“Good. Now, Volkov, concerning this sorry business with Blake Johnson. You need to check the quality of your staff. Taking on such a prestigious target is only worthwhile if success is certain. Failure is not an option. And I keep seeing that damn Dillon’s name popping up everywhere!”

“Of course, sir, I understand. As for Dillon-he’s an exceptional man.”

“Are you saying we have no such individuals? Whatever happened to Igor Levin, for example?”

Volkov hesitated. “He became unreliable, Mr. President. By the end of the Belov affair, he decamped to Dublin with two GRU sergeants, Chomsky and Popov. Chomsky, I believe, is studying law at Trinity College in Dublin now. It’s difficult.”

“You’re wrong,”Vladimir Putin said. “It’s very simple. Tell them their President needs them and Russia needs them. And if that doesn’t work- well, we have ways of dealing with people who ‘decamp,’ don’t we? As for Ferguson and company, I’m sick of them. It’s time to finish it once and for all. Every time we make headway in our goal, they interfere. Disorder, chaos, anarchy leading to a breakdown in the social order, this should be our aim. Cultivate our Arab friends, let them do the dirty work. Their favorite weapon is the bomb, which means civilian casualties-that’ll stoke the fires of hate for all things Muslim anywhere in Europe. You have my full authority.”

Volkov tried to smile. “I’m very grateful, Mr. President, for everything.”

“I’ll have a vodka with you, then I’ll let you go.”

“My pleasure.”Volkov went to the side table and refilled their glasses, which he brought back.

“I’ve been thinking,” Putin said. “This Arab you’re running in London, Professor Dreq Khan, the Army of God man. He seems almost untouchable, all those committees he’s on in Parliament, all those political connections. He could get away with murder.” He laughed. “Don’t you think?” He raised his glass. “To victory and to Mother Russia,” and he took the vodka down in one easy swallow.