21. MoD Facility. 13:36 hours.

Ruth had gone in search of Harry and found him still leaning against the door, looking, if it was possible, greyer than Gavrik had appeared earlier. Her heart went out to him and, more than anything else, she just wanted to hold him and tell him that the nightmare was over. But it wasn't and they didn't have the time, yet, to indulge in the personal. Touching his arm briefly she said, with no preamble,

"He wants the key."

Harry finally looked over at her and she was surprised. He looked, and was, exhausted, physically, but his mind clearly was not: hard, immediately comprehending and implacable, he stared at her – no, through her – for a moment, then wordlessly reached into his pocket and handed it over. He knew exactly what Ilya was planning and, like her, didn't care. It would be like removing vermin, nothing more and if Ilya wanted to do the deed to assuage his desire for justice for the sins visited on his son, well it would conveniently get MI5, the CIA and the FSB off the hook for responsibility for the act…

As she turned to go, Dimitri and Erin burst back in through the front door but she didn't stop. It would be easier for Harry to explain what had happened while they were away. She would rather face Gavrik again than listen to a repeat of that tale any time soon.

Jim Coaver and Evgeny Kuzin had both breathed a sigh that was a combination of relief and satisfaction that it had all ended safely and had confirmed what everyone had thought about Elena and RussiaFirst. Glancing across at the American, Kuzin stated quietly,

"I believe it might soon be time for us to enter the stage, my friend."

Coaver nodded.

"Yes, it would appear so. We may have to be ready to move quickly once Ilya is in there, though. If we want to stop him, that is."

"We do." Those Arctic ice floes that had been in Kuzin's eyes not so long since had now transferred themselves to his voice, as he stared out through the window at the woman waiting in the room beyond the grate. She had pulled herself together quickly after Sasha had left and the door had clanged shut but she was noticeably paler than she had been before. The floes ground themselves together. "She must be held to account for her actions. Death is too quick for that."

"Very well." Jim's muscles screamed as he pushed himself to his feet and hobbled to the doorway, checking his shoulder holster on the way to the inner door that would give him access, just out of sight of anyone in the map room, to the corridor leading to the grate. Turning to look back at the trio behind them he added, "I will wait out here but the rest of you need to be ready to move. Just in case."

Tallulah nodded but stayed by the monitor so that she could hear what was said. He wasn't worried about that – she was fearsomely fit and probably the fastest person in the room, despite her age – but he was slightly relieved when Kuzin told Pavlov to stay with Tallulah while he himself moved to join Jim. He would have someone at his back, should his protesting body fail him.

Harry was no longer by the door when Ruth returned with Gavrik. He had moved away, deliberately and leaving the pistol where he had first picked it up, with Erin and Dimitri as he brought them up to speed, on the assumption that it may have been easier all around if he wasn't visible when Ilya went into that room. As it happened it wouldn't have made any difference: Ilya had made up his mind and nothing would have deflected him.

When they reached the door Ruth handed over the key and walked away, joining the others, now back behind the windows, to watch. Elena was standing, motionless, by the map table when she heard the door open behind her and she turned to see her husband walking through. Even at a distance and through a mirrored window the others saw her pale and heard the dread in her voice.

"Ilya!" She took a breath, trying to control her fear. "How long have you been here?" How much had he heard? She could feel panic rising in her chest: if he had heard even half of what had been said then she was dead. She knew that. She would have to find out and try to deflect him.

As he approached he said, in a tone she had never heard before,

"Sit down, Elena." She did so, nerves screaming but still in control as he sat opposite her. It was strange but she had never realised how opaque his eyes could be. His voice, though, was not and in it she heard the same horrified revulsion that had been in Sasha's, and Harry's. Looking over at where he knew his son would be standing, watching, he glanced back at his wife and said, "You really would have brought that plane down and let those people die? And told yourself it was for Russia?"

His disgust was palpable but that wouldn't matter. She would tell him the truth and then he would see, he would understand that she had been acting rightly, to return their country to greatness and provide the best future for their boy. She, too, glanced over at the window and smiled slightly.

"Yes."

She is beyond insane. It's the only explanation. Without a further word he stood up again and headed for the door with the key, locking it with a decisive thump of the tumbler. Sasha barely noticed, his gaze still locked on his mother in total disbelief at what she had just said but Harry breathed an almost silent,

"Get ready, Jim," despite knowing the other man couldn't hear. He could see, though, and had exactly the same thought, shooting a quick, confirmatory look at Kuzin, who nodded his agreement and beckoned Tallulah and Pavlov to join them.

