“A strong black coffee, no sugar, two pens, and as much writing paper as you can spare. And could you let me know the moment we’re no longer in Russian airspace?”

“Of course, sir,” said the steward, as if he got this sort of request every day.

Harry closed his eyes and tried to concentrate as the plane began to taxi to the far end of the runway in preparation for take-off. Anatoly had explained to him that he knew the book off by heart, and had spent the past sixteen years repeating it to himself again and again in the hope that one day he would be released, when it could be published.

As soon as the seat belt sign had been switched off, the steward returned and handed Harry a dozen sheets of BOAC writing paper and two ballpoint pens.

“I’m afraid that won’t be enough for the first chapter,” said Harry. “Can you keep up a regular supply?”

“I’ll do my best,” said the steward. “And will you be hoping to catch a couple of hours’ sleep during the flight?”

“Not if I can possibly avoid it.”

“Then may I suggest you leave your reading light on, so when the cabin lights are dimmed, you can go on working.”

“Thank you.”

“Would you like to see the first-class menu, sir?”

“Only if I can write on the back of it.”

“A cocktail perhaps?”

“No, I’ll stick with the coffee, thank you. And can I say something that’s going to sound incredibly rude, but I assure you it’s not meant to be.”

“Of course, sir.”

“Could you not speak to me again until we land in Stockholm?”

“As you wish, sir.”

“Other than to tell me when we’re no longer in Russian air space.” The senior steward nodded. “Thank you,” said Harry, then picked up a pen and began writing.

I first met Josef Stalin when I graduated from the Foreign Languages Institute in 1941. I was on a conveyor belt of graduates being awarded their degrees, and if you had told me then that I would spend the next thirteen years working for a monster who made Hitler look like a pacifist, I would not have believed it possible. But I have only myself to blame, because I would never have been offered a job in the Kremlin if I hadn’t come top of my class, and been awarded the Lenin Medal. If I’d come second, I would have joined my wife Yelena, taught English in a state school, and not been even a footnote in history.

Harry paused as he tried to recall a paragraph that began, For the first six months …