“Tell him,” said Quinn through gritted teeth.

Katerina dispatched a second e-mail, again in English. This time, they had to wait only ten minutes for a reply. It came in the form of an address. Katerina pasted it into a search engine and hit the enter key. Quinn smiled.

53

THAMES HOUSE, LONDON

MILES KENT WAS THE ONLY person at Thames House who could penetrate the battlements of Amanda Wallace’s office without an appointment. He entered at half past six that evening as she was preparing to leave for a long weekend in Somerset with her husband Charles, a wealthy Etonian who did something with money in the City. Amanda adored Charles and seemed completely oblivious to the fact he was carrying on a torrid affair with his young secretary. Kent had thought often about bringing the affair to Amanda’s attention—it was a potential security risk, after all—but had decided such a move could be ruinous. Amanda could be ruthlessly vindictive, especially toward those whom she regarded as threats to her power. Charles would suffer no sanction for his indiscretion, but Kent might very well find himself turfed out of the service in the prime of his career. And then what? He’d have to take a job at a private security firm, the last port of call for dried-up spies and secret policemen.

“I hope this won’t take long, Miles. Charles is on his way.”

“It won’t,” said Kent as he lowered himself into one of the chairs in front of Amanda’s desk.

“What have you got?”

“Yuri Volkov.”

“What about him?”

“He was a busy boy today.”

“How so?”

“He left the embassy on foot at midday. An A4 team followed him for about an hour. And then they misplaced him.”

“Lost him? Is that what you mean?”

“It happens, Amanda.”

“It’s been happening too much lately.” She placed some weekend reading material into her briefcase. “Where was the last place the team had eyes on the target?”

“Oxford Street. They came back to Thames House and spent the rest of the afternoon piecing together Volkov’s subsequent movements using CCTV.”

“And?”

“He took a stroll down Piccadilly to make sure he was clean. Then he ducked into the tube at the Circus and boarded a train.”

“Piccadilly or Bakerloo?”

“Bakerloo. He rode it to Paddington Station and then returned to the embassy on foot.”

“Did he meet with anyone?”

“No.”

“Kill anyone?”

“Not that we’re aware of,” said Kent with a smile.

“What about when he was on the train?”

“He just stood there.”

Amanda added another file to her briefcase. “It sounds to me, Miles, as though Yuri Volkov took a walk.”

“Russian spies don’t take a walk for no reason. They take a walk because they’re spying. That’s what they do.”

“Where is he now?”

“Inside the embassy.”

“Anything unusual?”