Selim insisted on making scrambled eggs and toast for them, and Holley sat there in the kitchen watching him cooking. It was absolutely delicious, and he said so, and Selim beamed happily.

"If I learned one great thing from the English when I was at Oxford, it was the art of making perfect scrambled eggs on toast, for it is a great art. Did you know that Ian Fleming is said to have virtually lived on scrambled eggs? He once said in an interview that he could eat them at any time, day or night."

"Selim, you're a good friend, and I know what you're doing. You're trying to take my mind off things, and, yes, I need that. If things go right, they'll start happening in the late afternoon New York time. The other things will happen here late tonight. I am on standby, if you like. It's other people who will actually go to war. The woman that was proving difficult? She is actually in charge of what's happening. I planned things, it's as simple as that. While others go into action, I have to stand back and wait for the result."

"And if it does not produce the expected success, one supposes Mister Big at the Kremlin gets to blame you?"

"So what do I do? The day stretches ahead."

"Care to return to my favorite spa? I could phone Martha and book us in overnight."

Holley was going to say no and then thought, Oh, why not? He could get the verdict there as well as anyplace else. And should the news turn out to be bad-well, he was really going to need that ma.s.sage.

At the club, things were very much as they had been before, even the weather was the same, late-winter cold and miserable rain. Sitting in the lounge bar at four o'clock in the afternoon on his own after a strenuous round in the gym, Holley received his first voice from the outside world. A call from Chekhov. things were very much as they had been before, even the weather was the same, late-winter cold and miserable rain. Sitting in the lounge bar at four o'clock in the afternoon on his own after a strenuous round in the gym, Holley received his first voice from the outside world. A call from Chekhov.

"Where are you?" he demanded.

"None of your business," Holley told him. "I'm staying out of the way, that's all you need to know. Everything is in place, so I've stepped back, leaving Caitlin Daly to strut her stuff as cell leader."

"Do you think that's wise?"

"She's earned her spurs, Max. Everyone knows what they've got to do. Ferguson, the Salters, Kurbsky, New York-it's all out of my hands now."

"You seem to have skipped Monica Starling," Chekhov said.

"Because I've taken her off the agenda."

"A sudden attack of conscience?"

"I have no difficulty killing on behalf of a woman, as you well know. But I've never actually killed one, and I don't intend to start now."

"And Caitlin Daly must have hated that."

"How did you know?"

"Think Red Brigade, or go back further, to the French Revolution. She'd have helped female aristocrats up the steps to the guillotine with a smile on her face."

"I think you're being a little hard there, Max. What's the boy wonder up to?"

"They've sewn up his ear. It's covered by a substantial dressing and surgical tape, so you can't see how much damage has been done, but it must be considerable."

"I meant it to be."

"I'm surprised he isn't still in his bed in the sick bay, but he's up and round and glaring at everyone like the Devil himself. I saw him in the canteen with Kerimov, who has dressing taped across his left hand and wears a black sling. It's the only time I've visited the Emba.s.sy in the past few days."

"Not that you'd tell me, but has he said anything about me?" Daniel asked.

"As I said, I stick to the plan and stay away from the Emba.s.sy as much as possible, which was the order. He hasn't phoned me since the confrontation. But, Daniel, this is why I phoned you-I wanted to let you know that Lermov's been in touch."

"When was this?"

"An hour or so ago. He's arrived in New York. He asked after Ivanov and suggested I should call you."

"Concerned about my welfare, no doubt?" Holley laughed.

"Keeping tabs on me, more like. He spoke to me yesterday just before they left Moscow. Asked me to stop shooting people and inquired about how things were going, but I a.s.sume he would know anyway because I've kept you informed. It did occur to me that you might have pa.s.sed it along to him."

"But, my dear Daniel, what is one to do?"

"That's for you to decide. Survival's the name of the game where you're concerned, I can see that, and I don't hold it against you. You can't harm me because I don't trust you for a minute, Max, not even for a little bit."

"Now, that's hard, Daniel," Chekhov told him.

"Yes, isn't it?"

Daniel cut him off, and Selim appeared in a robe. "Just checking. Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. Get back to work," Holley told him. "You've got to think of those pounds."

He waited for the next call, but it was an hour before it came. Lermov said, "I won't ask you where you are. A man of secrets, I think. Is everything still in place?"

"Absolutely. I'm standing back while Caitlin Daly savors her hour of glory."

"No problems, then?"

"One change of plan. I decided to abort the attack on Monica Starling."

"Yes, I heard about that. Did it cause any problem?"

"It wasn't well received, but it's my decision."

"Very n.o.ble of you. So now we wait. I wish you luck, Daniel. If you can bring this off, it will be the coup of a lifetime."

Holley sat there, thinking about it. So Chekhov must have been in touch with Lermov the minute he'd put the phone down, which explained Lermov knowing about the Monica Starling business. Well, that was all right. He was reminded of the old Mafia saying: "Keep your friends close but your enemies closer."

He closed his eyes, dozing, and after a while there was a tap on his shoulder, and he opened his eyes and found Harry standing there in his white uniform.

"We're ready for you in the pool now, Mr. Grimshaw, all those special exercises. Lots to do."

