'As far as it goes. She said she'd got some documents for us, but — '

'Did she ask for a rendezvous?'

'Yes, but our luck's run out, I'm afraid. She's been found shot dead.'

16: ROCK

'That's bullshit. I don't lay down some kind of kinky funk-jazz hybrid like Billy Kid — I blow free, see, I give it a rush, a lot of pressure along the vertical and a lot of thrust on the level, you know what I mean? And I let them solo if they want to, guitar, sax, drums, whatever they want to do, you know? Musically I'm democratic.'

Thin, small-faced, made up like a cat with the corners of her eyes drawn out across the skin, a white leather coat thrown open, tiny hands on tiny hips, a silver sweater and skirt, the skirt a thin tube stopping short just above the knees, the knees bare, alabaster, knobbly, the feet in silver boots, a thick belt made of her own plaited hair — Cone's briefing — caught by a silver snake's-head buckle, the hair on her head exploding like a mane, the colour of ocean surf. Cat Baxter.

The reporter was making notes but stopped when she turned away

'Wiz, get out of here will you, you're stoned' — and turned back. 'Drummers… I work with hieroglyphs, see, and that's where the song takes me, wherever it wants me to go. It's free-wheeling, ethereal, a kind of unstructured take-off into the heights I haven't flown before, and this happens every time, it's not just sentimentality and it's got nothing to do with the Protestant Work Ethic — that really makes my boil bleed. No, change that — it really offends my sense of the political, it's so bourgeois, I mean, you can't have a message in everything, talk shout the Sound of Mucus.'

Pollock came over. 'Well, well. Come here to get her autograph?' Quick white smile.

'Something I've been meaning to ask you,' I said. 'Isn't it a coincidence that Gorbachev is flying in here at the same time that Miss Baxter's giving her concert?'

'Goodness. It never struck me. But we only knew he was coming the day before yesterday. I started fixing up her concert last month.' Cone walked in and looked around the room and came across.

'Last month,' I said, 'she did a concert in Moscow.'

In a moment, scratching his head, Pollock said: 'That's right. That's absolutely right.' Quick smile. 'I never thought about it. I mean, any connection. After all, there's quite a lot going on in Berlin when important visitors fly in. Excuse me, I'm just making sure they're looking after her.' He went over to the phone.

'I couldn't come earlier,' Cone said. 'I was talking to Yasolev.'

I felt the scrotum tightening.

'Did he get anything?'

'We're trying to put it together in London. It's a bit disjointed.'

'Where's Dietrich now?' I didn't really mean where.

'It looks as if he had a weak heart.'

'Shit.'

Scarsdale, Lena Pabst, Dietrich. Every time we looked like getting some information it got cut off.

'I don't try any of that street-wise visionary stuff and I don't try and get the fans screaming — that's camp. I don't use my pelvis, Christ, I haven't got one — no, change that — I don't use body language, I use my throat.'

Pollock came away from the telephone and Cone said something to him and he shook his head. When I went closer he was saying, 'And she earns something like a million pounds a year. I can't just break it up.'

Cone went across and spoke to Cat Baxter and in a minute the reporter put her notes into a briefcase and went out of the room and Pollock left just afterwards, giving me a wave. That left the man in the blue serge suit and dark tie.

'Miss Baxter, we'd like a word with you,' Cone said, 'just by ourselves.'

'It's okay for Boris to stay. He's my bodyguard.'

'Is he KGB?'

I'd thought so too.

'Yes.'

Cone went over to him. Colonel Yasolev of Department V would like you to leave us for a moment, so forth.

'You've done well,' I said to Cat Baxter.

She presented herself to me, and that's the only way of putting it that I can think of: she turned her diminutive body in its hair and silverware and thrust it towards me no more than half an inch, but the air seemed to vibrate. Her eyes were wide and innocent, and I could even believe she thought it was the truth when she said she didn't use body language.

'Done well?'

'You haven't let it all go to your head.'

'Meaning fame?'

'That's right.' I heard the door shut, and then Cone joined us, and Cat took a step back and looked at each of us in turn. 'My manager said you were from the Foreign Office.' 'Yes,' Cone said.

'You look so official.'

'I suppose that can't be avoided. Now this is Mr Ash, and I'm going to leave you to do your talking alone. Nothing goes onto the record, don't worry.'

He nodded and went out. It had been agreed: we didn't want her to feel outnumbered.

'He looks as if he's had a bad time,' the girl said.

'He's in a difficult job.' She didn't ask me to sit down so I leaned against the wall alongside one of the windows. 'I'm not going to keep you long. What gave you the idea of coming out here?'

'I thought it was about time. Phil Collins brought Genesis right up o the Berlin Wall on the west side, and so did Dave Bowie, and the East Berliners practically rioted. The police wouldn't let them get nearer than four hundred yards to the Wall. It was the most serious outbreak of public anger for years.' She turned and took three crisp steps, turned again and threw her mane of hair back. 'I don't have to tell you that — you people keep tabs.'

'We read the papers. Of course you wouldn't have been allowed to come here before Gorbachev's time.'

'I wouldn't have thought so. He's fantastic.'

'When the East Germans said you could come here, was there any Soviet connection?'

She looked down. Step, step, step, turn, the hair. 'Why?'

'You've performed in Moscow.'

'I don't know what you're getting at.'

'We're just interested in the way things are changing, over here.'

'Let's keep it straight, Mr Ash. You were talking about a Soviet connection.'

'I was simply asking. It's interesting for instance that the KGB offered you protection.'

'People like me get mobbed. We'd be skinned alive if — '

'The KGB, I mean, rather than the HUA — the East German police.'

Turn, step, step, a sudden fast turn back. 'What exactly do you want to know?'

Getting somewhere.

'Anything you can tell me about your relations with the Soviet government.'

Threw her head back, force of habit, meant nothing. 'Are you really Foreign Office, or Secret Service?'

'You catch on quickly.' Though I'd expected it earlier, because I'd been trying for it.

'Look, I'm a rock star, okay? But I also went for a BA and got it, before I started singing.'

'Pretty good.'

'For a rock star.'

'Pretty good anyway. What in?'

'Political science.'

'That explains a lot. The things you've said about human rights.'

'You don't have to be political to want people to be free.' Looked away, looked back. 'Are you here to jam up the works for me, Mr Ash? I just want to know.'

'I didn't know there were any works to jam up.'

She was halfway through a step and she faltered and threw out a hand and it was the first time I'd seen her make this particular gesture. 'I mean the concert.'

She didn't.

'Of course.'

'I think I'd better ask you something,' she said. 'Have you got any right to question me like this?'

'No.'

Threw out a hand again. 'When my manager told me a couple of men from the Foreign Office wanted to talk to me, he said it was to help smooth out any problems for me over here. That's what he said.'