'Real pro. How big is his group?'

'He runs fourteen men under constant training, and can recruit more from sleepers and agents-in-place if needed.'

'He ever indulge in free-lancer bullshit?' A support chief who commandeered armoured cars from the host services could be tricky to handle.

'I don't quite follow.'

'I mean, he takes orders?'

'From those he respects. I rather think you qualify.'

One of the candles guttered, and smoke spiralled upwards across the statue of St Marius.

I hadn't got any more questions.

Took a turn, watched the man down there polishing his sacred artefacts, felt an instant of brotherhood, listened again to the thudding of the rifle and saw again the fingers slowly uncurling, thought of Moira – how long would the rose take to shed the first petal? – thought of Daisy in the Caff, good luck, she always said, knowing when we were going out, knowing sometimes more than the superannuated cardinals in Administration, knowing sometimes when a shadow wouldn't come home. Thought of life's continuance against great odds, turned back to Croder.

'Look,' I said, 'I'll take it as far as I can.' I heard the echo of my voice from a niche in the chapel. 'That's all I can offer.'

Croder's eyes were bright. 'That's all I can ask.'

The hot wax of the candle drowned the wick at last, and the tendril of smoke vanished into the shadows. I nodded and turned away, going out of the church through the small side door and into the drifting snow.