“I think so.” He walked out into the bathroom and looked at the stranger in the mirror, standing there in drab olive green, the bag hanging at his left side. “You were right about the haunted look.” He took the woolen hat from the bag and pulled it on. “God in heaven, I look worse.”

“Walk slowly, take your time. Speak in a low sort of measured way. You don’t smile because you can’t smile.”

“I get the point. I’m permanently weary.”

“You’ve got it exactly,” Monica said. “I must say you don’t look like you at all. You’ve done a fabulous job, Katya. Let’s go and show the others.”

KATYA AND MONICA found Svetlana in the safe-house apartment where Katya had left her. “What’s happening, my dear?” Svetlana asked.

“General Ferguson and the others are meeting. He’d like us to join them.”

“And what about Alexander?”

“He’ll be there.”

She gave Svetlana her arm and they went out, Monica following. When they went down the corridor, the doors of the viewing theater were open and Kurbsky was standing there in all his glory. He stared at them then, pulled off his woolen hat, and scratched his head.

Svetlana barely looked at him and said, “Where are we going? Where is Alexander?”

“The computer room,” Katya said. They carried on, and Kurbsky called, “No, he isn’t, you made your point. I’m here, Babushka.” They paused and turned. Svetlana gazed at him, puzzled.

“I’m here,” he said again, and opened his arms.

She screamed and cowered against Katya. “What is he saying? Where is Alexander?”

She really was terribly upset, and the others came running from the computer room, Ferguson calling, “What the hell is going on?”

They stopped dead, all staring, and then Roper arrived in his wheelchair. “My God, I’d never have believed it.”

“And neither can she.” Katya hugged her tight. “It is Alexander, my darling. It’s just that I’ve changed him.”

“It’s me, Babushka.” He reached to kiss her on the forehead. “It really is me.”

“Can you change back?”

“Not for the moment.”

She shuddered. “Such a fright. I need a drink. I’ve never been so shocked in my life.”

Ferguson gave her his arm. “Coming right up. We’ll all go to the bar and celebrate.”

“Celebrate what?”

“Well, if you can’t recognize him, it’s doubtful anyone else will.”

SITTING THERE in the corner all together, Katya said, “I’ve got another idea. Could be rather clever. Not far from us in Belsize Park is an old-fashioned corner shop. We buy many things there. When Marek worked for us, he often shopped there.”

“What are you getting at?” Kurbsky asked.

“I think you should turn up there in the morning. You’re trying to find our house, but you’re not sure where it is. You’ll have a letter with you-which I’ll write before we leave. It will be an offer of employment to you saying that Marek recommended you to us. It’ll also say that we are aware of your medical condition and will allow you to come and go according to the requirements of your treatment.”

“I get the point,” Dillon said. “If anyone makes inquiries at the local shop about Duval, they’ll get an acceptable answer.”

“I’ll go and type the letter now-if I may use your office, General?”

Monica said, “So you’ll stay here tonight?”

“Move into Chamber Court tomorrow, that’s the general idea.”

Dillon said, “Take it easy, take time to settle in.”

“I intend to. Look, Sean, I was a paratrooper, then special forces, and a final year with GRU.”

“Military intelligence?” Monica said.

“A license to murder, and just like you, the rules were no rules.”

“I read Moscow Nights,” Dillon put in. “And it occurred to me it wasn’t art imitating life, but probably the other way round.”

“Very astute of you.” Katya returned with an envelope. “Thanks,” he said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He gave Svetlana a hug. “Let Katya take you home, Babushka. You’ll get too tired.”

She kissed him and patted his cheek. “Be a good boy.”

They went, and Dillon said to Monica, “I’ll run you home. You haven’t had a chance to freshen up. We’ll see you again, Alex.”

Monica kissed him on the cheek. “Stay cool,” she said, and went out with Dillon.

The Salters followed, pausing on the way, and Harry said, “Listen, if you want to look in at our pub, the Dark Man, just give us a bell. We’re at Wapping, Cable Wharf.”

Billy cut in, “It would be like testing the water.”

“That’s a thought. I’ll see.”

They went, and he looked in at the computer room, where Ferguson and Roper were talking. Ferguson said, “I’ve got to go, I’ve got a meeting at the Ministry of Defence. Roper’s in charge now. He’s your control officer. Anything you need, he’ll supply. Take tomorrow as it comes and we’ll talk again.”

Suddenly, it was quiet, just he and Roper, a quiet buzz to things. Roper poured a whiskey. “I drink a lot. The bomb that didn’t succeed in killing me left a great many of its fragments in my system. They hurt, sometimes intolerably. The cigarettes help, and so does whiskey in large quantities. No wild, wild women, though.”

“That’s a shame.”

“Do you have any special requirements?”

“Money, weapons. All I have is a knife. I had a Walther, but after I dealt with Ivanov, I tossed it away as the train was passing a convenient river. It seemed the smart thing to do.” A lie, of course, for the Walther was already in the secret compartment in his bag.

“No problem. I’ve got a credit card for Henri Duval here in this drawer. You can draw cash from any bank’s hole-in-the-wall for as much as one thousand pounds a day.”

“That’s very generous of you.”

“Weapons for our people are standard. A silenced Walther, and a Colt.25 for ankle use. Anticipating your request, I had Sergeant Doyle draw them for you. There’s also a bulletproof vest. Everything is in the drawer here together, with five hundred pounds to get you started. Help yourself.”

Kurbsky did, unzipped the false bottom of his bag and placed them inside, putting forty pounds into one of his pockets. He said, “Don’t you get bored just sitting there and watching computer screens all the time?”

“You couldn’t be more wrong. I roam the world to steal people’s secrets. There’s always something. For instance, see this, a report from French railway police in Brittany to headquarters in Paris -it appears that a badly damaged body has been discovered at the side of a track on the direct line to Brest. His papers indicate he was a Russian named Turgin. That would be Ivanov, I assume.”

“Yes. The GRU directs that all operatives operating on foreign soil use false papers.”

“Which will make any investigation by the French police difficult,” Roper said. “As I say, it’s amazing what these screens can disgorge.” His fingers danced over the keys. “Alexander Kurbsky, for example.” The screen filled before their eyes. A current photo, the wild one that went on the back of books, and early, small photos-his mother, his father in KGB uniform, and Tania, her seventeen-year-old face frozen in time, with a line that read: “Deceased, March 15, 1989.”

Kurbsky felt a kind of surge in his chest and banged his fist on the counter. “No, not that, if you don’t mind.”

Roper switched it off at once. “I’m damn sorry. It must be hard for you, remembering the circumstances.”

“That my father used her death as a weapon to get me back? An old story.” Kurbsky got up. “Look, I didn’t sleep at all last night. Can I go and find a bed?”

“Use the apartment your aunt was in. I’ll see you this evening.”

AT THE EMBASSY, Colonel Boris Luzhkov looked up at the knock on the door, and it opened as Bounine looked in.

“Come and sit down,” Luzhkov said. “Here’s something you should know. French police have discovered a body in Brittany bearing false papers in the name of Turgin.”