Valery Agapov had not been hard to find; what was difficult was what to say. By the time I arrived at our meeting, I had forgotten which question I had mentally listed as my first. I hadn’t forgotten to ask about the origin of the cryptic message that had Judith Meadows’ name written all over it, but I’d gone through my rehearsal time after time and that question was not the first I’d prepared.
We met in St James’s Park, a park I knew particularly well as the family’s old bank of Annie’s is situated around the corner. The location of Annie’s meant, with my abhorrence of the disgusting reek of London’s traffic, I would invariably walk through the park to either visit the bank, or to visit friends in government offices.
When I had cause to quietly wander through this, what I considered to
