Steve Braunias: The Secret Diary of Russian Spies

Steve Braunias goes undercover in the search for Russian agents ... er, diplomats.

"Dmitri"

Our orders are to lay low. I have gone undercover as a carpet.

My special training in breathing exercises and muscle control are paying off. Also, I look good in cashmere.

Day after day, I remain undetected as I lie supine in the corridor outside the Prime Minister's office. I lie on my front. That way, I keep my ears to the ground.

Things are at a very delicate point. Over 20 countries have expelled Russian diplomats and undeclared intelligence officers in solidarity with the UK since the chemical nerve attack at Salisbury.

We could be next. "It could be curtains," I told undeclared intelligence officer "Olga".

"Olga"

Acting on instructions, I have gone undercover as a pair of curtains.

I prefer the open position rather than closed, which is a bit of a stretch. But it's not a bad way to spend the day. The sun streams in on my back as I stand by the windows in the Prime Minister's office.

She stood right beside me the other day and looked at the view. Her phone rang. "Winston," she said. "Have you found any spies yet?"

She listened, and sighed. She turned her head, and seemed to study my patterns very closely. I picked them out myself. I went for Resene Lyrical in the charcoal range. Flax is the magical ingredient in this trend-forward fabric giving an earthy grainy look to a metallic all-over design. The effect is like no other and will create a stand-out look for your windows.

"Well," she said, "keep looking."

"Fydor"

I can feel the New Zealanders closing in. They are a clever people and nothing much gets past them. Only the other day I felt eyes on my back as I walked through the Prime Minister's office while wearing a T-shirt with KGB written on the back.

I suspect the end is near. I am writing this in code. If it is ever cracked, tell both my wives I love them.

To Olga, my Muscovite chickadee, you will find rubles inside a sack in the bird feeder in the back yard. You know, like Tony hid his money in The Sopranos. Those Americans! You've got to love them, as Putin once said to me at a refresher course in subterfuge and tampering.

To Lydia, my shining Karori cuckoo, you will find some birdseed in the drawer in the kitchen beneath the cutlery drawer. You know, the drawer with the insurance papers and the instruction manual for the Bestway rectangular kit-set pool. That reminds me, it might be a good idea to drain it over Easter. The clocks go back with daylight saving on Saturday, and it's getting too cold for the kids to swim. Besides, there's no sense in using up power for the pump. Money will be a bit tight from now on. Anyway, don't forget to feed the birds.

"Dmitri"

"Don't forget to close the door on your way out," said Jacinda Ardern as Winston Peters left her office today, but he's getting old and a bit hard of hearing, and he left it open.

I looked in and saw "Olga". The light struck her metallic all-over design, and gave her an earthy, grainy look. The effect was like no other. The desire to hold her in my arms was too strong and I got up and walked into the Prime Minister's office and embraced her as Winston Peters walked back in.

"Always forgetting something," he said. He picked up his phone off the desk. "By the way, the carpet in the corridor is looking a bit threadbare."

"Is it?", said Ardern. "I hadn't noticed."