"Not you, Caitlin, not for years. Call me when you're ready."

He went out and straight up the aisle, opened the door wide, and started down the path. Peter Ivanov, dressed in a trench coat and trilby, stepped out of a monumental archway and faced him.

Holley stood there looking at him. "So you knew about the church and where it was even when we were in Moscow. You're not supposed to interfere, Ivanov. You'll ruin everything."

"Come with me," Ivanov told him. "We're going to have a little discussion. I wouldn't argue with Sergeant Kerimov here. He doesn't like it, and he's bigger than you."

Holley walked towards the car, where Kerimov, large and lumpen, stood on the other side waiting to get behind the wheel. He looked formidable. "Come on, get in." Ivanov opened the front passenger door. "I'll sit behind you."

Kerimov was smiling when he eased behind the wheel. Holley leaned down as if to sit on the passenger seat, pulled the Colt from his ankle holster, and shot Kerimov through the back of the left hand. He cried out, tried reaching for his gun with his right hand, and Holley rapped him across the head. Kerimov slumped across the wheel.

"Oh, dear, you'll have to get him in the backseat and drive him somewhere. Better not make it an emergency room. They call the police to a gunshot wound. Of course, there's always the medical facility at the Embassy," Holley said.

"God damn you," Ivanov told him.

"Next time, I'll kill you, remember that. Especially if I find you've come back here and interfered with Caitlin Daly."

He walked briskly away and left them to it.

On the way back, he reviewed the situation. He wasn't bothered in the slightest by what he had just done. Ivanov could hardly call in the law. All he could do was haul the wretched Kerimov back to the Embassy's sick bay. Lermov would have to hear about what had happened, of course, but it was obvious that Ivanov had broken the rules they'd all agreed on. What would Lermov make of that? Not very much, Holley concluded. He'd probably tell Ivanov to stop being an ass. Holley had made his point, drawn a line in the sand, and that was that.

He got out at the hotel but didn't go in. There wasn't much he could do right now, waiting on news of the meeting and which way things would swing. He also needed to give Chekhov the addresses and phone numbers of Barry and Flynn so Chekhov could speak to Potanin and get things up and running, but there was the same problem there. Frustrated, he went along to Shepherd's Market to visit Selim.

Sitting in the study, darkness falling outside, a gas fire burning in the Victorian fireplace, Holley fidgeted while waiting for the call. Selim had once again provided champagne, but Holley's was untouched.

"You really should drink up, Daniel," said Selim. "It'll help you relax. What's wrong? Can you tell me?"

"Not in any detail," said Holley. "It's just… I'm on the verge of satisfactory resolution to my job here, but-"

"But someone is interfering?"

"How do you know?" Holley asked.

"Because you always do things on your own. You hate any interference, and I can just bet that whoever you're doing this job for doesn't see it the same way."

"We agreed that we should never meet, that we should only make contact by encrypted mobile, and just now I had some eager young bastard, together with a sergeant the size of a brick wall, try to put me in a car in Kilburn."

"Ah, a sergeant. The military's involved, then. Men in uniform, they need to take charge, give orders."

"Well, not to me." Holley took the glass and drank it down in one gulp.

"So what did you do?"

Holley reached to the ankle holster and took out the Colt.25 and laid it on the brass table. "Shot the Sergeant in the back of the hand as he gripped the wheel and left his captain to struggle back to the Embassy with him."

"Wonderful." Selim smiled. "That's the best thing I've heard in years. You're a lone wolf, Daniel, the most dangerous beast in the forest."

Holley's mobile sounded. It was Caitlin. "Can we talk?"

Holley glanced at Selim, who pointed to the kitchen, picked up the bottle of champagne, and went out.

"I'm with a friend, but you can speak now. How did it go?"

"They went for it completely. And listen to this: we've already had a stroke of luck. It seems that Ferguson's usual car was damaged in a minor accident last week, so it's away for repair. Henry Pool said it's common knowledge amongst the other drivers because Ferguson was very angry."

"So he thinks he can be the replacement car?"

"Absolutely certain. Pool says if he asks for it, he'll get it. The dispatcher is an old pal of his."

"He's not concerned about the hazard?"

"He said it's common to leave passengers in the limousine to run errands for them, get a newspaper or cigarettes or sometimes a bottle. He'll nip out, set off the bomb, and no one will be the wiser."

"And the others are just as enthusiastic?"

"Yes, Docherty is quite happy about handling the Dark Man situation. He lived in Wapping years ago and knows his way round down there."

"And Murray?"

"No problem. He's going to put a suit and tie on, drive up to Cambridge in the morning with the photo, find where Monica Starling lives, and put a face to the name."

"And Cochran?"

"He said that he seemed to have less to do than anyone. If I can't find a way to break into a house inhabited by two spinster ladies, he said, I should be ashamed of myself."

"Excellent. Call Barry and Flynn, too, tell them the good news, and give them the following name: Mikhail Potanin. Have you got that?"

"I've written it down."

"He is a very experienced guy in this kind of business, and he'll be in touch with them. They have nothing to fear. He'll help in any way he can. This Friday in New York is definitely on."

"Yes, I've got all that."

"Get on to them right now. And… thanks, Caitlin."

He called Chekhov next. It sounded like there was a party going on in the Park Lane apartment: music, female laughter.

"It's me," Holley told him. "What's going on over there?"

"Daniel, old son. Just a few friends."

"Are you drunk?"

"Never that, Daniel. You insult me as a Russian."

"We need to talk."

"And we shall. I'll go into my study, close the door, and silence the chattering of fools." There was a movement, a certain banging, and the noise died. "How can I help?"

"Everything's dropped into place. Caitlin and her cell will swing into action here on Friday. As we speak, she's confirming with Barry and Flynn that it's on for Friday. I'll give you their phone numbers."

Chekhov said, "If I press a button, I'm recording this, so just tell me."

Holley did. "I'm dropping this in Potanin's lap to watch over them, make sure they're up to it-and, if necessary, clean up any messes."

"Don't worry, Daniel, he's done this kind of thing many times before," Chekhov said.

"I gathered that, but make sure he realizes it's serious business. I hear you had Ivanov on your case?"

"He gave me a call, I asked him if he'd spoken to you, and he said not yet. I get the impression he doesn't exactly trust you."

"And I don't trust him. He called me, demanding that I fill him in on everything. I gave him short shrift. I had a package to deliver to Caitlin Daly."

"And don't tell me: he followed you?"

"He didn't need to. He just popped up. But he wasn't supposed to approach her or me in any way-that was the plan. He turned up in the graveyard at the church with some thug called Kerimov in tow. Tried to force me into his car."

"Oh, dear, tell me what happened."

"I shot him in the hand, not Ivanov, the large peasant. I left them there to sort it out, went along to the main road, and hailed a cab."