'I'm just saying there's reason for caution,' Crippssaid. 'If we finally choose to take him on board theRussians are going to be very distressed. We have to besure the deal's worth the bad weather that comes withit. Things are so dicey at the moment.'

'When aren't they?' Ballard replied. 'Tell me a timewhen there wasn't some crisis in the offing?' He settledback in the chair and tried to read Cripps' face. His glasseye was, if anything, more candid than the real one.

'I'm sick of this damn game,' Ballard muttered.

The glass eye roved. 'Because of the Russian?'

'Maybe.'

'Believe me,' said Cripps, 'I've got good reason to becareful with this man.'

'Name one.'

'There's nothing verified.'

'What have you got on him?' Ballard insisted.

'As I say, rumour,' Cripps replied.

'Why wasn't I briefed about it?'

Cripps made a tiny shake of his head. 'It's academicnow,' he said. 'You've provided a good report. I justwant you to understand that if things don't go the wayyou think they should it's not because your appraisalsaren't trusted.'

'I see.'

'No you don't,' said Cripps. 'You're feeling martyred;and I don't altogether blame you.'

'So what happens now? I'm supposed to forget I evermet the man?'

'Wouldn't do any harm,' said Cripps. 'Out of sight,out of mind.'Clearly Cripps didn't trust Ballard to take his ownadvice. Though Ballard made several discreet enquiriesabout the Mironenko case in the following week it wasplain that his usual circle of contacts had been warnedto keep their lips sealed.

As it was, the next news about the case reachedBallard via the pages of the morning papers, in anarticle about a body found in a house near the stationon Kaiser Damm. At the time of reading he had no wayof knowing how the account tied up with Mironenko,but there was enough detail in the story to arouse hisinterest. For one, he had the suspicion that the housenamed in the article had been used by the Service onoccasion; for another, the article described how twounidentified men had almost been caught in the actof removing the body, further suggesting that this wasno crime of passion.

About noon, he went to see Cripps at his offices in thehope of coaxing him with some explanation, but Crippswas not available, nor would be, his secretary explained,until further notice; matters arising had taken him backto Munich. Ballard left a message that he wished tospeak with him when he returned.

As he stepped into the cold air again, he realisedthat he'd gained an admirer; a thin-faced individualwhose hair had retreated from his brow, leaving aludicrous forelock at the high-water mark. Ballardknew him in passing from Cripps' entourage butcouldn't put a name to the face. It was swiftlyprovided.

'Suckling,' the man said.

'Of course,' said Ballard. 'Hello.'

'I think maybe we should talk, if you have a moment,'the man said. His voice was as pinched as his features;Ballard wanted none of his eossip. He was about torefuse the offer when Suckling said: 'I suppose youheard what happened to Cripps.'

Ballard shook his head. Suckling, delighted to possessthis nugget, said again: 'We should talk.'

They walked along the Kantstrasse towards the Zoo.The street was busy with lunchtime pedestrians, butBallard scarcely noticed them. The story that Sucklingunfolded as they walked demanded his full and absoluteattention.

It was simply told. Cripps, it appeared, had madean arrangement to meet with Mironenko in order tomake his own assessment of the Russian's integrity.The house in Schoneberg chosen for the meeting hadbeen used on several previous occasions, and had longbeen considered one of the safest locations in the city. Ithad not proved so the previous evening however. KGBmen had apparently followed Mironenko to the house,and then attempted to break the party up. There wasnobody to testify to what had happened subsequently- both the men who had accompanied Cripps, one ofthem Ballard's old colleague Odell - were dead; Crippshimself was in a coma.

'And Mironenko?' Ballard inquired.

Suckling shrugged. They took him home to theMotherland, presumably,' he said.

Ballard caught a whiff of deceit off the man.

Tm touched that you're keeping me up to date,' hesaid to Suckling. 'But why?

'You and Odell were friends, weren't you?' came thereply. 'With Cripps out of the picture you don't havemany of those left.'

'Is that so?'

'No offence intended,' Suckling said hurriedly. 'Butyou've got a reputation as a maverick.'

'Get to the point,' said Ballard.

'There is no point,' Suckling protested. 'I just thoughtyou ought to know what had happened. I'm putting myneck on the line here.'

'Nice try,' said Ballard. He stopped walking. Sucklingwandered on a pace or two before turning to find Ballardgrinning at him.

'Who sent you?'

'Nobody sent me,' Suckling said.

'Clever to send the court gossip. I almost fell for it.You're very plausible.'

There wasn't enough fat on Suckling's face to hidethe tic in his cheek.

'What do they suspect me of? Do they think I'mconniving with Mironenko, is that it? No, I don't thinkthey're that stupid.'

Suckling shook his head, like a doctor in the presenceof some incurable disease. 'You like making enemies?'he said.

'Occupational hazard. I wouldn't lose any sleep overit. I don't.'

'There's changes in the air,' Suckling said. 'I'd makesure you have your answers ready.'

'Fuck the answers,' Ballard said courteously. 'I thinkit's about time I worked out the right questions.'

Sending Suckling to sound him out smacked of des-peration. They wanted inside information; but aboutwhat? Could they seriously believe he had someinvolvement with Mironenko; or worse, with theRGB itself? He let his resentment subside; it wasstirring up too much mud, and he needed clear waterif he was to find his way free of this confusion. Inone regard, Suckling was perfectly correct: he did haveenemies, and with Cripps indisposed he was vulnerable.In such circumstances there were two courses of action.He could return to London, and there lie low, or waitaround in Berlin to see what manoeuvre they tried next.He decided on the latter. The charm of hide-and-seekwas rapidly wearing thin.

As he turned North onto Leibnizstrasse he caught thereflection of a grey-coated man in a shop window. It wasa glimpse, no more, but he had the feeling that he knewthe fellow's face. Had they put a watch-dog onto him,he wondered? He turned, and caught the man's eye,holding it. The suspect seemed embarrassed, and lookedaway. A performance perhaps; and then again, perhapsnot. It mattered little, Ballard thought. Let them watchhim all they liked. He was guiltless. If indeed there wassuch a condition this side of insanity.

A strange happiness had found Sergei Mironenko; hap-piness that came without rhyme or reason, and filled hisheart up to overflowing.

Only the previous day circumstances had seemedunendurable. The aching in his hands and head andspine had steadily worsened, and was now accompaniedby an itch so demanding he'd had to snip his nails to theflesh to prevent himself doing serious damage. His body,he had concluded, was in revolt against him. It was thatthought which he had tried to explain to Ballard: that hewas divided from himself, and feared that he would soonbe torn apart. But today the fear had gone.

Not so the pains. They were, if anything, worse thanthey'd been yesterday. His sinews and ligaments achedas if they'd been exercised beyond the limits of theirdesign; there were bruises at all his joints, where bloodhad broken its banks beneath the skin. But that senseof imminent rebellion had disappeared, to be replacedwith a dreamy peacefulness. And at its heart, suchhappiness.