Prime minister Arald of Australia put his phone to the side and looked up at his Governor-General in exasperation.

"Pauline, do you understand what this idiot is getting at?" he asked. The Governor-General nodded.

"In principle, I do, my lord," she said. Arald made a frustrated gesture.

"Then in principle, please explain it to me," he said, adding in an undertone, "as if I don't have enough on my plate without this sort of nonsense."

Pauline suppressed a smile. Arald had a well-known dislike of legal documents with their where-ifs, where-to-fore's and not-with-standing's. And still, he was one of the best prime minister's Australia had known.

"Donald Trump, president of the United States of America, is obliged to supply a place to live in the USA for up to 1,250 refugees from IS territory who were temporarily settled in Australia, when called upon," she began.

"And I take it he is refusing to do so?" said the prime minister wearily.

"Not exactly, sir," she replied. "He is willing to take refugees. He is unwilling to take refugees from Australia, or any other country, especially if they're Muslim.."

Arald frowned. There was no trace of his customary good humour evident at that statement.

"But he has to," he said. "This agreement has been sealed with the Obama Administration and it's still standing."

Pauline nodded in agreement. "Correct, my lord. But he does have a case. A very tenuous one, I must say, but a case nonetheless."

Arald's face, already flushed with annoyance, became a little redder. "How can he have a case?" he demanded. "Obama and I sealed this agreement. It's still standing. He has to take 1,250 refugees. End of the story. Ipso facto. Case-o, closed-o."

"As he sees it, my Lord, the whole thing hinges on a executive order signed by himself, only a few days ago. That order says that America won't take on any people - or refugees - from seven specific Muslim countries."

"That's ridiculous! You can't run a country like that! What was - is, he thinking?"

"It was his word only, Sir. Mr. Trump said that all people hailing from Iraq, Syria, Iran, Libya, Somalia, Sudan and Yemen are barred. His executive order bans entry of those fleeing from war-torn Syria indefinitely, and he has also stopped the admission of all refugees to the United States for four months. However, as this 'ban' asks civil servants who are covered by ordinary protections of the meritorious protection board to do illegal things in the course of their duties, it is, simply said, illegal."

"Well then!" Arald exclaimed, throwing his arms wide. "If that's the case, where is the problem?"

"The intent is obvious, my lord, in context. But this executive order was signed by the President of the United States, so there is a certain ambiguity in the wording."

"Ambiguity is always certain when people like him are involved," Arald said. His face brightened. He rather liked that piece of wordplay. It struck him as quite droll. He looked hopefully for a smile from Ms. Pauline, but in vain. Deciding she must have missed it, he began again.

"You see, you said 'a certain ambiguity' and I said, 'Ambiguity is always certain when'-"

"Yes, yes, my lord. Quite so," Pauline said, cutting him off. Arald looked disappointed. She continued: "My assistant Nigel and I have gone through the executive order, the agreement and the laws of the USA, and Nigel has drafted a reply. He has found seventeen points of law where Mr. Trump has grossly misused the goal of executive orders and broke the law. In short, he has destroyed Trump's case most comprehensively."

"He is good at that," Arald said, smiling once again. This time, Pauline smiled with him.

"None better, my lord," she said.

"So what's our next move?" the prime minister asked. Pauline offered the text she had mentioned, but he waved it away. If Nigel and Pauline were happy with it, he knew it would be watertight. Pauline nodded. She appreciated the trust he had placed in her.

"Very well, my lord. We'll do a final draft and I thought I might have one of our NATO diplomats accompanied by one of the Special Agents bring it to his attention."

She replaced the draft letter in a thin, plastic folder, and withdrew another piece of paper, laying it on the table in front of her and smoothing it out so that it lay flat.

"Now, my lord, there is another matter we must discuss..."

She saw the pained expression on the prime minister's face. She knew he didn't want to discuss it.

"You're talking about this brouhaha with Halt, I suppose? I really don't have the time," he said, making dismissive gestures at her.

"Nonetheless, my lord, it is a brouhaha that we must make time for." She tapped the paper with one forefinger. "This is a summary of the brouhaha in question, my lord."

Arald glanced up at her. She seemed to be quite fond of that word, he thought. Or she was gently making fun of his choice of it in the first place. But Pauline's face gave nothing away. She continued: "If you care to look through it?"

He reached for it reluctantly. Pauline had known that he would try to avoid the subject. It was distasteful for all of them, but unfortunately, it had to be resolved. At that moment, there was a heavy-handed knock at the door to the prime minister's office and, grateful for any interruption, he hastily called, "Come in!"

