CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Spartak Dryomov hesitated for a moment. So far, he had a clean record in England, and although human rights legislation would make it hard for the British authorities to deport him and his brother back to Russia, and even harder to prevent them returning to England, he did not want the inconvenience of being arrested. He switched on his heavy, long-handled Mag-Lite torch and pointed the beam at the door so that his brother could see where to place the jemmy. In summer, at this time of the early morning, it would be daylight, and more people would be about, but the cold and wind and impenetrable darkness would keep snooping eyes away.
He smiled when he saw the lock had not been changed since Kirill broke in to retrieve the axe, so the jemmy was redundant. They stepped
