After almost a month locked away in a succession of dark cells, he was now standing in the middle of one of its large conference rooms, wearing his dress uniform. It had been handed to him an hour ago after his first shower in weeks. Rykov had lost weight and it hung off his shoulders. He’d also been given a razor, which he’d used to remove his straggly beard under close watch from a guard in case he tried to cut something else with it, but he’d been left to use his overgrown fingernails to brush his hair, and been ignored when he’d asked for a toothbrush and some toothpaste.

Rykov faced a long table and five very senior KGB officers, who were all adorned with various combinations of braids and medal bars. Churkin was in the middle of the row. To his immediate left was Lieutenant General Dmitri Baranov, the head of Directorate S, chief of illegals, and Major General Yuri Sobel, the head of Directorate T, boss of the KGB’s scientists. Rykov didn’t know who the other two men were, but this only concerned him briefly, until his mind reminded him he had much bigger things to worry about.

‘This tribunal has been called to review what we now know of the events that led to the attempted extraction of the head of a foreign intelligence service, namely James Holland of MI5, by agents of Line Z,’ Churkin began. ‘An unsanctioned and abortive operation that was carried out at great cost to life and resources, and risk to the security and safety of the Soviet Union.’

Ever since the Yorsh had arrived in Murmansk without two extra passengers on board and its captain had demanded to know who had commandeered his shakedown cruise, Rykov had been sure he’d eventually end up in this room, and that Churkin would be sitting on the other side of the table, pretending that he wasn’t the one who had approved Rykov’s plan to deploy Project Mykl in enemy territory.