Maria’s mind worked hard and fast. Bastard, she thought, you were hiding with your lights out in that entrance to the woods. She knew what he had intended: to knock the Saxo off the road, then probably smash her head in and make it look like she’d been killed in the crash. Maybe that’s what they had done with Turchenko, the Ukrainian investigator who had come after Vitrenko. Maria was aware of the nauseating fear that gripped her, but there was also a sense of exhilaration. And defiance. There was no way this prick was going to chase her to her death.

She saw the headlights of the BMW behind her. A couple of cars passed in the opposite direction, then nothing. He had known that this was a relatively deserted stretch of road and had led her here deliberately. The BMW was still some distance behind, but she calculated that he was closing. If there had been more bends on the road she would have stood a better chance: the Saxo was quick to accelerate and handled corners well, but on a straight stretch like this she was no match for the BMW’s horsepower. Maria kept her foot pressed hard to the floor and tried to achieve the same with her mental processes. He was a soldier. A Spetsnaz. He could probably kill someone with a paper clip in a snowstorm, but that didn’t necessarily give him an advantage in this environment. There was a gentle bend ahead; he would lose sight of her for thirty or forty seconds. She took the bend fast, the rain now driving hard against the windscreen. As she did so she unbuckled her seat belt and killed her lights. She swung the Saxo round in the road as fast as she could without losing control on the rain-sleeked tarmac. The BMW was already round the corner by the time she had completed her turn. Maria braked hard, leaving the Saxo on the wrong side of the road, hit the lights and jumped from the car.

6.

The three Spetsnaz made their way back along the edge of the Teteriv river. Buslenko had calculated that, in this moonlight, anyone approaching them would be silhouetted against the sky. When they reached the lodge it was still in darkness, the door wide open. Buslenko sent Stoyan around to the back, got Belotserkovsky to cover him, and swung his aim into the lodge.

‘Captain Sarapenko?’

‘Here,’ said Olga, and switched on a table lamp. She was aiming her automatic at him. She eased the safety catch back on and lowered the weapon.

‘Very good …’ Buslenko smiled. ‘But switch the light off. We’ve got trouble.’

‘Vorobyeva?’

Buslenko shook his head. ‘And we think Tenishchev and Serduchka too.’