When she first saw the spy's surprising twist on the stairs, Valya thought that she intended to shoot her and her instinct was to duck. The Russian started to go down, but when she realized that the spy was falling, Valya checked herself and darted after her. It was always surprising what one could get from a wounded or dying individual. Often their guard was down or they were so dazed that they said things, sometimes important things.

Guests gasped but stood aside as the woman rode down the twenty or so steps on her shoulder, appearing not to hit her head, then reaching the landing with an awkward somersault over one shoulder onto her side. She lay moaning in a fetal position, her legs moving weakly, as visitors gathered around. One called to a guard for assistance, while two others knelt, one of them doffing his jacket and slipping it under her head.

"Don't touch her!" Valya yelled. "Get away!"

The Russian reached the bottom of the stairs and pulled a snub-nosed pistol from an ankle holster.

"This woman's a wanted criminal," she said. "Leave this matter in our hands."

The Russians backed away quickly. The foreigners saw the gun and did likewise.

Valya hopped over Peggy so that she was facing her.

Then she looked up at the stragglers.

"I said leave!" Valya shrilled, and swept outward with the back of her hand. "Go!"

The last of the gawkers did, and Valya looked back at Peggy. The spy's eyes were shut and her right arm was under her chest, her hand against but under her chin. Her left arm was limp at her side.

Valya didn't care what might be broken or damaged inside of her. Holding the gun under the woman's chin, Valya rolled her onto her back.

Peggy winced, her mouth formed a pained little oval, and then she relaxed again.

"That was an unpleasant fall," Valya said in English. "Can you understand me?"

With apparent effort, Peggy nodded a little.

"You British are dropping like autumn leaves," Valya said. "First I terminated the comic book publisher and his team, now you." Valya pushed the mouth of the gun into the soft flesh under Peggy's throat. "I'll see that you get to a hospital," she said, "after we talk."

Peggy's lips moved. "Be… before--"

"No, no," said Valya with a wicked grin. "After. I want to know some things about your operation first. For instance, in Helsinki, what was the name of--"

Peggy moved so quickly that Valya didn't have time to react. She raised the closed fist that had been resting on her chin, the fist in which she held her lapel knife. The blade was pointing down, and Peggy jammed it into the depression above Valya's clavicle and tore inward, toward the larynx. At the same time, she used the elbow of her left hand to push Valya's other arm to the floor, in case the gun discharged.