‘Saturday afternoon.’

‘Passport and visa, please.’

I gave him my passport and visa. He checked these while his colleagues checked the cupboards, moved the curtains, peered inside the bathroom.

‘What are you looking for?’ I asked. They ignored me.

‘The nature of your business in this country?’ the senior officer said.

‘Why? What am I meant to have done?’

‘You have hired a car?’

‘Yes.’

‘Have you been to Malakhov Street while you’ve been here?’

‘No.’

‘Would you unlock the safe please?’

I unlocked the safe and stepped back while he sifted its contents. Then he straightened.

‘Get dressed. You come with us, please. It is necessary that we ask you some questions.’

‘About what? What’s going on?’

‘Quickly. Then this will all be over.’

I dressed smartly, knotting a tie. The younger of the suited men took my passport and the key fob for the Hyundai. They led me downstairs to a black Audi with police lights on the roof. I was squeezed in between the uniformed officers.

‘Where are we going?’

No answer. We drove north, the rising sun reflecting off the snow and glass, turning the city into fire. After fifteen minutes we arrived at an anonymous, new-looking building, four floors with bars on the lower windows. No state vehicles parked visibly outside, none of the aerials or antennae you’d expect on a police station.

I stepped out of the car. Ten metres of drive led to a narrow, bomb-proof door, with electronic barriers visible inside. Two men in black uniforms stood beside it. It looked like somewhere you went in rather than out. I felt the first stab of real fear. If I was going to run, it was now or never.

Six men against me, at least three carrying small arms, two that looked like they had some pace. Most stood to my left, between me and a six-lane road. Best option would be running towards them – past them – which was counter-intuitive therefore surprising; it meant they’d have to turn, with a complicated backdrop for sighting weapons, plus each other getting in the way. We were still in a public space, and these men were trained, which was sometimes a help: it meant they calculated, and that could slow you down.

There are always worse options than running. I would have the cover of two Land Rovers and then the corner of a building in approximately four seconds. Against a .22 or a .38 from a pistol, a car is going to be an adequate block. But once you start running you can’t stop. That was game over. I felt a step closer to finding what I came for in the first place. And I don’t really do running while being shot at.