“You may pack your bag, Mr. Clifton.”

Harry let out a long sigh as he returned his belongings to the bag. At least the whole exercise hadn’t been a complete waste of time. He knew the book existed, and he’d even read seven chapters, which he would write out on the plane.

“Are you aware of what this book is?” asked the colonel, holding it up.

“A Tale of Two Cities,” said Harry, “among my favorites but not considered to be Dickens’s masterpiece.”

“Don’t play games with me,” said Marinkin. “We are not the complete fools you arrogant English take us for. This book, as you well know, is Uncle Joe by Anatoly Babakov, which you have been trying to get hold of for some years. Today you almost succeeded. You planned everything down to the finest detail. First you visit Mrs. Babakov in Pittsburgh to learn where she had hidden the book. On returning to Bristol, you brush up on your Russian, even impressing your tutor with your grasp of our language. You then fly to Leningrad just a few days before your visa is due to expire. You enter the country carrying only an overnight bag, the contents of which suggest you didn’t plan even to stay overnight, and you change just ten pounds into rubles. You ask a taxi driver to take you to an obscure antiquarian bookshop in the center of the city. You purchase three books, two of which you could have picked up in any bookshop in England. You ask the driver to take you back to the airport and you check yourself in on the next flight home, even the same seat. Who do you imagine you’re fooling? No, Mr. Clifton, your luck has run out, and I am placing you under arrest.”

“On what charge?” asked Harry. “Buying a book?”

“Save it for the trial, Mr. Clifton.”

“Would those passengers traveling to London on BOAC flight number…”

*   *   *

“There’s a Mr. Bishara on line three,” said Rachel. “Shall I put him through?”

“Yes,” said Seb, then placed a hand over the mouthpiece and asked his two colleagues if they could leave him for a few minutes.

“Mr. Clifton, I think it’s time we had another game of backgammon.”

“I’m not sure I can afford it.”

“In exchange for a lesson, I ask for nothing more than information.”

“What do you need to know?”

“Have you ever come across a man by the name of Desmond Mellor?”

“Yes, I have.”

“And your opinion of him?”

“On a scale of one to ten? One.”

“I see. And what about a Major Alex Fisher MP?”

“Minus one.”

“Do you still own six percent of Farthings Bank?”

“Seven percent, and those shares are still not for sale.”

“That’s not why I asked. Shall we say ten o’clock tonight at the Clermont?”