In order not to disturb us the maids went into the bedroom from the corridor. Discreetly they closed the bedroom door and I could hear them as they dashed about changing the bed linen and the bath towels and whatever else room maids do.

'I guess the maids were hoping we'd go out to dinner, so they could fix things without you knowing they'd got things wrong,' I said.

When they had finished they went away without disturbing us again. 'Have they gone?' Gloria asked, and without waiting for a reply she went to the connecting door to listen for them talking. Failing to hear any conversation, she looked at me and shrugged.

'Finish your strudel,' I said.

'I don't want any more.'

'Finish my champagne then.'

She tried the handle of the door as if about to burst in on them, but decided against it and came back to the sofa and sipped her champagne. 'When I was with the bigwigs of the monitoring service today . . . They guessed what I'd come for. They brought along boxes of signals. They wanted to show me some intercepts from the peripheral monitoring, that Bret is determined to close down. They wanted to prove it brings in some worthwhile material.'

'Yes, they would,' I said and waited for the rest of it.

'Some of the signals, dated over the last three weeks, concerned Berlin-Warsaw routine radio traffic. There is an important package going to the Stasi desk in Warsaw on the Berlin-Warsaw express train. No date as yet. Preparations are well advanced and look elaborate. Half of the signals are in codes we still can't break, but I think I know what it was all about.'

'Let's have it.'

'I think it must be the body of Tessa Kosinski. Her husband is in Poland, isn't he? Now we know what he's waiting for.'

'Why a body?'

'Because there are so many documents to be delivered with the package. Everything to be signed two or three times. Certified translations of the documents to be prepared for the Polish customs officials. It must be something very unusual. To be put into a separate reserved compartment on the train, with a lock on the door? That was a specified item: the lock on the compartment door. An officer courier? All this for a package? I ask you, Bernard . . .'

'Did you point all this out to your radio wallahs?'

'Why should I? It's not normal procedure to interpret their signals. Translate them, yes.'

I helped myself to a couple of the potato chips she'd abandoned. 'Do you want anything more?' I said. 'Brandy?'

'No. And neither do you,' she said.

'How do you know what I want?'

'I know. Girls know these things.'

'The restaurant downstairs used to be famous for the Klump, ' I said.

'But it's gone downhill lately,' she said soberly, and then laughed, unable to stare at me and keep the sober face. 'What is Klump?' she said, still giggling.

'Potato dumplings, They come in a cabbage stew called Krautklump . . . '

'You're making it up.'

'No. It's true.'

'You beast. You're always trying to make a fool of me.' She laughed. 'And I always fall for it.'

'Do you?'

'I used to.' She put down her glass and got up to go to the connecting door again. This time she opened it. She went inside and from the next room I heard a little gasp and a choked-off shriek. I turned to see her backing out of the bedroom. She turned to me. Her face was white and bloodless and she seemed to have difficulty speaking. 'Bernard,' she said. 'Bernard.'

'What is it?' But by the time I was with her and holding her I could see what it was.

There was someone asleep in her big double bed: a young man as white-faced as she was. His pale lips were half-open to reveal uneven teeth. He was tall. The outline of the bedclothes showed the way his feet were stretched to the very end of the bed. His bare arms were above the bedclothes, arranged like the arms of a dummy; or a corpse.

'It's one of our people,' I said, without letting go of her. 'He went over there a few days ago.'

'He's dead?'

'Yes, he's dead.' I gently broke away from her and went to look at him.

Gloria remained by the door as if nervous of being in the same room with the dead man. 'One of your Berlin people?'

'Yes.'

'Did you send him?'

'What difference does it make?'

'What shall we do now? Shall I phone London and tell Bret? I have contact numbers — his car and his mobile phone.'

'Berlin is my territory.'

'Why don't you go? Leave it to me? There's no need for you to be involved.'

I looked at her. She was as seared as hell. I never loved her more than I did that moment. 'Thanks Gloria, I appreciate your offer,' I said. 'But it's better if I do it.'

'What can I do?'

'Pour me a drink while I use the phone.'

If this had happened while Frank was in town, he would have started off by making a few calls to his highly placed chums. Frank's influence in Berlin, his ability to get things done by everyone from top German officials to British army brass, was due more to his energetic social life than to the authority Whitehall granted to him. I didn't have even a fraction of those top-level contacts. My friends and acquaintances functioned at a much lower level. That was why I doubted my ability to take over from Frank and run Berlin in a way that Whitehall would approve. Over the years he had managed to suppress scandals, cover up disasters and smooth over all those happenings that had in the past got other Rezidents into deep trouble.

But Frank wasn't in town. I was in charge. So I did the next best thing to summoning Frank, I telephoned Lida.

'We have a "worst case" on Robin,' I told her. 'No need to look any further. Do you follow? A worst case and it is here at the Kronprinz Apartments in Wilmersdorfer Strasse. Third floor. I am in the one booked for Mr. Rensselaer.'

'Ja, Herr Samson,' she said with reassuring calm.

'First we need the army. Bomb-squad technicians acquainted and equipped for anti-personnel. Have we got a reliable contact at this hotel?'

'Better if we go through the German authorities, Herr Samson.'

'Whatever you say, Lida.'

'Better the army remove everything also,' said Lida. 'The Military Police and the Medical Corps . . . But we should have a Berlin police officer at the door to answer questions . . .' Her voice trailed away but I knew her mind was racing on.

'Good, Lida,' I said. 'I'll wait here until you phone back or come here. Tell the Night Duty Officer that we have a "number one alert.". No need to tell London yet.'

'I'll go to the office. There are things I can only do from there, Herr Samson. Then I will come immediately to you.'

'Thanks, Lida. And I think we should get Miss Kent back to London. Will you ask the RAF if they have anything tonight? Ask them to hold if necessary. Don't say it's top priority unless you need to.'

'Yes, Herr Samson.'

I hung up.

'What will they do?' Gloria asked.

'They will pretend that it's a British soldier who suffered a heart attack. Some smart-ass will spread the word that it happened in bed with a girl, and that will be the end of it.'

'Was that Frank's secretary?'

'Yes, Lida. I don't know where Frank found her but she's worth her weight in gold.'

Gloria went and looked at the kid again. I didn't stop her. If they'd put Semtex charges under the body they would be tremblers, not timed charges.

'They did it for you,' said Gloria, and when I didn't reply added, 'They brought the body up here so that you would find it.'

'The room was booked in the name of Bret Rensselaer,' I reminded her. 'The body was put there as a warning to Bret.'

'You can't fool me, Bernard. You don't want me to worry but they did it to get at you.'

'No.'