dangerous things, you seem all right on that score, we mean dirty things, rotten things that may well give you nightmares afterwards . . . We're just giving you fair warning, you understand, so that you'll know what you're going into, if that's what you finally decide . . . Mine but to do or die, yes, quite. If I didn't kill Schrenk he would have to kill me, I knew that. Things can get very basic in the end phase of a mission. Croder would probably laugh if he knew my thoughts, his rat's teeth nibbling with secret amusement, my dear fellow, the issue is cut and dried, surely you see that. It's impossible for you to get this man out of Russia if he refuses to go, and if he stays here he'll get picked up again and this time they'll get everything out of him, you've said so yourself. Are you really saying that one man's life is worth the entire Leningrad cell and possibly the security of the Bureau as well? You must be indulging in some sort of sentimentality, and that can be highly dangerous. The rat's teeth nibbling and the hooded eyes looking away. Besides, the man's a complete wreck now: we could never put him into the field again. Good reason. Good logic. But Lord, hear my prayer, and damn their eyes. He was watching me, squinting through the smoke of his cigarette with an expression I couldn't quite read. He was looking at me almost as if he'd never seen me before, though it wasn't exactly that. Got it, yes: as if he were never going to see me again. How would he try to kill? He couldn't do it himself, and Ignatov was no use to him. He probably had a dozen people not far away, a clique of fanatical dissidents lying low in readiness for a coup. He'd set the whole pack on me once I was outside there in the dark. He seemed very confident. So I'd have to get in first. Give him a last chance. 'I was sent out here to find you,' I told him, and the tightness in my throat distorted the words slightly. 'I was told to pull you out.' 'I understand that: 'And you understand why.' 'Of course.' He began pacing again, one thin leg swinging an inch farther than the other, like the pendulum of the clock. That must worry him too, but he couldn't do anything about it. 'They don't want me to be put under interrogation again, because next time I might have to blow the whole works. I understand that.' A bit too loudly I said, 'Then for Christ's sake give it a minute's thought, will you? Think out the implications.' He looked at me sharply and away again, and went on with his pacing. I wanted him to think this out for himself. I didn't want to have to tell him, the instant before I had to do it. Final considerations: reluctance to do it in front of the girl, because she adored him. Possibility of getting her to leave the room, ask her to fetch something, tell Schrenk to send her away for a moment. Other thought intruding: For sale, Jensen Interceptor, only 27,000 miles, fitted anti-radar unit, all refinements. Also 200 classic jazz records (15 Harry James, 12 Duke Ellington) and player. The plastic chess set would remain in the Caff and the other things like tennis racquets and skis and karate swords would be offered up and down the corridors in off-duty hours: there's usually a jumble sale when someone fails to come back, because we're loners, most of us, and not the kind of people who have relations to leave things to; we're born alone and we die alone and no one really notices. At the Bureau a prerequisite of our service is that we agree not to exist. 'I've told you,' Schrenk said, 'I've done all the thinking.' He brought his pacing to a clumsy halt between the window and the small Victorian writing-desk in the corner. 'But what you mean is, if you can't pull me out of Moscow you've got instructions to do the other thing. That right?' 'Yes.' He nodded. 'Perfectly logical.' I moved at once but the inertia cost me time and he was much closer to the writing-desk than I was and his lunge for the top drawer was accurate and he had the gun in his hand and the safety catch off before I was anywhere near. 'Careful,' he said. I looked at his face and stopped dead. The desk was still rocking on its thin varnished legs and the drawer was sticking out at a slight angle with its brass handle swinging to stillness. There was something else in the drawer but I couldn't see it clearly from this distance; it was just one of a hundred items of