Angels in the Snow. Derek Lambert

looked as pleased as he ever did. ‘I got a few contacts,’ he said. ‘I don’t use Waterman all that much. He’s small fry. A bit crazy with it, too, especially when he’s been on the hooch. Gets people to bring him back boxes of British soil and all that sort of crap.’

      ‘Just soil, I hope,’ Randall said.

      ‘Huh huh. Now I got to be going to get this junk over before the others.’

      ‘You mean there’s a story here?’

      ‘Everything’s a story with a Moscow dateline on it. People in this guy’s hometown will remember him.’

      ‘Aren’t you going to introduce me to Waterman?’

      ‘Sure. Although I don’t think he’s your line of country. Didn’t you just come as an official mourner?’

      ‘I guess so,’ Randall said. ‘The Ambassador couldn’t decently find anyone much lower than me. But these people interest me. I’d like to know what makes them tick. Just for my own personal satisfaction.’