I stood listening to the moan of the trams at the far side of the park, and the chugging of a concrete mixer where a night crew was putting up a new apartment complex. The voices of the children had stopped; perhaps they'd gone home now. I wished they were still here in the park, even though they reminded me of screaming; they'd taken their innocence with them, and just for this moment I needed it as a touchstone. Bracken was waiting, his large face patient as he watched me, and this time I knew he wouldn't speak again, before I did. 'I'd need another safe-house. And another cover. And another car. I wrote the car off.' We began walking together over the snow. 'I'd need another coat. This one's too far gone for mending, and it attracts too much attention.' 'I can see to all that,' Bracken said. 'You'd have to send the doctor from the Embassy. To the safe-house.' We kept to the path, or what we could see of it, knowing it led to the gates. 'To fix my face. Some kind of dressing to stop it bleeding - that attracts attention too.' 'That can be done,' Bracken said. I could see the dark hump of his car parked in the shadow of trees outside the park, and had an urge to run there and use its cover. I'd have to get over that. 'If you've got a spare capsule at the Embassy, you can let me have it. Be on the safe side.' 'Didn't you draw one?' I suppose he knew it was required procedure for Moscow. 'Yes. I lost it.' We were nearing the gates, and the snow took on a chill glitter under the street lamps. I wondered if I could trust him, and thought I could. I'd never know if I were wrong. 'Bracken,' I said. 'Yes?' He leaned towards me. 'Don't tell Croder you had to talk me into going on.' 'But I didn't,' he said, and touched my arm for a moment as we crossed to the car.