'We'll get better acquainted,' I said, 'as we go along. Now listen carefully. There are exactly four thousand black pelts of premium quality. Some of them are attractively flecked with silver but none of them have white underparts. They were tanned by top professionals who've been working all their lives in the region where the sable were hunted. The pelts are in hermetically sealed containers here in Moscow. If I had time to take them to London or Paris my asking price would be one million dollars. But I haven't got time, so I'm ready to unload them here, since I don't normally deal in sable. My price to you would be five hundred thousand. I hope you're beginning to see that I came here to offer you a deal you can hardly refuse. All you have to do is get those pelts shipped to London or Paris yourself.'

He'd looked down, just once, to mask his eyes, and I knew he was interested, knew I'd got him. This wasn't surprising: with a deal like this he could pocket half a million dollars for the thirty minutes of his time I'd so far taken up.

When he looked at me again there was no stare: the eyes had intelligence in them, attentiveness. 'You say you don't normally deal in sable.'

'No.'

'What do you normally deal in?'

'Diamonds.'

Vishinsky shifted on his chair. 'Did you come here tonight with your bodyguards?'

'I haven't got any.'

Head on one side. 'You say you're in the brotherhood, but you don't use bodyguards and you don't carry a gun but you deal in diamonds. You see how difficult I'm finding it to fit you into the picture.'

I remembered Legge: 'There's something you've got to understand. If you're going to be infiltrating the mafiya they'll expect you to dress correctly, I mean you get into a bad situation and they frisk you and there's no gun, it's going to look ' and I'd interrupted him, told him I'd take care when it happened. But he'd been perfectly right to warn me – Vishinsky was taking me up on it, though it didn't change anything. If I'd worn a gun here tonight, what earthly good would it have been?

'You don't really need,' I told Vishinsky, 'to fit me into any picture. You want those pelts? I'll sell them to you.'

'How did you get possession of them?'

'Somebody owed me. He gave me the source.'

'What did he owe you?'

'I saved one of his sons from getting shot.'

Fingers drumming on the table: 'You say you normally deal in diamonds. What sort?'

The two closest bodyguards moved as I put a hand into my pocket and went to the table, but Vishinsky stopped any action with a jerk of his head.

'Like these,' I said, and rolled the three blue diamonds out of their bag. Under the green-shaded overhead lamps they burned with a brilliant fire. In a moment Vishinsky picked one up to look at it, and the three other men leaned forward, dazzled.

'Where did you get these?' Vishinsky asked. I could see the reflection of the stones in his eyes.

'They're from the Jagersfontein mines in South Africa and I got them raw in Antwerp and brought them here for cutting.'

'What are they worth?'

'Two million pounds sterling.'

'You bought them in Antwerp?'

'Yes.'

'At a dealer's price?'

'At that particular dealer's price to me – a discount of fifty per cent. I sell him stones from Siberia, and he does very well. These'll be going to Rome.' I leaned forward, picking up two of the diamonds, and in a moment Vishinsky gave me the third, looking up at me with a new expression, not quite of respect, but attention.

'Why are you carrying them on you tonight?'

'Because there's nowhere safer.'

'You're extraordinarily confident.'

'It's just that I know my way around.'

'Even onthe streets of Moscow?'

'Especially on the streets of Moscow.'

He dismissed this with a shrug, then for a full minute there was totalsilence in the room as he looked away from me and down at the cards on the table as he immersed himself in thought. The cigar smoke drifted upward to the lamps, swirling as it met the heat. At last he looked up and said, 'I'll have someone inspect the merchandise. Where should he go?'

'By tomorrow night it'll be at the base of the crane on the Simonovskaya dock at Wharf thirty-nine. I'll be there at ten o'clock.'

Vishinsky looked at one of the men at the table. 'Viktor?'

'Sure, patron. No problem.'

I looked at him, scanning his face and noting the broken nose, the heavy black eyebrows, the stubble. The hair wasn't important: tomorrow night he'd be wearing his fur hat.

'This is Viktor Stroykin,' Vishinsky said. 'He is my chief lieutenant.' The man looked up at me, his eyes indifferent, and we nodded.

'I'll be alone,' I told him. 'And so will you.'

In a moment he glanced across at Vishinsky, who looked at me.

'Unlike yourself,' Vishinsky said, 'we use bodyguards.'

'All the same, I want him to go there alone.'

'Why?' The dead stare was back.

'I prefer it like that.'

'You prefer it.'

'That's right.'

Silence again.

'I too have my preferences, Berinov. There will be four bodyguards accompanying my lieutenant tomorrow night.'

'In that case,' I said, 'the deal is off.' I turned to the door, and one of the guards closed in on me, presumably in case Vishinsky didn't want me to leave.

'Berinov.'

I turned back.

'You're being very difficult.'

'I'm sorry you think so.'

'And rather suspect. Why do you want my lieutenant to go to the rendezvous alone?'

'Because we'll need to be discreet, and I don't want an army of minions hanging around. Take it or leave it, deal or no deal, your choice.'

We locked eyes, and the silence became absolute, gathering tension until one of the men at the table felt the need to cough, but stifled it. Vishinsky went on waiting for me to break, and it took a long time for him to understand that I wasn't going to. Finally he turned to Stroykin.

'No bodyguards. Is that understood?'

The night air was sharp after the warmth of the Baccarat Club, and the caked snow was brittle underfoot as I walked to the Mercedes. The nearest place I'd found to park was half a block away, but if there'd been anywhere closer I wouldn't have used it. Half a block was the right distance. I took the alley again; its walls were lit faintly by a shred of moonlit cloud drifting across the rooftops.

A group of teenagers straggled past the far end, singing drunk by the sound of things, a girl giving little squeals of laughter. Then there was some hooting from a pair of expensive horns, and a flood of light swept across the snow and there was the crunch of tyres sliding. I suppose the teenagers had decided to cross the street without looking. After a while there was silence again.

I didn't know yet whether I had any kind of access to the opposition, but I thought I would know in a few minutes from now. Ferris would be at the Hotel Romanov by this time, according to his fax and providing the plane hadn't been delayed, or crashed. It would feel satisfactory, when I met him for the initial briefing, if I could tell him we had access. Ferris is one of the really brilliant directors in the field and I would choose him – had chosen him last night – above all others, despite my aversion to some of his little ways: there is the rumour, now established in the unwritten archives of the Bureau, that he strangles mice to entertain himself when he's got nothing more interesting to do. He likes, it is said, to see them dance.

The snow, packed into ice along the alley, broke under my feet, and once I staggered, putting a hand out for support, and a cat went flowing along the top of the wall, black in the moonlight. As I kept on going I listened to the echo of my footsteps, and stopped a couple of times to listen instead to the silence, looking back along the alley. I didn't expect anyone to close up on me here: I would have heard them and they would know that.