“I think maybe fifteen or twenty minutes.”

“We could make it, then.” There was a knock at the door and Burlaka appeared. “Could someone explain what the hell is going on?”

Kokonin came out of the bathroom. “I’m okay now.”

Ivanov said to Burlaka, “Get your raincoats and meet me at the elevator.” They went out obediently. He pulled Olga over. “I suppose we’ll always have the linen room to remember.” He kissed her, then went into his bedroom and found his coat and old slouch hat. She followed him, and he said, “We’ll leave everything in our rooms. The Embassy will see to them, and if I were you, I’d keep my mouth shut.”

She followed him out into the corridor. “You don’t have to tell me. Do you really think you can get him back?”

“I’m not sure, but if we can get close enough to kill the bastard, that would be just as good.”

He turned and ran to the elevator, where Kokonin was holding the door, and it closed on him. Olga stood there, thinking about him. A nice boy and she’d liked him, but so what? Life could be cruel sometimes, but the last thing she needed was any kind of trouble with Russian intelligence. She turned and went into the linen cupboard and got on with her work.

KURBSKY FOUND THEM waiting outside the gate, the sight of Monica like an old friend. She came toward him, glowing, hands reaching out. “Alex, this is wonderful.” She kissed him on both cheeks and hugged him fiercely. “Are you all right?”

“Never better. Introduce me to your friends.”

Which she did. Dillon said, “We have plenty of time, forty minutes. Let’s have you straight on board and we’ll get you a drink. I think you’ve earned it. Was it difficult?”

“Not at all. Astonishingly simple.”

They walked along the platform, station noises echoing, people’s voices sounding strangely distorted, a whistle in the distance, a train across the platform starting up and moving forward.

“Everybody seems to be going somewhere,” Kurbsky said.

“Well, you certainly are. Just follow me.” She got in the coach, and he went after her.

Billy paused as Dillon made a call on his mobile, which Roper received in Holland Park. “Our package has arrived safely. Just under half an hour or so, and we’ll be off.”

“Did he kill anybody?” Roper asked.

“Not that he mentioned.”

IVANOV HAD PROMISED the taxi driver double fare, which worked in spite of the night and rain. They reached Gare du Nord with fifteen minutes to spare, and Ivanov led the way to the nearest ticket window and slapped his credit card down.

“The train is quite full, gentlemen,” the young woman said. “All first class has gone.”

“That’s okay,” Ivanov told her. “Anything will do.”

“I can manage three club car seats, so you can at least have refreshments, but you’ll have to sit up for the night.”

Within five minutes, they were passing through the gate and starting along the platform. Ivanov pulled his black hat down over his eyes. “You two keep to the other side of the platform, I’ll scan the windows of the train. I’ll join you farther along.”

It was actually easier than he thought it would be. The three first-class coaches were at the front behind the engine, with a fourth that was a bar and restaurant. Walking past, his head slightly averted, Ivanov found Kurbsky sitting opposite a good-looking woman, two men on the other side of them at a bar table. It was enough. He hurried back along the platform to Kokonin and Burlaka at the rear of the train.

“He’s there, sitting with a woman and two men in the bar in first class. We’ll board, find our seats, and think this thing out.”

OVER THE CHAMPAGNE, Kurbsky went over the events of the evening with the others. He even found the Legion of Honor in its box and offered it to Monica for a look.

“A remarkable souvenir of today,” she said. “What was it like, the award ceremony?”

“Crowded and noisy and bizarre. A very old white-haired nuclear physicist sitting next to me asked me what I did, and when I told him, he said he’d never heard of me, which brought me down to earth considerably. So much so that I found myself asking what in the hell was I doing there.”

“What about the Ritz?” Dillon asked. “You said it was astonishingly simple.”

“Well, I didn’t have to kill anyone. I had young Kokonin sitting on guard. I knocked him cold, an old unarmed combat trick, grabbed my coat, and quite simply ran for it. I was being handed into a taxi by the doorman about four minutes later.” He smiled. “The rest you know.”

The train was moving, gliding along, picking up a little speed as it left the station, a melancholy whistle echoing into the gloom.

“I love trains, especially at night,” Kurbsky said. “I once did the Trans-Siberian all the way to Vladivostok. An amazing experience. I got some interesting poetry out of it.”

“I didn’t know you wrote poetry,” Monica said.

“Bad poetry, I think, so I don’t advertise it.” As if to prevent any further discussion of the matter, he said, “I’d like to freshen up. Can we return to the compartment?”

“Of course,” Monica said. “It has a pull-down basin to wash your face or shave, but no toilet. Those are at each end of the corridor.”

“I’m sure we’ll get by.”

Dillon and Billy went first, Monica next, and Kurbsky followed, and Ivanov and his friends watched through the glass door at the other end. “Back to our seats now,” Ivanov said, and led the way to the club car at the rear of the train.

They had the end table, four chairs grouped around it, but the fourth was vacant. When the steward came with a drinks cart, they ordered half a bottle of vodka and ice. Ivanov heavily overtipped the man.

“We prefer privacy, my friends and I.”

“I take your point, Monsieur.” The steward produced a “Reserved” notice, smiled, and moved on with his cart.

“What are we going to do?” Kokonin demanded.

“Let’s assess the situation. We’ve no idea who these three people with Kurbsky are,” Ivanov said. “But they don’t know who we are. Only Kurbsky does.”

Kokonin said, “I don’t see how we could do anything much on the train anyway. As long as Kurbsky stays up there in first class and we stay down here, we’ll get by. We’re armed, all three of us. That’s in our favor. We can wait until they get off.”

Ivanov held up a timetable. “I’ve found this in the seat pocket. The train doesn’t go nonstop to Brest, it drops off at several places. Rennes, for example. They could get off anywhere.”

“Exactly, and maybe we wait for that,” Ivanov said. “But I’m going to speak to Colonel Luzhkov and discuss it with him. He gave me his mobile number. I’ll go in the toilet so no one can hear.”

Which he did, going to the one at the end of the coach and locking himself in.

IN LONDON, Luzhkov was in his quarters in Kensington Palace Gardens, preparing for bed, when he received the call. He listened intently as Ivanov explained the situation.

“It pains me to say this,” Ivanov said, “but Kurbsky seems to have defected. He knocked Kokonin unconscious and fled the hotel. It was only by chance that the chambermaid servicing our rooms saw him getting into a taxi as she came on shift, and heard his destination. That led us to the midnight express to Brest. We’re on the train now, and Kurbsky’s in first class drinking with a woman and two men. He doesn’t look like a prisoner.” Which Luzhkov could have confirmed, since he knew who the woman and the two men were.

There was no way he could pull Ivanov’s coals out of the fire. He and his friends should have been left high and dry at the Ritz while Kurbsky disappeared into the night. The British, of course, would expect Russian security to try to recover him, and they would take appropriate action. Knowing Dillon and Billy Salter as he did, Luzhkov knew the reckoning would be harsh.