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dance routine, had won the 2004 Eurovision Song Contest for Ukraine. The United Kingdom was in the finals as of course was host nation Ukraine with the Orange Revolution’s protest song Razom nas bagato – ‘together we are many’. The song had been sung nightly on Independence Square by thousands in sub-zero temperatures the previous December to vent national outrage at the ‘rigged’ election results that had temporarily put the Moscow-backed Victor Yanukovich into office.
    Now Victor Yushenko had been fairly elected, the Eurovision was in town and the world’s media was focused upon them for positive reasons, the population felt huge pride in being Ukrainian. For several days the contestants had rehearsed in the day and partied at night, giving impromptu concerts in local bars and clubs to the ever grateful Kyivites. Vickers loved the Eurovision and had done so for as long as he could remember. His mum had been a fan of Cliff Richard but he preferred Bucks Fizz. This was a secret that he cared not to share.
    Brought back to the present, he looked at his watch. “I’d better thank Nicola.” Vickers held out his hand. “It was nice to see you again, Bav.”
    Bhavesh shook the hand. “You too, Alistair.”
    Vickers left the businessman and crossed the room to where the diminutive girl from Yorkshire was making small talk with several middle aged men. “Excuse me gentlemen but I must say goodbye to Nicola.”
    Nicola looked up at the tall thin figure and shook his hand with a surprisingly firm grip. “Thank you ever so much.”
    Vickers bowed slightly. “Delighted. No trouble at all.” He left the business centre and took a cab to Vauxhall Cross. He had another more important meeting to attend, this one with HM Secret Intelligence Service.

 
    TWO
     
    Offices of the Directorate for Personnel , Moscow Military District , Russia
     
    The two high ranking officers from the GRU listened to the sound of boots approaching at a steady pace along the wooden floored corridor. The colonel took the file the major had given him and looked once more at the release form. He shook his head in dismay. In Soviet times he could have refused point blank to let such an outstanding young officer go but this was the new Russia and times had changed. Now a skilled man such as this could earn hundreds of times his current salary in the business world. The Russian Military Intelligence could not keep him if he didn’t want to be kept, and that was the harsh new reality of ‘new Russia’.
    The doors to the cavernous room were opened by a low ranking aide and the guest was let in. He drew nearer to the desk before coming to attention and saluting his two superiors.
    The colonel returned his salute. “At ease Gorodetski. Please sit.”
    “Yes, comrade colonel.” The young officer sat in the indicated chair.
    There was a long pause whilst the colonel looked at the form again, then at the man sitting in front of him. “You are at the end of your second tour of duty captain, you have achieved much.”
    “Thank you, comrade colonel.”
    The older man furrowed his brow. “You are still young; you have an extremely bright military career in front of you. One day you could be sitting here, and have these.” The colonel indicated his rank bars. “So that makes me ask why? Why do you not want to extend your duty again?”
    Sergey Gorodetski looked first at the colonel and then at his major, the man he had originally given his release form. “I am grateful for what the Russian army has done for me but I now wish to pursue other interests. I have been offered an opportunity…”
    The colonel snorted and cut him off. “This is your opportunity captain.”
    Gorodetski continued. “With respect, comrade colonel, I have something which I must do.”
    The colonel was not moved. Before him sat a rare breed of soldier, the ‘intelligentsia’ of Spetsnaz. With his supreme language skills he could pass for as a foreign national and was also