The blood had left my face: I could feel it. It had gone to the muscles and the adrenalin was ready: the organism was triggered and what I had to do now was watch him, watch his every move in case he lost control and wanted blood for the sake of blood. 'Tell me who you are! Tell me!' His wide leather belt came off so fast I was into a knife stance but he brought it down across the flat top of the table with a sound that cracked through the confines of the small bare room and I reacted: the edge of my hand was lined up with the carotid nerve of his neck and the mental rehearsal was already over and the hand was ready to lift and strike with the accuracy of an automaton. 'You were carrying false papers and you were following one of our citizens and you tried to avoid arrest and now you refuse to explain your actions !' He took two paces towards me and I sank an inch lower, solidifying the stance. 'Do you know how many years that would get you in a forced labour camp? Do you?' I would let him take one more step. If I let him come closer than that he could do some damage. The element of surprise was on his side: when you don't know when the opponent is going to attack there's no real problem - you just have to wait; but when you don't know if he's going to attack it can be very difficult because you're liable to let the hairspring off the hook and get to him first and it might not be necessary. I didn't want to break his clavicle or paralyse him by going in too fast: they wouldn't like me for that. He started shouting again, bringing the belt cracking down for emphasis, stopping to glare at me with his eyes narrowed to slits and his teeth bared. 'How do we know what harm you might not be planning against our country? How do we know what appalling danger you might not be placing our citizens in? This man you were following - did you intend to kill him? Did you?' The belt snaked down and left another weal across the top of the table. The sweat was bright on his face under the white light, trickling to the edge of his collar. He was following the prescribed routine but he also believed in what he was saying: this was his city, his country, and I was an unknown danger. I could see his point of view. 'Who was this man you were following?' When I heard that, I didn't believe it. 'Who was he?' His rage was genuine and he couldn't think clearly enough to use subterfuge, yet he couldn't be serious about this. I just didn't believe it. 'Answer me!' The belt sent a sliver of wood flying from the table. 'I don't know,' I said. It was the first time I'd spoken and the sound of someone else's voice got through to him and he stood still and stared at me. 'What are you standing like that for?' he asked with suspicion. 'Are you thinking of attacking me?' His wide chest heaved under his uniform as his lungs worked to recover oxygen. 'Do-you- know-what they would do to you for attacking a colonel of the Komitet Gosudarstvennoy Bezopasnost? For attacking him physically in his own headquarters? They - would – have - you - shot!' He was being very Russian. Anyone who can read a newspaper knows that once you're inside the headquarters of the Komitet Gosudarstvennoy Bezopasnost on the wrong end of the banana you're not going to come out looking all that fit. But I wasn't interested in that. I was getting terribly interested in this thing about the man I'd been following, because Vader didn't seem to know his name. Or mine. It was unbelievable. The first time he'd asked me who I was I knew I'd have to start listening because this was a different approach: they usually want you to feel they know everything about you. What I couldn't believe was that Ignatov had made a phone call in the street and told them to pick me up and they'd done that but they didn't know his name and they didn't know mine. Something wrong there. 'Of course I'd get shot,' I told him and turned away and folded my arms. 'But what d'you think I'm going to do if you start putting that fucking belt of yours across me - just stand there?' He dropped it on to the table and started walking from one wall to the other, his square-toed boots landing flat on the floor with no spring in them, his arms held slightly forward like a bear's, as if he were looking for something to break, for some kind of life to crush out. He was my height and heavier and all muscle and he could kill me in an even match but I didn't think it was even because they're exceptionally fussy at Norfolk: they don't send you into the field unless you can take on a tank and get the tracks off without a lot of deep breathing. 'Who were you following?' He swung round, hitting a fist into a palm.