Aubrey waited. He had given the man a means of admission that would not appear damaging, or impotent. Khamovkhin stirred in his chair, then said, 'Very well, Mr Aubrey. You have been candid with me, I shall be similarly so.' He stood up again, and placed his back towards the fire, hands clasped behind him. Irreverently, Aubrey expected a comic policeman's crouch.

'The discontent of the Army towards our mutually beneficial Treaty is well known to you, as it is to us. I will not disguise from you the fact that we have long suspected that elements in the Red Army might attempt some kind of- non-diplomatic, non-democratic action against the time when the Treaty was signed, and ratified. The security service of the Soviet Union has been assiduous, dedicated, in its investigations - in all parts of the Soviet Union and the territories of our Warsaw Pact allies - into possible centres of discontent and subversion -' He looked at each man in turn. Aubrey saw a quick image of a man hanging wallpaper, and wondered quizzically at the way in which irreverence was creeping into his attitude to his work; even at such a crucial tune as this.

'We have had to tread very carefully, as you will appreciate, gentlemen. We had no wish to trigger, prematurely, the very thing we wished to prevent.' He smiled - an exercise of the facial muscles. 'But, we are now - and I have confirmed this with Chairman Andropov by radio-transmitter only this morning - in a position where the leaders of this conspiracy against peace are clearly identified, their plans known to us - and their arrests imminent!' He finished with an actor's nourish, one hand raised a little in the air. Then he dosed it into a fist, to emphasise his meaning.

'Your assurances are most welcome, sir,' Aubrey remarked smoothly. 'We understand that you cannot order the withdrawal of troops - which you so evidently wish to do - until these dissident elements have been placed under arrest. I am sure that my colleague - and his government - will be reassured, as I know Her Britannic Majesty's Government will be.' He nodded in a little theatrical bow. Khamovkhin watched Buckholz carefully.

'Thank you, Air First Secretary,' the American began, 'for your frank admissions. I will convey your remarks to the President. However, I am sure that he would wish you to know that his sympathies and support are with you - and that he will commit troops to the northern sector at dawn on the twenty-fourth! Unless you can put your own house in order.'

Khamovkhin shivered, very slightly, but Aubrey considered it was with suppressed rage.

'I take your President's meaning to heart, I can assure you, Mr Buckholz. However, the situation you seem to consider with such - calm - will not arise. I have told you, the leaders of the conspiracy will be arrested within the next twenty-four hours!' The voice was slightly out of control, and not simply for effect. Khamovkhin had reached the limits of diplomacy, Aubrey considered - and Aubrey understood that it was hopeless; that Khamovkhin's cupboard was bare, his hand empty of high cards. He was simply wishing for the moon.

Aubrey covered the void of the moment, and his own inward quailing, and said, 'There is one other matter, Mr First Secretary. In the interests of your personal security, sir, we propose 'that a new security team, from our intelligence services, be drafted to Lahtilinna.'

Khamovkhin was visibly disconcerted. 'Why is this, gentlemen? My security officers here have been verted by the Chairman himself.' An edge of fear - rank, personal fear. Surprise, anger too.

'Sir, we have a suspicion - no more than that - that you may be in personal danger while in Finland. The thought must also have occurred to you. Considering the possible ramifications of the plot against your government, it is not inconceivable that a move might be made against you - '

'I am to be your prisoner ?'

'Our charge, sir. Only our charge.'

Silence. Khamovkhin fidgeting, uncertain whether to sit or stand. The fire crackling loudly, and visible restraint against the tiny shock from each of the three men.

'We'd like to move the team in tonight, sir.' Buckholz, at last enjoying a small victory. 'But naturally, you can have time to think it over. We have the men selected. You will be safe with them - with us.' The bribe was evident.

'I will consider this - unprecedented step,' Khamovkhin said slowly. 'In consultation, naturally.' A sweep of the arm. 'Now, you will excuse me, gentlemen, I have much to do.'

'Of course, sir.' Aubrey stood up and said, bowing slightly, 'Thank you for seeing us.'

