‘No … honestly, John … I have a thing about boats. I get sick. And I get scared …’

He smiled broadly and the green eyes glittered in the dim light. ‘You’ll be fine. Come and try her for size. I won’t even start her up. If you don’t feel happy, then we’ll eat in town … I just thought it would be nice to watch the city lights from the water.’

Anna made a decision. ‘Okay. But if I don’t feel happy about it, then we go somewhere else. Deal?’

‘Deal …

Back in the Mercedes command van, Paul turned to Maria with a hard stare and said: ‘Phone Fabel.’

Friday 20 June, 9.30 p.m. Speicherstadt, Hamburg.

‘I was a major in the Soviet interior-ministry forces. MVD Kondor. The Americans had been supplying the rebel forces with the most highly sophisticated weapons and the war in Afghanistan was fast becoming the Soviet Union’s Vietnam. It was a desperate time. We had always prosecuted the war aggressively, but more and more of our boys were coming back in body bags. Worse still, a lot of them were disappearing without trace. It was clear we were not winning the conflict and attitudes were hardening.’ The Slav pulled a cigarette packet with Cyrillic writing on it from his coat pocket and offered it first to Fabel and then to Mahmoot. Both shook their heads. He shrugged and pulled an untipped cigarette from the packet and placed it between his slightly fleshy lips. He took a heavy chromium-plated lighter from his pocket; Fabel noticed it carried some kind of crest, featuring an eagle. The strands of tobacco crackled as he lit the cigarette and took a long draw.

‘I am not proud of all that happened in those dark days, Herr Fabel. But war is war. War is, unfortunately, fuelled by retribution. In Afghanistan, the retribution became more and more extreme. On both sides.’

The Slav exhaled the smoke in a forceful blow before resuming.

‘The sheer number of ground-to-air missiles the Americans had supplied made air support and supply practically impossible. Units became cut off. Often they were simply abandoned to fight their own way out or otherwise fall into the hands of crazed fanatics. One of these units was an MVD Kondor Field Police Spetznaz.’

‘Commanded by Vitrenko?’

The Slav thrust the cigarette in Fabel’s direction, causing a small cloud of grey ash to drift slowly towards the floor. ‘Exactly …’ He paused. ‘I think that now I should tell you something about Colonel Vitrenko’s special abilities. Command is a gift. Commanding men in battle is like being their father. You must make them believe that their trust in you is total and unique, that only you can guide them into the light and safety; only you can protect them. And if you cannot protect them and it is their time to die, they must believe that you have chosen the only true and proper place for them to die … that survival and life in another place and time would be a betrayal. All of this means that the commander’s most important strategies are psychological, not military. Vasyl Vitrenko is a unique commander of men. As a child he was identified as having a special, powerful intellect. Unfortunately, he was also identified as having certain potentially problematic personality traits. He was born into a military family and these quirks in his make-up were considered to be best managed in a military career.’