Our precocious and hugely talented Russian twins Nikka and Nina were about to start their second term in St Trinian's A-Grade Sixth form. In the Staff Room, few of us doubted that they were destined for great futures. I could see Nikka comfortably handling the job of UN Secretary General, whilst quieter Nina was probably going to be a merchant banker in the City of London, retiring to the Maldives at thirty.

Just at that moment though, they were having to work all hours to raise funds for their own education at St T's, as their father Sergei Molotov had been banged up in the Lubyanka by the FSB, awaiting trial for money-laundering and extortion. In the case of the latter, of course, his daughters were a chip off the old block, with their fake £20 Visitors' Permits, sold to unsuspecting parents every Saturday at the school gates. They had also expanded their 'CYRIL'S SPLIFFS' home-grown weed empire, with concessions at more than half-a-dozen summer pop music festivals in the south of England. And they had successfully cleaned up at several major race meetings, including the Cheltenham Gold Cup.

Led by Miss Pixie Hoffmann, an informal discussion about the twins' progress and conduct had begun in the Staff Room after lunch one Friday. She had clearly imbibed more than one of old Corbyn's legendary Mojitos. "I really feel we should encourage this spirit of free enterprise. After all, it is one of St Trinian's abiding mantras."

"So what are they up to now?" enquired Angie_Sinn suspiciously.

"I have it on good authority that they've persuaded Juliefungirl to 'go on the game'. In the town. On Saturday nights after the OAP Bingo turns out."

There was a momentary silence, as the assembled staff visualised Juliefungirl being taken behind the town's bus shelter for a good seeing-to by a gang of lusty male pensioners.

"Are we certain?" asked a shocked GraceW.

Hoffy fluttered her eyelids and gave one of her cherubic 'butter-wouldn't-melt-in-my-mouth looks. "Guide's honour."

"And what has Juliefungirl got to say about it all?" asked Miss Sinn.

"She's complaining about her cut: reckons it should be 50:50. At the moment, the twins are taking 60%. Their charges are: £40 for a knee-trembler,, £20 for a bj and a quick hand-relief is £10. Cyril usually hangs around - when he can stand up, that is - in case there are any problems. Apparently, she had twenty customers last week and word is spreading." The bell sounded for afternoon classes and so Juliefungirl's future career as a Lady of the Night remained unresolved.

Pixie Hoffmann approached the Headmistress's study. She nervously fingered her long rope of pearls, before knocking on the oak-panelled door. "Come!"

"As I think you know, Miss Hoffmann, I am a stickler for discipline."

The younger woman made no reply, merely stroking her front bottom gently through her skirt and recalling the afternoon's pussy spanking she'd received from the Head on one of the school's weekend seaside outings. Anticipating that there might possibly be a second round this afternoon, the petite Deputy Headmistress had removed her panties in the Refectory toilets. Pussy spanking always made her cunnie tingle so beautifully.

But it was not to be. "Here at St Trinian's, Miss Hoffmann, there are some things up with which I will not put. To quote the Blessed Margaret." The Head gazed lovingly at a framed photo on her desk of Britain's first woman Prime Minister. "This rather unseemly business behind the town's bus shelter, organised by the Russian twins."

"Yes, Miss Susie?"

"It seems that amongst the local personages last week in the section of the queue marked 'Hand Relief', was our very own Canon Chasuble. I'm sorry, but you must put a stop to it. At once!"

Pixie Hoffmann counted to ten. Then another ten. "I completely understand where you are coming from Headmistress. And yes, I've probably been way too lenient in letting the twins carry on with their enterprises. But if we close them down now - the gate permits, Cyril's spliffs, Juliefungirl's bonking sessions - Nikka and Nina won't be able to pay their fees. Which means that they'll be recalled to Moscow and their dad will almost certainly be headed for the Gulags."

"So? So we lose two foreign students! Just import two North Koreans!"

"Salisbury?"

"I'm sorry, Miss Hoffmann, but I don't follow." Miss Susie's powers of deduction were notoriously short if naked pussy wasn't involved.

