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Berenkov’s caution, said: ‘Vladimir Novikov was not the man who handled the identifying Politburo communication …’ He paused, offering a sheet of paper across the table to the KGB chairman. ‘This is an affidavit from a man named Nikolai Perebillo,’ Lvov resumed, triumphantly. ‘He controls the entire cipher section, with absolute clearance. And he attests that only he transmitted Politburo communications naming the target.’
    Kalenin looked enquiringly at Berenkov.
    Unimpressed, the huge man said: ‘Does it also attest that he’s positive that Novikov, alerted from messages to which he’d already had access, didn’t use his matching clearance to go through Politburo files to get more information?’
    â€˜He could have been shot for that!’ tried Lvov.
    â€˜He was a traitor, leaking information to the British!’ Berenkov came back. ‘He already risked being shot. And would have been, if he hadn’t realized how close the investigation was!’
    â€˜I still consider it unthinkable that he would have tried such a thing,’ said Lvov. He was a small, narrow-faced man.
    â€˜It’s what I would have done if I’d been about to defect and wanted to impress the people to whom I was going,’ admitted Berenkov.
    â€˜So it comes back to being a gamble,’ said Kalenin.
    â€˜Isn’t it a governing principle in intelligence that gambles should be reduced to a minimum?’ reminded Berenkov.
    â€˜Doesn’t that depend on the stakes?’ said Lvov, balancing question for question.
    â€˜And they’re high,’ agreed Kalenin.
    â€˜They would be higher if it ended in a disaster we didn’t intend,’ warned Berenkov.
    â€˜How long would it take to prepare for another opportunity?’ Kalenin asked the head of the assassination department.
    â€˜There’s no way of knowing when another such public opportunity will arise,’ pointed out Lvov. ‘Months, certainly. And there would be no guarantee that the woman would be involved again, if we aborted this time. Without her – or someone like her – it would be impossible.’
    â€˜They’re ready?’
    â€˜Both of them,’ assured Lvov. ‘He’s an outstanding operative.’
    Kalenin shook his head at Berenkov and said: ‘I don’t see we have any real alternative.’
    â€˜There is,’ disputed Berenkov, stubbornly. ‘The very real alternative is to cancel and wait for another occasion, irrespective of how long it takes or how difficult it might be to manipulate.’
    â€˜It’s not a choice I think I have,’ said Kalenin.
    â€˜I don’t believe Novikov saw any more than the three messages we’ve positively traced to him,’ said Lvov, recognizing the argument was tilting in his favour. ‘And by themselves they’re meaningless: no one would be able to make any sense from them.’
    â€˜I know of some who might,’ said Berenkov, whose British capture had been supervised by Charlie Muffin.
    â€˜We go,’ decided Kalenin. ‘I acknowledge the dangers and I don’t like them and I’d personally enjoy interrogating the runaway bastard in Lubyanka until he screamed for the mercy I wouldn’t give him, to learn exactly how much he’s taken with him. But I think on this occasion we’ve got to take the gamble.’
    Lvov allowed himself a smile of victory in the direction of Berenkov, who remained expressionless. Berenkov said: ‘Let’s hope, then, that it’s a gamble that pays off.’
    The instruction centre for KGB assassins is known as Balashikha. It is located fifteen miles east of Moscow’s peripheral motorway, just off Gofkovskoye Shosse, and it was here in his isolated but luxury dacha that the waiting Vasili Nikolaevich Zenin received the telephone call from the head of the department, within minutes of Lvov leaving the