Rykov stepped closer to Yegerova. Their umbrellas bumped into each other, dislodging a small flood of droplets around them.

‘I didn’t have an asset in Santo Domingo. And I don’t have one in London,’ he said.

‘And I believe you are responsible for the death of two loyal KGB operatives,’ Yegerova replied.

Rykov stepped back again. ‘You can believe whatever you want,’ he said. ‘But we aren’t living in the purges any more; if you’re going to throw around accusations, you’d better be able to back them up.’

It was another implicit threat for Yegerova not to overstep her position. But it didn’t seem to cow her. In fact, now she smiled at Rykov.

‘We have his confession,’ she said. ‘Smuggled out of the CIA base at Haina. He told the Americans he was the Wolf.’

The myth of the Wolf also lived in the Soviet Union. No one in the KGB or the GRU admitted to being behind it, which only increased the belief among some that one of them must be. There had been considerable speculation that it was the work of Line Z.

‘The Wolf is a fable,’ Rykov said.

‘Perhaps,’ she replied. ‘But I won’t let your fantasies run loose and risk all our safety. Contain them, or I will.’

Rykov sighed and signalled for his driver to pull over. A moment later the car drew up next to him and the rear passenger door opened into his hands.

‘You can threaten me all you want about something that doesn’t exist,’ he said as he got in the car. ‘But it might not get you as far as you hope.’

Then he shut the door and the car pulled away, leaving Yegerova standing alone in the rain.

As the Volga passed Vodovzodnaya Tower and turned onto Kremlevskaya Naberezhnaya along the north bank of the Moskva, Rykov started to think that he might have underestimated Yegerova.

The Wolf was indeed a creation of Line Z, but it wasn’t what believers on both sides of the Iron Curtain thought.

They assumed the Wolf was one person, their codename a translation of the Russian word Volk. It wasn’t. Its name came from the German word for folk—a reference to its true scope and to where one of the most important projects for the survival and security of the Soviet Union had been born at the end of World War Two. One of the projects Rykov had been personally responsible for since he’d joined Line Z.

Chapter 27

Chapter 27

The slanting sunlight dazzled the surface of Lake Annecy. The water moved like liquid glass, not frozen but almost. In the far distance the jagged teeth of the Dents de Lanfon mountains were blunted by snow and, closer, so were the tiled roofs of the medieval town that gave the lake its name.