‘You’re safe. Don’t worry, you’re not back in Russia. You’re in London.’ Peterson gave the broken chair on the floor a brief, quizzical look, then put the tray down on the end of the bed. As he got closer to Valera, she instinctively backed away from him, ending up on the other side of the chair, pressed against the impenetrable window.

‘Would you like some tea?’ he asked.

Valera’s mouth felt even drier at the mention of tea, but she stayed where she was.

‘Who do you work for?’ she asked.

‘British intelligence,’ Peterson replied, as he poured a cup of the hot, fragrant liquid. ‘We like to keep tabs on everyone who makes it through the Curtain. We had a feeling the KGB might make a play for you in Stockholm, and when they did we thought it best to step in.’ He poured a second cup. ‘We weren’t fast enough to stop them, but we followed the extraction team that kidnapped you to a warehouse on the outskirts of the city and made our move there. I’m sorry we couldn’t get to you sooner, I know how brutal KGB interrogations can be.’

Valera thought back to Skansen. Her memory was still a little hazy and distorted, but she remembered Medev trying to persuade her to go back to Russia.

‘The man who was killed. He said he was a KGB general.’

‘KGB maybe, but not a general. He was a ploy to soften you up.’

‘But they shot him in the head.’

‘A mistake. Though you never know, the KGB isn’t particularly concerned about collateral damage.’

‘What about the others? The man and the woman.’

‘You don’t need to worry about them either.’

Peterson offered her a cup of tea. She reached out and took it from him, but she didn’t drink it.

‘I hope you like Earl Grey,’ he said, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

He picked up his own cup and took a large gulp. Valera watched him swallow, then, reassured that she wasn’t about to be poisoned, tried hers. She winced as the tea hit her tongue. It was hot and bitter, and tasted like it had been stewed for far too long.

Peterson smiled. ‘I like it rather strong, I’m afraid. I could get you some sugar, or honey?’

‘No,’ Valera replied. ‘This will be fine, thank you.’

She took another couple of sips, beginning to enjoy the feeling of the liquid soothing her dry throat. Her body relaxed, leaning against the window rather than pressing against it. ‘So, Mr Devereux, what do you want from me?’

Peterson smiled again, and put his cup back on the tray. ‘The British government wants you to be safe,’ he said. ‘And we are in a position to help make sure that’s exactly what you are.’

‘That is very generous of you.’