Three knocks and the bell rang and I checked the one-way viewer and opened the door.

'Comfortable?' Legge asked me and dropped two attache cases onto the bed. 'The door's metal, as I'm sure you noticed. The windows are bullet-proof and there's a direct line to the hotel security switchboard – the white phone over there.' He clicked the locks of an attache case and opened it. 'These rooms are updated versions of the royal suite, fitted out for mafiya guests who like privacy; most of the big hotels have come into line and of course there's no charge: they get automatic protection by the syndicates.' He began taking things out of the case.

'I want round-the-clock surveillance,' I said, 'on those two windows from the street, and people in the corridor, one at each end.' As a substitute for the rusting fire escape.

'No problem – I assumed you'd want that done.' Legge turned suddenly to swing a look at me, his eyes not quite level because of the plastic surgery to the left frontal area of the skull. He dropped two folders and a bank card onto the bed. 'Dossier on Vasyl Sakkas, general information on the Moscow organizatsiya with names and modes of operation, Barclay gold card. Did Mr Croder tell you what funds you've got at your disposal?'

'Yes.'

'Okay.' He took out ten bundles of bank-notes and dropped them onto the bed. 'This is for ready cash, US $100,000. I'll leave you to find a place for it wherever you want.' He slid the locks of the other case and opened it and took out three guns. 'Heckler and Koch P7, 9mm, squeeze-cocking, gas-retarded slide-locking system for better control. This one's a compact SIG P228 9mm with a magazine capacity of thirteen rounds, weight twenty-nine ounces, but it's got a lot of punch. And this one's a Smith and Wesson high-capacity DA auto 12-shot -'

'I don't use guns,' I said. I hadn't interrupted him before because I'd been watching the two windows, looking for movement behind the windows opposite across the street. This place was so very exposed.

Legge swung round to look at me again.

'I heard that, yes. But 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 -'

'I'll take care of that when it happens. Who uses that building across there?'

Legge let out a short breath and dropped the guns back into the case. 'With respect,' he said, an edge to his tone, 'my knowledge of this town is more informed than yours at this stage of the game, simply because I've been here close on ten years. I've also studied the mafiya here since they moved in. You want to take on these people without a gun, you'll be walking through a snake-pit without even a stick.' He turned his eyes on me and they were hard. 'As the chief of your support group, I'd like you to reconsider.'

I looked away from the windows across there. 'If anything goes wrong it won't be your fault. You've warned me. Now tell me about that building.'

Legge didn't look at the windows, looked down, fitting the guns back into their baize-lined case. 'It's an RAOC headquarters.' Regional Administration – Croder had spelled it out for me in the church – for fighting Organized Crime. 'I wouldn't,' Legge said over his shoulder, 'have picked a room for you overlooking a building where anyone could put you in the cross-hairs, bullet-proof glass or no.'

Got his back up, the executive in from London turning down his toys, the Heckler and Koch and the SIG and the Smith and Wesson, but I always have trouble going through Clearance when I refuse to draw weapons. What people don't realize is that your hands are always available – you don't have to reach for them in a hurry and they don't jam.

'You've seen a lot of service,' I told Legge. 'You're a survivor, like me.'

'Sure. That's because my own preference is the Austrian Glock 19, fires fifteen rounds, and since I arrived in this town I've put six notches on it.' He snapped the locks of the attache case and swung it off the bed and put it carefully by the door, coming back and pulling a coloured brochure out of the other case and handing it to me, no eye contact. 'For transport I've picked you a Mercedes S420, the flagship of the line, luxury sedan V-8, 275 horse-power, a bit on the heavy side so it takes eight seconds to hit sixty from a standing start, but there are things you'll need here in winter time – you can adjust the traction-control system to give you some wheelspin so the chains can bite through the snow, for one thing. The headlights have got their own heated washer jets and wipers, which'll give you good visibility even in a blizzard, and the outside rearview mirrors fold back at the touch of a button so they won't snap off if you run things close. The headrests also drop on demand to give you a clear view behind. I tried out six cars and this one came up the best: it's got a hundred-thousand-dollar black market price on it, which in terms of your mafiyosa image is the least a successful capo would want to pay, plus it's got storm windows and all the other stuff.' With a shrug: 'You want something different, there's more brochures here, but in the meantime this one's in the hotel garage under support surveillance with the engine kept warm every hour on the hour, and it's got chains on. And by the way – you won't like this – I put an AK-47 assault rifle in the trunk with two boxes of ammunition.' He got out a small black velvet bag with a drawstring and handed it to me. 'These are direct from Antwerp.'

Three diamonds the size of grapes, all faceted, dazzling under the lamp on the bureau where I took them to have a better look.

'Worth?'

'For all three the current dealer price is half a million pounds sterling – they're 24-carat. London would like them back if you don't use them to trade anything.'

Such as my life. 'Your idea?'

'Mr Croder's.'

I put the diamonds back into the velvet bag, the bag into my pocket.

'Micro recorder,' Legge said, and put a matt-black Sanyo compact on the bed, 'if you need one. Set of tapes.' He shut the case and snapped the locks shut. 'The cleaning staff will come only when you request it by calling Housekeeping. I would advise being here all the time they are, even though they've been carefully screened by the hotel security. People can make mistakes. Don't tip them. Have you got any questions?'

'Safe house?'

'We've got three lined up for you to look at. Addresses and keys are with the Sakkas dossier and the other stuff on the bed. As soon as you've chosen the one you want, let me know. Our contact numbers are there too and I'll be at the base most of the time and you can get me on the beeper if I'm away. My second in command is Zykov, Russian-born, naturalized Englishman, thrown out of the SAS because he wouldn't always obey orders, but I like his creative approach.' He looked at me steadily now and the resentment over the weapons thing had at last gone from his eyes. It had taken its time, and I noted that: the chief of any support group in the field is strictly subordinate to the executive at all times, not as a matter of military-style protocol but as a matter of life and death.

He was waiting for more questions but for the moment I kept them to myself; I was only a few hours in the field and I hadn't yet been briefed by my DIF and I needed time to orientate, mentally and physically.

'I think that's it,' I said.

'Okay.' Legge swung away with that trapped energy of his and turned at the door. 'I've got fourteen men, active. Four of them are going to cover the passage outside in two shifts, four more will be on surveillance in the street. That leaves you with only six bodyguards, and if you need more than that I can call some sleepers in from -'

'No bodyguards.'