'I have brought seven, in the past three months. Seventy thousand US dollars. Not for me. For them: His breath clouded under the roof light. 'How much do you get?' 'One thousand. I get one for you.' His small brown eyes moved over me. 'It's the first time I've taken anyone this way.' 'Are you going to move those cases back over the trap when I'm inside?' 'Yes.' 'How many of them?' 'These here. Four. Maybe five.' 'How much do they weigh? Each?' 'Seventeen kilos.' I dropped into the recess face-down and told him to shut the lid; then I humped my back until my spine made contact. There weren't more than a few inches of leverage but it might be enough to shift five cases of Scotch because I'd only have to do it if I got trapped and if I got trapped there'd be a lot of adrenalin to help me. I told him to open the lid. 'On your back,' he said, 'is best.' 'That's the way you put people in coffins.' I looked at Floderus, standing out there at the back of the truck with his hands tucked under his arms. 'Is there anything else?' 'This,' he said, and gave me a small red metal box. Normally I refuse it but on this trip I didn't think much of my chances and if they caught up with me in Moscow and pulled me in I might want to opt out rather than finish up like Schrenk, his feet were still rather painful, he tended to hobble. I put the box in my pocket. 'Send a signal,' I told Floderus, 'as soon as you can get to a telephone. Understood?' 'OK.' I dropped into the recess again and told Gunther to shut the lid. The time by my watch was 03.37.

First there was just one man talking to Gunther; then a second one came up and told him to open the rear doors of the truck. I could hear those bloody dogs again, not far away now. I was lying in total darkness, with only aural data coming in. When the doors banged back the voices were much dearer. What is in these boxes? What is in those packages over there? So forth. Sweat was running on my face because there weren't enough ventilation holes in this thing and they shouldn't be asking all those questions out there: Gunther had said there wouldn't be any trouble at the checkpoint, he'd drive straight through as soon as they recognized him. How many cases are there? Their boots grated on the floorboards just above me. I lay with my eyes shut to keep the sweat from running into them. Does the Gruppenfuhrer know about this consignment? There was grit under their boots and it sounded like static, immediately above my head. Of course the Gruppenfuhrer knew about it, Gunther told them. I thought his voice was too loud, too blustering. A dog barked again and my scalp shrank, because this wasn't the end phase of the mission with the blood up and the nerves singing and the target in sight; this was the jump phase and the sweat was cold on me and I wasn't ready for them to tell Gunther to pull up on the floorboard here, this loose one. Wait there. I shall have to wake the guard commander. They'd be in trouble. Gunther told them, if they woke the Gruppenfuhrer for nothing. He'd have their hide. We shall see about that, the man said, and his boots thudded on the roadway as he dropped from the truck. I listened to the ticking sounds of the exhaust pipe contracting as it cooled. Light showed faintly through some of the ventilation holes and a door slammed somewhere on the right of the truck. Voices came again, Gunther's the loudest and with panic in it. They didn't listen to him. Move your vehicle over here. It's in the way. His boots loudened again and the doors at the rear slammed shut like an explosion. I listened to him going forward and climbing into the cab, pulling the door shut. Exhaust gas seeped in through the ventilation holes as he started the engine, and I began shallow breathing as we started to roll. I waited to feel the movement as he turned the wheel but it didn't come: my feet were being pushed against the end