Grant put the telephone softly back on its cradle and sat looking at it.
The bullet-headed guard standing over him said, ‘You had better start moving.’
‘Did they give you any idea of the task?’ Grant spoke Russian excellently but with a thick accent. He could have passed for a national of any of the Soviet Baltic provinces. The voice was high and flat as if it was reciting something dull from a book.
‘No. Only that you are wanted in Moscow. The plane is on its way. It will be here in about an hour. Half an hour for refuelling and then three or four hours, depending on whether you come down at Kharkov. You will be in Moscow by midnight. You had better pack. I will order the car.’
Grant got nervously to his feet. ‘Yes. You are right. But they didn’t even say if it was an operation? One l
