“Sit down,” said Colonel Graves. “You know why you’re here. It’s about Robert Russell. Or, to be more accurate, what he was working on.”

“I was made to understand he didn’t work for the Security Service,” said Kate, taking her place on a low-slung fawn-colored sofa. A chrome-and-glass coffee table faced her. There was an ashtray brimming with cigarette butts alongside copies of various law enforcement journals.

“He didn’t,” replied Graves. “Not knowingly, at least. You spoke with Ian Cairncross. He told you about Russell’s interest in TINs-trusted information networks. You know… experts he’d assembled to gather information about this or that subject. Let’s just say that Lord Russell was a member of my TIN.”

“Looks like he was a member of quite a few.”

Graves nodded. “At the time of his death, Russell had pieced together information indicating that some sort of attack or plot was being planned on London soil. We’re viewing his murder as validation that he was correct. Accordingly, we’ve ramped things up a bit.”

“Why did you wait until now?”

“You mean why didn’t we bring in Russell earlier? It’s a question of resources, DCI Ford. At any time we’re keeping tabs on a few dozen plots in various stages of planning. It’s a matter of separating the chaff from the grain.” Graves reached into his jacket for a packet of Silk Cuts. “Smoke?”

Kate declined.

He lit one and exhaled gratefully. “I’m supposed to say something about the Official Secrets Act now. You know, ask you to swear not to divulge any information you may learn as part of this investigation. Word is that you’re a good egg. We don’t need to have you sign anything, do we?”

“Is this the part where you’re going to admit that Five was maintaining some kind of surveillance on Russell without a warrant?”

“Something like that.”

“I’m a policewoman,” said Kate. “Not a civil libertarian. I’m sure our interests mirror each other.”

“Good.” Graves picked up a remote control from the coffee table and aimed it at a flat monitor on the wall. It was a SMART Board, an interactive high-definition monitor hooked up to the office’s central computer network. The face of the tired, mousy housewife Kate had seen the previous morning in Russell’s flat appeared. All eyes focused on the screen as she spoke to Russell about Mischa, Victoria Bear, and the “hush-hush” meeting set to take place at 11:15 this morning-a little more than an hour from now.

“Know what it means?” asked Kate afterward.

“Not a clue. There are a hundred Mischas in the Russian embassy alone, and that’s not counting the scourge of them that have taken over the West End. A delegation from the Kremlin is visiting, but they’re in Whitehall today, holed up with the Navy. I think they’re safe for the moment.”

“That sounds rather hush-hush, doesn’t it?” asked Kate, quoting from the video message.

“Actually, it’s a matter of public record. No Mischas among them. Just a few Ivans, Vladimirs, and Yuris. Oh, and a Svetlana.”

“And Victoria Bear?”

“We’ve run the name through all our files and drawn a blank. Our boys in decoding are having a go at it as we speak.”

“Have you been able to draw a bead on the woman? Russell’s source? Frankly, I’m worried about her. If Russell was killed for what he knew, why not her?”

“We’re trying to locate her. It’s not so easy. The way our system functions is that we grab everything going into Russell’s in-box, as it were. That doesn’t mean we know where it came from. Tracing it back to its source is trickier. We brought you in to see if you’ve turned up anything in the course of your investigation that might shed some light on this.”

Kate suspected Graves knew more than he was letting on. She’d long heard that Five kept a roster of spies inside the Met. “Robert Russell was killed by a woman who gained entry to his flat from the basement and shimmied up an old laundry chute to a closet in his master bedroom. Once inside, she defeated the alarm system, knocked him unconscious with a bottle of frozen vodka, then threw him over the balcony to make it appear a suicide. It was our good luck that he landed facedown. Otherwise, we’d never have suspected a thing. It goes without saying that the woman is a professional. She knew her way around Russell’s flat, so we can assume she had access to building plans, including his home security system. It’s my guess that she was working as part of a team, and that her partner or partners were keeping tabs on Russell.”

Graves leaned forward, elbow on his knee. “How do you know it was a woman?”

Kate took a disk out of her jacket. “We have a visual.”

“May I?” asked Graves, rising from his chair. He handed the disk to a deputy, who placed it in the DVD player. A moment later the image of the auburn-haired murderer taken by One Park ’s CCTV camera filled the screen.

“Not much to go on,” said Kate. “She did an outstanding job keeping her face away from the camera.”

“A pro, as you said.”

Just then there was a loud knock on the door. Reg Cleak entered breathlessly. “Sorry I’m late,” he said, crossing the room and taking a seat next to Kate. “I’d just nodded off when a big bloke showed up at the back door. Nearly scared the missus half to death.”

Introductions were made, but Cleak was barely paying attention. “Just got off with the boys in Automobile Visual Surveillance. They weren’t able to get a line on the car all the way from Windsor, but they came darned close.”

“Where did Russell go after leaving his parents’ house?” asked Kate.

“To his club in Sloane Square for about an hour.”

“That only takes us to one a.m.,” said Kate. “Where did he go afterward?”

“Hold your horses, boss. I’m getting to the interesting part. From his club Russell drove to Storey’s Gate. We’ve got stills of his car parked on the sidewalk for over an hour. Don’t ask me what he was doing.”

“Storey’s Gate? That’s not far from here.” Graves instructed his deputy to bring up a map of London on the SMART Board. A moment later a city map appeared, with a circle indicating the location. Storey’s Gate was a short, narrow two-way street running east to west about a half-mile from Buckingham Palace and St. James’s Park.

“Do you see what I see?” asked Kate, standing and walking to the screen.

“What is it?” asked Cleak, but Graves was already nodding.

Kate guided her finger along the map down Storey’s Gate Road and turned a corner onto a broader thoroughfare. It was labeled “ Victoria Street.” “There’s our Victoria,” she said.

If she expected Graves to show some surprise, she was disappointed. He remained nailed to his seat, smoking his cigarette ruminatively. “So it’s a place,” he said. “Not a name. Now what?”

But Kate wasn’t finished. Sliding her finger up Victoria Street, she came to a rectangular gray outline commonly used to denote a government building. “This is a ministry building. I believe it used to be the Department of Trade. Can you tell me who’s housed there now?”

Graves snapped his fingers and his deputy clicked on the interactive map. A photograph of the building appeared, and under it the name of its current occupant. “Department of Business, Enterprise, and Regulatory Reform, formerly Trade and Industry.”

“Business, Enterprise, and Regulatory Reform,” said Kate. “B-E-R-R.”

“Bear,” said Graves in the same calm voice.

Cleak screwed up his face. “I’d call it ‘brrr.’”

“And if you were foreign, like the person who gave Russell’s girl the clue?” asked Kate. “‘Bear’ sounds right to me. Bear on Victoria Street,” added Kate. “Victoria Bear.”

“I’ll be a monkey’s,” added Cleak, eyes wide, fidgeting in his chair, the only person in the room not above showing some emotion.

“Bring up a list of the building’s tenants,” commanded Graves.

A moment later, a list of all government agencies having offices in 1 Victoria Street appeared. They included the Office of Employment, the Economic Development Agency, the Bureau of Competitiveness, and the Office of Science.