"Well, I like his advice about that Moscow Mafia hit man. It's almost flattering. I've been called many things, but Mafia has never been one of them."

"Get on with it."

"All right. If we take Ferguson's immediate clan, that means Roper, Dillon, Miller and his sister, the two Salters, and Blake Johnson. Eight in all," Holley said.

"Don't forget Kurbsky and Bounine," Ivanov put in.

"Silly me," Holley said. "I was forgetting the greatest novelist Russia's produced in modern times, a possible n.o.bel Prize winner. So ten in all."

"So it would appear. Peter joked that all we needed was a dinner party and a bomb under the table."

Holley glanced at Ivanov. "It's the real world we're talking about here." He turned back to Lermov. "So the man in the Kremlin wants no hint of any Russian influence in this whole affair?"

"If possible."

"So if there was a hint of PIRA about what takes place, that would be just the thing?" Daniel asked.

"Exactly." Lermov leaned forward. "I was thinking of Caitlin Daly."

Holley allowed his anger to show. "d.a.m.n you, Josef, I should never have told you about her."

"You told me many things, Daniel, it was part of our agreement."

"This is ridiculous. I visited her only once, Lermov, in November 1995. That's fourteen years ago. She could be dead, for all I know."

"She is alive and well, living and working exactly where she was then." Lermov smiled. "I had Major Ivan Chelek at the London Emba.s.sy make inquiries."

Holley said, "He went to the church, I suppose?"

"Something like that. He said she was a very attractive lady."

"She would be about fifty now," Holley said.

"Chelek said you could take ten years off that."

Holley suddenly got up. "I don't know about you two, but I need a drink. I can't get my head round this."

He turned to the door, Ivanov barred his way for a moment but Lermov nodded, so Holley pulled it open and went out.

Ivanov said, "He doesn't seem keen."

"He'll come round. We've talked so many times over the years, I feel I know him." He shrugged. "At least, as much as one can ever hope to understand another human being."

"Forgive me, Colonel, but I'm a cynic," Ivanov told him. "I often experience considerable difficulty in knowing myself."

"I admire your honesty. Tell me something: how often have you killed?"

"I was too young for Afghanistan and the First Chechen War, but I was bloodied in the Second. I was twenty when I went to that. Field intelligence, not infantry, but it was a desperate, b.l.o.o.d.y business. The Chechens were barbarians of the first order, imported Muslims from all over the place to serve with them. You couldn't drive anywhere without being ambushed."

"Yes, I saw some of that myself," Lermov said, "and know exactly what you mean. Daniel Holley's experience has been different. His killing has been close and personal. Back in Kosovo when my Spetsnaz boys got him, he double-tapped the two men he killed on the instant, no hesitation."

"I wonder how many times he did that on his travels?" Ivanov said. "It stands to reason that as an arms salesman, he kept rough company."

"Exactly." Lermov stood up. "Let's see how he's getting on."

They found Holley sitting in the bar, a gla.s.s of beer in front of him and a large whiskey. Lermov said, "I thought you had no money." in the bar, a gla.s.s of beer in front of him and a large whiskey. Lermov said, "I thought you had no money."

"I told the barman I was waiting for you. Have a seat."

Lermov waved to the barman and sat down.

Holley raised the beer and drank, not stopping until the gla.s.s was empty. He finished with a sigh, and said in English, "As they'd say in Leeds, that were were grand." He reached for the gla.s.s of whiskey and tossed it down. "And that were even better." grand." He reached for the gla.s.s of whiskey and tossed it down. "And that were even better."

"Would you like another one?" Lermov asked.

"Not really. It'd be nice to have a rugby match to go with it. But this is Moscow, not Leeds, and Russia, not Yorkshire, so let's get down to bra.s.s tacks."

"And what would that be?"

"Why do you think a woman I spoke to fourteen years ago will still be waiting and still interested in a cause long gone?"

"But that's what sleepers do, Daniel, they're always the chosen ones, the believers, and they wait, no matter how long it takes, even if they're never needed at all."

"A gloomy prospect," Holley said.

"And let me remind you what Caitlin Daly did back in 1991-the bombs she and her cell set off in London. The general panic, confusion, and fear she caused lasted for months. A considerable victory."

Holley said, "I know all that. Anyway, there's not just her to consider. What about the men in her cell? Alive or dead, who knows? I can't even remember their names."

"I can help you there. I have a fax all the way from your old partner in Algiers, Hamid Malik. I got in touch with him when you fell into my hands five years ago. He's proved a valuable a.s.set to us," Lermov told him.

"You clever sod," Holley said. He waved to the barman.

"Yes, I am, aren't I? Anyway, he had the original correspondence from your cousin Liam, and I have all the names."

"It means nothing. Even if these men are still round, there's no way of knowing if they feel the same way about dear old Ireland."

"True, but I've given the list to Chelek, and he'll trace them."

"You said you didn't want any obvious Russian involvement in this business."

"Absolutely right, but it'll save you time, and, once you get there, it'll all be in your hands. It'll also be of a.s.sistance to Caitlin Daly if she has lost touch, but you won't know that until you've seen her."

"Don't you mean if if I see her?" Holley asked, and drank his new beer down. I see her?" Holley asked, and drank his new beer down.

"No, I mean when you see her, so make your decision now."