'Yes - thank you,' Buckholz added, as if reminded of his manners.

When they had gone, Khamovkhin stared into the fireplace for a long time, and felt he was looking into a tunnel - he hardly saw the flames, only the blackened back of the fireplace; he was running down that tunnel, and a great train, the monolith of the Soviet Union itself, so it seemed, was thundering and roaring behind him drawing closer and closer.

As they went down the steps of the castle, and their feet began crunching on the icy gravel as they walked to their car, Aubrey said, 'Well played, Charles - we should have worked more often as a team.'

Buckholz grinned. 'Why do you British assume, by divine right, I guess, that you have all the diplomacy, and us colonials only get to be the stooges ? Next time, I want to play the smartass - you be the dummy!'

'Very well, Charles. Not that it would seem to matter much. Khamovkhin is relying on a miracle - and therefore, so are we.'

'Dammit, yes! I know that. What the hell is the KGB playing at ? When they got a real job on, they foul up!'

'Never mind, Charles. I think, for the moment, we will interest ourselves in the smaller matter of one man's safety. And the identity of the mysterious Captain Ozeroff. That should be enough for two old night-soil men like ourselves.' He paused, then added bleakly, 'It should do to fill in time until the twenty-fourth,'

The Englishman was near to breaking - perhaps within himself he had already broken. The fierce attention he seemed 10 be paying to Kutuzov indicated a distraction from self, rather than a real awareness, a calculated assessment of his situation. Novetlyn stood beside Kutuzov, deferential and silent. The narrow cell with its poor light from one high, barred slit of window, smelt foul. Folley's smell, as if something was rotting beneath the soiled clothes, rotting inside the man.

'Well, Colonel?'

'Sir?

'Are we going to learn something of value, or not ?'

Folley blinded, leaned forward on the filthy cot as if straining to comprehend - or simply to keep himself awake. The body's posture flinched, even while he did it. Kutuzov was obscurely moved by the sight, but to no specific feeling.

'Possibly, sir. What he knows, how much he knows - it's open to question.' Novetlyn sounded as if he had already done with the Englishman, discarded that particular card. The attitude irritated Kutuzov. 'Then I came to Leningrad for nothing ?'

'If you came to see him, sir - perhaps.'

Novetlyn obviously knew about the border incident, and the escape of one of the agents in Helsinki. Perhaps that explained his indifference. And an indifferent interrogator would obtain nothing of value.

'What do they know?'

'Less when he was sent than they know now.'

Kutuzov was suddenly tired of the smell, the confinement. Perhaps disturbed, too, though he ignored the feeling.

'Very well, let's go. The Marshal should have arrived by now.'

'And him, sir ?'

Folley's body looking as if it was pleading; but the eyes, as if overworked, were blank with an idiot's stare; the body might only be an actor's imitation of supplication, or a haphazard arrangement of weary, beaten muscles.

'Keep him here for the moment. We might be able to use him later - in some sort of show-trial.' Kutuzov seemed pleased with the idea, as if it explained the vague reluctance he perceived with regard to Folley. 'Perhaps so. Agent of the Western imperialists - a courier to Khamovkhin's gang. Yes. Keep him alive!'

Upstairs, Praporovich waited in civilian clothes in the main drawing-room of the old house. When Kutuzov entered, they embraced, kissed cheeks. Kutuzov held the Marshal at arms' length for a moment, smiling, assessing.

'You look tired, Grigory Ilyich.'

Praporovich dismissed the observation. 'Nothing the twenty-fourth won't put right!' They laughed together. 'I was not followed,' Praporovich added.

'Nevertheless, this is the last time you must come out of headquarters, until things are under way.'

'Perhaps. I will be careful, you know.'

'I know it.'

'Ossipov, then - ?'

'He has been told to radio you the full instructions, timings, everything.'

'We need twenty-four hours minimum to deploy and transport.'

'Ossipov knows that.'

'A pity it's so late in the day - being so important.'

Kutuzov settled himself in his chair, studying Praporovich, suddenly wearied by the prospect of argument.