I noticed that Gesar had been sitting with his eyes closed for about half a minute. And slowly turning crimson. Then he opened his eyes and stood up.

“Right. I can’t hear Semyon. And I can’t contact him. Someone else try!”

Olga closed her eyes too.

Glyba applied his palm to his forehead picturesquely.

Jermenson chewed on his lips.

Svetlana frowned intensely.

But I took out my mobile and pressed one of the “hot keys.”

“Yes, Antokha?” Semyon answered cheerfully.

“Where are you?”

“Me? I’m at Olya and Kesha’s place. Drinking tea. Telling them all about our wonderful school for artistically gifted children.”

“Gesar can’t make contact with you,” I said

There was a brief pause, and then Semyon said: “You know, I can’t make contact either. With anyone. It’s like . . . everything’s gone blank . . .”

“Tell him we’re on our way,” ordered Gesar, walking rapidly towards the door. “Anton, Mark, Olga, you’re with me! Svetlana, Sergei, you’re in charge of the Watch.”

“I’m not on the staff!” Svetlana exclaimed indignantly.

“Consider yourself drafted,” Gesar flung out without looking round.

“Sveta, if we start arguing now, the child might be killed,” Olga said gently as she got up to follow Gesar. “And Semyon too. Do you understand?”

And Svetlana, who I could remember beating off Gesar’s attempts to get her involved in the Watch’s business at least a hundred times, backed down immediately. She just asked as we left: “What exactly do I have to do?”

“Kill everything strange that tries to get into the office,” Gesar replied.

“I’m a doctor, not a killer!” Sveta exclaimed indignantly.

“Every good doctor has his own graveyard,” snapped Gesar.

When we ran out into the yard, the boom across the entrance was already raised and Alisher and Garik were getting into the patrol van—a battered old Japanese SUV. They were obviously on duty-call today.

“Mark Emmanuilovich, please join the two young watchmen, if you would be so kind,” Gesar said briskly.

Apparently he seriously believed that we needed to have at least one Higher Other in each vehicle.

We got into the old BMW that Gesar had been riding around in for as long as I could remember. I sat in the front, Olga was on the backseat and Gesar was at the wheel. He didn’t usually sit there, I wasn’t even sure that the Great One knew how to drive a car.

But it turned out that he did—and how! We went flying out into the street and roared straight off up the oncoming lane, which apparently seemed less crowded with traffic to Gesar. We were spared the choruses of loud curses from drivers about wild, irresponsible Duma deputies and bureaucrats by just one thing.

The car was invisible.