Shatner swung me a look. 'Had McCane talked about Germany, when he phoned you last night?'

'No.'

He went on moving around the small untidy room. I'd got Holmes to fill me in on McCane before we left the Caff, and he'd told me he'd come back from Berlin the night before, so I assumed that was where Shatner had been running him. I'd also asked Holmes about Shatner, and it was interesting. Apart from a few other things he'd run Tewson in Budapest earlier this year and flown there himself to direct the end-phase when things had got sticky, and not many of them will do that, only Croder, Loman, Childs, nobody else I can think of, because it's so dangerous at that stage. Shatner had also brought Farrow in from Sri Lanka with a broken thigh and a bullet in him, not personally that time, but he'd organised a last-ditch rescue operation through Signals with a dozen people in support and orders to use deadly force if they had to, no big deal in a place like Sri Lanka but the Bureau is terribly touchy about that sort of thing. I might not be in bad hands if Shatner agreed to run me in Berlin, give or take a stray shot or a blown cover.

Westerby's German is adequate,' Shatner said at last, 'but yours is rather better, from what I hear. You've worked there, haven't you?'

'Two or three times. I can pass for a native Berliner.'

'Can you now.' I was still standing by the door, and he said, 'For God's sake, come and sit down again.'

I compromised and perched on the arm of the chair, ready to get up and get out of here if he looked like arguing the toss for much longer. If he didn't give me the mission I'd do the thing I wanted to do some other way; I was ready to drop by now, and past the point where I'd lie staring at nightmares on the ceiling.