'Usual - lead car, then the Daimler, then a second Volvo.'

'Very well. Minimum tail, then hand over.'

'Sir.'

'Anything, Car One?'

The radio sputtered with background, then: 'Not so far.' A Welsh voice - who was that ? Aubrey dismissed the question as irrelevant.

'Keep your eyes open. They have to try - and I mean that. It will appear imperative to stop us.'

'Sir.'

'Car Two - close up.'

'Sir. Nothing behind us - wait! -'

'What is it?'

'Volvo truck - OK, taking the last left, is it ? Yes. Relax, everybody.'

Aubrey felt irritated at the momentary levity from the trailing car, then dismissed his own nerves. He looked out of the window, still cradling the microphone in his palm. Waterford's breathing was audible from the back seat - but he wasn't asleep. Aubrey had a sense of experiencing something like it before - where was it? Negro tennis player, at Wimbledon? Yes, that was it. Concentrated relaxation, the animal curled up, just for a moment, but ready.

Innocuous suburb - small houses in vivid colours, neat gardens, white fences, all strangely unreal under the grey sky. They were taking a careful, long route, but one which did not leave them far from the main road into the city, in case they were required to make a run for it. Most of the houses too low for the kind of thing a sniper would like as a vantage Aubrey dismissed the thought. A sniper would like to be level with the windows of a closed car. The glass was reinforced, but impossibly fragile against a Kalashnikov, let alone a Dragunov sniper's special. Would they kill them ? Hardly anyone about -the problems of disposal might be minimal - an incident, yes. But for reasons unknown, if they were all dead. Yes, they would do it.

'Car One - anything?' He could see the car, turning the corner ahead. 'Go ahead, Car One.'

The radio crackled with background.

'Coming your way, Twelve.'

'Already got them.'

'Go!'

Aubrey had heard nothing. Waterford's breathing, Davenhull's more ragged noise, the humming heater, the background from the radio - enough noise ?

The lead Volvo was already burning, and men were moving towards it, cautiously, while others formed a line across the street into which the Volvo had turned. Even as he reacted, he realised that they knew Helsinki better than he did, that the street into which he had turned was a sudden blotch of light industry, old warehouses and grass-usurped, unsold plots.

'Get out - get out!' He cried, even as the driver wrenched the wheel, slid the Daimler into reverse. Aubrey saw the first two holes appear in the nearside wing of the car. Waterford said behind him. 'Just move out of it! They don't want prisoners!'

Aubrey felt the draught of air as Waterford lowered the passenger window.

'For God's sake!' Waterford squeezed off three shots from the Parabellum, all of them missing, Aubrey thought, as he craned and crouched in one awkward movement, the scene spinning past the windscreen of the car as it slewed its tail towards the oncoming men. No, one body was sprawled across the road, near the Volvo - one of his, or the enemy ?

He banged his head painfully against the dashboard as the Daimler surged forward, and then heard bullets thudding dully into the boot and the reinforcement behind the passenger seats.

'All right?'

Tor Christ's sake, I don't want another cucumber sandwich !' Waterford yelled. Aubrey sensed the delight in the voice, the vivacity. 'Tell them to cover us, quickly!'

They were passing the second Volvo which was turning slowly into the wide street. Aubrey saw a face, said into the microphone, 'Cover us - but make your way out as quickly as you can.'

He saw the window of the Volvo coming down, the passengers in front and back leaning out.

'Take the main road - as quickly as you can!' he ordered the driver, who turned right almost at once, doubling back the way they had come.

'No!' Then the sound of Waterford knocking out the rear window, and the interior of the car like a fridge. 'They must have a spotter - that wasn't just luck.' Silence, the car merely retracing its journey and the ambush still between them and the centre of Helsinki. 'Yes. A helicopter. Fuck it! You know Helsinki?'

'Yes,' the driver said.

'Use your judgement - don't listen to the rest of us.'

Hesitation, then Aubrey said: 'Do as the Major suggests.'

'Sir.'

'Poor sods,' Aubrey heard from behind him. He craned round in his seat, and saw the second Volvo swerving round the corner from the ambush, then staggering across the road as if drunk. It piled against a lamp-standard, and was suddenly still.

The Daimler swerved right again, then left in a second or two. Aubrey, despite the pressure he felt, was amused at the independence the driver had suddenly assumed. Then he thought of Davenhill, and realised, from the way his own heart was beating and his palms felt damp inside his gloves, what the younger man had been through. He looked at Waterford, who was staring out of the shattered rear window, his greying hair plucked by the slip-stream, and said, 'You seem to attract extreme circumstances, Major.'

'Sure it's not you ?'

'How far are we, driver ?'

'A couple of miles - as the helicopter flies, sir.'

Aubrey sensed the dangerous glamour of threat, of ambush-and-escape, and worried. His own adrenalin seemed to have evaporated with age.

'Your direction, Seven.'

'Sir.'

'Twelve, you should have let the Volvo go!'

'They spotted one of us, sir - had to.'

'Get it cleared up. Any witnesses ?'

'No one on the streets - we've got the remains stowed.'

'Get out of there, then.'

'Sir.'

'Where are they now ?'

'Down there - see ?'