Rykov believed that for communism to claim final, total victory, it wouldn’t be enough for it to just defeat the West. The West would have to fail itself as well, and he knew that those were two subtly different things. He wasn’t interested in the small battles and tiny victories that obsessed the other directorate chiefs. It was his job to keep the Soviet Union’s enemies chasing their tails. And he was very good at it, which meant that though he had several high-ranking supporters he also had many enemies.

As he stood at one of the high windows in his office that looked out across the Moskva to Zaryadye Park and the high walls and domes of the Kremlin, he could see one of those enemies on their way to pay him a visit.

He watched as a familiar black Gaz-22 Volga drove over the Bolshoi Moskvoretsky Bridge and through the archway directly beneath him.

The building was a warren of offices, corridors, and dead ends. But the Volga’s passenger knew exactly where they were going. After a few minutes, Rykov’s door opened.

‘Comrade,’ Major Natalya Yegerova said, announcing herself.

Yegerova was a slight woman, made even thinner by the boxy dress uniform she seemed to wear every hour of the day. Her skin was pale and her long hair was twisted in an intricate plait that hung at the nape of her neck. She was only a few years older than Rykov, but she looked like she was from a bygone Russia.

They were both majors, but Rykov technically outranked Yegerova. She was a senior member of the much larger Directorate S, but Rykov was head of his section. This was a distinction that he knew she both suspected and resented.

‘I have a quandary,’ she said, coming to a rigid halt in front of Rykov’s desk.

He stayed at the window.

‘And that would be?’ he asked.

‘We have received word that an asset has been captured by the Americans in the Caribbean.’

‘That does sound unfortunate,’ he replied. ‘Do you require Line Z’s assistance retrieving them?’

Rykov’s voice and mouth remained casually neutral, but inside he was smiling. As a section devoted to clandestine operations, Directorate S felt its toes stepped on by Line Z more than most, and he enjoyed goading its members whenever he had the opportunity.

‘He wasn’t one of ours. So I must assume he belongs to you.’

‘I don’t believe so,’ Rykov said, pushing himself away from the window and sitting behind his desk. ‘But operational security would obviously require me to say that.’

‘And what of our operational security?’ Yegerova asked. ‘Our agents put their lives in danger all over the world every day. Your directorate’s undeclared activities are an unacceptable risk to them.’

It was the standard, posturing refrain that was parroted whenever someone felt Line Z encroaching on their territory. And it never worked.