“The birds left the nest this morning at a quarter past seven,” the man tells her.

“Good. You must follow at a distance, do you hear me? He cannot know your man is there.”

“Affirmative.”

“You are not to allow anyone to interfere with the progress of that car, remember. You may take whatever measures are necessary, including lethal force, to ensure it remains unmolested. I will deal with the consequences.”

“Affirmative.”

A firm click comes down the line. Lyudmila replaces the receiver and sips her tea to calm her nerves. So far, so good. She opens a manila folder from her surveillance team, which contains the transcripts from the night before. She pulls them out. They’re rough, typed out without much punctuation or spelling by a translator on a headset, and sometimes Lyudmila has to puzzle out their meaning. Still, having examined the transcripts of the past few nights, she knows she’s unlikely to encounter any interesting information. She can tell, for example, that Mr. and Mrs. Fox are either exactly what they claim—a pair of newlyweds very much in love—or else very much aware of the microphones in the walls. She suspects the latter. The words and phrases are almost too loving, too cinematic. What husband is possibly so attentive to his bride’s every need? What wife is really so enthusiastic about the act of intercourse? Lyudmila regards the typed lines before her with cynicism and a touch of salt, and without any expectation of surprise.

A moment later, she reaches for the telephone.

NO ONE PLAYS INNOCENT like Vashnikov, which is remarkable because he looks exactly like a pig. “This is shocking,” he says. “I am surprised at you, Ivanova, for not ensuring they were better guarded. Anything might have happened!”

“We both know they were perfectly well guarded. We both know that your man ordered mine to stand down.”

“You should have them arrested, for dereliction of duty and for lying.”

“What were you looking for, Vashnikov? Perhaps something you didn’t find at HAMPTON’s apartment? Something you suspect Mrs. Fox might have collected for safekeeping?”

“An interesting theory, if the Foxes were not so entirely engrossed in fucking each other instead.”

“You’ll never be promoted head of the agency, Vashnikov. Your mind only goes in one direction. Never mind. I’ll find out. Whatever it is, the Americans will be carrying it. And my men won’t bungle the job.”

She hangs up the phone. Someone knocks on the door immediately, as if waiting for her to finish.

“Come in,” she says.

Dubrovskaya enters with a telephone message from Kedrov, who arrived on schedule at the hospital this morning to accompany Mrs. Digby, her baby, and her sister in an ambulance to Rizhsky Station, where a train will take them to Riga.

Lyudmila sits back in her chair and exhales with relief.