Leo pushed his plate aside. Both Nara and Zabi knew something was wrong, exchanging glances. He could not tell them the news since he’d not decided what to do. The uncertainty would be an unnecessary strain. Zabi had only just returned from a session with a psychiatrist. Though her physical injuries had healed, she was in therapy, two sessions a week, a process delayed for several months while she’d undergone intensive schooling in English, lessons she attended with Nara. Leo skipped most of the lessons, concentrating instead on his investigation. However, he always made time to accompany Zabi to the psychiatrist, surprised that the doctor’s office was not in a hospital but a pleasantly decorated room in her house. After the third or fourth session, he’d become more relaxed about treatment. Zabi didn’t fear the sessions. Needless to say the American government covered the cost. They covered the costs of all their expenses. In exchange, Leo met intelligence officers, providing information on Afghanistan. His knowledge of the Soviet Union itself was dated, particularly with regard to the KGB and secret police. This information was primarily of interest to historians and academs, a few of whom had been granted security clearance to question him. Only his reports on Afghanistan were classified. It was hard to gauge what impact they were having on American policy – he was never trusted enough to be told anything, only ever questioned. Some of the questions revealed their way of thinking. There were clearly elements in the CIA keen to fund the insurgency, to provide weapons. Whether that was being carried out, Leo could not tell.

At the end of dinner, Leo tidied away the plates, returning to the table with a carton of ice cream that he’d bought from a grocery store run by a woman from Ukraine, one of the few people in the neighbourhood that he spoke to, as unsociable in New York as he had been in Kabul. As he spooned the ice cream into three bowls he said:

—I’m flying to Washington tomorrow. You remember the work I spoke about? There is an archive of items relating to Soviet espionage in the United States. They want me to take a look, see if I can throw any light on the objects.

Nara was surprised.

—I thought you weren’t doing that for a couple of months.

—They want me to go immediately.

—Why?

The reason was simple: they didn’t think Leo would be in America for much longer. Leo kept this secret, merely shrugging.

—I don’t know.

He added, weakly:

—I do as I’m told.

Zabi asked:

—Are you leaving us?

Leo couldn’t look her in the eye. He toyed with a spoonful of ice cream.

—I’ll only be gone a few days.

Washington DC

FBI Headquarters - J. Edgar Hoover Building

935 Pennsylvania Avenue - Next Day