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By Root 1387 0

Wilkinson had appeared at the back of the aisle on the arm of her father, Robert. Gaddis craned to get a better look. As a sigh of appreciation rippled through the congregation, he was perhaps the only person in the room whose gaze was not fixed on the beaming bride. Wilkinson was as physically robust as his future son-in-law, but considerably more visually arresting; in his steady, humourless eyes, Gaddis sensed the unyielding determination of a career spy who would suffer no fools. He recalled the quick rage with which Wilkinson had dismissed him on the telephone – You bloody idiot. I will thank you not to contact me here again – and knew that it would take all of his charm and persuasiveness to convince him to talk.

The ceremony lasted three-quarters of an hour, more than enough time for Gaddis to consider how best to make his approach. He knew, from a brief conversation with Annie, that dinner was planned for five o’clock. He had no seat at table, of course, which meant that there was, at best, only an hour left to him before Wilkinson would disappear indoors for at least five hours of speeches, Wiener schnitzel and disco dancing. Therefore, just after four o’clock, he made his way outside into the crisp sunshine of the park. Kath was at his side, resplendent in canary yellow, talking about ‘how spiritual the service was, even though, you know, they hadn’t gone for anything religious’. Meanwhile, the newly minted Mr and Mrs Matthias Drechsel were being photographed on the steps of the Kursalon, their occasional demonstrations of public affection met with whoops and cheers from the gaggle of family and friends gathered around them.

‘Oh, that’s nice,’ said Kath, capturing a kiss on the camera of her mobile phone. ‘They look so in love, Sam. Don’t you think? Doesn’t Cath look beautiful?’

Robert Wilkinson was standing a few paces from the bride, studiously avoiding eye contact with a woman whom Gaddis took to be his ex-wife. Beside him, an emaciated geriatric of at least eighty, her face puffed with collagen and smothered in make-up, was attempting to engage him in conversation. Wilkinson looked bored. Kath took several more pictures, waved at somebody in the distance, then offered Gaddis a cigarette as she lit up under the shade of a chestnut tree.

‘Not for me,’ he said. ‘I’m just going inside for a moment. See you in a bit.’

He had decided that there was only one failsafe option open to him. He could not approach Wilkinson directly, at least not in person in the broad daylight of an October afternoon with his daughter getting married and the Secret Intelligence Service watching him from every orifice of the Stadtpark. Besides, there was every possibility that Wilkinson would simply call security and have Gaddis escorted from the premises. No, he would have to rely on a third party. He would have to get a message to him before the guests sat down for dinner.

To that end, he found a bathroom on the first floor of the Kursalon, locked himself inside a cubicle and took out the notebook and pen. He began to write.

Dear Mr Wilkinson

I was the man who telephoned you at your home in New Zealand ten days ago. I apologize both for my tactlessness on that occasion and for contacting you on this, of all days, but it is vital that I speak to you about Katya Levette. I believe that she was murdered by agents of the Russian FSB.

It was a wild claim, almost entirely without basis in fact, but Gaddis needed some way of grabbing Wilkinson’s attention. He continued, composing the words carefully:

Since then, three individuals with links to Edward Crane have been murdered. A journalist named Charlotte Berg, a nurse, Calvin Somers, and a German doctor, Benedict Meisner. Somers and Meisner were present at St Mary’s Hospital, Paddington, in 1992, when Sir John Brennan (using the alias Douglas Henderson) faked Crane’s death and set him up with a new identity – Thomas Neame. I was given your name by Ludmilla Tretiak. As you know, her husband, Fyodor, was also murdered by the FSB because of his association with Crane.

I have had