'Shows in my walk?'

'Yes:'

A wry smile — 'Always tell a beginner, can't you? We overdo it, hoping people are going to notice, not many things in Moscow that'll give you status unless you're in the nomenklatura and then you'd be in a Zil. Prance along with your feet out and your pony- tail dancing and you've got it made.' she went over to the Put-U-Up and I helped her. 'Stinks of mothballs, but I suppose there are worse things.' she brought a white patched sheet and some blankets. 'If you feel like some food, just help yourself from the pantry; the fridge is empty, doesn't work. It's only local fare but the bread's terrific, of course. You'll take the call, right?'

'Yes.'

She watched me for a moment, her young and intent blue eyes showing the concern of a mother. 'You'll be all right? There are more blankets if you need them, but the stove keeps in all night.'

'Get some sleep, Jane.'

She gave a little nod and went across to the other room, her feet out and her pony-tail swinging.

I went over the map and opened the thin typed file and gave my cover a first reading: Viktor K. Shokin, forty-two, married to Natalia Yelina, nee Maslennikova, two children, boy and girl, Yuri and Masha, six and seven. Brief history of schooling, university, first job as a stringer for a local newspaper and then a stint as copy-boy in the Pravda overseas office before joining the reconstituted Tass agency.

A lump of coke fell inside the big cast-iron stove and sparks lit the mica window. I thought I heard Jane and Amy talking, or it could have been some people in another flat.

Favourite sport, football, no hobbies, slight knowledge of English, Russian Orthodox.

It was just gone 3:15 when I dropped the file onto the floor and switched the lamp off and heard a spring twang as I lay down and started memorizing the cover, giving it another ten minutes. The voices