'Sakkas then submerged for a year or two, then resurfaced as a Russian entrepreneur. We got wind of this from a Moscow sleeper who was doing some work for the ministry of the interior on the mafiya situation, with permission of course from London. We informed Scotland Yard as to Sakkas' whereabouts and opened a file on him ourselves. From the same sleeper we were told that he has so far put away fourteen major rivals and three informers, six of them bound together and burned alive in a stolen BMW in a forest outside the city. There was also a criminal court judge shot down on the steps of his own courthouse only a week ago; he was to try the case of a Sakkas aide brought up on a charge of rape. Sakkas doesn't make personal kills himself any more; he uses hit men. His bodyguard is said to number thirty-two young former athletes, most of them out of the karate dojos and two of them former Olympic bronze medallists in gymnastics.'

'Has he got a mistress?' It wasn't a non sequitur: Croder had said that Sakkas – Secker – had got his cover blown in London by a woman.

'He is fond of ballerinas.'

'Does he keep them to himself, or show them off?'

'I'm briefed that he's rather private about his women, as he is with the rest of his life-style.'

'Does he maintain contact with London?'

'Only as far as his entrepreneurship is concerned; he ships priceless ikons and Faberge jewellery there through his Aeroflot network, using the pilots.'

'The dossier's quite extensive.'

'Legge has your copy, if you decide to take this on.'

He'd said it lightly; it had sounded like an aside. It wasn't.

'Have you given it a name yet?' A code-name for the mission.