"God knows," Miller said. There were few things Henry Frankel didn't know about, but Boris Luzhkov ending up dead in the Thames was one of them.

"The boss is in, and he's expecting this, so I'll deliver it now. He said you're to wait, so help yourself. Coffee, all kinds of tea, juices. We've got a miracle machine now. Just press the right button."

Which Miller did and also glanced at the Times. Frankel was in and out several times, but it was thirty-five minutes before he came over to him and smiled.

"Everything on the go this morning, but he'll see you now." Miller followed him. Frankel opened the door of the office and stood to one side.

"Come in, Harry." The PM was behind his desk. "Take a chair. First-class report."

"Thank you, Prime Minister. Putin didn't say anything he hasn't said before, but he does have this dangerous gift of sounding quite reasonable."

"As I know, to my cost, but I must tell you that I've had Charles Ferguson on the phone. A terrible business, this incident with his car and the death of the driver."

"I don't know what the General has told you, Prime Minister, but it now seems certain that the driver was party to the whole affair. It would seem likely that the device, whatever it was, exploded prematurely, unfortunately for him. General Ferguson is handling the matter as if it was an accident, not a bomb, so there should be no problem with the media."

"Yes, that's the last thing we need. Ferguson's also filled me in on the unfortunate business on Long Island, and on your own brush with death in Central Park." He sighed. "Trouble follows you everywhere I send you-Kosovo, Washington, Lebanon. You always end up shooting someone. You are the most irregular Member of Parliament I have ever known."

"Hardly my fault, Prime Minister, when you send me to places where people are liable to do a bit of shooting themselves."