As someone who had served as a parish priest in Belfast during the Troubles, death was something he was extremely familiar with. Josef, with blood all over his face, was clearly gone, so he rushed to Basayev and saw immediately he was a lost cause too.

He took out his mobile and called for an ambulance, then informed the police. He returned to Josef and felt for a pulse, just to be sure. There was none, but in the circumstances, his duty as a priest was clear. He began to recite the prayers for the dying: “Go, Christian soul, from this world in the Name of God the Father Almighty who created thee.”

Soon sirens sounded, and not one, but two ambulances braked hard outside the church and the paramedics came on the run.

THE GENERAL STORE that Katya had mentioned to Kurbsky carried a sign: “Patel & Son.” It was what the English were fond of calling the Corner Shop, a place that was always open and sold everything. It was quiet, no customers, elevator music playing softly, and the young man sitting behind the counter was Indian, wearing jeans and a black bomber jacket, and he was reading a book, which he put down when Kurbsky appeared.

“Can I help you?”

“I hope so,” Kurbsky said. “A friend of mine, a Polish guy named Marek, had a job at a house near here with two ladies? He worked in the garden, did odd jobs, and they let him live over the garage.”

“That’s right. I knew Marek well. I’m Hitesh Patel.” He offered his hand.

Kurbsky shook it. “I’ve had a letter from them offering me the job, now that he’s gone back to Poland. Marek recommended me.”

He produced it. Hitesh read it and nodded. “I see. What’s the problem?”

“I’m not sure if I’ve got the right house. I’m new to London, and I seem to have gotten all turned around.”

Hitesh came around the counter, took him to the door, and pointed. “It’s right there, with the high walls. They’re big on security. Front gate or side gate, there’s a voice box, so you speak to let them know you’re there. They’re really nice ladies. You’ll do well there.”

“That’s good to hear.”

Hitesh was concerned. “So you need regular chemotherapy?”

“That’s right. Lung cancer.”

“I’m sorry. You’ve really got to take it easy. Can I offer you a cup of coffee? We’ve got the machine there.”

“I’d rather have tea.”

“I’ll join you.”

They sat on either side of the counter, and Kurbsky said, “You’re not very busy.”

“Not during the lunch hour-it’s all local trade.”

“There’s just you, then?”

Hitesh laughed. “My father and mother have gone home to Bombay for three months, and I’m sitting in for them. A couple of local ladies come in part-time.”

“What do you usually do?”

“I’m a medical student, just starting my fourth year.”

“Where did you go to university?”

“Here in London.” He laughed. “A great disappointment to my father, because I’m not a businessman. I’m too English for them. I was born here.”

“I know the feeling. I have a French father and I was born in Devon. I read English at London University, then I worked as a journalist, before…” He gave an excellent performance. “Well, you know what I mean. Look, thanks a lot. I’ll see you again.”

“Take care,” Hitesh told him, and Kurbsky left.

HE APPROACHED THE house from the mews. Katya answered, opened the gate, and he walked through the garden and found her waiting on the terrace. She took his hands and kissed him on both cheeks.

“We were getting worried. We expected you earlier.”

“I’ve just been having a cup of tea with Hitesh Patel and showed him your letter. He’s a nice guy.”

“Svetlana’s waiting.”

They went into the conservatory and found her in her usual wicker chair. She reached up to kiss him “We were worried for you.”

“No need, Babushka. Last night I went down to the Salters’ pub at Wapping and had supper. I got a taxi and then walked the streets. This morning, I did the same. Actually, I had a funny experience on Oxford Street.”

“What was that?” Katya asked.

He told them about the episode in the bookstore. “Isn’t it wonderful?” he said. “Even with my photo on the book he was holding, he still didn’t recognize me.”

Katya said, “There was a call for you.”

“There couldn’t have been,” he said.

“Sorry, I mean the call was through me. Major Roper gave me one of those encrypted Codex mobiles. He said he’d been trying to get you but couldn’t get a response.”

“I’ve had mine on vibrate. I’ll speak to him.”

“I’ve got chili con carne for lunch. I’ll show you the room over the garage afterwards.”

“But first, there’s champagne,” Svetlana told him. “A celebration of your return after all these years.”

“Just give me a moment,” he said. “I must call Major Roper.”

“YOU WERE TRYING to get me,” he said when Roper answered.

“Yes, there was no response, so I got worried.”

“I put my Codex on vibrate, and it’s easy to miss that faint tremble, especially when you’re walking in the crowds of Oxford Street. What did you want?”

“There’s a breaking story on all the news shows. Shadid Basayev and his driver, a man named Josef Limov, were stiffed at that church in Mayfair where he has a memorial to his wife.”

“And when was this?”

“The priest, a Father Meehan, came across the bodies in the church cemetery not much more than an hour ago.”

“So information will be thin on the ground at the moment. What do you think, a Russian connection? SVR perhaps,” he said, naming the Foreign Intelligence Service, which was in many ways a successor to the KGB.

“I’m not so sure. In the old days, they often hired the IRA to do their dirty work. These days, Muslims are popular.”

“Mind you, he was a bad one, Basayev,” Kurbsky said. “He won’t be missed.”

“I’ll give it some thought. We’ll speak again.”

“I might drop in to see you.”

“You know where I am.”

LUZHKOV HEARD WHAT Bounine had to say, was shocked and delighted. There was no point in holding back on the story, and as it started to break, he contacted the Prime Minister’s suite at the Kremlin and spoke to Putin.

“I am obviously pleased that Basayev has finally met his end, but the manner of it gives me pause for thought.”

“I can see that, Comrade Prime Minister. He treads a dangerous path. You don’t want to make fools of Ferguson and his people.”

“On the other hand, it’s a brilliant stroke if he gets away with it.” Putin laughed. “I like it. Let it ride, Colonel, and we’ll see where it leads.”

Bounine, sitting opposite him, said, “How was he?”

“Delighted. I think the idea of Kurbsky making fools of Ferguson’s company actually pleases him. I won’t try to speak to Kurbsky. I’ll leave it to you, Yuri, you’re the man he trusts.”

THE LIVING QUARTERS over the garage were not quite as he remembered them. The bathroom had been improved, but the big room where Kelly had taught Kurbsky judo had been developed into another apartment, a kitchen area in one corner, a living room in another, and a wide window looking out over the garden. It was nicely furnished and in good order.

“I had cleaners in after Marek left, and a plumber to improve the bathroom and kitchen. It’s linked to the central heating system in the main house,” Katya said. “Svetlana wants this to work, Alex, and so do I.”

“Sit down for a minute.” She faced him across the table, and he took her hand. “You’ve been great to me, your input in this affair has been fabulous, and I know you’re a true friend to my aunt. It seems to be working, my new identity. As I’ve told you, I’ve been out and about, and I feel that Alexander Kurbsky is the invisible man. I can come and go at Holland Park as Henri Duval. Let’s take it a day at a time.”

“Good,” she said. “Regarding your new identity, I hesitate to bring this up, but-”