Walking back to the table Ilya stopped in front of Elena and stared down at her. She quailed a little as he spoke, almost meditatively.

"If you bring down the plane the partnership between our countries counts for nothing and reprisals will be immediate. We start with the NATO submarine fleet in the north Atlantic, removing their nuclear capability in twelve hours. NATO responds and a full-scale war breaks out with thousands of casualties on both sides within the first day. And you believe you are doing our country a favour by creating this?" The harshness of the last words made her realise that he wasn't going to understand, wasn't going to join her in their plans to restore Russia to her glorious heights. Instead he had sold out to the West, like all the rest of them— "What happened to you?"

There was genuine incomprehension in his question, but some sadness as well. Maybe she could use that, spin another sorry tale for him as she had for Harry. She had controlled Ilya Andreivitch for thirty five years, there was no reason why that shouldn't continue and she could save him from himself, they could go on as the golden couple at the right hand of Mikhail Sergeievitch and see her ultimate plan to its culmination: the ascension of their son to the leadership of the party and Russia itself. That was what it was really all about: when she had told Sasha that he was the future of Russia, she had meant it literally. Ilya would agree. Schooling her face into wide-eyed suffering she gazed up at him and replied, slightly tremulously,

"All the lies. I carried too many for too long."

Outside, Harry couldn't take the effrontery of the woman any more. He saw the expression on Ilya's face and knew Elena wasn't going to talk her way out of it and, in any case, neither Jim nor Evgeny were about to let her off either so, satisfied that he didn't have to watch any more of the stomach-churning performance, he said to Erin,

"When the plane lands, have a team standing by to take Zykov," and then began to move away. "I need some air." Walking out without looking back he missed the look Ruth threw after him, anxious but understanding. She was worried about the effects of the last couple of days on him but also recognised he needed some room. She would give him a few minutes and then follow him out to make sure he was okay...

Ilya, meantime, nodded sympathetically but his heart was as hard, cold and dry as a stone. She could not be allowed to go on and what he was about to do was both the quickest and, possibly, the kindest path. Certainly for Sasha. He hoped the boy would one day understand but he genuinely feared for his son's future sanity and safety if his mother remained around to continue to poison his mind. Laying a gentle hand on her shoulder as he moved around behind her, she put her own hand up to cover his, encouraging, empathic and allowed herself an internal sigh of relief as he leaned over and wrapped his other arm around her shoulders, forearm resting across the top of her collar-bone and leaning his cheek against her hair. It would be okay.

"It's all right, Ilya," she crooned, victory in her eyes and her mind. She would win. He would come around and all her plans would achieve their glorious fruition.

For a moment there was stillness in the entire building as everyone held their breath, watching the tableau in front of them. The moment hung on, endless, frozen, until finally Ilya began to move, a subtle tightening of his forearm against her throat. Elena's eyes widened in horror and she took a tight breath, reaching her hands to clutch at his suffocating arm as she finally realised his intent but before anything else could happen the pair of them were startled by the rattling of the metal concertina gate behind them as it was thrust open and Jim Coaver sauntered through, hands in pockets. Strolling to the door he casually unlocked it before returning to stop in front of the couple, saying insouciantly,

"Don't do that, Ilya. Let me deal with her for you."

Gavrik's eyes narrowed as he loosened his grip and stood up, staring at the American's battered visage through his shock until recognition dawned.

"Jim Coaver. CIA."

"As I live and breathe. Long time no see, Ilya. I would ask how you are but I can see the answer to that." It was true. He had never thought to see Ilya Gavrik looking totally emotionally devastated but he was today and, after the discoveries of the past few weeks, he could feel nothing but sympathy for him. Finally looking down at the woman, the cause of all this mayhem and distress, his eyes glittered as he took in her stunned expression and added, "How goes it, Elena? You look surprised to see me again after all this time. Oh, I forgot." He smiled his shark's smile. "I'm supposed to be dead, aren't I? You believed Harry yesterday when he told you Ilescu had terminated me." God, he was enjoying this so much it was almost indecent. Ilya was clearly stunned to have the relationship between his wife and the CIA Deputy Director confirmed along with her attempted murder of Coaver while Elena was staring up at the American in complete shock, horror and disbelief: how was he here? Ilescu's team had dealt with him, Harry had told her that… Belatedly, she realised. The game had been turned. Harry had lied to her. Had been lying to her for how long? When had they realised?

