Miles Kington: So, the big question is: who ate all the spies?

'Salman Rushdie had a new book out recently. Maybe he didn't write it. You did. Am I on the right track?'

Today I am continuing the serialisation of my new spy story, 'A Very Special Relationship'. The story so far: Dick Steinam, American agent, has been sent to the UK to find out why British spy fiction is better than the American version, and to capture the secret. But after landing at Heathrow he gets into a cab that suddenly fills up with a mystery vapour...

"Feeling better, Mr Steinam?" said a supercilious voice as the cab door was opened and Steinam was dragged out. He looked up. There were several men and women looking down at him; the man addressing him was a well-known British espionage writer, whom he recognised instantly from his book jacket, even if he looked older in real life.

"Thank you," said Steinam. "I didn't fall for the old poison-gas trick, as you will have noticed. I had my own supply of oxygen."

"Oh, there was no need for that, old boy," said the espionage writer, who wrote under the name of Lionel Goodwright. "That wasn't poison gas. That was just a canister of old-fashioned London pea-soup fog, to give you a bit of a traditional welcome. Now come in and meet everyone."

To his amazement, Steinam was led into a cheery sitting room where a fire was blazing, and soon a warming glass of bourbon was pressed into his hand.

"I believe bourbon is your tipple?" said Goodwright.

"How in blazes did you know that?"

"Ah, it's our job to know things like that," said Goodwright. "One of the reasons British spy fiction is better than the American version is that we do very good background research."

"So do we," said Steinam stoutly.

"Yes, but you make the mistake of leaving it all in your books," said Goodwright, to a roar of laughter.

"American spy books are a bit like American biographies," said someone else, whom Steinam recognised as Roger Tracey, sometimes described as "the new Andy McNab", usually by himself. "All facts and no life."

"Now look here..." started Steinam, but Goodwright raised his hand.

"We know why you're here, Steinam. You've been sent to get the secret of British spy fiction."

"And if it's not somewhere here in this room," said Steinam, looking round the assembled talent, "then I don't know where it is."

"Trouble is," said Goodwright, "we don't know where it is either."

Nobody laughed.

"You're kidding," said Steinam.

"I wish I were," said Goodwright. "But think about it. When was the last time anyone wrote a good British spy book? The Deightons and Flemings are all dead. Le Carré has turned to real literature. The Cold War is over, and we don't know where to turn for spies."

"Nor does the CIA, if 11 September is anything to go by," said Tracey.

"Is that it?" said Steinam, ignoring him. "The secret of British spy fiction is that there isn't any?"

"Spot on," said Goodwright.

During the ensuing silence a door opened and a woman came in. Dick thought he recognised her.

"Not now, Stella!" said Goodwright. "You know all the rules. Not while we've got visitors..."

Even as she vanished, Dick clicked.

"Stella Rimington!" he cried. "That was Stella R..."

"Calm down," said Goodwright. "Yes, it was her. She drops in occasionally to... to help us with background details."

"Oh, no," said Dick. "It's not that at all, is it? She drops in to get help from you, doesn't she? It's all beginning to make sense. She had her memoirs out recently, didn't she, but it was you that wrote them, wasn't it? Yes, I get it now. Who else in intelligence has done some writing recently? David Shayler? You did his stuff too? And what's his name, the fatwa guy, Salman Rushdie – he had a new book out recently. Everyone said it was rather different in style from all his other stuff. Maybe he didn't write it. You did that too? Is that it? Am I on the right track? All you spy-fiction guys were out of work, so you've been doing hack work for MI5, ghostwriting for MI6... I'm right, aren't I?"

"You might be right, and you might not," said Lionel Goodwright, producing a small gun, "but I'm afraid you're never going to know for sure..."

Well, that's a good tense time to leave the action. Don't forget to buy the hardback to find out what happened!