She frowned at the distraction. It was Sir Rodney, head of the Australian Federal Police. He threw the door open and entered with a little more than his usual energy. He was talking before he had even crossed the threshold.

"Sir, you're simple going to have to do something about Halt!" he said. Then, noticing Pauline, he made a small gesture of apology. "Oh, sorry, Pauline, didn't see you there."

Pauline inclined her head in acknowledgement of the apology. The leaders of Australia were all good friends. There was no petty jealousy between them; none of the manoeuvring for influence and favour that plagued some countries.

The prime minister sighed deeply. "What has he done now?" he asked.

"Do I sense another brouhaha in the making?" Pauline said innocently and he glanced suspiciously at her. She seemed not to notice.

"Well, one of my police officers was stupid enough to make a remark about Special Agent Will and Officer Horace being sent off on a soft assignment. Said that's all they were good for."

"Oh, dear," said Ms. Pauline. "I do hope he didn't make this remark in Halt's hearing?"

"Unfortunately, yes," said Rodney. "He's not a bad lad. All muscle and bone, mind you, and a good deal of that between his ears. But he was feeling his oats a little and told Halt to mind his own business." He paused, then added, by way of explanation, "Everyone is a little jumpy, with all that's going on."

"So how is the lad?" Arald asked. Rodney shrugged.

"The hospital says there's no lasting damage. He'll be back on duty in a few days' time. But the point is, I can't have Halt going around damaging my officers. I can be needing them any minute."

Arald toyed with one of the pens on his desk. "He's definitely been difficult these past few days," he said. "It's like having a Cassowary with a sore head around the place. In fact, I think I might prefer a Cassowary with a sore head. It would be less disruptive."

"We were about to discuss Halt's behaviour as you arrived," Lady Pauline said, taking the opportunity to return the conversation to the case in hand. "There has been a complaint about him from Sir Digby of Norfolk Island."

"Digby?" Rodney said, a frown touching his face. "Didn't he try to short change us on his settlement of refugees?"

"Exactly," said the Baron. "We're having a lot of that going on at the moment. So I sent Halt to straighten matters out. Thought it might be a good idea to give him something to keep him busy."

"So what's Digby got to complain about?" Rodney asked. It was obvious from his tone that he felt no sympathy for the recalcitrant leader of Norfolk Island.

The prime minister gestured for Pauline to explain.

"Apparently," she said, "Halt threw him into the swimming pool."

"Into his own swimming pool, you say?" said Sir Rodney.

He paused to think about the fact. Pauline noticed that he didn't seem overly shocked by Halt's action. If anything, there was a look of grim satisfaction on his face. Australia's prime minister frowned at Rodney's tacit approval.

"I know the man deserved it," he said, "But we can't have people going around throwing leaders into the swimming pools. It's not... diplomatic."

Governor-General Pauline raised one elegant eyebrow. "Indeed not, sir," she said.

"And Halt has been altogether too high-handed about it all," he continued. "I'm going to have to speak to him about it. Most severely."

"Someone certainly should," Pauline agreed, and Rodney grunted a reluctant assent.

"He definitely needs taking in hand."

"You wanted to see me, my lord?" said a familiar voice, and they all turned guiltily towards the door, which Rodney had left open when he barged in.

Halt stood there, clad in his black-and-white uniform, his face half hidden by his black-and-grey beard. It was uncanny, the prime minister thought, how the man could appear almost without a sound. Now Arald, like his two advisors, was conscious that he had been caught talking about Halt behind his back.

He flushed in embarrassment, while Sir Rodney cleared his throat noisily. Only Pauline appeared unconcerned – she had a lifetime of practicing at appearing unconcerned.

"Aaahhhh...yes...Halt. Of course. Come in, won't you? Shut the door behind you, there's a good fellow." As he said these last words, Arald shot a baleful glance at Sir Rodney, who shrugged guiltily.

Halt nodded greetings to Pauline and Rodney, and then moved to stand before the prime minister's massive desk.

There was a long and increasingly awkward silence as the Special Agent stood waiting. Arald cleared his throat several times, not sure where to begin. Inevitably, it was the Governor-General who broke the impasse.

"I imagine you're wondering why the prime minister asked to see you, Halt," she said, relieving the tension in the room and forcing Halt to say something – anything – at the same time.

The Special Agent, taciturn as ever, glanced at Pauline, then the prime minister, and replied in as few words as possible. "Yes, sir."

