‘She’s sure they were British, not Americans?’

‘She’s certain, sir.’

‘So it would appear that English friend of yours, Prince—’

‘He’s hardly a friend, sir.’

‘It would appear he beat you to it. From what Steiner told us about the content of the films and notebooks, this is a disaster for us and a major intelligence coup for them!’

Zhukov shook his head and looked up at the ceiling. Gurevich could hear the marshal’s boots tapping loudly on the floor.

‘Sir, I propose we put Steiner before a war crimes tribunal – it needn’t last more than an hour at the most – and then execute him.’

Zhukov sat very still and said nothing for a while, then shook his head again. ‘He’ll go to Moscow. He can be dealt with there: he may provide more intelligence under interrogation, and then he can be disposed of.’

Iosif Gurevich said he understood, and when Zhukov stood up, he did too, realising their meeting was now over. He was unsettled by how it had gone and was relieved it had ended. There was no doubt he’d made an error in underestimating Steiner.

He was in the doorway when Zhukov called him back.

‘Oh, and Gurevich – you’ll return to Moscow with Steiner.’

Kommissar Iosif Gurevich left in a daze, and as he walked down the corridor; he realised he now had an escort. It wasn’t a total surprise, but it had still come as a most dreadful shock, like when he’d heard of the murder of his family in Minsk.

Zhukov had made it sound like a routine matter, but to Gurevich it was a death sentence.

‘I have to admit that I was ready to give both of you a very hard time. A severe reprimand would have been considered lenient in the circumstances.’ Tom Gilbey was looking at Prince and Hanne, who were sitting opposite him, innocence personified. He’d hoped to sound as severe as possible, but feared he’d not managed to do so. It was very rare for him to be outmanoeuvred, but when it had happened in recent years, Richard Prince was usually to blame, as was the case on this bitterly cold afternoon close to Christmas, where a few limp decorations in the corridor outside his office in St James’s were the only hint of approaching festivities.

‘Disobeying orders, collaborating with the Soviets – and the Slovenians – and going off on your own freelance operations… that’s not how we work, is it?’

Neither Prince nor Hanne replied. Gilbey thought he detected a hint of a smile on Prince’s face.

‘So I was going to throw the book at you, though I’m not sure what book it was going to be.’ He laughed at his own joke, but was the only person to do so. He caught a glimpse of Sir Roland slowly shaking his head.

‘However, Prince, as usual, you’ve come up with the goods, eh? What is it they have in that game Monopoly – a “Get Out of Jail” card, isn’t it? Well, that intelligence you acquired about the farm in Bavaria – it was spot on, absolutely spot on. I can’t tell you how invaluable it is for us; it will keep us going for some time. We’ve already recruited some Germans to work for us on the basis of what we found. Apparently the Americans are absolutely furious about it: they were after that haul themselves, and Joe Jenkins has made such a nuisance of himself about it that they’re sending him back to the States. Are you going to tell me how you found out about it?’