"The Skripals? Novichok?"

The penny eventually dropped. "Are you suggesting...?"

Miss Pixie Hoffmann nodded gravely. "I'm afraid so, Headmistress."

"So be it. Who am I to stand by while my poor lambs get slain by some deadly Russian nerve agent? But for fuck sake, Hoffy, tell your friend the Canon is to wank at home on his own! Like the rest of the Church of England's clergy."

Upstairs, in one of the school's dormitories, Nikka and Nina were formulating an audacious and lucrative plan. One which even Ian Fleming's Ernst Blofeld would have admired. Nikka hit the keyboard of the laptop and clicked on 'Print'. She handed her sister an A4 sheet. "Get that up on the notice board in Reception before supper." The notice read: 'LONDON DAY TRIP. PARTY RESTRICTED TO 12 SIXTH FORMERS. MEETING TONIGHT IN THE DE SADE SUITE AFTER SUPPER'.

About 30 girls were waiting expectantly in the dimly-lit De Sade Suite. Still photos from Bound Heat blockbusters were on the walls and a selection of Miss Hoffmann's riding crops hung from a chain attached to a rafter. Nikka banged the table with the handle of the rounders bat. "Ladies! Ladies, can I bring this meeting to order? Only one item on the agenda: The Tower of London." A loud groan followed this announcement.

"When the poster said 'London'" Emm_du_Jour complained, "I thought it meant shopping at Harrods, tea at the Ritz and all-night clubbing in Soho!"

"No way!" snapped Nikka. "Now just pay attention, Emm. Nina?"

Her sister tapped her laptop's keyboard to bring up an aerial photo of the Tower of London. "There it is ladies," said Nikka. "Our target. And what a pile of shite it is! Give me St Peters Rome or the Duomo in Florence any day, if you want a class building. See those stone walls?" The red arrow-headed cursor darted across the Tower's stonework. "When d'you think they were built?" A stunned silence met the question. "Belles?"

"Fourteenth century?"

"GaynorBlue?"

"Seventeenth century, maybe?"

"1814," said Nikka dismissively. "Barely two hundred years old. And the tourism industry hawks the thing around the world as if it was some medieval masterpiece. Like I said: it's a pile of shite. And we intend to tell the British government that we're gonna destroy it."

"How?"

"Blow it up. Or at least threaten to blow it up."

"How fucking cool," purred Emm_du_Jour.

The Russian twins carefully outlined the scheme, from the seemingly innocuous educational outing to London in the school's mini-bus (with Cyril behind the wheel, and Lady Cosmo riding shotgun to ensure he didn't tipple), to the planting of a fake bomb beneath the moat of the Tower of London.

"Getting our package through the Tower's security will be the toughest bit, given all the recent terrorist attacks. But if all goes according to our timetable, we should be on our way back to St Trinian's by 3.00pm. So put a magnum of champagne in the fridge in the kitchens, Emm, and we'll crack it open before supper!" This announcement was greeted with whoops of delight.

"And get this girls," warned Nikka sternly. "Regulation school uniforms only - including your knickers. We aim to set an example. If Lady Cosmo is surrounded by a dozen angelic virgins..." this ironic remark was greeted with howls of laughter ..."it ought to be what you English call 'a doddle'. Any questions?"

"Who's going to be holding the fort here at St Trinian's?"

"Because of her knowledge of international banking, I want Alicea to stay here to relay the ransom demand to HMG," replied Nikka.

"How much will you be asking for?" asked Miss Cummington. Without answering the question, Nikka hit a key on the laptop again. Superimposed in thick white numerals across the picture of the Tower of London was '$1M'. There was a gasp of delight and clenched fists were thrust in the air.

"We'll only be keeping 50% though - the rest will be going to the school's restoration fund."

"How are they going to pay - that's if they agree to cough up?"

"International bank bonds, to be lodged at the Bank of Malta in Valetta. One of our uncles lives there." Nikka closed the meeting by announcing that there would be a draw for the trip's 10 places, with an early start the next morning immediately after breakfast.

