The Windsor Knot

“How many deaths have there been since then?”

“On British soil? Five or six. The first was Litvinenko in 2006. He was the ex–FSB agent poisoned with polonium-210. Horrible business.”

“Quite. And yet no one was arrested or charged for any of them.”

“No, ma’am,” Evans confirmed. “Not since that agent we tried to extradite for the Litvinenko poisoning.”

“The Americans often tell my ambassador how furious they are with us.”

He gave a wry smile. “They’re welcome to supply the evidence.”

There was a pause while he took a quick sip of tea. Rozie noticed how naturally the Queen took the teapot to refill his cup. She was a remarkably practical person for someone with hundreds of servants to call on, and, in fact, an army. (As Rozie knew from experience, the British Army specifically pledged allegiance to her, not the government, and meant it.)

After another warming sip he went on. “Putin’s good these days. Since the slipup with Litvinenko, which was sloppy, all the subsequent deaths have been very professional. And there’s still a question mark over whether Boris Berezovsky was murder or suicide.”

“What do you think?”

“Oh, murder, definitely. The color of the face, the broken rib, the shape of the ligature . . . But one could of course argue, as they did, that he was found in a locked bathroom, and he was certainly depressed. Berezovsky’s a tricky case. He was the most high-profile of Putin’s critics, the richest, until the Abramovich lawsuit bankrupted him, the man most obviously in Putin’s sights. All I can say is whoever staged the suicide, if it was staged, did a damn good job of it. And the others were harder still to pin on Moscow.”

“Go on.”

“Well, Perepilichnyy died of a heart attack while out running four years ago. They found traces of a poison in his system, but no proof of how he came by it. Gorbuntsov was the victim of an assassination attempt in Mayfair the same year. He survived it, but the would-be assassin got away. Scott Young—he was the one with links to Berezovsky—was depressed when he fell onto railings. It’s not that we don’t suspect Russian involvement. It’s that we don’t want to start a diplomatic war without incontrovertible proof of why we’re doing it.”

“Naturally. They all died in their homes or public places?”

“Yes.” He seemed surprised that she would ask.

“And they all had high-level links to people in Moscow? I believe your report said as much.”

“Absolutely. These were quarrels about whistleblowing or money. That’s where their threat to Moscow lay.”

“Tell me, what do you think of the idea of these people killing someone purely to send a message?”

“What kind of message?”

“Just to say they can. Someone low-level. The wrong person in the wrong place, so to speak.”

Henry Evans considered the question. He stared out at the gunmetal-grey clouds, whose outline mirrored the billowing yew beneath. He was considering over two decades of research into suspicious deaths behind the old Iron Curtain, and later here at home, since he had first become interested as an A-level student at school in Manchester.

“It’s not Putin’s style,” he said eventually. “I can’t think of another example. Do you have someone in mind?”

The Queen ignored his question. “Imagine they’ve changed tack. That it’s not about who, it’s about where.”

Evans’s brow furrowed. “I don’t understand.”

The Queen tried to channel Gavin Humphreys as objectively as she could. “They’ve used poison in the past, have they not? Sometimes rare, radioactive poison, as if to make it clear that they are the perpetrators, even if they can’t be brought to justice.”

“Yes, but that’s for revenge. Revenge on individuals for specific acts, and to send a message to other individuals not to do the same. I can’t see how that works if it’s just the location that matters.” He still looked perplexed by the Queen’s line of reasoning.

“What if the location were very . . . specific? Designed to show how brazen they can be when they want to?”

“It just . . . I . . .” Evans trailed off. He was frustrated. He genuinely wanted to support his sovereign, to follow her argument and agree with it if he possibly could. He’d never known her to spout what in other company would be robustly referred to as “bollocks,” so he was very surprised by what she was suggesting. Whoever heard of an assassination based on location? What was she on about?

“And you said the Litvinenko murder was sloppy,” the Queen added. “Agents don’t always behave as professionally as they should. Do they sometimes panic? Have you come across this?”

Again he stared at her and tried not to seem rude. “Panic, ma’am?”

“Yes. The Berezovsky case, too. You said there were problems with the ligature.”