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controlled the entire security setup at the Kremlin. It was his baby. He had done a terrific job for his ungrateful father, and the system was virtually impenetrable to an outsider, but Kit knew its secrets.
    At around midnight tonight, he would walk into the holy of holies, the BSL4 laboratory, the most secure location in Scotland. With him would be his client, a quietly menacing Londoner called Nigel Buchanan, and two collaborators. Once there, Kit would open the refrigerated vault with a simple four-digit code. Then Nigel would steal samples of Stanley Oxenford’s precious new antiviral drug.
    They would not keep the samples long. Nigel had a strict deadline. He had to hand over the samples by ten o’clock tomorrow morning, Christmas Day. Kit did not know the reason for the deadline. He did not know who the customer was, either, but he could guess. It had to be one of the pharmaceutical multinationals. Having a sample to analyze would save years of research. The company would be able to make its own version of the drug, instead of paying Oxenford millions in licensing fees.
    It was dishonest, of course, but men found excuses for dishonesty when the stakes were high. Kit could picture the company’s distinguished chairman, with his silver hair and pin-striped suit, saying hypocritically, “Can you assure me categorically that no employee of our organization broke any laws in obtaining this sample?”
    The best part of Kit’s plan, he felt, was that the intrusion would go unnoticed until long after he and Nigel had left the Kremlin. Today, Tuesday, was Christmas Eve. Tomorrow and the next day were holidays. At the earliest, the alarm might be sounded on Friday, when one or two eager-beaver scientists would show up for work; but there was a good chance the theft would not be spotted then or at the weekend, giving Kit and the gang until Monday of next week to cover their tracks. It was more than they needed.
    So why was he frightened? The face of Toni Gallo, his father’s security chief, came into his mind. She was a freckled redhead, very attractive in a muscular sort of way, though too formidable a personality for Kit’s taste. Was she the reason for his fear? Once before he had underestimated her—with disastrous results.
    But his plan was brilliant. “Brilliant,” he said aloud, trying to convince himself.
    â€œWhat is?” said a female voice beside him.
    He grunted in surprise. He had forgotten that he was not alone. He opened his eyes. The apartment was pitch-dark.
    â€œWhat’s brilliant?” she repeated.
    â€œThe way you dance,” he said, improvising. He had met her in a club last night.
    â€œYou’re not bad yourself,” she said in a strong Glasgow accent. “Nifty footwork.”
    He racked his brains for her name. “Maureen,” he said. She must be Catholic, with a name like that. He rolled over and put his arm around her, trying to remember what she looked like. She felt nicely rounded. He liked girls not too thin. She moved toward him willingly. Blond or brunette? he wondered. It might be interestingly kinky to have sex with a girl not knowing what she looked like. He was reaching for her breastswhen he remembered what he had to do today, and his amorousness evaporated. “What’s the time?” he said.
    â€œTime for a wee shag,” Maureen said eagerly.
    Kit rolled away from her. The digital clock on the hi-fi said 07:10. “Got to get up,” he said. “Busy day.” He wanted to be at his father’s house in time for lunch. He was going there ostensibly for the Christmas holiday, actually to steal something he needed for tonight’s robbery.
    â€œHow can you be busy on Christmas Eve?”
    â€œMaybe I’m Santa Claus.” He sat on the edge of the bed and switched on the light.
    Maureen was disappointed. “Well, this wee elf is going to have a lie-in, if that’s all right with