‘You’re just in time, major.’ The man stirring the varenyky was Stoyan, the Crimean Tatar, whose dark good looks spoke of the blending of Mongol and Turk a thousand years before. ‘Want some?’

‘You bet. You’d better take some out to Vorobyeva too.’ Buslenko took off his outer wear and greeted the group that sat at the heavy rough-hewn wooden table playing Preferens. Buslenko joined them and they joked and laughed their way through the meal, complimenting Stoyan on his cooking skills. They could have been any group of people in thick knitwear and hiking boots, gathered around a hunting lodge’s hot stove, eating dumplings and drinking vodka and taking a break from their dull jobs to gather for a weekend’s fishing or hunting in the wilds. But they weren’t.

As soon as the meal was over, the dishes were cleared away and everyone’s attention was sombrely fixed on Buslenko. He took his laptop and several document folders and laid them on the table.

‘This is a “Greater Good” operation,’ he began without preamble. ‘As such, we are being asked to carry out a mission that is illegal, under both Ukrainian and international law. But it is an operation that is fully in the interests of justice, internal order and the external reputation of Ukraine. Some of you may feel that the illegality of this operation is incompatible with your roles as law-enforcement officers. I also have to tell you that there is a considerable chance that we may not all come out of this alive. And if any of us are caught, we will go to prison abroad and without the recognition or intervention of the Ukrainian government. So if any of you feel that you don’t want to take part in the operation, now’s the time to say. You can leave now and no one will think any the less of you for it.’

Buslenko paused. ‘I also have to tell you this mission isn’t just black, it’s wet.’ A ‘wet’ Spetsnaz mission was one where blood was spilt; where people died. Buslenko’s audience remained silent, their attention fixed on him and waiting for him to continue. He grinned and carried on.

‘Okay, now that that crap’s out of the way, let’s get down to brass tacks.’ He turned the screen of his laptop in their direction. He used a wireless mouse and the handsome face of a middle-aged Ukrainian officer appeared on the screen.