Dr Chris Coppinger was a cautious man. It was what everyone said had saved him outside that Arctic hut in Svalbard. And now his caution kicked in again. When he noticed a sign across the street for Epsom General Hospital he didn’t hesitate. He started the engine, lurched the car into gear and drove himself straight towards A & E.

41

Vilnius, Lithuania

Friday, 11 March, 1122hrs GMT, 1422hrs local

THE SAFE HOUSE in Vilnius was not what Luke had expected. In training, on the eight-week agent-running induction course down at the Fort, he had been taught the art of discreetly slipping unseen on to a housing estate in Cosham or Fareham on the outskirts of Portsmouth. Or letting himself in through the back door of some rundown Hampshire farmhouse. But training was over long ago and what he was looking at now was a rather smart tourist hotel.

‘Really?’ he remarked to Jenny, as they clambered out of the back of the car, Luke still nursing his bruised left side. ‘The Shakespeare Hotel? It’s a bit obvious, isn’t it? I mean, we might as well be wearing a couple of Union Jacks on our backs.’

Jenny allowed herself a faint smile as she turned to Luke after dismissing the embassy driver and looking up and down the street, checking they were not being observed. Her heels were making loud clicking noises on the cobbles, but he wouldn’t have been surprised if she magicked up a pair of trainers from nowhere.

‘Has anyone ever told you, Luke,’ she said, leading him through a terracotta archway into a tidy cobbled courtyard, ‘that sometimes you need to think outside the box?’

‘Frequently.’

She paused in front of the short flight of steps that led up to the hotel’s reception area. ‘Well, now would be a good time to use your imagination,’ she continued. ‘Security Branch chose this place for us precisely because it’s a boutique tourist hotel. Couples come in and out of here the whole time, all year round.’

‘Couples?’

‘Yes, Luke, couples.’ She threw him a coy look. ‘It’s all right, there’s no need to freak out. They’ve booked us a twin room. Separate beds. The Service is very proper about things like that.’

‘I’m sure they are.’ Luke didn’t give a damn what the Service thought. He was worrying as to what Elise would have to say about this cosy little arrangement. And whether he should tell her now, later or never.

Their room key was one of the old-fashioned ones, complete with a clunky wooden toggle, just in case anyone thought of walking off with it. The young man from Reception insisted on showing them up to their top-floor room and he threw open the door with a flourish. ‘Please,’ he gestured, ‘your superior twin room, the Charles Dickens.’ He bowed and disappeared down the stairs.