"Heavens, no. He's merely tidying up a few loose ends at the embassy. I'm sure he'll be back for the finale. Which is?"

"Tomorrow. Apparently he'll have something to show you tomorrow."

"Me?"

"He says he's tired of dealing with a go-between. He wants to meet my friend."

Dunbar grinned. "And what exactly have you told him about this friend?"

"Nothing. But he's worried about safety and I think he'll want more than the twenty thousand quid."

"Nonetheless he's still willing, isn't he?

Gray shrugged. "I suppose."

"I'll say it again, you've done exceedingly well, Nicky. We're all very pleased." Then, as the smile slowly faded: "Now, about tomorrow. What are the particulars?"

"There's a warehouse by the canal. We're supposed to meet him there a little before midnight."

"And he'll bring the sample?"

"Something from his safe. He didn't say what."

"And assuming all parties are satisfied?"

"He claims he'll be ready to leave within four days, but he didn't discuss any details."

A van passed, followed by a slow dray. Amid the clatter Dunbar whispered something to Sykes, who responded with a slight nod. His gloved hands were still tight on the wheel, his eyes still sweeping the street.

"I suppose I should ask you about Margaretha," Dunbar said at last.

Gray felt something rising from his chest: a trace of vomit, Rudy's notable claret. "What about her?"

"I'm merely wondering if there's anything you should tell me about her. Observations? Difficulties?"

"I think she probably knows something is happening, but she doesn't know what."

"And Spangler is comfortable with the arrangement? No unreasonable expectations?"

"I told you. Money seems the main thing."

"Well, at least that's a motive we can all understand. Which reminds me, we never actually settled on your fee, did we? Well, have no fear."

As Gray was leaving, Dunbar stepped out of the limousine with him. "You realize that we'll have to keep Spangler in quarantine for at least eight or nine months."

"Quarantine?"

"Far from the madding crowd, as it were. Not that we won't ensure his comfort, or pay him what he wants. But we certainly can't have him running about Knightsbridge, can we?"

"What are you saying?"

"Simply that regardless of what we may promise, he's not going to keep Margaretha. And even later I imagine we'll settle him in Canada—for his own safety. Well, don't look at me that way. Isn't it what you wanted? Spangler out of the picture. Isn't it?"

There were eight hours on the last day that Gray killed between dozing in his room and moving aimlessly through wet streets. He also spent some time in a tavern on the Kantstrasse, thinking mostly about Zelle.

He wondered what he would tell her when it was over. He wondered how she would respond. He also found himself dwelling on a few select impressions ... an evening here, a morning there, dawn by the river in Paris, dusk by the canals in Berlin.