'What do you mean?'

'Security from who?' I said. 'Or, as you might put it, from whom? What do you think is secure about meeting in that office of yours, with all those Oxford graduates staring at us with wide eyes and open mouths? You think I've forgotten the way I had a procession of chinless crustaceans coming in and out of your office the last time I was over there? Each one staring at me to see if people from SIS wore their six-shooters on the hip or in shoulder harness.'

'You imagine things,' said Trent.

'I do,' I said. That's what I'm paid to do: imagine things. And I don't need to spend a lot of tune imagining what could happen to you if things went sour with Chlestakov. You might be a world authority on making instant coffee but you'll be safer if you leave the security arrangements to me.'

'Don't give me that security lecture all over again,' he said. 'I don't want a twenty-four-hour guard on my home or special locks on the doors and windows.'

Then you're a bloody fool.' I said. We were both standing by the wooden table as we talked. There were only hard little wooden chairs in the room; it was more restful to stand up.

'Chlestakov didn't turn up,' said Trent. He was looking out the window, watching a young woman with a baby in her arms. She was stopping people as they walked past. Most of them walked on with tight embarrassed expressions on their faces. 'She's begging,' said Trent. 'I thought those days had gone for ever.'

'You spend too much time in Mayfair,' I said. 'So who came?'

'And no one gives her anything. Do you see that?'

'So who came?'

'To the meeting at Waterloo station? No one came.'

'They always send someone,' I said. 'And keep well back from the window. Why do you think we put net curtains up?'

'No one arrived. I did it exactly by the book. I arrived under the big four-faced clock at seven minutes past the hour. And then went back two hours later. Still no one. Then I went to the standby rendezvous.'

'Where was that?'

'Selfridge's food department, near the fresh fish counter. I did it exactly as arranged.'

'Moscow Centre like to stick to the tried and true methods,' I said. 'We arrested one of their people under that damned clock back in 1975.' I went to the window where he stood and watched the woman begging. A man wearing a dark raincoat and grey felt hat was reaching into his inside pocket.

'She's had luck at last,' said Trent. 'I wondered why she didn't stand outside Barclays Bank, but I suppose a betting shop is better.'

'Can't you spot a plainclothes cop when you see one?' I said. To beg or gather alms in a public place is an offence under the Vagrancy Act of 1824, and by having the baby with her she can be charged under the Children and Young Persons Act too.'

'The bastard,' said Trent.

'The plainclothes cop is there because this is a safe house,' I said. 'He doesn't know that, of course, but he knows that this is Home Office notified premises. The woman doesn't beg regularly or she'd have learned to keep clear of betting shops, because betting shops attract crooks and crooks bring cops.'

'Are you saying the woman is working for the KGB, and they are keeping this SIS safe house under observation?'

I didn't answer his question. They must have thought you were being followed, Trent. That's the only explanation for Chlestakov failing to show up. The Russians always show up at a rendezvous. Tell me again about the previous meeting.'

'You're right, a police car's arrived and they're putting her into it.' He looked at me and said, 'It went very well. I told Chlestakov that I might be able to get my hands on the Berlin System, and he went crazy at the thought of it. He took me to dinner at some fancy club in Curzon Street and insisted that we order a big meal and very expensive claret. I'm not all that fond of fancy French food, but he obviously wanted to keep me sweet. That's why I can't understand why the Embassy have cut me.'

'Not the Embassy,' I said. 'Just the KGB Section of the Embassy. They have a motive – you can be quite sure that the Russians always have a motive for everything they do.'

'You said they work out of Moscow for everything.'

'Did I? Well, if I said that, I was right. The London Section Chief wouldn't change his underwear until Moscow Centre have approved the kind of soap the laundry use.'

'But why would Moscow tell them to cut me? And if they were going to drop me, why not tell me so?'

'I don't know, Giles old friend.'

'Don't call me Giles old friend in that sarcastic way.'

'You'll have to put up with me calling you Giles old anything in any way I choose for the time being,' I said. 'Because if Moscow Centre have decided to drop you, it might not simply be a matter of them leaving you off the list of people invited along for vodka and caviar, and a film show about the hydroelectric plant at Kuibyshev.'

'No?'

'It might mean they will get rough,' I told him.

He took this suggestion very calmly. 'Would you like to hear what I think?'

'I'd like to hear it very much,' I said. I was being sarcastic but Trent didn't notice.

'I think you had Chlestakov picked up.'

'Picked up? By Special Branch, you mean?'

'Special Branch or your own duty arresting officer. Or perhaps by some agency or department distanced from you.'

'What sort of agency "distanced" from us could I have used to "pick up" Chlestakov?'

'The CIA.'

'You're talking like an eighteen-year-old anti-nuke demonstrator. You know we'd not let the bloody CIA pick up anyone in this country. And you know very well that there are no agencies distanced from us, or undistanced from us, that could take a Russian national into custody.'

'No one ever gets a straight answer from you bullyboys,' said Trent.

'Are you drunk, Trent?' I said, going closer to him.

'Of course not.'

'Christ, it's not even lunchtime.'

'Why the hell shouldn't I have a drink if I fancy one? I'm doing all your dirty work for you, aren't I? Who will get a medal and promotion if we pull the wool over the eyes of old Chlestakov? You will, you and Dicky bloody Cruyer and all that crowd.'

I grabbed him by the lapel and shook him until his head rolled. 'Listen to me, you creep,' I said softly. 'The only dirty work you're doing is clearing up your own shit. If you take another drink before I give you my permission, 'I'll get a custody order and lock you away where you can't put agents' lives at risk.'

'I'm not drunk,' he said. He had in fact sobered up now that I'd shaken his brains back into operation.

'If I lose one agent, I'll kill you, Trent.'

He said nothing; he could see I was serious. 'They're your friends, aren't they,' he said. 'They're your Berlin schoolfriends. Ahhh!'

I shouldn't have hit him at all but it was only a little jab in the belly and it helped him to sober up still more.

I picked up the phone and dialled our Federal emergency number. I recognized the voice at the other end. 'Peter? This is Bernard. I'm in the Coach and Horses.' All our safe houses had pub names. 'And I need someone to get a male drunk home and look after him while he sobers up. And I don't want anyone whose heart can be broken by a sob story.'

I put the phone down and looked at Trent. He was sitting on one of the hard chairs, holding his belly and crying silently.

'You'll be all right,' I told him. 'Save your tears for Chlestakov. If he's no longer any use to them, they'll send him home and give him the sort of job that will encourage the ones still here to work harder.'