'At this point,' Croder said, 'let me tell you that if you reach final briefing with Legge, he'll impress it upon you that these people in Moscow are not your cosy Sicilian brotherhood. These people kill those of their protectees who refuse to pay, simply as an example. But they also kill policemen, government agents, bankers, judges, whoever gets in their way. I mention this advisedly.'

The smell of cordite out there somewhere lacing the snow, blood creeping from the red-running eggshell skull, a hand flung out to clutch at the last vestiges of life, the fingers already uncurling, empty.

I suppose I'd been silent for a moment, because I heard Croder saying, 'I'm ready for questions, if you have any.'

'All right. What about expenses? If I had to infiltrate a milieu as affluent as the mafiya I'd need credibility.'

'The figure suggested – I have this directly from the prime minister – is one million US dollars in hard currency, immediately available from Barclay's Bank in Moscow.'

'And if that isn't adequate?'

'You'd be able to call upon whatever further funds you needed.'

'Fair enough. Now tell me about this man Legge.'

'Legge has been in Moscow for nearly ten years. He headed the leading support group for Cossack, Sabre Dance and Roulette. In his last operation – this was post-Yeltsin – he got the executive out of a remote detention camp run by a clandestine cell of former KGB officers by commandeering three armoured cars and a mortar unit from a Russian Army garrison in Tashkent. Prisoners were not taken.'