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enough?” Dillon said. “From what Monica says, he’s lacking genuine freedom. So the system’s different from the Cold War days, but is it really? I liked his description of himself to you, Monica, about being like a bear on a chain. In Russia he’s trapped by his fame, by who he is. In the cage, if you like. The Ministry of Arts controls his every move because they themselves are controlled right up to the top. From a political point of view, he’s a national symbol.”
    Ferguson said, “Obviously, I’ve read his work and I’m familiar with his exploits. It all adds up to a human being who hasn’t the slightest interest in being a symbol to anyone.”
    “He just wants to be free,” Monica agreed. “At present, every move he makes is dictated by others. He’s flown privately when visiting abroad, he’s carefully watched by GRU minders, his every move is monitored.”
    “So let him claim asylum here,” Billy said. “Would he be denied?”
    “Of course not,” Ferguson said. “But he’s got to get here first. This Paris affair, the Legion of Honor presentation, presents an interesting possibility.”
    “They’d be watching him like a hawk,” Dillon said. “And there’s another problem. You know what the French are like. Very fussy about foreigners causing a problem on their patch, and that applies big-time to Brit intelligence.”
    “Still, it looks to me like a straightforward kidnap job with a willing victim,” Billy said. “It’s once he’s here that he’d need looking after. They’d do something even if they couldn’t get him back. How many Russian dissidents have come to a bad end in London? Litvinenko poisoned and two cases of guys falling from the terraces of apartment blocks, and that was in the same year.”
    Roper beckoned the wine waiter. “A very large single-malt. I leave the choice to your own good judgment.” He smiled at the others. “Sorry, but the joys of champagne soon pall for me.”
    “Feel free, Major,” Ferguson said. “I notice that you haven’t made a contribution in this matter.”
    “Concerning Kurbsky?” Roper held out his hand and accepted the waiter’s gift of the single-malt. He savored it for a moment, then swallowed it down. “Excellent. I’ll have another.”
    “Don’t you have any comment?” Monica asked.
    “Oh, I do. I’d like to meet his aunt, this Svetlana Kelly. Yes, that’s what I’d like to do. Chamber Court, a late-Victorian house on Belsize Park. I looked it up.”
    “Any particular reason?” Ferguson said.
    “To find out what he’s like.”
    “Don’t you mean ‘was’ like?” Monica asked. “As I understand it, she last saw him in 1989. When you think of what he’s gone through since then, I’d suppose him to be completely different.”
    “On the contrary. I’ve always been of the opinion that people don’t really change, not in any fundamental way. Anyway, I’ll go to see her tomorrow, if you approve, General?”
    “Whatever you say.”
    Monica jumped in. “Would it be all right if I came with you? I don’t need to be back in Cambridge till Friday.”
    “No, that’s fine. I don’t think we should overwhelm her.”
    Dillon said, “Old Victorian houses aren’t particularly wheelchair friendly.”
    “I’ll phone in advance. If there’s a problem, perhaps we can meet somewhere else.”
    “Fine. I’ll leave it in your hands,” Ferguson said. “Now, I don’t know about you lot, but I’m starving, so let’s get down to the eating part of the business.”
    LATER, THEY WENT their separate ways. Sergeant Doyle had waited for Roper in the van that held the rear lift for the wheelchair. Ferguson had his driver, and Billy gave Dillon and Monica a lift to Dover Street in the Alfa.
    “Very useful,” Monica told him as they moved through Mayfair. “You being a nondrinker.”
    “I get stopped now and then,” Billy said. “Young guy in a flash motor like this. I’ve been breathalyzed plenty. It’s great to