Soon we were walking down the gentle hill past St Basil’s. At the bottom we found a bridge over the river, and decided to cross to the other side, so we’d be able to look back across the water and get a view of the Kremlin. We cleared the steps on the far bank, and had just started walking, the river on our right, when Rick said quietly, ‘We’ve got a tail.’

‘Sure?’ I asked.

‘Pretty much. He’s been with us at least since the bottom of the square.’

‘Keep walking, then. When we get to that bench, we’ll sit down and see what he does.’

On the embankment a hundred yards in front, a metal bench faced out over the water. When we reached it, I sat on one end, took off a shoe and proceeded to shake out imaginary bits of grit.

Up on Red Square there had been plenty of people wandering about. Down here by the river the wide road was deserted, and our follower stood out like a spare prick.

‘He’s stopped,’ Rick announced. ‘He’s leaning over the wall.’

‘Let’s tip the bastard in,’ said Whinger.

‘It could be someone Sasha’s laid on to keep an eye on us,’ Rick suggested.

‘Hardly,’ I said. ‘I don’t think he’d do that. More likely a common-or-garden mugger. He could have mates waiting up ahead, though. He may be trying to push us towards them. We’d better sort him.’

Whinger agreed – so we strolled forward, slower than before, then suddenly turned and began walking fast towards our pursuer. He’d started after us again, and it seemed to take him a moment to realise what was happening. Then he also turned round and began to scuttle off. By now we were running, and we were on to him in a flash.

Whinger and I each went for an arm and grabbed him, bringing him to a rapid halt. We couldn’t see him too clearly in the lamplight, but he looked a swarthy lad of twenty-odd, with a bit of a ragged beard, wearing a check shirt and a thin jacket of some dark material. He was angry, but also scared.

‘What the hell d’you think you’re doing?’ I snapped.

He let fly a stream of Russian, of which I understood not a word. Rick said something in Russian, and he spat out an answer. Then he started to struggle, and for a moment I was afraid he was going to scream to attract attention. I got my handkerchief scrumpled in a ball, to stuff in his mouth if he opened it any wider, but already Rick was frisking him, and in seconds came up with a nasty, slim-bladed knife which he held in front of the guy’s face.

That made his eyeballs rotate and quietened him nicely.