'Have you seen your father?'

She laughed. 'I'm not here on holiday, Bernard darling. And, even if I were, I'm not sure that visiting my father would be on the itinerary.'

'So what is all this about?'

'Don't be surly. I had to talk to you and I couldn't phone you without the risk of being recorded on that damned answering machine.' She paused for a moment. I could hear the deep rapid breathing – hyperventilation almost – that was always a sign of her being excited or nervous, or both. 'I don't want the children's lives made miserable, any more than you do.'

'What are you proposing?'

'I'll give you an undertaking to leave the children here in England for a year. It will give them a chance to lead normal lives. It's perfectly ghastly to have them going to school in a car with two security men and having armed guards hanging around them day and night. What sort of life is that for a child.'

'For a year?' I said. 'What then?'

'We'll see. But I'll promise nothing beyond a year.'

'And you'd want me to leave them unguarded?'

'The department will call them off before long anyway. You know that as well as I do. And you can't afford to pay for such security.'

'I'd manage.' I stopped at the roundabout until there was a break in the traffic and then moved off. It was tricky driving without the rear-view mirror.

'Yes, you'd arrange some sort of protection using your old friends.' She managed to imbue the word with all her distaste for them. 'I can imagine what the result would be. Your pals sitting around getting drunk, and talking about what they'd do if I tried to get the children away from you.'

'And you want nothing in return?'

'I'd certainly expect you drop this absurd business with poor old Erich Stinnes.'

'What has Stinnes got to do with us?'

'He's my senior assistant. That's what he's got to do with us. You won't tempt Erich with any offers of the good life waiting in the West. He's too committed and too serious for that. But I know you, and I know the department. I know you're likely to kidnap him if all else fails.'

'And that would look bad for you,' I said. We were coming to the airport tunnel. I wondered if the sudden darkness would give me a chance to disable the nurse before she had a chance to jab me but I decided it wouldn't. Terminal 2?'

'Yes, Terminal 2,' said Fiona. 'If you persist with this pursuit of Erich Stinnes, I will consider any undertaking about the children null and void. Be reasonable, Bernard. I'm trying to do what's best for Billy and Sally. How do you think I feel about the prospect of not seeing them? I'm trying to prove my goodwill to you. I'm asking nothing in return except that you don't kidnap my senior assistant. Is that asking too much?'

'It won't be my decision, Fiona.'

'I realize that. But you have influence. If you really want them to drop it, they'll drop it. Don't make Erich a part of your personal vendetta against me.'

'I have no vendetta against you,' I said.

'I did what I knew I had to do,' she said. It was the nearest I'd ever heard her get to apologizing.

'You're running the KGB office over there now, are you?'

I could hear the amusement in her voice. 'I'm giving it a completely new organization. It's so old-fashioned, darling. But I'll soon have it in shape. Aren't you going to wish me good luck?'

I didn't answer. At least she hadn't asked me to join her. Even Fiona knew better than that. And yet it was not like her not to try. Was it because she knew there was no chance of suborning me, or because she had other plans – such as kidnapping or even removing me permanently?

'Stop behind this taxi,' said the nurse. It was the first time she'd spoken since Fiona got into the car. I stopped.

'Erich Stinnes will not defect voluntarily,' said Fiona. 'Tell your people that.'

'I've told them that already,' I said.

'Then we won't quarrel. Goodbye, darling. Best not tell the children you've seen me. It will only upset them. And don't report our meeting to anyone at London Central.'

'Or what?'

'Or I won't contact you again, will I? Use your brains, darling.'

'Goodbye, Fiona.' I still could hardly believe what had happened – I suppose she counted on the surprise – and by the time I'd said goodbye the door had opened. It slammed loudly and she was gone. I remembered how she'd broken the hinge on the old Ford by always slamming the door too hard.

'Keep your eyes this way,' said the nurse. 'It's not all over yet.' I saw her look at her watch. She had it pinned to the bib of her apron the way all nurses do.

'What is it?' I said. 'The Aeroflot flight to Moscow or the Polish Airlines flight to Warsaw? That transits in East Berlin, doesn't it?'

'We'll return on the A4,' she said, 'not the motorway, in case you got some brilliant idea about doing something very brave on the way back.'

'I haven't had a brilliant idea for a long time,' I said. 'And you can ask anyone about that.'

Bret Rensselaer sent for me that morning. I wasn't there. He sent for me again and continued to send for me until finally I arrived back from my detour to the airport. Bret was in his usual office on the top floor. It was elegantly furnished – grey carpet, glass-and-chrome desk, and black leather Chesterfield – in a monochrome scheme that so well suited Bret's hand-ground carbon steel personality.

Bret was a hungry-looking American in his mid-fifties, with fair hair that was turning white, and a smile that could slice diamonds. Rumours said that he had applied for British citizenship to clear the way for the knighthood he'd set his heart on. Certainly he had never had to pine for the material things of life. His family had owned a couple of small banks which had been absorbed into a bigger banking complex, and that into another, so that now Bret's shares were worth more money than he needed for his very British understated lifestyle.

'Sit down, Bernard.' He always put the accent on the second syllable of my name. Had it not been for that, and the talc he used on his chin and the ever-present fraternity ring, I think I might sometimes have overlooked his American nationality, for his accent was minimal and his suits were Savile Row. 'You're late,' he said. 'Damned late.'

'Yes, I am,' I said.

'Do I rate an explanation?'

'I was having this wonderful dream, Bret. I dreamed I was working for this nice man who couldn't tell the time.'

Bret was reading something on his desk and gave no sign of having heard me. He was wearing a starched white Turnbull and Asser shirt with exaggerated cuffs, monogrammed pocket and gold links. He wore a waistcoat that was unbuttoned and a grey silk bow-tie. His jacket was hung on a chair that seemed to be there only so that Bret would have somewhere to hang his jacket. Finally he looked up from the very important paper he was reading and said, 'You probably heard that I'm taking a little of the load off Dicky Cruyer's shoulders for the time being.'

'I've been away,' I said.

'Sure you have,' he said. He smiled and took off his reading glasses to look at me and then put them on again. They were large, with speed-cop-style frames, and made him look younger than his fifty-five years. 'Sure you have.' So Bret had staked a claim to a chunk of Dicky's desk. I couldn't wait to see how Dicky was taking that. Bret said, 'I just took on this extra work while Dicky went to Mexico. Just because I'm senior to Dicky, that doesn't mean he's not in charge of the desk. Okay?'

'Okay,' I said. It was pure poetry. Just in case anyone thought Bret was assisting Dicky he was going to precede everything he did by pointing out that he was senior to Dicky. But that was only because he wanted everyone to know that he wasn't after Dicky's job. Who could have thought of anything as Byzantine as that except helpful unassuming old Bret Rensselaer.