.”