Number 9 Russell Square looked entirely anonymous, sheltered among buildings now used by the universities. The academic side of the area had expanded since her time here. Being in the center of London, expansion meant filling in cracks and crevices, taking over the existing real estate of mansion blocks and terraced townhouses. Number 9 stood between a Bureau de Change and the International Programmes Office for the University of London. Its single black door was newly painted. No identifying sign, but lights on inside. It had the security camera you’d expect covering the entrance, a video door phone system with electric lock, and a discreet infrared motion sensor beneath a security lamp. There was nothing whatsoever to give any indication of what went on in there. Blinds had been drawn over the windows. So that was her game plan exhausted. Was she meant to approach? Ring the bell? What did she have to lose?

That was always a stupid question in the spying business. She was still alive, for one thing. She thought back through old training exercises: Get inside this house, that office, that club. Challenging but artificial because they missed one factor: the possibility that the object of your interest might be willing to hurt you very badly.

She was pondering her options when a pair of workmen in overalls brushed past her and opened the door. It was unlocked. She glimpsed protective sheeting inside.

Taylor followed them in.

Her heart thumped. To the left of the entrance was an empty reception desk, to the right a waiting area with a blank pin board and empty pigeonholes. She couldn’t see where the workmen had gone, but the whole place was being refurbished, with ladders stacked at the side and a smell of fresh paint. She could always say she was looking for the university office next door, Taylor reasoned. Simple mistake. And if that didn’t work, she was a government employee. She wasn’t the one hiding behind a front. If whoever was here wanted to cause her trouble, let them try. They’d picked the fight. Taylor needed to know who she was up against.

She continued deeper inside, past open doors revealing empty offices and the occasional larger room with stacks of new furniture still wrapped in plastic. She looked for post, paperwork, anything that might give her a lead, but it was bare. Then she saw a steel security door blocking the corridor ahead of her. It looked out of place, as did the discreet surveillance camera fixed to the wall beside it.

Kathryn suspected the real business of 9 Russell Square, whatever it was, began on the other side of that door. But this was as far as she was getting today. Taylor was making a final appraisal of the security when she heard voices coming closer. People were approaching from behind the door.