                                                                        ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

At 8.30am sharp, Nikka stood by the rear door of the school's 12-seater mini-bus, checking the girls' attire and even lifting the occasional skirt hem with the tip of her rounders bat, to check for regulation white knickers. As well as their signature Panama hats and huge sunglasses, the Russian twins were sporting striped cravats, while the other 10 girls wore blue-and-white striped ties. All wore white ankle socks, with the exception of the school's rule-breaker Emm_du_Jour, who was in black fishnets hold-ups.

When they were all seated on board, Lady Cosmo and Cyril appeared carrying a large cold box containing the party's picnic lunches. Through the main gates, Cyril navigated their white bus, from which wafted the first lines of the school song: 'WE ARE THE BEST, SO SCREW THE REST!'

"Please, can we stop for a pee-pee break?" implored Emm_du_Jour after an hour. Her legs were crossed. The group's guide consulted her watch and glanced at the driver, who nodded. "Oh very well. Oxford Services is just up ahead. But no more than 10 minutes if you please, ladies!"

Sitting in the back of the bus, the girls were sharing out a huge stash of chocolates and sweets which they had shop-lifted from the services' mini-supermarket. Ignoring the activity, Lady Cosmo called out: "We're one short - where's Juliefungirl!"

Eventually, the busty blonde arrived, wearing a big smile, and climbed in the back.

"What happened Jules?"

"Well, I must say, girls, your shop-lifting techniques could do with an update. Never heard of CCTV? That big black security guard behind the counter clocked the whole thing."

The divvying up of the confectionary spoils suddenly halted. "Ohmygod!" screamed Emm_du_Jour, mid-way through a  huge Cointreau-flavoured chocolate bar. "So what did you do?"

"Took him round the back and gave him one of my super-fast hand jobs," replied Juliefungirl, nonchalantly popping a mint into her mouth. "Since I've been doing the OAP bus shelter sessions, I've got it down to a fine art. Reckon I can get a guy to cum in 90 seconds. You just have to talk dirty to them."

Back at St Trinian's, dressed only in damp panties and lying half-asleep on her bed in the deserted Diana Queen of Hearts dormitory, after an intense but satisfying cyber session with one of her lovers, Alicea was awoken by the ping of an incoming text message.

'PARTY HAS JUST GAINED ACCESS TO THE PILE OF SHITE. EXPECTING TO LEAVE WITHIN THE HOUR'.

Deciding it would be best to stay wide awake from now on, she poured herself a strong black coffee from a flask. The Heist Co-ordinator swung her legs round and sat on the edge of her bed, to run through the check-list of jobs the demanding Russian twins had given her. All to be done to split-second timing.

The text of the ransom demand which had to be dispatched was already sitting on her computer screen. The obscure e-mail address shown was the private domain (somewhere deep in the Cotswolds) of the weekend cottage of the First Permanent Secretary at the Home Office. Its final paragraph read: 'UNLESS PAYMENT IS CREDITED TO OUR ACCOUNT WITH THE BANK OF MALTA [VALETTA BRANCH; SORT CODE: 765-456-122] BY 16.00HRS TODAY, THE TOWER OF LONDON WILL BE DESTROYED.' Alicea smiled and gently nudged the damp gusset of her panties into her slit.

Meanwhile, in London, Lady Cosmo was single-handedly beginning the hazardous - almost Herculean - task of safely conducting twelve schoolgirls (plus a sober Cyril) and a very heavy cool box through the myriad electronic scanning devices which guard the Tower of London. As if to add a bizarre act of pantomime to the event, in addition to the six heavily-armed Metropolitan Police officers clad in bullet-proof jackets, the official reception committee included a pair of elderly pike-wielding Beefeaters, in their blue and scarlet regalia. An obliging young Met officer helped Lady C re-pack the sandwiches into the school's cold box.

The St Trinian's party set off in the direction of the castle's moat. "Aren't we going to see the Crown Jewels?" cried a disappointed Belles.

