So, on the surface, everything was brilliant; and yet, undermining the cheerful atmosphere, was the presence of Apple and Orange, sitting there in the Embassy lock-up.

The CNDs were a lead weight on my mind, and Sasha’s invitation to supper made everything worse. How could I chat up his old mother with this in the back of my brain?

All afternoon my mind kept wandering as I tried to think up ways of wriggling out of our commitment. What if we dropped both devices, unprimed, off one of the bridges into the Moscow River, and told Hereford there’d been an unfortunate accident – a crash which had flung the cases out of the back of the van and over the parapet? Even if they believed it they’d probably react by simply getting two more CNDs sent post-haste from America, and we’d be back in the shit, neck deep, with even less time to extricate ourselves.

What if we dumped the cases in the river but reported that we’d installed them correctly at the two sites? Obviously the satellite wouldn’t pick up the right signals – but maybe we could attribute this to faults in the systems. I needed to consult Toad on that one.

What if I posted Anna an anonymous typewritten note about the contents of the Embassy lock-up? A quick raid by Omon, an almighty diplomatic row, Embassy staff expelled, SAS sent packing, international stand-off, countdown to World War Three . . .

When I confided my anxiety to Whinger that evening, his reaction was typical. ‘For fuck’s sake, Geordie,’ he went. ‘You’re getting old. The only thing to do’s to get the bastards in place and forget about them. It’s a thousand to one they’ll never get used. So let’s bury them, have done with it – and don’t get caught, ’cause life’s too short.’

I stared at the deep lines in his face and the curls of grey in the light-brown fuzz of his hair. ‘You always were a mean bastard,’ I told him, ‘but I reckon you’re right. We’ll go for it.’

Our next decision was to shift our early-morning run in the direction of the potential Orange site, to clear that one down. During the past few days we’d made a couple more passes along the track that went by the old air-raid shelter, but we’d still not looked inside, and now we needed to suss it out properly.

The nights were growing steadily longer, so the next morning we set off in the dark, and we’d covered the three kilometres to the site before the light was at all strong. This meant we had to hang around a while before we could see, but at least we felt confident that no one else was about.