Holley got up and followed meekly, for it was filling the time admirably until the final act of the drama.

And so time wore on and the evening came, and then it was time for bed. He slept lightly, too much on his mind, braced for the calls, until finally he was fetched awake by his Codex. He glanced at the bedside clock and saw it was two in the morning. "Daniel," Chekhov said. "I've had a call from Potanin in New York. It's not good." and the evening came, and then it was time for bed. He slept lightly, too much on his mind, braced for the calls, until finally he was fetched awake by his Codex. He glanced at the bedside clock and saw it was two in the morning. "Daniel," Chekhov said. "I've had a call from Potanin in New York. It's not good."

"Tell me."

"The business at Quogue, Ivan Bulganin was observing from a clump of trees. He saw Flynn shoot Johnson as the boat came in, but Johnson managed to shoot him in return. Flynn went into the water. Bulganin couldn't do anything about it except get the h.e.l.l out of there, and, as he left, he heard the sound of emergency vehicles arriving."

"And Frank Barry?"

"Miller left the Plaza to go for a walk in Central Park. Barry followed him, and Potanin stalked them. Barry tried to jump Miller, and Miller had what looked like an ankle holster. He shot Barry in the knee and walked away. Potanin couldn't risk any involvement and cleared off."

"Christ, what a b.l.o.o.d.y c.o.c.k-up."

"I haven't finished. Barry called in on his mobile from Mercy Hospital. He told Potanin he'd better get him out or else."

"And what did Potanin do?"

"Sent Bulganin round dressed as a doctor and stuck a hypo in him. Some nurse arrived, he punched her and got clean away."

"A total disaster," Holley said.

"It could have been worse. Barry's dead, and Bulganin made sure to pocket his mobile. There's no connection to Belov, or to us."

"Well, that's something, I suppose. Have you informed Lermov?"

"Not yet, but I obviously must. He's at a late dinner at the UN."

"Hardly a good time."

"I understand he's coming back to London tonight."

"Yes. He won't want to confront Putin with this kind of news, but you should tell him, if only to cover yourself," Holley said.

"And Ivanov?"

"He'll find out anyway."

"What about the woman? Has she called? Do you know how things are going here?"

"I told her I'd contact her in the morning, but I meant a more civilized hour than this."

"Well, I think you should tell her about New York as soon as possible."

"You're right, I suppose. I'll call you back. In the old days, they sometimes killed messengers who delivered bad news." Holley's laugh had a certain grimness to it.

"Not nice, Daniel, not nice at all. You'll put me off my breakfast."

Holley got out of bed, put on a robe, then went and sat in an easy chair beside a window that overlooked the terrace and called her. She answered almost instantly. put on a robe, then went and sat in an easy chair beside a window that overlooked the terrace and called her. She answered almost instantly.

"Is it you, Daniel?"

"Yes, Caitlin."

She seemed to hesitate, then carried on. "Is there news from New York yet?"

"Where are you?"

"I came over from the presbytery. There's no one round in the church at this time of the morning. I've locked myself in the sacristy."

"Sitting down, I hope, because I've had my friend Chekhov on with news from his security people in New York, and bad news it is."

"Go on," she said in a strangely calm voice.

So he told her.

When he was finished, she said wearily, "Well, G.o.d wasn't on our side, that's for sure." she said wearily, "Well, G.o.d wasn't on our side, that's for sure."

"What happened in London?" Holley said. "Tell me the worst."

"Ferguson and Pool and the limousine. A premature explosion before they got in. Pool had a remote control, so he must have mishandled it, and he was closer to the Amara, so he was killed and Ferguson was simply blown over. Hardly singed, let alone killed."

"And the Salters?"

"I drove Docherty down there myself and hung round to see how he got on. He seemed to get in the pub all right, but after a while there was a disturbance, and he came running out with somebody after him. He got in that old van you mentioned, started up, and drove straight along the jetty into the Thames. I don't know what went wrong. He must have panicked. I got out of there fast and came back here."

"A total failure. Barry and Flynn dead in New York, Pool dead, Docherty very probably. What happened to Cochran?" Holley asked.

"I think we may have struck gold there. He got in the garden and was disturbed by a man who beat him up pretty thoroughly. He said he looked like some ghoul in a horror movie."

"The chemotherapy man," Holley told her. "I walked past the house yesterday, to check it out from the outside, and saw him emerge from a side entrance."

"Another man, Cochran said, came out of the house on the terrace and called: 'Are you all right, Alex?' "

"Alexander Kurbsky, it has to be, and the other guy would be Yuri Bounine. What happened?"

"This Alex relieved Cochran of his wallet. He was distracted by the arrival of his friend, so Cochran managed to run for it, scrambled over the wall, and got away. He also heard women's voices, and one did call out: 'Alexander, are you well?' "

"That's it," Holley said.

"Not quite, Daniel." She was silent for a moment. "We even lost when I lied to you."

In a way, he knew what was coming, and said, "Spit it out."

"Monica Starling." She took a deep breath and told him. "So there you are, and G.o.d's curse on me for what I did. She's all right, though."

"And how in the h.e.l.l would you know?"