PROLOGUE

       Moscow

      Max Ward knew something was up. Things often weren’t as they seemed at the British Embassy on Smolenskaya Naberezhnaya, but that particular afternoon Max’s antennae were twitching more than usual.

      For a moment his attention switched from his immediate superior, Colin Corbett, to Pallesson, who was crossing the main atrium. Max watched through the heavy glass partition as Pallesson, the department’s golden boy, gave some unfortunate underling a sharp dressing-down, then continued on his way with a quick glance at his watch. Max was now so far beneath Pallesson’s sphere of operation that he didn’t even warrant a greeting when they passed one another in the corridor. Their relationship had been poisoned long ago. It was unfortunate that they were now posted in the same city, but Max hadn’t let Pallesson faze him in the past and he refused to let the bastard do so now.

      Max pulled his focus back to Colin Corbett, the source of his current unease. Corbett was an efficient section chief and a pretty good communicator. A team player and as straightforward as they came, but something was radiating off him now that was arousing Max’s instincts.

      Considering he was the wrong side of forty, Corbett was in good shape. Mainly due to his obsession with tennis. Which was why no one ever questioned his exit from the office in his tennis gear every other afternoon. But something was different about him this Thursday and it had Max puzzled.

      Max feigned interest in his terminal as he watched Corbett shuffle his papers. He had on his usual dark-blue tracksuit and the usual dark-blue bag lay on the floor with three racket handles sticking out of it. Corbett got up to go to the water machine. It was then that the first tangible evidence supporting Max’s unease struck him. Corbett was wearing hiking boots, not tennis shoes.

      When Corbett finally left the office, it was a full half-hour later than normal.