‘Goodnight, Tom. Look, I know this is frustrating for you, but I’m hoping we can trade interview for interview with the Soviets. We’ve got people they’re desperate to talk to, so let’s see how it goes.’

*

Wilde slept well and woke late, at 10 a.m. But he wasn’t concerned. If the Russians had made contact, Richard Helms would have had him woken. He wandered along to the bathroom, shaved and had a quick bath, then returned to his room. Dressing in a clean white shirt, socks and underwear from his light valise, he made his way downstairs to the communal dining room, which was empty save for a single waiter. He gave him an order for a pot of black coffee and a full English, then asked him if his companion, Lieutenant Heck, had taken his breakfast yet.

‘Yes, sir, he came early. About six-thirty, I believe.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Can I bring you a newspaper, sir? Washington Post? New York Times? I’m afraid they’re all a day or two out of date.’

‘Those two would do me fine. Couple of London ones would be good, too, if you can rustle them up.’

He devoured the news and his breakfast with equal hunger. He loved newspapers almost as much as he loved black coffee. After eating his fill, he wandered back upstairs and knocked on Lieutenant Heck’s door. When there was no reply, he turned the handle and looked in the room. It was empty, but Heck’s case was there and the bed had clearly been slept in. Wilde went to his own room, found his toiletries bag and went along to the bathroom to brush his teeth. For the first time in a couple of days he felt like a new man. Clean body, clean clothes, full belly.

Ten minutes later, he found Richard Helms in his office. ‘Any word, Richard?’

‘Well, something, but not quite what you want. You have been assigned a guy named Boris Minsky. He will meet you, listen to your needs, and see how they can help.’

‘Who is he? What’s his position?’

‘Officially, he’s attached to the Kommandatura, the four-power body governing Berlin, as one of the senior Soviet representatives. In reality, of course, he’s SMERSH – Soviet counter-intelligence – so you’ll have to take everything he says with a pinch of salt. Anyway, we’re not in a position to argue, I’m afraid, so go meet him and see if you can get anywhere. At least you won’t have to hang around here. I’ve accepted a lunchtime meeting on your behalf. A late lunch or early supper, depending on your point of view. The Russians have decided in their wisdom to put their sector of Berlin on Moscow time. So it’ll be about 2 p.m. here in our sector – 4 p.m., I suppose, to Comrade Minsky. Go figure, Tom.’

‘Where do we meet?’