'Guess ?' the pilot said after a while. 'Maybe - time trials ? Could be. Shell the shit out of a definite area, using VX or one of those bastards, then move the men in the special suits in to see how quickly they can clear it.'

The MIL lifted away from the defoliated, obscene swathe, towards the bare, clean lines of a cliff face. Sharp, hard - natural.

'Why?'

'You ask a hell of a lot of questions! Why? Because the Army thinks it'll start a war with chemical attacks, and it's practise, practise!'

Vorontsyev, as the MIL lifted clear, into the sun, and the land was spread out suddenly, like something flung from a hand, beneath him - dotted lakes, mountains, deep, narrow valleys, the river - knew he had the answer.

And was stunned, almost paralysed, by its enormity. Yes, yes - He clamped on the thought, the realisation, that had been interrupted, then confirmed, by the yellow cloud. It was -it had to be - There was a connection between Ossipov and Vrubel, between the Far East and the border with Finland. This mountainous, heavily wooded country below him was the connection. A mirror-image, almost.

Ossipov and his armies were practising the invasion of Scandinavia - so the real thing would go smoothly.

A chemical attack to precede an armoured spearhead.

Ilya and Maxim were dead. They must have found out something, and they had been eliminated.

He felt sick.

'Don't look now, my Major - we've got company!' he heard the pilot say at a great distance.

As if from ambush, four helicopters in army camouflage, the red stars bright on their bellies - MIL-24s, gunships, he registered - leapt from the cover of a ridge below and to starboard. They were flying in a rigid formation.

A box to contain their one small helicopter.

PART THREE.

THE RUNNING MAN.

22nd to the 23rd of-----, 19 ..

'We are passing from the sphere of history to the sphere of the present and partly to the sphere of the future.

-Lenin.

Eleven: The Limits of Diplomacy.

There was no call-sign, simply:

'This is restricted airspace over a military exercise area. Your flight is unauthorised, and you are guilty of aerial trespass. You will accompany us to Military District HQ. Acknowledge this message.'

After he had automatically done so, the pilot turned to Vorontsyev. Outside, the four gunships jockeyed into their positions; one to port, one to starboard - one flying a little higher, the other a little below them. He could see the helmeted military pilot, and the crewman who controlled the chopper's arsenal, as he looked down through the perspex of the starboard MIL's cabin.

He craned round, and the pilot said, 'They're behind us -one up, one down. We aren't going to be able to slip away from the party.' He was unworried. Carrying a major in the SID was surety that nothing bad could happen to him. He would only have been obeying orders from the Committee for State Security.

'We have to,' Vorontsyev said quietly, his face grim with strain.

'You're joking!'

'No - I'm not.' He looked at the pilot, and was about to continue when one of the gunships slid overhead and took up a position a hundred metres in front of them, at exactly the same flight level. Then the voice crackled again.

'There is no course reference. Simply follow the helicopter in front of you. Acknowledge.'

'Message acknowledged. I am following.'

The leading chopper immediately banked to port, easing down a grey rock face. The nose of the small MIL dipped and then it imitated the larger machine ahead of it.

'Think!' Vorontsyev snapped. 'How far are we from the headquarters ?'

'Now ?' He glanced at the chart on his knee. 'Ten minutes flying time - from here.' He looked glum, unresponsive, his assurance evaporated.

'How can you set me down ?'

'What?'

'Set me down ! Listen - if I'm caught . . .' He had to tell the pilot the truth, but frighten him with it. He went on: 'And you're with me, then we'll both of us be quietly removed!' He thought of Ilya and Maxim. Missing. Now he knew they were dead. 'We'll have an arranged accident.'

There was open fear hi the pilot's eyes. It was a situation he could not comprehend, hearing that information from an officer in the most elite section of the KGB. It made no sense whatever.

He said, 'You - got to be joking, my Major. They don't kill KGB men, just like that !' And something made his eyes widen more. Vorontsyev knew he was remembering the Separatist terrorism. Then the eyes narrowed in suspicion. 'You are joking?'

'No, my friend. The Army will kill me if it can get its hands on me - after they've checked to find out it's me, and what I might nave seen. You - you they might leave alone. I don't know . . .' He shrugged. 'But if you're with me, then your life isn't worth a one rouble note!'

They were flying along a valley wall, heavily wooded, dark with firs.

'I can't put you down in this!' the pilot said, as if accusing him.

'Find somewhere where you can!'

They were flying at little more than sixty feet above the trees. The valley widened. Patches of meadow, snow here, dotted houses, and dumps of forest.

'Better,' the pilot muttered He turned to Vorontsyev. 'Look, if I drop like a stone, then I can put you down before they can get down. But that's no good to you - or to me. It has to be a small clearing - the very smallest, so that they can't get down except by a rope ladder, unless they want to crash on top of us. Then you'll have time to start running.' He seemed to beseech Vorontsyev's approval. Vorontsyev nodded. 'And, listen, my Major the prize shit - you forced me to do it, at gunpoint!'

'Agreed. I can stand the infamy!'

Vorontsyev looked at the ground flowing beneath them.

'You'll want a map - in the pocket of the door, beside you.'

Vorontsyev dipped in his hand. His nails filled with crumbs, or dust, then he picked out a folded, scruffy map. It was local, large-scale.

He said, 'How far are we from Khabarovsk ?'

'No more than twenty miles.'

'Right. The first one you see that's near enough and small enough - drop in it!'

The pilot managed a small grin. 'Right, my Major.' His smile became more open. 'You really are a bastard! Conning me into this flight when you're really a dangerous villain! I must want my brains tested.'

'Just look, friend. And - thanks.'