Ilarion raised his eyebrows in a negligent fashion.

"Whatever you say, Taras," he said, breezily. "You know best."

He turned his attention back to the sniper.

"There you have it, Irinarhov. Captain Oleksei is concerned he might injure my dear brother in a contest of these sorts. Perhaps that's a relief to you."

Ilarion vaguely wished there was more cognac, but in retrospect had probably imbibed more than his share.

"I, myself, would not worry overmuch."

He flashed a knifelike smile, swift as a silver-bottomed fish disappearing into the darkness of deep water.