"To arrange the deaths of ten people, one of them a woman, isn't what I planned to do when I got up this morning."

"You mean, when you got up in your cell at the Lubyanka, where Captain Ivanov will certainly return you if I order him to. And then I'll give him another order."

"To do what?"

"To get your head shaved, your belongings packed and ready for the early-morning flight to Station Gorky."

There was a pregnant moment, and Ivanov looked wary. Holley said, "So in the end, Josef, you're just as bad a b.a.s.t.a.r.d as the rest of us."

"I've no intention of having my head served up on a plate at the Kremlin."

"I can see that, you're not the John the Baptist type. So you want me to play public executioner again?"

"I suppose I do."

"And can the hawk fly away to freedom afterwards?"

"I should imagine that is exactly what he would do if this matter was resolved to our mutual satisfaction."

"Excellent." Holley tossed his whiskey down. "If you'd said yes, I wouldn't have believed you anyway." He got up. "Right, I don't know what you are doing about my accommodation, but I presume I can use the office, so I'm going to go up now and knock out some sort of plan of action."

"A room will be arranged for you," Lermov told him. "But the office is yours. You may use my authority to extract any information you like from the GRU computers."

"And this Max Chekhov who's on his way from London? I know we're supposed to keep the Russian influence out of things, but he's floating along on a sea of money, booze, and women. I bet he could be useful."

He went out, and Lermov said, "So, Peter, are you disappointed again?"

"No," Ivanov said. "I think he's a thoroughly dangerous man."

"I know, and he looks so agreeable. Let's have another vodka on it."

There was snow mixed with sleet in the evening darkness as the Falcon carrying Max Chekhov landed at the Belov International private-aircraft facility close to the main Moscow airport. When the plane pulled in to the entrance of the terminal building and Chekhov came down the steps, Lermov was waiting for him in full uniform, fur hat, and fur collar. He saluted, giving Chekhov his t.i.tle, one soldier to another. with sleet in the evening darkness as the Falcon carrying Max Chekhov landed at the Belov International private-aircraft facility close to the main Moscow airport. When the plane pulled in to the entrance of the terminal building and Chekhov came down the steps, Lermov was waiting for him in full uniform, fur hat, and fur collar. He saluted, giving Chekhov his t.i.tle, one soldier to another.

"Major Chekhov . . . Josef Lermov."

"Kind of you to meet me, Colonel."

"A pleasure but also a duty. The Prime Minister is waiting for you now."

For a moment, Chekhov was terrified again and fought to control his shaking. He stumbled slightly, mounting the icy steps leading into the terminal, his walking stick sliding.

Lermov caught him and laughed. "Take care. I wouldn't want you to fall and break a leg. The Prime Minister doesn't permit excuses."

"That is my experience of him, too."

They reached the limousine, a porter following with Chekhov's bags, and found Ivanov waiting. Lermov made the introductions, then he and Chekhov sat in the rear and Ivanov got behind the wheel and drove away.

The snow was falling lightly now, and it was really rather peaceful. Chekhov said, "It's a great pleasure to meet you. You name is certainly familiar to me. Could I ask what this all is about?"

"General Charles Ferguson."

Chekhov's sudden anger blotted out any fears he was going through at that moment. "That b.a.s.t.a.r.d! I'm half crippled, as you may have noticed, and it's all his fault. A shotgun blast in one knee-cap delivered by gangsters in his employ."

"Yes, I'd heard something of the sort. Well, the Prime Minister's had enough. He's entrusted me with the task of doing something about it. He wants them finished off."

With his rather unique experience of the ways of General Charles Ferguson and company, Chekhov had reservations about Lermov's prospects but felt it politic to offer only enthusiasm. And he was relieved to hear that they didn't seem to know anything about his other past history with them. This could work out nicely.

"I will tell you, Colonel, and with all my heart, I would like nothing better than to see those swine wiped off the face of the earth."

"Then we must do our best to oblige you."

Twenty minutes later, they were sitting in the same office where Lermov had met Putin before, the one that belonged to General Volkov, once head of the GRU. As they waited, Chekhov said, "A great man, Volkov, did you know him?" they were sitting in the same office where Lermov had met Putin before, the one that belonged to General Volkov, once head of the GRU. As they waited, Chekhov said, "A great man, Volkov, did you know him?"

"Not intimately."

"Disappeared off the face of the earth. I wonder what became of him?"

"Oh, I think it highly likely that he and his men were murdered by this man Dillon on Ferguson's orders," Lermov told him.

"Good G.o.d." Chekhov crossed himself.

"Yes, they fully deserve killing. And the Prime Minister has told me I may rely on you for any help I need."

Before Chekhov could reply, the wall panel opened, and Putin appeared in a tracksuit. "There you are, Chekhov. Good flight? Is your leg improved?"

"Excellent, Prime Minister, really excellent," Chekhov gabbled.

"Has Colonel Lermov explained the task I have given him?"

"Yes, sir, he has," Chekhov managed to say. "I completely agree with everything you have ordered. He may rely on me totally in London."

"Good." Putin turned to Lermov. "How's it going?"

"Very well, Prime Minister. I was inspired by your advice to think Moscow Mafia and how they would handle it."

"And you've come up with an answer."

"A man, Prime Minister, and just the one for the job."

"Don't tell me," Putin said. "Just get on with it, and let the result speak for itself. Good luck."