"You've made your point," she says quietly, sitting down behind her desk. "Bob, if it was just up to me, I'd tell you—but it isn't. There's a committee meeting tomorrow, though, and I'll raise your concerns. Ask me again on Monday and I should be able to pull you in on the BLOODY BARON committee, and at least add you to the briefing list for CLUB ZERO. In the meantime, if you don't mind me asking—what items did Harry sign out to you?"

"He's processing them now." I enumerate. "We've also had our household security upgraded, in case there's a repeat visit, although I think that's unlikely. We're alerted now, so I'd expect any follow-ups to happen out in public: it's riskier for them than it was, but right now the house is a kill zone so if they want Mo badly enough they'll have to do it in the street."

"Ouch." She leans back in her chair and rests one hand on her computer keyboard. "Listen. If you're really sure you want an alarm, I'll sign for one. But . . . what Harry said? Listen to him. It's not necessarily what you need. The gun—well, you're certified. Certificated." She gives a moue of annoyance at the mangled language we have to use: "Whatever. Just keep it out of sight of the public and don't lose track of it. As for the rest—"

She exhales: "There has been an uptick in meetings in public places conducted by three junior attaches at the Russian embassy who our esteemed colleagues in the Dustbin"—she means the Security Service, popularly but incorrectly known as MI5—"have been keeping track of for some time. It's hard to be sure just which organization any given diplomat with covert connections is working for, but they initially thought these guys were FSB controllers. However, we've had recent indications that they're actually working for someone else—the Thirteenth Directorate, probably. We don't know exactly what's going on, but they seem to be looking for something, or someone."

"And then there was the Amsterdam business," I prod.

Another sharp look: "You weren't cleared for that."

"Andy procured a Letter of Release for Mo." I stare right back at her, bluffing. The I'll tell you my secrets if you tell me yours tap dance is a tedious occupational hazard in this line of work.

"Well, yes, then." The bluff works—that, and her ward told her I'm telling the truth about the Letter of Release. "Amsterdam, CLUB ZERO, was indirectly connected."

"So we've got an upswing of activity in the Netherlands and the UK—elsewhere in Europe, too?" I speculate: "Remember I've sat in on my share of joint liaison meetings?"