"Holding her golf umbrella aloft as a marker, the tour guide called back: "They're only paste, dear. The real ones are in a vault under Buck House."

Observing the crocodile from a rampart high above the moat, an elderly American tourist remarked to her husband: "Will you look at those dear little girls down there, Harry?"

The party leader halted and formed the girls into a tight circle around a manhole cover set in the turf. Stepping into the centre of the ring, Lady Cosmo unfolded a huge Ordnance Survey map and whispered: "Right girls, while Cyril does a little maintenance work below, I shall be taking you through the history of the Tower of London. So concentrate please."

From his overalls, Cyril produced two T-shaped metal keys, slotted them into the iron cover and slid it back. He tipped the cold box on end and from beneath the sandwich packs slid out a rectangular khaki box, on which was stencilled in large white capitals: 'HIGH EXPLOSIVES'. He lowered it into the hole by one of its rope handles. The manhole cover was replaced as Lady Cosmo's history lesson ended. "Job done," mumbled Cyril.

Twenty minutes later, as the driver negotiated his vehicle down the steep cobbled hill from the monument, Nikka texted Alicea: 'SEND MESSAGE'.

Within half-an-hour of the arrival of the ransom demand a blue unmarked helicopter, carrying a special SAS bomb disposal unit had been deployed. The Tower of London was now deserted. Soon after, a controlled explosion took place down in the moat. The officer in charge radioed to his commander: "That's the first one located; only three more to go, sir."

The ride back was without incident, save for another toilet break for the school's Toilet Slut, who this time insisted on performing by the roadside, almost causing a motorway pile-up. Emm_du_Jour re-took her seat, opened her legs and patted her slit dry with a paper towel (she had no need to adjust her panties as she never wore any). Glancing at her phone on the seat beside her she squealed: "Ohmygod! I've got to go to Prague on Monday. Where the fuck's Prague, Lady Cosmo?"

"Czechoslovakia. What for?"

"Bound Heat have cast me in their next sex movie."

"What's it called?"

"Emm_du_Jour consulted the screen again. "Borgia Orgies. Ohmygod I'm playing Lucrezia! What d'you suppose I'll have to do?"

"Spend most of the time on your back, I'd say," observed Miss Cummington dryly. "That's when you're not poisoning your lovers."

"It says they want to pay me in Korunas. For fuck sake, what's a Koruna?"

Without taking her eyes off the road, Lady Cosmo tapped her iPhone. "Currency of the Czech Republic. Twenty-eight Korunas to the pound at the moment. But talk to Alicea when we get back. There may be better rates on the dark web."

Meanwhile, deep in the Gloucestershire Cotswolds, the phone rang in the study of Sir Humphrey Balder-Dash.

"Humphrey?  Auberon here. We wondered if you'd care to come over for cocktails at six? Julia and I are dying to hear all about this dastardly Tower of London heist."

Grumpily, the Permanent Secretary at the Home Office replied: "Not a lot to tell, actually. Seems the money was only in Malta for fifteen minutes."

"Where did it go from there?"

"Baku."

"Where on earth is Baku?"

"Auberon - I thought you were in charge of our Foreign Office. Baku is the capital of Azerbaijan, old boy."

"Have any problems raising the ransom?"

"None whatsoever. The PM agreed we should dip into the Special Contingencies Fund."

"The good old 'Salvaging Crucial Fuck-ups fund' as Whitehall wags know it. By the way, Julia says you're to bring your new 'squeeze' as she's dying to meet  her."

"It's a 'him' actually."

As the St Trinian's mini-bus sped through the school's opened gates, Cyril pulled out a hip flask and took a good swig of brandy, before handing it to a grateful Lady Cosmo. Miss Pixie Hoffmann and Miss Susie - both with beaming smiles - were standing on the front steps waiting to greet the triumphant party. Emm_du_Jour's fishnets flew from the aerial and from the opened windows of the bus came the lusty refrain: 'UNTIL THE END - SAINT TRINIAN'S.'