"Vladimir Kolarnin. Nicolai Luzyenkov"

Nothing. No flinch. No sign. No tell.

"Yuri Belkin."

Elena was impassive. Porcelain. Faultless.

"You met them in 1978, in Moscow. You've worked with them ever since."

The flicker that came, came from Ilya Gavrik, standing watching the screen beside an oblivious Home Secretary. Ruth and Erin were both aware of it, the master craftsman had revealed his surprise.

But not Elena.

Harry put down his champagne. He was not in a celebratory mood.

"You certainly planned for the long game. Marry into the KGB, seduce your way into British Intelligence and spawn the future of the FSB."

"As I recall you needed little seducing," she smiled a cold smile.

"Does Ilya know you were behind the bombings in Rome and the Chicago attacks in 86?"

She had resorted to inscrutability once more.

Sasha was looking at Ilya; confusion in his own eyes; dawning in those of his father.

"I wander how many others there have been?" Harry continued, "How many operations, how many deaths? Has it been worth it?"

Ruth wondered if Elena's lips always had that small rise on the right side that looked like a permanently carved smirk, etched on her face.

"You were certainly no closer to the mighty soviet rebirth when you arrived here were you? So many years working against all Ilya was trying to achieve and then here you are in negotiations with the imperialist, capitalist British government. How mightily distasteful for you."

Now it was Towers whose discomfort was rising.

"Did you really need to kill my agent, Tariq? Leak the names of the others? Murder them too?"

For a moment there was something and Ruth felt she could almost see a glimpse of the doll within the doll.

"I do think attempting the assassination of your own husband was going a little too far. Or were we meant to stop it in the nick of time?"

And finally Elena Gavrik bit.

"Stop it, or not: either result was a means to an end. Both served our purpose."

Sasha stood now, mouth open.

"Touchingly romantic," Harry said, "though I don't remember 'expendable' being part of the wedding vows."

"What do you know of love?" she snarled, "you were ruled by lust and guilt, you were the easiest to manipulate because your desires were so transparent, your loyalties so single minded but so weak. You would have put me above your country but no one should be greater than one's loyalty to their homeland. I would do anything for Russia...anything. That's what makes me strong and you so very weak."

"Anything?"

"Anything."

"Your husband is expendable?"

"Yes."

"Your son."

"Yes."

Harry shook his head at the woman he had spent years regretting, the woman who was now unveiling herself as an empty collection of loveless pretence.

In London the audience in Whitehall silently watched, witness to the abject horror of a family being ripped apart.

Harry stood wearily, "I think the conversation is over."

"You will take this information to Ilya?"

Harry paused. There was something in her tone.

"What if I have more? What if I have information that can save lives. British lives?"

"Such a novelty ... 'saving' lives," he said scornfully, turning away.

"Return me and say nothing of this and I will tell you."

"You expect me to trust you?"

"You don't want unnecessary deaths and I don't want to lose the influence I have."

"The loyal and loving ambassador's wife?"

She smiled a sick, smug smile "Precisely."

"And you think even if Ilya knows nothing of the rest, that he would want you back after days alone with a former lover?"

A hollow laugh

"You think I have not contacted him? He knows you are nothing. He trusts me."

"Then he is a bigger fool than I am," said Harry.

"I doubt that."

"Fine, tell me what you know."

She stood suddenly and with unexpected energy.

"There is a Russian passenger plane flying into Heathrow from St Petersburg. Yuri and Nicolai have someone on board," she glanced quickly at her watch, "He will detonate a bomb in thirty minutes as it begins its descent."

Harry stared, wide eyed, before his hand thrust into his pocket for the phone, furiously dialling.

"Home Secretary, we need to target and destroy a passenger plane, flight ..."

He looked to Elena for help.

"235"

"Flight 235, destination Heathrow. It must be shot down before it flies over British soil or it may kill thousands. Home Secretary, you must authorise it now!"

William Towers the aforementioned Home Secretary stood amongst the rest, watching the screen: no phone was in his hand, nor to his ear.

"Yes I'm certain," pleaded Harry, "Thank you."

With a sigh of relief he ended the call.

With a sigh of confusion Towers leant against his desk.

Elena nodded approvingly, reaching for the coat that lay on the chair by the door.

"You made the right choice, Harry."

"Operation Yevgeny."

She froze.

"Tell me, do you really think we could have found so much intel and yet not know about the ultimate plan to have the British Government authorise the destruction of a fully laden passenger plane with 300 souls on board? Now that really would not do a lot for the Anglo Russian detente."

Ilya Gavrik had seen enough, he nodded to the security officer behind Sasha.

Elena's eyes were wide and blazing, her cold mouth twisted as she swung round to face Harry. Grey metal flashing as she pulled a gun from the coat and thrust it towards him.

Ruth had stopped breathing. The room stood still.

"You have passed your sell by date, Harry."

Elena stepped closer, pressing the barrel tight against his forehead.

"Old spies don't retire, they are simply erased."

She squeezed the trigger.

The shot rang out.

Harry slumped to the floor, pinned by the lifeless body weight of Elena.

In the window stood two suited officers of the FSB. They lowered their weapons and walked from the house back into the night.

In Whitehall Ilya Gavrik turned to Towers, "We shall arrange for my wife's body to be flown home as soon as possible after this ... tragic accident."

He offered out his open palm and shook hands with a speechless Towers, "Thank you for your understanding, Home Secretary."

And then he too walked away, his arm reaching out to the heartbroken son who falteringly moved alongside him.

Beside Ruth, Erin too stretched out a hand, laying it on her shoulder, squeezing supportively; feeling the tense rack of nerves and anguish that were held within, bursting to be released.