‘No, no,’ he protested. ‘She’s a really nice kid.’

‘What did she do to you?’ Whinger asked sarcastically. ‘She emptied your head as well as your balls.’

Sasha was in the foyer at 8.30, still in civilian clothes, evidently not wanting to show any military presence in the hotel. Leaving the others, I got up, greeted him and walked him over into the area near the ground-floor bar, where a few tables and chairs were so widely scattered round the large atrium that I felt sure they couldn’t be covered by microphones.

‘These girls,’ I began. ‘The ones that hang around the hotel. What basis are they on?’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘I mean, are they employed by the hotel, or what?’

‘No, no – Mafia. All Mafia. You have a problem?’

‘Just that Rick laid one of them last night.’

‘Does he not pay her? She is angry?’

‘No – she’s OK.’

‘And he doesn’t tell her who he is?’

‘No, no.’

‘In such case, not to worry.’

‘All right, then. One other thing . . .’ I described the incidents on the embankment – first our own little set-to, then the heavy hit.

Immediately Sasha was apologetic. ‘This man – nothing to do with me,’ he insisted. ‘Nothing.’ From the way he reacted, I knew he was telling the truth.

‘No sweat,’ I said. ‘We didn’t lose anything. As long as the wrong people don’t know we’re here.’

He shook his head. ‘It was only small thief. Teepical Moscow. Zheordie, I am sorry.’

‘In that case, forget it. But what about the bust?’

‘Probably this was Omon. They get information of criminals in the car. Maybe they hear them on their radio.’

‘Their methods aren’t exactly subtle.’

He shrugged. ‘Moscow is very violent place.’

‘Well, we’re all in one piece so far. Idyom!’

He smiled, like he always did when I hit a Russian word accurately, and said, ‘Let’s go.’

I piled into the front passenger seat of his car, the other two got in the back. As Sasha pulled into the traffic, he announced, ‘One more dead.’

‘Who? Where?’

‘On radio news this morning. The boss of Russavto, big car import, shot dead in his Mercedes. Or maybe roasted. They found the car burning on Komsomol-skaya Square.’

‘Mafia?’ I asked.

‘Of course.’

‘What did he do to annoy them?’

‘Refuse to pay money – just how I told you.’

‘The women in the hotel,’ I said. ‘How do they get in there? I mean, is the hotel supporting them?’

‘I tell you, all Mafia-controlled.’

‘Yes – but d’you mean the hotel or the girls?’

‘Both.’

I looked round at Rick and said, ‘You’d better watch yourself, mate. You don’t want to fuck this whole job just because of one hooker. You could end up floating down the Moscow River.’

We were heading out of town towards the east. The traffic going our way wasn’t too bad, but the incoming stream was diabolical: crossing after crossing gridlocked, drivers hooting. When I remarked on it, Sasha said, ‘Moscow traffic goes to collapse. It is impossible.’