She was so focussed on her former handler/asset that she didn't see Ilya draw back, looking down at her with bleak repugnance. He had understood, immediately, the implications of Coaver's words: she had been working with the Americans as well as with the British for her political masters back then. She had been willing to spark a war between Russia and the West, using those old relationships, now. Was there no end to the depths to which she would sink to achieve her perverted ends? He was glad, now, that Coaver had stopped him. A quick death was too good for her. Justice might be better served in making her suffer, at least for a little while, before he delivered that final release. The American was speaking.

"Cat got your tongue, honey?"

She had always hated it when he called her that. Elena swallowed and pulled herself back together. It wasn't over yet: he had no idea who he was really dealing with. Tilting her head slightly to one side she smiled gently.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

The shark's smile continued to play around the man's lips.

"Yes, you do. Your links with RussiaFirst. Rustam Ilescu, your husband's former bodyguard; Jovan Milic, Ilescu's friend from their days together in Kosove. Their hireling, Sanzo Morales, who made the bomb, on your instruction, that was used to attempt to assassinate the Home Secretary yesterday afternoon. We have them, Elena, and they're singing like a flock of canaries because we also have their families and you and Mikhail Levrov can't compete against that. Then there's Zubin Trinejastic. We know that you deliberately fed us the information through him that got me here to London to play my part in your plan. Then, when you were done with me and you realised I was about to turn you in to Harry, you tried to have me killed. Only it didn't work because we've been following you for weeks so my people were on hand, along with Harry himself, to thwart it. We know everything, Elena, and now you are going to pay for it. Every last trick you've played on us, thirty years ago or today." His voice was light, almost playful, but his eyes were not and, for the second time in her life, in almost as few minutes, she felt real fear. Ilescu and his team had betrayed her – well, that explained why they had disappeared and she would make them pay for that – but in the meantime she was damned if she was just going to give up to this loathsome representative of everything she hated. She had despised him in Berlin and she despised him now, almost as much as she despised Harry Pearce. They were so weak, so easily controlled through emotional manipulation. Her own smile returned.

"You can prove nothing because I have no present connection to any of those people—"

"We can prove everything because we also have Veronica Duran and she's singing the loudest of them all. Not only that, but she's providing hard evidence as well." He was immensely satisfied to see her blench at the mention of the name but he wasn't finished yet, continuing confidentially, "You see, what you clearly don't know about Veronica is that she keeps records of absolutely everything, as a form of insurance. And that includes recordings of her telephone and personal conversations with you, sweetheart, including the meeting where she handed over the laptop stolen from MI5. The one you then gave Victor Elliott which led to the murder of a man called John Grogan and the exposure of the truth of Martha Forde to your husband. That must have been a shock, when Ilya didn't react the way you wanted him to and walk out of the negotiations as a result of that little revelation. You underestimated him the way you've underestimated the rest of us." Settling on the edge of the map table to take the weight off his right leg he added, almost as an after-thought, "We are in the process of bringing Elliott in as well but we've also been back in touch with Hamet Fasli and he's content to deal with us, for the right amount of money. You see, like Veronica, he's one of our deniable assets, has been for years, and we pay much more than RussiaFirst does." The woman had grown very still while he was speaking, her expression hardly changing as she considered the implications of what he was presenting. He had been cleverer than she had thought possible but she still wasn't convinced that he knew the truth about how it all fitted together. His next words disabused her of that thought. "We know that Marcus Collison, the man you hired through Duran to make the assassination attempt on your husband, has done a lot of work for Hamet Fasli. We know that Veronica and Fasli work together on occasions and we also now know that Mikhail Levrov has used Fasli's talents on several occasions for various unsavoury purposes, not the least of which was providing Rustam Ilescu when Ilya was looking for a bodyguard and providing you with Veronica Duran's contact details just before you skipped Moscow for London."

Jim noted the veriest flicker of fear in her eyes and knew that he was finally getting through her almost impenetrable defences. She could see that he had seen it but had no intention of giving him the satisfaction of admitting it. Instead, her smile fixed in place, she chided him gently, patronisingly.

"So what are you going to do, Jim? Arrest me? Torture me? Or just make me disappear? That will not make my people happy and will precipitate exactly the sort of international incident that you're trying to prevent."

