Before he could do anything else, the phone rang again. This time, he ignored it. He wondered how long he’d be able to carry on doing that before some bright spark from the university press office decided that what they really needed was the sort of high profile that an interview with Tony Hill could bring. He jumped to his feet and made for the door. Time to go into hiding.

Sometimes there were distinct advantages in having a brother who was a computer expert. Carol had learned enough from Michael to recognize what a program file looked like, which meant she’d been able to identify the encryption software on the secondary hard disk that Gandle had given her. It had been the work of a few minutes to transmit the program on to her brother in Manchester, asking him to forward it to Tony, complete with instructions on how to install it. As a result, they were now exchanging e-mails in complete security. Of course, it was all highly irregular – a breach of the Official Secrets Act at the very least. She’d had a moment of doubt, understanding only too well how her apparent cavalier regard for security might be interpreted by someone who didn’t know Tony. But it had only been a moment. She knew nobody more committed to confidentiality than Tony, nor anyone who could be more help at the sharp end of a complicated investigation. And Carol had always trusted her maverick streak to do what was best. She had warned Michael on pain of death not to spread the software any further, and she felt sure she could trust him. If it ever came to light, she would plead Morgan’s orders that she should do whatever it took to make her feel secure.

This evening, more than ever, she was glad their line of communication was open. For she had something in her possession that might just tempt Tony out of his self-imposed retirement. More than that, it might bring him to her side. Carol frowned at the computer screen. She needed to get this one absolutely right. Impatiently, she pushed the chair back from the desk and paced the room, trying to gather her thoughts.

The apartment in Berlin was everything Petra had promised. Comfortable without attempting opulence, quiet and secure, its anonymity was somehow less impersonal than that of a hotel room. Caroline Jackson would relish those same qualities, she felt sure. The few personal items in the room marked it out as the territory of her alter ego. She’d never have chosen those books, that photograph frame, those extravagantly ostentatious flowers for herself. But for this evening she needed to remind herself that she was Carol Jordan. Caroline Jackson would be no help whatsoever in composing the finely balanced e-mail she needed to send; for that, she needed all her own qualities of mind.