“No, but it is dominated by Vladimir Putin. I am just as controlled as I would have been in the old days. I travel in a jet provided by the Ministry of Arts. I am in the hands of GRU minders wherever I go. I don’t even handle my own passport. They would never let me go willingly.”

“A terrible pity. Any of the great universities would love to get their hands on you. I’m biased, of course, but Cambridge would lay out the red carpet for you.”

“An enticing prospect.”

He sat there, frowning slightly, as if considering it. She said, “Is there anything particular to hold you in Moscow?”

“Not a thing. Cancer took my father some years ago, there are cousins here and there. Svetlana is my closest relative. No woman in my life.” He smiled and shrugged. “Not at the moment, anyway.”

“So?” she said.

“They watch me closely. If they knew I was even talking this way to you, they’d lock me up.” He nodded. “Anyway, we’ll see. Paris in a fortnight.”

“Something to look forward to. You should be proud.”

She opened her purse and produced a card. “Take this. My mobile phone number is on it. It’s a Codex, encrypted and classified. You can call me on it whenever you like.”

“Encrypted! I’m impressed. You must be well connected.”

“You could say that.” She stood up and said, “I mean it. Call me. Paris isn’t too far from Cambridge, when you think of it.”

He smiled. “If it ever happened… I wouldn’t want an academic career. I’d prefer to leave the stage for a while, escape my present masters perhaps, but vanish. I’d like to think that my escape would be total, so Moscow had no clue as to where I had gone. I wouldn’t appreciate the British press knocking on my door, wherever I was.”

“I see what you mean, but that could be difficult.”

“Not if I were able to leave quietly, no fuss at all. Moscow would know I’d gone, but the last thing they’d want would be for it to be public knowledge, create a scandal. They’d keep quiet, say I was working in the country or something on a new book, and try to hunt me down.”