Stortorget Square, Stockholm, 1945. 'In a side street, Peter waited near the car with Evdokia dressed in a grey raincoat. Her head was covered with a black cloth bag. A car stopped on the opposite side of the square. Two men emerged. Peter recognized one of them as the NKVD head of station, Major Vladimir Petrov, in a business suit and a fedora. He led the way, followed by a second man wearing a workman's cap over his white hair. The hand-off was to happen in the middle of the square. Evdokia stumbled badly on the cobblestones in her heels as Peter brought up his Webley revolver to show the Russians he was taking no chances. 'Mr Faye. Thank you so much for bringing my wife,' Vladimir said. 'Why have you put a bag on her head?' 'To shut the bitch up, Mr Petrov.' 'Ha, ha. You have a sense of humour. You don't intend to shoot her, do you?' 'Maybe I will, Mr Petrov. Is this your man Sasha?' 'Yes, this is Sasha from Moscow.' 'You will not live long, Mr Faye,' Sasha said. 'Your friend