The next surprise came when he saw the ambassador standing on the embassy steps waiting to greet him.

“Good morning, Mr. Clifton,” said Sir Humphrey Trevelyan as Harry stepped out of the car.

“Good morning, your excellency,” said Harry as the two men shook hands—which was appropriate, as they were about to close a deal.

The ambassador led him into a vast circular hall that boasted a life-size statue of Queen Victoria, as well as a full-length portrait of her great-great-granddaughter.

“You won’t have read the Times this morning,” said Trevelyan, “but I can tell you that your speech to the PEN conference seems to have had the desired effect.”

“Let’s hope so,” said Harry. “But I’ll only be convinced when Babakov is released.”

“That might take a little longer,” warned the ambassador. “The Soviets are not known for rushing into anything, especially if it wasn’t their idea in the first place. It might be wise to prepare yourself for the long game. Don’t be disheartened, though, because I can tell you the Politburo has been surprised by the support you’ve received from the international community. However, the other side of that coin is that you’re now considered … persona non grata.”

He led his guest down a marble corridor, dominated by portraits of British monarchs who had not suffered the same fate as their Russian relatives. A floor-to-ceiling double door was pulled open by two servants, although the ambassador was still several paces away. He walked straight into his study, took his place behind a large uncluttered desk, and waved Harry into the seat opposite him.

“I have given instructions that we are not to be disturbed,” said Trevelyan as he selected a key from a chain and unlocked his desk drawer.

He pulled out a file and extracted a single sheet of paper which he handed to Harry. “Take your time, Mr. Clifton. You are not under the same restrictions that Sir Alan imposed on you.”

Harry began to study a random list of names, addresses, and telephone numbers that seemed to have no sequence or logic to them. After he’d gone over it a second time, he said, “I think I have it, sir.”

The incredulous look on the ambassador’s face suggested that he wasn’t convinced. “Well, let’s be sure, shall we?” He retrieved the list and replaced it with a couple of sheets of embassy notepaper and a fountain pen.

Harry took a deep breath and began to write out the twelve names, nine addresses, and twenty-one telephone numbers. Once he’d completed the task, he handed his effort back to the ambassador to be marked. Sir Humphrey slowly checked it against the original.

“You spelt Pengelly with one ‘1’ instead of two.”

Harry frowned.

“Perhaps you’d be kind enough to repeat the exercise, Mr. Clifton,” the ambassador said as he sat back, struck a match, and set light to Harry’s first effort.

Harry completed his second attempt far more quickly.

“Bravo,” said the ambassador, after double-checking it. “I only wish you were a member of my staff. Now, as we can assume the Soviets will have read the note I left at your hotel, perhaps we shouldn’t disappoint them.” He pressed a button under his desk and a few moments later the doors opened again and two members of staff dressed in white linen jackets and black trousers entered, pushing a trolley.