‘Wife?’

‘Ann. Bank manager’s daughter, from Henley-on-Thames. Archaeology buff, so she couldn’t be more content in Rome.’

‘Any marriage problems?’

‘No suggestion of any.’

‘Excessive spending?’

Harkness shook his head. ‘No inherited money, from either side, but they seem to live within his salary and allowances. Two kids at boarding school back here, but the government pays for that, of course.’

‘Bank records?’

‘Here tomorrow, with Walsingham’s.’

Wilson turned away from the tables, limping to the window. The view wasn’t as good as from his office, just a foreshortened outlook of the Houses of Parliament and Big Ben.

‘It’s not much,’ he said. It was an observation, not a criticism.

‘No,’ admitted Harkness.

‘How many more at the embassy?’

‘About forty, not including cleaners and transport staff; and I think we can reduce that number, if these two show up clean. The leak is obviously high, someone with maximum security clearance’

‘What about surveillance teams?’

‘In place by tonight,’ said Harkness. ‘I’ve notified the embassy officially that six were coming to check security for the Summit. There’s twelve they won’t know about.’

‘Walsingham and Semingford then,’ said the director. ‘It’s a start at least.’

‘The more detailed check might throw something up about them,’ suggested Harkness, conscious of the other man’s reservation.

‘What about Hotovy?’ said Wilson.

‘He’s maintaining contact,’ said Harkness. ‘There’s still no news of his wife’s returning from Czechoslovakia.’