Solov was holding court at his accustomed table, close to the serving hatch, with the other three senior officers in the rezidentura – Gusev, Bunin and Anishenko – in obedient attendance. They all had their jackets off and their collars loosened, because of the heat, but they were all sweating, adding to the smell of the room. Yuri, who was still considered junior from the newness of his posting, did not intend to join them but as he went to the hatch Solov thrust a chair away from the table with his foot and said: ‘Sit down.’

It was more an order than an invitation and Yuri guessed the men were drunk: because of his father’s changed position within the KGB the attitude had for the past few weeks been more cautious. Yuri sat but brought his own beer to the table, shaking his head against their offer to share the diminishing bottle of vodka. Another stupid celebration to imagined triumphs to come, he decided.

‘The GRU rezidentura is being scaled down,’ announced Solov. ‘They’re only replacing with ten embassy officers, not fifteen like before. Less than half the field agents, too.’

The controller spoke proudly, as if he were personally responsible for the continued demotion. Taunting, Yuri said: ‘It’s a recognized algebraic equation: one KGB man equals two GRU.’

‘Bloody right,’ slurred Gusev. ‘Right every time.’

Fool, thought Yuri. The alcohol heightened Gusev’s blood pressure, so that he appeared almost cosmetically made up. Yuri said: ‘When are they arriving?’

‘Beginning tomorrow,’ said Anishenko.

‘Officer in charge is named Nikandrov, Anatoli Nikandrov,’ further disclosed Solov. ‘Being transferred from Vienna.’