happen. Gesar might not even have known that Timur existed. Or he could have known, but for some reason or other not have played any part in his life. But then the old man had felt a tug at his heartstrings, and he'd met with his son, who was already old, and he'd made a rash promise . . .

And that was certainly amazing!

Gesar had been intriguing for hundreds, thousands of years. Every single word he spoke was carefully weighed. And then he pulled a stunt like this?

Incredible.

But a fact.

You didn't have to be an expert in physiognomy to recognise Timur Borisovich and Boris Ignatievich as close relatives. Even if I kept quiet, the Dark Ones would make the same discovery. Or the Inquisition would. They'd put the screws on the elderly businessman . . . But why bother with the screws? We weren't vicious racketeers. We were Others. Witiezslav would look into his eyes, or Zabulon would click his fingers, and Timur Borisovich would spill the whole story as if he were at confession.

And what would happen to Gesar?

I thought about it. Well, if he admitted that he did send the letter . . . then there hadn't been any evil intent on his part . . . and in general he had the right to reveal himself to a human being.

I spent a little while running through the points of the Treaty in my mind, the amendments and refinements, the precedents and exceptions, the references and footnotes . . .

The result was pretty amusing.

Gesar would be punished, but not very severely. The maximum penalty would be an official rebuke from the European Office of the Night Watch. And something menacing, but almost meaningless, from the Inquisition. Gesar wouldn't even lose his job.

Only . . .

I imagined what merriment there would be in the Day Watch. How Zabulon would smile. How sincerely Dark Ones would start to enquire after Gesar's family affairs and send greetings to his little human son.

Of course, after living the number of years that Gesar had, anyone would grow a thick skin, and learn how to shrug off ridicule.

But I wouldn't have liked to be in his place right then.

And our guys wouldn't go easy on the irony either. No, no one would actually reproach Gesar for committing a blunder. Or badmouth him behind his back.

But there would be smirks. And bemused head-shaking. And whispers – 'the Great One's getting old after all, getting old . . .'

I didn't have any puppyish adoration or wide-eyed admiration left for Gesar. Our views differed on so many things. And there were some things I still couldn't forgive him for . . .

But to pull a stupid stunt like this!

'What on earth were you thinking of, Great One?' I said. I put all the files back in the open safe and poured myself another glass of cognac.

Could I help Gesar?

How?

Get to Timur Borisovich first?

And then what? Cast a spell of silence on him? They'd remove it, someone would be found who could.

What if I forced the businessman to leave Russia? To go on the run, as if all the city's criminal groups and law enforcement agencies were after him?

It would serve him right. Let him spend the rest of his life hunting seals or knocking coconuts off palm trees! So he wanted to be the Emperor of the Sea . . .

I picked up the phone and entered the number of our office's exchange, dialled the additional digits, and was put straight through to the IT lab.

'Yes?' it was Tolik's voice.

'Tolik, run a check on someone for me. Quick.'

'Tell me the name and I'll run it,' Tolik answered, unsurprised at my request.

I listed everything I'd found out about Timur Borisovich.

'Ha! So what else do you need apart from that?' Tolya asked. 'Which side he sleeps on, or the last time he visited the dentist?'

'Where he is right now,' I said dourly.

Tolik laughed, but I heard the brisk rattle of a keyboard at the other end of the line.

'He has a mobile phone,' I said just in case.

'Don't teach your grandmother . . . He has two mobiles . . . And they're both . . . they're . . . Right, just a moment, I'll superimpose the map . . .'

I waited.

'At the Assol residential complex. And not even the CIA could tell you more precisely than that, the positioning isn't accurate enough.'

'I owe you a bottle,' I said, and hung up. Jumped to my feet. But then