“One of my strengths is my ability to retain lines.”

“Right. I’ll just go over it again with you. You return to Moscow on Putin’s plane tomorrow. Is Levin going with you?”

“No, he stays here. I’m in Volkov’s hands. I’m put up at my usual hotel, the Excelsior, and the day after tomorrow, I sign the Belov Protocol at the Kremlin.”

“No, you don’t, that’s why our timing is so crucial. You leave in Putin’s plane, and the Royal Air Force courier plane, the Citation X, follows an hour, perhaps two, later. It lands with legitimate documents for the British Embassy, receives legitimate documents for the return journey, which is logged out of Belov Complex at seven-thirty, Russian time. You know Belov Complex?”

“Of course. I landed there from Station Gorky.”

“The timing has been chosen because it’s dark. We’ll make a quick getaway, and with the extraordinary speed of this plane, we should be out of Russian airspace in thirty minutes.”

“You say ‘we’?”

“Yes. Two pilots, RAF naturally. Billy here will wear the uniform of an RAF sergeant as steward. I will wear the uniform of a GRU captain, one Igor Levin, complete with paratrooper wings, medals, the lot. You won’t be the only one acting.”

“And you’d do this, you’d take this chance? My God, if it went wrong, you’d be shot or sent to the Gulag.”

“True, but the simplicity of the whole thing is in its favor. I’ll ask you one more time. Will your mother do it? She’ll be walking out of her apartment with nothing. All the mementos of a remarkable life gone.”

“She’ll do it for me, and I’ll do it for her.”

“Good. There’s something not mentioned in Ferguson’s letter.”

“What’s that?”

“Once in London, there’s your future to think of. Our computer expert has been able to access Belov International bank deposits in London, using your authority. You are, after all, Josef Belov.”

“How much?” Zubin asked.

“Twenty million didn’t seem unreasonable. I mean, property prices have gone up in the city.”

Zubin smiled. “I think you could say that will be perfectly satisfactory.”

Billy took two things from his pocket, a Colt.25 and a Codex Four. “The gun is for obvious emergencies and is silenced. The mobile was specially manufactured for our purposes. It doesn’t look like much, but it can go anywhere, do anything; it’s waterproof and the battery lasts a year. It’s programmed. You press the red button and you’re through to a guy named Roper. He’ll contact us on your behalf. There are one or two extras in the briefcase, just in case.”

“It is simple.” Zubin shook his head. “If everything works, it really would be very simple.”

“At all times, remember you are Josef Belov. In a way, Volkov’s created a Frankenstein’s monster. Only a few important people know your real identity. To everyone else, you’re the great man.”

“I suppose that’s right.”

“Ferguson was telling me that during the Second World War, SOE had someone very like you who impersonated Field Marshal Erwin Rommel on a mission to Jersey in the German-occupied Channel Islands. It was said that what helped him most was discovering that everyone who met him believed he was Rommel, but more importantly, he himself discovered that to be Rommel was to be all-powerful. People automatically obeyed him. You might be surprised how effective that could be.”

“I’ll try to remember it.”

“You’ve been seen on British television already tonight. During the next few hours, it’ll be the same for the USA, Europe and the Russian Federation. When you get off the plane in Moscow, you’ll be a star on the level of the President. Everyone will recognize you.”

Zubin took a deep breath and pulled himself together. “A short run, if we’re lucky.”

“And a quick transfer to the West End,” Billy said.

“Yes, I can see that. I can also see that you gentlemen are putting yourselves in harm’s way by accompanying me on this affair.”

“Well, that’s the name of the game.” Billy shook hands.

Zubin said, “You’re not an actor, too, Mr. Salter?”

“No, I’m a gangster,” Billy told him.

“Good God,” Zubin said.

Dillon said, “Good-bye, Mr. Zubin. We will see you in Moscow tomorrow night.”

“You sound certain.”

“I am. I’ll tell your mother why when I’m on that plane with her, leaving Moscow. Come on, Billy.”

They went out. Dillon locked the connecting doors. “The bedclothes,” he said.

Billy rumpled them and the pillows.

“Just in case a maid looks in,” Dillon said, and opened the door. The corridor was silent. “Come on,” he whispered, and they went down the back stairs beside the lift. They stood on the steps in Park Lane, sheltering from hard, driving rain for a few moments, and tried to flag down a cab.

There were still a few people around from the function, limousines drawing up to collect passengers, and, of all people, Igor Levin emerged and stood on the steps, took out a box of cigarettes and saw them.

“Still here, you two?” He selected a cigarette and offered them. “Russian.”

“I could see you were a gentleman.” Dillon pinched the cardboard expertly and accepted the light offered. He inhaled. “Excellent.”

Levin said, “Only the best.”

“Back to Moscow for you, old son?”

“How could I leave you two on the loose?” A black Mercedes turned in. Levin opened the main door, sat beside the driver and was driven away.

“Now, there’s a happy man,” Billy said, and at that moment, in response to his raised hand, a cab swerved in.

Afterward, they sat with Ferguson by the fire at his apartment in Cavendish Place and discussed the evening. Ferguson was particularly interested in the incident with Levin.

“Why do you think they’re keeping him on here?” Dillon asked.

“It suits Volkov. He’s smart, clever, ruthless. Doesn’t fit the mold of your usual agent.”

“I reckon it’s more than that,” Billy said. “He’s getting at you, General. It’s like reminding you that there’s nothing you can do about Levin.”

“You could well be right, young Billy. I’ll outplay him on that one, of course.”

“How?”

“By you two bringing Max Zubin and his mother out of Russia.” He stood up. “I’ll see you off at Farley tomorrow. You’d better move on. You’ll need a good night’s sleep.”

Outside, another taxi. As it swerved in, Billy said, “We’ll drop you at your place first.”

“No, you won’t,” Dillon said. “You haven’t told Harry about this caper, have you?” he asked.

“No,” Billy said. “He’d blow his top. I mean, we’ve done enough in the past, bad things, hard things, but this? One false move in Moscow, Dillon, and it’s curtains. They’ll swallow us whole.”

They got in the back of the cab. Dillon said, “You’re right. It could go as smoothly as silk…”

“Or we might end up in deep shit.”

“Well, if you’re worried,” Dillon said, “maybe it doesn’t need the two of us.”

“Oh, no, you go, I go. I won’t have it any other way.”

It was late, but there were still a few people in the saloon bar of the Dark Man. Harry was seated in his usual spot in the corner booth, Baxter and Hall hanging around.

Dillon said, “Other end of the bar, you two. Billy needs to talk to Harry. It’s family.” They looked surprised, but went. “Okay, tell him.” Dillon went to the bar and ordered a large Bushmills.

He drank it down and ordered another, then went back to the booth. Harry looked pale and angry.

“This is bleeding enough. It’s insane.”

“No, it’s important, Harry, it’s of world importance. I just thought you should know.” He patted Billy on the shoulder and swallowed his Bushmills. “See you at Farley at eleven o’clock, Billy.”

He gave Harry a look, turned and went out. At the door, he stood in the porch buttoning his coat against the rain. Harry came up behind him, Joe Baxter at his shoulder.