'Perhaps he had been working hard, was taking what opportunity was presented to him.'

'His job was the least demanding of any here. You know the position of his father?'

'I have read Guttmann's file. I don't remember anything exceptional.'

'In the area of military technology, research and development, his father is a man of considerable stature, an Honoured Scientist of our country although of German origin.'

'Where are you taking me?'

'I don't know, Comrade Ambassador, but by now there should have been a body. In two days I have to return to Moscow… I will be asked many questions…'

'Are you saying that the boy wasn't drowned?'

'Perhaps there was an accident. Perhaps the boy took his own life for reasons that we do not know. Perhaps we have been deceived.'

'The suspicion you can manufacture is a credit to you.'

'Thank you, Comrade Ambassador. I apologise for having disturbed you.'

Valeri Sharygin returned to his bedroom in the newly built annexe across the compound from the main building of the Residence. Beside his bed was the locked suitcase containing the wordly possessions of Willi Guttmann.

George had come for him. Willi had been sitting on his bed, shoes and socks off, shirt unbuttoned to the waist. No knock at the door, just the flooding impact of the frame of the minder in the doorway, and the summons for him to make himself decent again because he was wanted below. They had never called for him in the evening before. Always a morning session and another after lunch, and then supper with George watching over him and then his bedroom. George was perpetually with him in the house. When they walked in the corridors George was there.

When he went to the lavatory George seemed to stop reluctantly at the door and when the business was finished and the bolt withdrawn he would be waiting.