‘He’s gone inside,’ said Fabel. ‘The cathedral is like a crossroads itself. He’s trying to lose us and come out on another side. Come on!’

The heavy door yielded, then slammed echoingly behind them. There was a man lying on the flagstones immediately inside the door. His white hair was dishevelled and was stained red with blood on one temple.

‘Are you all right?’ Scholz bent over the elderly security man.

‘I … I tried to stop him. Told him the cathedral was closed. He hit me …’

‘You – stay with him,’ Scholz ordered the uniform. ‘Radio in. I want men at each portal of the cathedral. Jan, you stick with me. Chances are this is one of Vitrenko’s decoys, but it’s better to be safe.’

Fabel unholstered the automatic that Scholz had issued him with before the meet with Vitrenko. They walked down the centre of the aisle, past the window where Fabel had discussed rhinoceroses with a Mexican writer.

‘This place is the size of a football stadium,’ he said to Scholz. ‘The bastard could be anywhere.’

‘You check along the pews on the left, I’ll take the right.’

They worked their way up the aisle, the sounds of Karneval outside now even more remote. They reached the crossing of the transept and Fabel found himself looking through the retrochoir to where the Shrine of the Three Kings, a huge golden reliquary, gleamed behind its glass. There was a sound to his left.

‘Over there, behind that screen …’ he hissed to Scholz and swung his gun around. Scholz put a restraining hand on Fabel’s arm.

‘For Christ’s sake don’t shoot. That screen, as you call it, is the Klaren Altar. It’s priceless.’

‘So’s my life.’ Fabel nodded past the triptych screen. ‘You go that way.’

Fabel kept his aim locked on the screen and moved towards it, taking slow steps and ready to fire. He checked that Scholz was in position. Fabel swung around the edge of the screen. Something slammed hard into him and he toppled sideways. He heard his gun clatter across the flagstones and felt cold steel pressed against his cheek. He looked up at a gold mask.

‘Now why don’t you stand the fuck up and drop that gun,’ Fabel heard Scholz say calmly but firmly. ‘Or I’m going to have to pop one in your head.’

‘Let me go or I’ll kill him,’ said the masked man. ‘I’ll do it.’

‘And then you’ll die,’ said Scholz. ‘And nobody comes out of this on top, Vitrenko.’

The man took his automatic away from Fabel’s face and laid it on the flagstones. He stood up and pulled his mask from his face. He was dark-haired and younger, thought Fabel, than Vitrenko would have been.

‘It’s not him,’ said Fabel. ‘I don’t think it’s him.’