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As for Spider Webb, his desk didn’t have a number. He was basically HR, Min and Louisa had heard, and had this connection with River Cartwright neither of them knew the details of, beyond that they’d been through training together, and that Webb had screwed River over, which was how come River was a slow horse.
    Maybe some of this leaked out from Min and Louisa’s silence, because Webb said: “So you’ll be reporting to me.”
    “On what sort of job?”
    “Babysitting. Maybe a bit of vetting.”
    “Vetting?” Vetting was mostly clerical, which was the slow horses’ lot, but demanded resources Slough House didn’t run to. And anyway, usually fell to Background, Regent’s Park’s skeleton-rattling department, with the Dogs—the internal security mob—providing back-up as and when.
    But Webb affected to believe Min was unfamiliar with the term. “Yes. Personal checks, identity confirmation, location cleansing. That sort of thing.”
    “Oh, vetting,” said Min. “Thought you said petting. I wondered if things were getting heavy.”
    “It’s not complicated,” Webb said, “because if it was, I wouldn’t be asking a smartarse to do it. But if you’re not up to it, just say the word.” He came to a halt, and Min and Louisa each took an extra step before realising. They turned to face him. He said, “And then you can piss off back to Slough House. And whatever important tasks you’re busy with this week.”
    Min’s mouth began responding before his brain was in gear, but Louisa got in first. “We’ve nothing much on,” she said. “We’d be up for it.”
    She shot Min a glance.
    “Yeah,” he said. “Sounds like a blast.”
    “A blast?”
    “Within our sphere of competence, he means,” Louisa said. “We’re just a little … nonplussed by your choice of venue.”
    Webb looked around, as if only just noticing they were outside: water, trees, birds. Traffic, aware of the Palace, hummed politely beyond the railings. “Yes,” he said. “Well. Always nice to get out.”
    “Especially when things are dodgy at home,” Min couldn’t stop himself saying.
    Louisa shook her head: I have to work with this?
    But Webb pursed his lips. “It’s true the Park’s a bit manic right now.”
    Yeah. You’re touching toes for the bean-counters, thought Min. That must make for fun moments round the watercooler.
    Webb said, “Every organisation needs the odd shake-up. We’ll see how things stand once the dust settles.”
    And in the same instant, both Min and Louisa realised Webb was intending to emerge from this shake-up behind a desk with a number on it.
    “But meanwhile, it’s mend and make-do. Background’s busy, as you might imagine, running checks on the Park’s own staff. Which is why we find ourselves forced to, ah …”
    “Outsource?”
    “If you like.”
    “Tell us about this babysitting,” Louisa suggested.
    “We’re expecting visitors,” Webb said.
    “What kind?”
    “The Russian kind.”
    “That’s nice. Aren’t they our friends now?”
    Webb chuckled politely.
    “What’s the occasion?”
    “Talks about talks.”
    “Guns, oil or money?” Min asked.
    “Cynicism’s an overrated quality, don’t you think?” Webb marched onwards, and they fell into step, flanking him. “HMG rather feels the wind of change from the East. Nothing imminent, but you have to prepare for the future. Always an idea to extend a friendly hand to those who might one day be, ah, influential.”
    “Oil, then,” Min said.
    “So who’s the visitor?” Louisa asked.
    “Name of Pashkin.”
    “Like the poet?”
    “Very nearly like the poet, yes. Arkady Pashkin. A century ago, he’d have been a warlord. Twenty years ago, Mafia.” Webb paused. “Well, twenty years ago he was Mafia, probably. But these days, he’s mostly a billionaire.”
    “And you want us to vet him?”
    “Christ, no. The man owns an oil company. He could have whole bloody boneyards in his closet, HMG wouldn’t care. But