John Hopkins

But his contacts are true to their word, and no arrests take place.

Riley spends a couple of days looking at the operation on the ground and meeting other members of the group.

And by the time he's preparing to leave, he has seen enough to convince him that the Trust is a genuine group of anti-Bolshevik dissidents intent on regime change.

It is the 25th of September, 1925, near the Soviet-Finnish border.

Sidney Riley steps out of the safe house into the brittle light of early autumn.

The air is cool and crisp, and he pulls his coat closer around him as he crosses to the waiting car.

In the trees beyond, a crow calls.

Settling into the back seat, as the vehicle pulls away from the house and onto the narrow forest road, he watches birch trees streak past in white and gold.

And as they travel back towards the border with Finland, he lights a cigarette and reviews the past couple of days in his mind.

His trip out here has unfolded almost too neatly.

He's had meetings in dimly lit rooms with men introduced as railway officials, military officers, administrators.

They've all been, they claim, quietly opposed to the Bolsheviks.

In those meetings, a plan has taken shape to liberate a number of precious artworks from Russian galleries, with roots sketched in pencil and onward black market networks described with persuasive detail.

It has all felt organized, structured, and reassuringly real.

He's been on high alert for anything that might suggest he's being tricked, but with no evidence to that effect, he can only conclude that he's onto a very good thing indeed.

Now as the car approaches a small border settlement, Riley leans forward and asks the driver to make a quick stop at a post box.

The car slows to a halt, and Riley jumps out, strides over to send a postcard, then heads back to the car.

Climbing in, he smiles.

The border is minutes away, and the safety of Finland lies beyond that.

Then Berlin, then London.