“Just as soon as she comes back to the Watch,” Gesar chuckled. “Go to London, Anton. Have a talk with Erasmus. Perhaps he might tell you something important. If not . . . it’ll blow your cobwebs away for you. I’ve signed off on your trip, the tickets are ready, pick them up in the accounts office. You fly tomorrow morning.”

“Business class, I hope?” I joked.

“Yes,” said Gesar.

That put a damper on my urge to be witty. Of course, the Night Watch wasn’t a poor organization, and we didn’t make all that many business trips . . . But why had Gesar suddenly turned generous enough to send me business class?

“And what’s the per diem?” I asked.

“A hundred and twenty pounds a day. And the hotel’s paid.”

Was he being serious, then?

“Will I be staying in the Radisson or the Sheraton?” I asked, testing the water further.

“No chance,” Gesar laughed. “A small, traditional English hotel—what better way to get to know a strange country?”

“Boris Ignatievich, where’s the catch?” I asked, giving up.

“There isn’t one. It’s simply that you really have been doing a pretty good job just recently. Let’s say I’ve invented a holiday on the house for you. If you don’t achieve anything, I won’t criticize you for it, and if you really do find out something—I’ll send you on your next mission in the corporate plane.”

“Uh-huh, if only we had one,” I chortled as I got up.

“I’m just about to buy one,” said Gesar. “Which do you think is better—a Gulfstream or an Embraer?”

“A Yak-40,” I answered, and walked out of the office.

What bothered me most of all was that Gesar didn’t seem to be joking.

What would the Night Watch of the city of Moscow want with a corporate jet plane?

It would be better if they changed the air conditioners in the office—in summer the heat was so bad that you could hardly breathe!

If there was one thing I was certain of after fifteen years in the Watch, it was that Gesar never did anything without a good reason. He didn’t set any assignments on a purely functional basis, or in sudden fits of altruism.