The Janus Man

Two

Bob Newman flew into Heathrow aboard Flight AF 808 from Paris. He liked the Airbus – you had plenty of space. The stewardess watched him as he unfastened his safety belt. She wouldn't have minded going all the way with the Englishman.

In his early forties, she guessed. An easy manner, a strong face but the eyes and the mouth hinted at a sense of humour. He would, she was sure, have been fun. He nodded to her as he left the aircraft and walked up the narrow corridor towards Arrivals.

It felt strange – setting foot in England again for the first time in a year. The memory of his late wife, Alexis – killed by the Russians in Estonia, a faraway nowhere place on the Baltic – flooded back. The pleasant side of a marriage which had gone sour, which had been on the verge of the final break-up, filled his thoughts as he went through Passport Control.

The seated official looked at him twice. He had been recognized. Well, he was used to that. You couldn't become one of the most successful foreign correspondents in the world with your photo plastered across God knew how many papers and not expect recognition. Something he could do without.

Settled inside a taxi on his way to his flat at Chasemore House in South Ken, Newman's relaxed expression changed. He gazed out of the window grimly. A wasted year of his life, drifting round Europe, never able to settle anywhere for long, refusing to take on any of the many assignments offered.

So why had he taken on this weird job of acting as bodyguard – for God's sake! – to Tweed? Because it might give him a chance to do damage to the other side? Newman didn't ever delude himself – it was because the offer gave him a purpose in life.

He didn't like the fact that he would be carrying a gun. A crack shot – the SAS had seen to that – Newman had never shot a man in his life. Not yet, he thought bleakly.

Also the job intrigued him. He liked Tweed, admired him as a real pro. He'd worked with him before more than once. Why, he wondered, had Tweed himself accepted the idea of protection? It was out of character. As the cab carried him closer to his flat, all that Newman knew of what lay before him was they were going to Hamburg. Had something happened there already? Well, he'd find out soon enough.