He would ignore the latter comment for the moment and let Evgeny put her straight instead.

"Oh, we might start with giving you a holiday at Camp Delta to begin with and take it from there." Jim risked a look at Ilya but the other man wasn't paying any attention to him, he was gazing at his wife as though he had never seen her before and barely recognised her as anything human. That expression alone assured Coaver that the game was, irreversibly, over for Elena and RussiaFirst, so matter what he or Harry might do. "And once we've finished, we are going to hand what is left of you over to Harry and William Towers. The Home Secretary isn't very impressed that you tried to kill him, too, and the British government in general takes a rather dim view of anyone committing acts of terrorism against them. And as for Harry… well, one of his character flaws is that he takes it very personally when you murder his employees or his assets and you've done both. To say nothing of your use of Sasha. That was a major miscalculation on your part and it's really ticked him off because, like the rest of us, he actually prefers to keep his children out of any of his games, not draw them into centre stage."

She shrugged, elegantly, the smile still fixed on her mouth, pitying his lack of comprehension and spoke with absolute confidence.

"A few years in one of your gaols, with all the comforts of home? You forget that I grew up in the Soviet Union. Even if you do prove your preposterous claims I do not fear your prisons, Jim, nor Harry's."

Another voice, deep and sonorous, spoke from beyond the group.

"Perhaps not, Mrs Gavrik, but you should fear ours." They all turned as Evgeny Kuzin, in full uniform today expressly for this purpose, strolled forward much as Jim had done, although his movements were loose and confident where Coaver's had been clearly stiff and uncomfortable due to his injuries. In the background, just emerging from the gloom, Tallulah and Vasili Pavlov appeared together, weapons in hand. Kuzin himself, almost a head taller than either Jim or Ilya and the size of the two of them put together, easily dominated the room with his shock of blond hair and grey eyes like bergs floating in an Arctic ocean. Fixing those eyes on the woman he clarified, "Your long-time connections to Mikhail Sergeievitch Levrov and Yuri Pavlovitch Zykov are well known, Elena Platonovna, as is your involvement on behalf of RussiaFirst in a number of attempted and successful terrorist actions and political assassinations in recent years in Moscow, St Petersburg and Kiev. Now we have positive proof of your part in this attempt to move your terrorism into the global community and potentially spark war between our country and our friends here in the UK, to say nothing of your attempt to destroy this Partnership which Minister Gavrik and President Medvedev have been working towards for many years. The President wants answers from you and he wants you to suitably atone for your sins. To that end we were thinking that a long spell in a psikhushka may be a suitable first stop when you return to us from the West, after which you will be sent to trial. Provided you are ever judged fit to stand, of course."

Both Ruth and Jim noted Elena turning ashen as Kuzin spoke and reality finally settled in, neutralising her confidence in a few words, and her eyes widened when he mentioned the notorious political psychiatric prisons from which few prisoners were released unscathed and many not at all. However, they had to give her points for her persistence as she started to answer,

"That will not happen. Both my husband and I have very powerful friends—"

Kuzin's most charming smile appeared as he made himself comfortable next to Coaver and interrupted her in a conversational tone similar to that the American had used.

"Perhaps I should explain, Mrs Gavrik. Your friends, Levrov and Zykov, their families and associates, including all the senior hierarchy and membership of RussiaFirst, are being rounded up and arrested as we speak. Half an hour ago Pavel Zykov was subdued by my agents aboard RussianAir Flight 474 and his jammer shut down. Everything today has been a charade to get you to confirm your friends' involvement in the recent events here as well as implicate yourself, which you have done very effectively. We knew what was happening as soon as Zykov went through the security screening at Domodedovo and he is about to be taken into custody by MI5 at Heathrow. All of them will be in prison by night-fall – they may be granted the privilege of a trial. Or may not. RussiaFirst has been forcibly closed down by the President and will never be allowed to reform. Do you understand now, Elena Platonovna? You are the last cog to be dismantled from that piece of machinery and you, too, will be thrown to the wolves." His voice was like the grinding of a glacier by now. "As for Minister Gavrik's friend—" here his glance flicked to Ilya "—Mr Putin has deeply personal reasons for supporting the President's actions, as I'm sure you know, and it appears that the Minister here is not impressed with what you have just revealed, either. Neither man will help you."

