My shoe phone rang the other day. Some Spook said he had some hot tapes.

Intrigued, I eventually slipped the micro cassette into my secure wrist-watch player and followed the spy manual procedure by playing it backwards. It said Paul was dead. I sort of suspected that. Then came the voice of my old Spy Master.

“Agent XXXX, we have intercepted these telephone conversations about certain subversives planning an international crises. Listen carefully to the tape and then swallow it – you will then self-destruct in 10 seconds.”

The old suicide pill in the secret edible tapes trick – I wasn’t falling for that one again … so soon.

Voice1: “Is that Peter? Peter Wallace?”

Voice2: “Yeah, who wants to know?”

V1: “Je suis, your new bon ami, monsieur, who is about to lay le monde at your tres magnifique kicking les pieds.”

V2: “Is that you Tunza? You on the suds again? You’re talking in tongues.”

V1: “Non! You might say I am an agent provocateur … one that can make you very rich for very little in return … just your loyalty. I’m calling from Paris.”

V2: “Did you say Taree?”

V1: “Non! Non! Paris. I am, how do you say it, a double agent – I’m working for the other side.”

V2: “What the Warriors? That’s a strange accent, even for a Kiwi.

V1: “Sacre bleu, why do they always send me after the imbeciles! Paris, France, Pierre. You are very much in demand over here.”

V2: “Is this a gee-up from Casey McGuire?”

V1: “I pretend to work for the NRL, but I represent a wealthy rugby club. We are offering a king’s ransom and a vineyard/winery in the south of France.”

V2: “A vin what?”

V1: “It’s like a bottle shop only tres chic. Look, you’re just our type – you’ve signed a five-year deal with the Broncos so you are irresistible ... you can walk out on them any time.”

V2: “But I like it here.”

V1: “So you like being snubbed by Monsieur Ricky Stuart the Kangaroos coach? He did not pick you, the State of Origin star, in his World Cup squad of quarante-six, non? He treats you like merde.”

V2: “Wait a minute, are you trying to get me to do a Sonny Bill?”

V1: “It is, after all, the fashionable thing and you will be saying merci beaucoup until the day you mort … how you say, die.”

V2: “I’m sorry, but you’re too late. Robbie Deans has got in first.”

V1: “What! He wants you to play for the Wallabies?”

V2: “He said something about by the time the Rugby World Cup comes around
again the Australian team will be full of league guys and totally unbackable.”

V1: “I should have known! The Dingo is actually a mole. He’s working for his mother country. The Tri Nations is only a rehearsal for the Aussie double cross! Or is he really? Is he planning double-double cross on the All Blacks?”

V2: “Sorry, but you’ve lost me. Let David Gallop sort all this mess out.”

V1: “Monsieur, David Gallop does not really exist. His is actually Bob Dwyer, who no one has seen since the 1990s ... with a plastic new face and assumed identity, working deep cover for le Internationale Rugby Board. C’est diabolique but tres bon! Oui, oui!”