'But we've got to call the police, don't you understand? There's been -'

'Call them by all means, then, and you'll see the whole story spread all over the front page of the Times in the morning. Or don't call the police and I can guarantee you a complete cover-up. Your choice.'

I could see the face of the clinic's chief of administation, Culver, met him when I signed in. Looking a bit upset, understandably: they were used to the odd suicide here, but this was different.

'If you could convince me of your authority -'

'Look, go and ring the British High Commissioner - he'll give you the score. But meanwhile don't let anyone into this area.'

Head ached a bit. I'd hit it on something when we'd been jigging around.

'What's this?' someone said.

'Let me have it.' Pepperidge, sharply.

The piano wire, covered at each end with rubber tubing. He coiled it and put it into his pocket.

'Is painful?'

'What?'

'Is hand painful?' The nurse.

'No.'

'Pain anywhere?"

'No. You're very pretty.'

'Oh.' Surprise, her mouth rounded, then a smile that shone right into my soul. It'd been a nervy twenty-four hours, from the time last night when I'd known what I would have to do. Then there was all this mess in here, most unpleasant.

'You all right?'

Pepperidge, stooping suddenly over me.

'Yes.'

'Won't be long now. There's an ambulance on its way.'

'I don't need one. I can -'

'Yes you do.' He straightened up again. 'Keep that door shut!'

Throbbing going on: there was some feeling coming back into the right forearm where he'd held the wire; the left thigh felt twice the size because he'd driven his knee into it just before we'd got it over with; left hand sliced somewhat from gripping the shard of glass: the medic had put some stitches in. There was a residue of shock in the system but I could probably walk all right and Pepperidge knew that; the ambulance was for security. The hit team knew that Kishnar had come into the clinic for me and they'd expect me to go out on a stretcher and that was what Pepperidge had arranged: he didn't want the team to take up station; we needed a new safe-house and we had to reach there clean.

Someone knocking.

Pepperidge opened the door an inch and looked through the gap and then pulled it wide open.

'All right - this man here.'

On the way to the street I had a sheet over me, face as well. Lights glowed through it, coming and going.

'Hot under there, old boy, but it won't be long. You all right?'

Said yes.

In the ambulance he pulled the sheet away, hunched alongside on the tip-up seat. There wasn't anyone else in here. Under the dim pilot light he looked strained, his yellow eyes flickering sometimes.

'Thirsty?'

'Yes.'

He gave me a plastic cup of chilled water.

'I couldn't stand the waiting,' I said, when I'd finished it.

'The what?'

'The waiting.'

He thought about it. 'Oh. For Kishnar.'

'Yes. It was a question of time before he found me, so I thought the best thing to do was to get it over.'

'Was that your only reason?'

'No. I thought it'd get Shoda to the edge.'

'Hit her again on her weak point.'

'Yes.'

'You're right, of course. It could bring us the whole mission. This was major. You didn't only get Kishnar out of the way as a constant threat, but you actually turned him to good use as a tool. As a weapon. Could be the turning point.'

I started to pull my shoulders higher against the pillows but he stopped me.

'Relax. You're going to need your strength later.'

He didn't say why and I didn't think to ask.

'The thing is,' I told him, 'I had to bring him into the clinic.'

'I know.'

Of course he knew. If I'd gone into the streets at night and waited for Kishnar and taken him on and killed him the hit team would have closed in at once, finis.

'I owe you an apology,' I told him.