Who on earth was this blond giant threatening her? Another traitor to the mother country, siding with the barbarous, infantile Americans and that strange, colourless little snake, Putin, with his lap-dog Medvedev. There was something implacable about him, however, that froze the marrow in her bones so finally, desperately, Elena looked up at the military man she had married in 1977, already a Major and soon promoted to full Colonel, who had gone on to become firstly a Hero of the Soviet Union during the First Afghan War, where he had served with the GRU, then a legendary figure within the KGB and now strode the international political stage with such authority, and rolled her last dice. Tawny eyes huge and swimming in a pallid face and for the first time in her life genuinely terrified for her future, she pleaded hopelessly,

"Ilya, please. You cannot let them do this to me. I was only acting to defend our country, like you. Please, help me…"

Looking down at her as though she was a stranger, eyes remote and dispassionate despite the antipathy he now felt towards her, Ilya responded quietly,

"No, Elena. No more. I will not continue to protect you from the consequences of your actions. You are no longer my wife and no longer my responsibility."

Elena's mask of bravado finally crumbled to be replaced with a fear the likes of which she had never felt. Ilya had been there from the beginning, at her beck and call, willing to protect her from everything but now, in her moment of most desperate need, he had deserted her. She was still trying to digest that realisation when something crashed against the one-way mirror and startled them all.

On the dark side of the mirrored windows Sasha Gavrik had been watching the events unfold with increasing agitation. Largely beyond the point of rational thought he was running on a mix of fury, fear and deep confusion, close to losing his grip on reality. Then Kuzin had appeared and stunned him into a momentary stillness: Kuzin was working with MI5 and the CIA? What the hell was that about? Once the giant man had begun speaking, the boy's life fell apart: he was accusing Sasha's mother of being not a spy but a traitor and terrorist? Everything was turning to noise in his mind, making it impossible to think, let alone comprehend what was said afterwards: he thought he heard something about a psychiatric facility and then more about his mother's friends and the President and Prime Minister but it was seeing Elena suddenly beg his father for her life and his refusal that finally made him snap. None of this was her fault, she was the victim of them all: Levrov, Coaver and Pearce. Particularly Harry Pearce. Slamming his fist into the reinforced glass he roared a pained,

"NO!" and made for the door, noticing on the way through his gun on the small table on which Harry had left it earlier, and shoving it open to burst, wild-eyed, into the room. Behind him, Ruth realised the danger and said to Erin and Dimitri,

"You need to get in there. Now." They were on their way before she had finished talking and she waited until they had unobtrusively taken up a post with one on either side of the now-open door behind Sasha before turning away and following Harry outside, intent on letting him know what had happened and content that Jim, Kuzin, Erin and their crews would finish the tidy up. She, too, had had enough of the entire situation and wanted to leave it behind. In fact, she suddenly realised that she was ready to leave the whole damned thing behind: Thames House, the Home Office, everything. Although she had taken great personal pleasure just now in watching Elena Gavrik's crumbling façade and was silently celebrating their victory over this paranoid bunch of extremists the truth was that she had lost her taste for the games they had to play; the fun had turned to drudgery and the clarion call to the anonymity of every-day "normal" life was getting as strong for her as it was for Harry. The air outside was cold but it was bracing and both cleared and focussed her mind. She would go, find him and tell him what she was thinking, bring it all out in the open so they could finally address it. Maybe, just maybe, they were both ready to move on.

Inside, Sasha stared at his mother, sitting humiliated and powerless between his father and the FSB station chief, then at Tallulah Zanon and Vasili Pavlov, now standing on either side of the group and finally settled on Jim Coaver.

"You. You are framing my mother for something she didn't do. You and Harry Pearce. You have been using her for your own ends since you recruited her—"

"Sasha," Jim interrupted impatiently, "have you forgotten already? You witnessed her admit to recruiting me and Harry and to organising the hits on Tariq Masood, herself and your own damned father. Just now your precious mother would not compromise her terrorist operation to save your life when Harry had a gun at your head. And you heard her admit that she has used you to further her own political ends from the day you were conceived. The last thing she is, is innocent."

The boy's face twisted and for a second Coaver thought he had pushed him too far when Evgeny Kuzin cut in, voice dangerously soft.

"Aleksandr Ilych. Your distress is understandable but you are quite incorrect. Elena Platonovna Gavrik has been suspect for many years of being an enemy of the state and now, thanks to the good work of our friends in Thames House and Langley, that suspicion has been proven and we have been able to close down one of the most dangerous political organisations in Russia. As an FSB officer you should be pleased with that. As her son, you should also be pleased that your mother will now get the help she needs to deal with her delusions."

