‘We always show respect, as they do to us in moments of crisis.’

*

Three hours later 58-year-old Siberian-born Yuri Norkov arrived in a bullet-proof limousine with his handsome fifty-year-old wife, along with two rugged bodyguards. The 192-centimetre, strongly built Norkov was nervous as he was introduced to Cavalier for a perfunctory handshake before being led by Haut and doctors in to see Natalia.

Cavalier was left with the two bodyguards in the waiting room. He wished he had his handgun, not because of his tough-looking company but because he was half-expecting the Audi occupants to burst in and finish the job they had started. Military personnel, some armed, were walking in and out of wards. Three sat in the waiting area for half an hour, their sub-machine guns resting in their laps.

The room was silent. Not even the two Russian guards spoke to each other. Hospitals were sober places, but there was an uneasy mix of Russian security operatives and French soldiers who sat and waited for other people and doctors to come out of wards.

The doctors in Natalia’s room told her father that his sleeping daughter would survive but would need surgery. The sad news was that the mutilation she received might make it difficult for her to have children. Her mother began to cry. Haut was upset. Norkov was distressed but in control enough to take Haut aside for a ‘chat’. Haut was expecting to be blamed for the attack because of his work. To his surprise, Norkov was sympathetic.

‘Don’t blame yourself,’ he said, rubbing his bulbous nose and wiping his narrow, sweeping Asiatic eyes. ‘She is lucky to be alive.’ He glanced at his wife, who sat at Natalia’s bedside holding her hand. ‘I wish to tell you something in confidence. We are aware of your strong relationship. You had plans to marry, no?’

‘Yes,’ Haut said.

‘Has Valeria—er … Natalia—told you of my position?’

‘Yes, on the train here.’

‘Good, good.’ He dropped his voice to a hoarse whisper and added, ‘You see, my role was to defeat the mafia, which had gained strongholds through Russia in the early 1990s.’ He sighed. ‘It has taken many years to clean up the gangs, but we are on top of it now thanks to President Putin. When Natalia was thirteen, we were in Siberia where the mafia was attempting to move in and take control. Our family was staying at an apartment block. We were in apartment six. Across the hall was apartment nine. The number on the door had slipped. The nine became a six. I watched through a window as the mafia—five of them—burst in and killed the poor occupants—a family of three. We were the target, but because of the nine looking like six, we were spared.’