But it was a start and now Arald had been given a chance to gather his thoughts and overcome his embarrassment. He brandished the letter in Halt's general direction.

"This..." He managed in time not to say 'brouhaha' again. The word was being grossly overused, he thought. "This... business with Sir Digby, Halt. It's just no good. No good at all!"

"I agree, my lord," Halt said, and the Baron sat back in his chair, a little surprised and quite a bit relieved.

"You do?" he said.

"Yes, my lord. The man is a nincompoop and a fool. Even worse, he took me for a fool as well. I suppose I can understand that he might want to take on less refugees, less mouths to feed. But to try and fool a SA from the prime minister? Why, that was a downright insult. The man needed to be taught a lesson."

"But was it your place to teach him, Halt?" the prime minister asked. Now Halt raised one eyebrow in reply.

"I don't recall seeing anyone else prepared to do so, sir."

"Perhaps Halt acted in haste – in the heat of the moment?" Pauline interjected, trying to give Halt a graceful way out of the situation.

But the Special Agent simply looked at her, then back to the prime minister, and said: "No. It was pretty well thought through. And I didn't rush at all. I took my time."

The Governor-General shrugged. Arald's expression showed in exasperation. He would be willing to give Halt some leeway in this matter if the Special Agent should only allow it. But Halt was obviously determined to be pigheaded.

"Then there are no mitigating circumstances, Halt," he said firmly. "You have acted excessively. I have no choice but to reprimand you."

Halt considered the matter before replying. "An awkward situation, my lord, since I am not technically answerable to you. I answer to the Special Agent Command and, ultimately, to the Queen."

The prime minister opened his mouth to answer, and then closed it again. Halt was right. As the one of Australia's Special Agents he was required to cooperate with the prime minister, but he was independent of his authority. That fact and Halt's intentionally unhelpful manner were beginning to get under the prime minister's skin. Once again, it was Pauline who suggested a compromise.

"Perhaps you could inform Halt, in an official manner, that you are displeased with his actions," she said. The prime minister considered the suggestion. It had merit, he thought. But the wording could be a little stronger.

"'Displeased' is too mild a word, Pauline. I would rather use the word 'vexed'".

"I would be most discomforted to know you were vexed, sir," Halt said, with just the slightest trace of mockery in his tone. Arald turned a piercing glare on him. Don't take this too far, it warned him.

"Then we shall make it 'extremely vexed', Lady Pauline," he said meaningfully. "I leave it to you and Nigel to put it in the right form." He looked from her to Halt. "You will receive the official notification of my displeasure tomorrow, Halt."

"I tremble in anticipation, my lord," said Halt, and the prime minister's eyebrows drew together angrily.

"I think that will be all, Halt," he said, very obviously restraining his temper. Pauline shook her head slightly at Halt's sardonic tone. He was walking a very fine line, she thought. The Special Agent now bowed slightly to Arald, turned and left, closing the door quietly behind him.

The prime minister let his breath out in an angry sigh.

"The man is impossible!" he said. "In all the time I've known him, I have never seen him like this. He's touchy, bad-tempered, and sarcastic! What on earth is the matter with him?"

Rodney shook his head. Like the Arald, he had known Halt for many years, and counted him as a friend.

"Something's obviously bothering him," he said. "But what?"

"Perhaps he's lonely," Pauline said thoughtfully, and both men look at her in amazement.

"Lonely? Halt?" said Rodney incredulously. "Halt's never been lonely in his life! He lives alone. He likes it that way!"

"He did," said Pauline, "But things have been different for the past year or so, haven't they?"

"You mean... Will?" the prime minister asked, and she nodded.

"Think about it. Halt has only ever had two apprentices. There was Gilan, five or six years ago. And now Will. And he's a rather special young man."

The prime minister nodded, not sure she was right but willing to listen. "He's that, all right."

Pauline was warming to her theme now. "He's amusing and interesting and talkative and cheerful. I should imagine he's brightened Halt's life quite considerably."

"Not only that," Rodney put in, "But he saved Halt's life as well."

"Exactly," said Lady Pauline. "There's a very special bond that's developed between those two. Halt has become as much a surrogate father as a mentor to Will. And now he's sent him away. I think he's missing him. He'd never admit it, but I think he's been enjoying having a young person around."

She paused to see what the prime minister thought. He was nodding agreement.

"You could be right, Pauline," he said. "You could be right." He considered the matter for some seconds, then said thoughtfully: "You know, it might be a good idea if you were to have a talk with him."

"I, my lord?" said Lady Pauline. "Why would I have more influence over him than anyone else?"