"Help?" the young man roared, impotence and frustration driving him to fury. "If she goes with Coaver or Pearce she will never return and even if she does you are going to put her in a psikhushka and she will not survive that—"

"Enough, Sasha." His father's voice, emotionless, dry and with the echoing emptiness of the desert, stopped him. "Your mother is guilty but do not worry, she will not be going to Langley." Walking away from Elena, he turned his eyes, lifeless, pitiless, towards Jim and Tallulah. "We will deal with her for you, Jim. No matter what she has done to you and to Harry, do not forget that not only has she used me but also my son and has actively tried to destroy my country. And for that she must, and will, pay." Finally, he turned to look at her and they stared at each other, motionless, for a very long moment. She had never seen that expression on his face before but then very few had – or very few had who had survived to tell the tale – and at that point she knew it was all over. One way or the other, she was dead. Only it wouldn't be a quick end, as it would have been had he not been interrupted by Coaver. Instead, he was going to leave her to rot at the tender mercies of the staff at a high security psychiatric facility somewhere. For the rest of her life, which, she suspected and knowing her husband, wouldn't be long.

Staring back at her, merciless, Ilya felt nothing but revulsion for the abomination that was his wife. Former wife, he silently corrected himself. He would never, ever forgive her for what she had done to Sasha or for the active undermining of everything he had tried to achieve over the last quarter of a century. He had never had much time for emotions but Elena had stolen his heart the first time he had seen her, when he was in his mid-twenties and she was an incandescent nineteen year old coryphée on the stage of the Kirov Theatre in Leningrad, and he had been totally devoted to her ever since. He had forgiven her much in the following years, not the least of which was her affair with Harry Pearce, but hearing the truth come out today had totally destroyed the lustre that had clung to her, revealing the dross that lay beneath. Coaver had been right: a quick death was too good for her.

Elena tore her eyes away from her husband to glance frantically at her son. Sasha would save her. She had spent her life protecting him, now he would protect her. Sasha himself was looking around the room, as though trying to find something, anything, to get them out but before he could say or do anything Evgeny Kuzin cut in.

"You have other problems to worry about apart from Elena Platonovna's fate, Sasha." That got everyone's attention. Ilya looked perplexed; Elena slowly dragged her apprehensive gaze from her son to the FSB agent as his words sank in while Dimitri and Erin glanced at each other, suspecting what was coming. Jim and Tallulah didn't blink; they knew what he was about to say. "You, too, are under arrest, Aleksandr Ilych, for the murder of Anatoly Efraimovitch Arkanov. We have a witness, the body and his passport and wallet which were found in your room this afternoon. As your father cannot forgive your mother for her crimes, so I cannot forgive you for killing my god-son."

Elena's wail cut the atmosphere like a knife as she half-curled up in her chair, seeing the last chance for her future disintegrate while Ilya went white and suddenly looked ancient as he absorbed what had just been said. She had twisted their child's brain so thoroughly that she had turned him into a murderer as well as using him as a tool for RussiaFirst. A man who murdered of his own best friend… Harry had said nothing about that earlier on. When he re-focussed it was with a bleak finality in his eyes. He would escort the woman, personally, to her fate and ensure that she never saw daylight again. He knew exactly the facility in which to place her and, in a year or two when she had been forgotten by the outer world, he would bury her. Metaphorically or literally he hadn't quite decided, for Sasha's sake, but he would bury her.

Sasha's anger, frustration and confusion was short-circuited by Kuzin's words to be replaced by terror and he homed in on what he considered the most important points: the witness and the body. Harry Pearce. There was no-one else it could be. The noise in his head returned and, without warning, he fled the room, sweeping up the pistol as he ran past the table. Dimitri and Erin made to go after him but they were behind Tallulah, who had been closely watching the boy, expecting something of that kind, was already moving, and Jim, suddenly energised, who hauled himself to his feet and followed her, ordering the other pair to take over in here and finish things off with Kuzin. After the CIA agents had vanished at a run Erin looked at Kuzin and then back at Dimitri.

"Go. I'll stay here with Evgeny and the others to finish up. D'wane and Calum can help us."

Without a second thought Dimitri ran for the outer door, desperately hoping they would be in time.