By then, it was a few minutes after noon. Katerina reclined on the bed and dozed intermittently until half past three, when she checked out of the hotel and took a taxi to the P&O Ferries terminal. The Pride of Rotterdam, a 705-foot ferry capable of carrying 250 cars and more than a thousand passengers, was in the process of boarding. The SVR had reserved first-class accommodations for Katerina under the name Gertrude Berger. She left her suitcase in her assigned cabin, locked the door, and went upstairs to one of the bars. It was already packed with passengers, many of whom were in search of a little warm company to ease the loneliness of the ten-hour overnight passage. Katerina ordered a glass of wine and took a table on the vessel’s port side.

It did not take long for the men in the bar to notice the attractive young woman sitting alone with no company other than her phone. Eventually, one came over, two drinks in hand, and asked in English whether he could join her. Katerina could tell by his accent he was German. He was in his mid-forties, thinning hair, well dressed. It was possible he was employed by one of the European security services. Nevertheless, she reckoned it was better to fence with him over a drink than to give him the cold shoulder. She accepted the glass of wine and with a glance invited him to sit.

As it turned out, he worked as an account manager for a firm in Bremen that manufactured high-quality machine tools—not exciting work, he said, but stable. It seemed his firm did a great deal of business in the north of England, which explained his presence on the Rotterdam-to-Hull ferry. He preferred the ferry to airplanes because it gave him much-needed time away from his marriage, which, not surprisingly, was in a less than optimal state. For two hours Katerina flirted with him in her impeccable German, occasionally delving into such arcane matters as deflation in the euro zone or the debt crisis in Greece. The businessman was obviously smitten. His only disappointment came at the end of the evening when she declined his offer to return to his cabin.

“I’d be careful if I were you,” he said, rising slowly in defeat. “It seems you have a secret admirer.”

“Who?”

He nodded toward the opposite side of the bar, where a man sat alone at a table. “He’s been staring at you since the minute I sat down.”

“Really?”

“Know him?”

“No,” she said. “I’ve never seen him before.”

The German man moved off in search of a more promising target. Katerina rose and went outside to the empty observation deck to smoke a cigarette. Quinn joined her a moment later.

“Who’s your friend?” he asked.

“A salesman with hopes of glory.”

“You sure about that?”