The first person to get something of a handle on what had happened, though he knew not where he and the two Lochs had landed themselves, was Bernie Cohen; that there had been another explosion in the Roman coal mine, intended to block the exit to any pursuers, was obvious; that it had occurred after he and the brothers had passed it's location was also obvious; but whence it had propelled them was anyone's guess, but a first glance around the room told him it was no-where in Milngavie! so that what had happened must have been similar in some way to the Time/Space Warp which had brought AKA to Glasgow from the Nuremberg prison where he had awaited execution after his conviction for Crimes Against Humanity was the only answer Bernie's mind could compute; a large framed map on one wall showed an island, white against the surrounding blue of a sea; the Island was not Australia, therefore it could only be the Continent of Antarctica! which is why what Bernie said, to the only other two men who were not known by sight to him, was: "greetings! ma name is Bernie Cohen, Ah'm a Solicitor fae Glesca, me an ma twa Associates is workin fur the Glesca Polis, these ither fower ur fleein fae Justice, please tak me tae yer Leader!" which, as he suspected it would be, was met with looks of incredulity and disbelief from them, while from the others, of annoyance and anger in equal measure; so he was not unduly surprised when AKA pulled a Luger pistol from inside his jacket and gestured for Bernie and his two companions to join the strangers on the other side of the hut; and with an artless insouciance that struck MacFadden as truly Homeric, his hut-mate, MacPhee, reached down behind the sofa and reappeared holding a shotgun aimed at AKA's head: "richty-ho, Fatso," he said, "an dinnae think a wullny, if ye've a mind tae nash oot o here; Freddie, relieve the gentleman o his pea-shooter," which MacFadden did with a delicacy that filled Bernie with admiration, turned it in his hand and promptly smashed the butt into AKA's nose, reducing him to a blubbering heap on the floor: "noo," said MacPhee, turning the barrels towards the other three who formed a semi-circle behind their erstwhile saviour, "tell us whaur ye're frae, an no thimbleriggin or ma freen here wull gie the same as Fatso goat!" and MacFadden raised the gun which he still held butt downwards and that was all it took for the full story – corrected whenever they deviated from the truth by Bernie and the Loch brothers – came pouring out; once MacPhee was satisfied, and after Bernie and the Lochs had trussed all four rank bad yins to the legs of the upturned table, he sent MacFadden off to fetch Commander Abernethy from the comfort of Hut #1, leaving the Luger in the safe hands of Duddingston Loch, while Campbeltown brewed a pot of tea and Bernie explained his understanding of the Wormholes in the Space/Time Continuum to MacPhee who, in his own ponderous way, seemed quite ready to accept what had taken the solicitor weeks of study to get his head round: "aye, Laddie, that figures," was MacPhee's laconic summation of the story, just as the door opened and MacFadden returned with the Commander and a pair of other men who had donned forage caps as token of their military responsibilities.