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promotion always depended. ‘We lost a lot of face and a lot of people over that man. He can’t be allowed to escape, not a second time.’
    â€˜We’ll see,’ reiterated Fredericks. He would have to take care that this man did not become a difficulty. There were already too many uncertainties as it was.
    The Shiba Park is conveniently close to the Soviet embassy so the contact was arranged there. Although the meeting was flexible, for Irena’s benefit, she was still later than the time they had estimated. Kozlov showed no impatience, either while he waited near the Tokyo Tower, with its added radio mast to make it taller (and therefore marginally better) than the Paris Eiffel Towel of which it is an exact copy, or when she actually entered the recreation area. He did not approach her even then, and she made no attempt to make directly for him, either. Instead she walked with apparent casualness along a perimeter pathway intentionally chosen to take her a long time to reach him, enabling Kozlov to seek any pursuit for which he knew she would have already checked, at least six times since leaving the Soviet enclave. Kozlov was actually against one of the struts of the tower, confident he was completely concealed, because they had rehearsed and ensured that, too. It was a hot evening and the park was crowded – another advantage – but Kozlov was sure no one who came in after his wife was following her. Still he waited, not breaking the arranged pattern, remaining intent upon those behind her in case the followers – either American or fellow Russian – were as professional as he considered himself to be. It was unlikely but still possible. Still nothing. Waiting for Irena to complete the prepared route, Kozlov allowed himself a brief, satisfied smile. Today had been unsettling, a minor hiccup, but he was still absolutely in charge and in control of everything. It was a comforting feeling. It was going to work brilliantly, as he’d always planned that it should.
    Irena showed no recognition when she reached the base of the tower, waiting for Kozlov’s approach to signal they weren’t under any observation, and positioning herself against a concealing strut as an added precaution. When he eventually approached she said, unsmiling: ‘Well?’
    â€˜You’re clear,’ he said.
    â€˜I already knew that,’ she said, the confidence obvious. Irena Kozlov was altogether a big woman, prominent nosed, large featured, big busted, wide hipped and much taller than her husband. She wore her hair strained back in a severe bun, and because of her size it was difficult for her to buy clothes in small-statured Japan. Those she had on today had been bought during their first posting together, in Bonn, and were worn in preference to anything Russian against the unlikely but still remote possibility of their being identified as coming from the Soviet Union.
    â€˜Was I monitored?’ he said.
    â€˜Every time,’ confirmed Irena, who had been her husband’s protector in the three meeting places at Kamakura that Art Fredericks visited that day. ‘They weren’t very impressive, any of them. I took photographs of all three and compared them for confirmation back at the embassy, against the picture files we have of American diplomatic personnel. The man at Meigetsu-In is named Harry Fish, at Enno-Ji it was someone called Levine and during the meeting it was Samuel Dale …’ The woman paused. ‘We didn’t have Dale positively identified as CIA, incidently. So everything can be justified to Moscow quite properly. Is everything arranged?’
    Kozlov shook his head, abbreviating the purpose of Fredericks’ summons, looking not at his wife but beyond her, still checking the park.
    â€˜Today it was to be settled!’ complained Irena, at once.
    â€˜I threatened to call everything off, to withdraw.’ Kozlov looked toward her.