“I’m grateful, Sir Alan,” said Harry, assuming the meeting was over. The cabinet secretary nodded, but just as Harry was about to rise, he said, “I must confess, Mr. Clifton, that wasn’t the only reason I wanted to see you.”

Harry sat back down and began to concentrate. If this man wanted something, he’d better be wide awake.

“Your brother-in-law once told me something that I found difficult to believe. Perhaps you’d be kind enough to indulge me, so I can see if he was exaggerating.”

“Politicians do have a tendency to do that.”

Sir Alan didn’t reply but simply opened a file in front of him, extracted a single sheet of paper, slid it across the table, and said, “Would you be kind enough to read that through slowly?”

Harry looked at a memo that was about three hundred words in length, containing several place-names and details of troop movements in the Home Counties, with the ranks of all the senior officers involved. He read the seven paragraphs as instructed, and when he’d finished, he looked up and nodded. The cabinet secretary retrieved the piece of paper and replaced it on the table with a lined pad and a biro.

“Would you now be kind enough to write out what you’ve just read?”

Harry decided to play the game. He picked up the biro and began writing. When he’d finished, he passed the pad to the cabinet secretary, who compared it with the original.

“So it’s true,” he said a few moments later. “You are one of those rare people with a photographic memory. Though you made one mistake.”

“Godalming and not Godmanchester?” said Harry. “Just wanted to make sure you were paying attention.”

A man who was not easily impressed was impressed.

“So are you hoping to recruit me for your pub quiz team?” asked Harry.

Sir Alan didn’t smile. “No, I’m afraid it’s a little more serious than that, Mr. Clifton. In May you’ll be travelling to Moscow as the president of English PEN. Our ambassador there, Sir Humphrey Trevelyan, has come into possession of a document that is so sensitive he can’t even risk sending it in the diplomatic pouch.”

“Can I ask its contents?”

“It’s a comprehensive list of the name and location of every Russian spy operating in the UK. Sir Humphrey hasn’t even shown it to his deputy. If you could bring it back in your head, we would be able to dismantle the entire Soviet spy network in this country, and as no documents would be involved you wouldn’t be in any danger.”

“I’d be quite willing to do that,” said Harry without hesitation. “But I will expect something in return.”

“I’ll do anything within my power.”

“I want the foreign secretary to make an official protest about the imprisonment of Anatoly Babakov.”

“Stalin’s interpreter? Didn’t he write a book that was banned—what was it called…”

“Uncle Joe,” said Harry.

“Ah yes, of course. Well, I’ll do what I can, but I can’t guarantee anything.”