Nemov sat down on the opposite side of the table, then he reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a piece of paper. He put it on the table and pushed it over to Gretkov without saying a word.
Gretkov leaned over to have a better look. It was a black and white picture, the blurry kind of quality that was typical for surveillance cameras. It showed a crowd, but it was the man in the right corner of the picture that caught his eye.
“Where?”
“London, Sir.”