Greta ran back to the hut to get her Trottibike. From the woods, Will and Andrew watched her, while Gaia called a cab to take them back to Interlaken.

Will knew that, for a while at least, Shute Barrington would probably keep an eye on them with the Eagle. The robot could track moving figures from an altitude high enough to be practically invisible to someone below, so they wouldn’t even know it was there.

But Barrington was carrying out official business. If the Eagle wasn’t following a route proscribed by Operations Control, they’d want to know why. Barrington would have to get back to work soon enough.

The plan was for Greta to go back to the house to get the notebook. Meanwhile, they would head into town and find somewhere apparently innocent to wait. Barrington would think they’d done as he’d asked and—hopefully—stop watching them. Then they’d call Greta with the location, and she’d bring the notebook to them.

Will felt impatient for answers. Barrington’s call had only increased his desire to find out exactly what was going on.

Thor, one of the STASIS techies, had told Will about the report classification system one evening at Sutton Hall. As head of MI6’s science and technology unit, Shute Barrington had clearance for the vast majority of the intelligence passing the desk of C, the MI6 chief. An Alpha classification meant Project FIREball had to be one of the hottest projects going. What could be so important? And why would it interest InVesta?

And why was Wickett so scared—not just for himself, but for Kleinkirchen too?

Their best bet for at least some answers was the notebook. But if it didn’t reveal everything, if Vanya could come up with someone who could provide some local assistance, it would still be worth meeting them. Maybe this person would have information that Barrington could not—or would not—share. Maybe they’d be able to throw some light on the bizarre note.

But how could he ask Vanya for help without giving the game away?

“The cab will be here in fifteen minutes,” Gaia said as she joined Will and Andrew. “Have you called Vanya?”

“Not yet,” Will said.

“What are you waiting for?”

“If he wanted to, Barrington could listen in on all my calls.”

“ECHELON?” Andrew asked.

Will nodded. ECHELON was a secretive surveillance network led by the U.S. and the U.K. intelligence agencies. When Will had once asked about it, Barrington had been cagey on the detail, but in theory ECHELON could be used to intercept telephone calls, e-mails, faxes, and radio and satellite communications practically anywhere across the globe.

“So if you ask Vanya for help, Barrington will know,” Gaia said.

Will nodded. “If he’s listening. And given the conversation we just had, he probably is.”

“So what do we do?”

Will thought for a moment. He held down number nine on his keypad. It would connect him straight to Vanya’s cell. “Vanya used to be a spy,” he said. “Hopefully if I sound strange he’ll catch on—”

“Slooshayoo.”

“Will! What a surprise! You are calling no doubt to thank me for the gift. Or perhaps to discuss the color of your page boy suit? Or the grandson speech you will make at the wedding?”

His grandson speech? But perhaps he could use this. “Yeah, thanks for the present—and I did want to ask you about the speech. I’m on holiday with Andrew and Gaia, in Switzerland. It looks like I’ve got some time on my hands, so I can work on it. And you said if I needed help with it anytime I could call you? Anytime, anywhere?”

There was a pause. Then, “That’s right. Yes, of course.” Vanya still sounded jovial. But the slight change in his tone told Will he understood something was up—and he was playing along. “So, you are in Switzerland?” Vanya said. “You are enjoying the views?”

“Yeah, we were thinking of going to have a closer look at the Jungfrau this afternoon.”

“So you are in . . . Interlaken?”

“That’s right,” Will said. “So you can help me with the speech?”

“You really need help with it?”

“Yeah. If that’s possible.”

There was a slight pause. “Of course, yes. Then let me think about it, and I will get back to you. And you know, I spent three weeks in Interlaken last summer. I went to many delightful restaurants. If my favorite spot is open for lunch, you must go there. It’ll be worth it. I will text you to let you know.”

“Thank you, Vanya.” Will hoped all his gratitude made it through in those three words.

“Take care of yourself, grandson. I will be in touch.”

Will flipped his phone shut, relieved. But only someone who knew Vanya would realize his tone and his sentences had been off . . . I went to many delightful restaurants. The normal Vanya would never say anything like that. And Barrington had met Vanya. Perhaps he even knew about the retired spies’ association, Will thought. Barrington was far from stupid. There was a chance he would translate the conversation. Will hoped not.

Andrew and Gaia were looking doubtful.

“Vanya understood all that nonsense?” Andrew asked. “What did he say?”

“He knows we’re in Interlaken. He knows we want help. If one of his contacts is available, he’s going to text us a place to meet.”

Andrew smiled. “Good old Vanya.”

Will grinned. “Never let him hear you say that.”

STASIS Headquarters, Sutton Hall, Oxfordshire

Charlie Spicer pulled out his earphones, unsure what to do. Six minutes ago, he’d gotten an urgent call from Shute Barrington telling him STORM were in Switzerland and that he’d warned them off Wickett. Then Barrington had asked Spicer to monitor Will’s, Andrew’s, and Gaia’s mobile phone conversations. Barrington had access to the main STASIS network from Scotland—but not to ECHELON.

Spicer had immediately logged in. Now he’d just heard Will talk to a man called Vanya (location, the computer said: St. Petersburg), about restaurants.

Whatever was going on, they weren’t talking about Wickett or FIREball. So there wasn’t exactly anything Spicer could pass on. Maybe Will had listened to Barrington, and was obeying? Stranger things had happened.

So why did he feel so uneasy?

Maly Prospect, St. Petersburg

In the parlor of Will’s grandmother’s apartment, Vanya Safronov rubbed a hand through his white hair. That had been a most unusual conversation.

“Vanya?” Elena was coming in with two cups of coffee. She took them to the table. “That was Will? What did he want? Didn’t he want to talk to me?”

“Yes, that was Will,” Vanya said. “And what he wanted was help.”

“What sort of help? Vanya? What is it? Should I call Anna?”

“Leave his mother out of it,” Vanya said. “The boy can look after himself”—he plucked a coded address book from the desk—“with just a little assistance from me.”

5:11 P.M. Will, Gaia, and Andrew were in a cab, passing through a valley flooded with golden light. Will didn’t notice. He couldn’t stop thinking. And it was getting him nowhere. The questions were starting to rub at his brain.

His phone vibrated. Will pulled it from his pocket. The text message said:

Grand Restaurant Schuh, Hohweg 56, 6 pm.

Vanya had come through. At least, they had a location and a time.

Beside him, Gaia asked, “Vanya?”

Quickly, Will keyed in the number that Greta had given them. Her phone rang once, twice—

“Greta? We’re heading into town now. Do you want to meet us?”

“Yes. Yes, of course.”

“Great. I’ll text you the address. Get there as soon as you can.”

Will flipped his phone shut. Anticipation rushed through his veins. David Wickett’s notebook! They’d unpick the equations. They’d find out about FIREball. Within the hour, surely, they’d be able to tell Abigail Pope what her uncle had been working on—and why he had died.