AT HOLLAND PARK, THEY WERE ADMITTED BY SERGEANT Doyle, who was on night duty. “Unexpected guest,” Dillon told him. “Get Henderson out of bed. Billy, you stick Rashid in the interview room and wait. I’ll see if Roper is still up.”

Which he was, roaming cyberspace as usual, Cole Porter sounding softly from a player. He was humming, perfectly happy, with Greta in a nearby chair, browsing through the New Statesman.

“Come into the viewing room, both of you.”

They assembled quickly, all of them, watching through the glass as Billy left Rashid alone in total silence.

“This is Caspar Rashid, a doctor of electronics at London University. He’s forty-two, born in London, and his wife, Molly, is a medical doctor. Hope you’re getting this, Roper. I’d like a full-flow analysis as you record details of the interview. Assist by all means.”

“Of course. Let’s keep it friendly,” Roper said and brought the lights up on both sides of the glass so Rashid could see them as well. “Dr. Rashid, we’re a mixture of military and intelligence personnel. My name is Roper, the lady is Major Greta Novikova of the GRU, and Dillon and Billy Salter you already know.”

“I’m impressed,” Rashid said.

“We belong to a group personally authorized by the Prime Minister. Normal rules do not apply to us, so your complete honesty will be required.” That was Dillon.

Billy laughed. “The only rules we have are not to have any. It saves time.”

“I understand,” said Rashid.