I was worried by the knowledge that the guys back on the base had no vehicle in which they could come out and recover us if anything went wrong. In fact I was worried by a hell of a lot of niggling possibilities – which all seemed to become probabilities as the day ground on. We’d get a puncture driving out of the Embassy gates, with Apple on board (we’d had three punctures already). We’d meet hostile natives in the churchyard. We’d drop one of the heavy components down the access shaft and wreck it. We’d crack the casing of the SCR and absorb fatal doses of radiation. We’d find the tunnel booby-trapped. We’d find the tunnel flooded along its whole length. We’d run out of oxygen while making final excavations at the site. We wouldn’t be able to lift the device into its resting place. It would turn out that the two components were incompatible. The satellite wouldn’t pick up signals from the SCR . . .

Before we left I put through a call to Hereford and confirmed that we were under starter’s orders. Until then I’d been economical with information about our progress. I’d reported our successful recce of the Apple site but I hadn’t told anyone what we’d done with the devices. Now I simply said that it should be possible for Washington to make contact with Apple from 0200 next morning.

At last 8.00 came, and it was too late to agonise any more. I rode passenger in the black wagon, with Mal driving and Toad in the back. Whinger drove the grey car, with Rick and Pavarotti as passengers.

Unfortunately it was a still evening. The noisy gale that had blown up during the Mafia hit would have suited us fine, but tonight we had to make do without.

As we headed into town we passed one GAI team who’d set up a temporary check-point on the other side of the road: they’d got three of their little blue-and-white Gaz jeeps set out to form a funnel, and were pulling in about one driver in three. Sasha had told us that by the end of each month these traffic police were frantic for money, and imposed instant fines for any offence they could dream up – as he put it: ‘for documents, for speed, for lights, for breaking rules, for not having seat-belts done up.’

We had our documents, we had roubles, we had dollars . . . but luckily tonight there was no purge on vehicles going in our direction.

The route was familiar by now. Over the bridge, swing down on to the embankment, head west. We made one precautionary drive-past in the black car while the grey one stood off out of sight; then we came back round the block, joined forces, and both turned into the Embassy compound at 8.55.