Admittedly, he was a killer... the best the British had. It had something to do with the survival instinct, the patience of a hunting animal, the single, destroying blow.
His name was David Callan and the KGB lusted for his corpse - badly enough to ante up the top British spy held captive in the Kremlin.
Callan was alone out there, in the alleys and squares and parks of London, unarmed and half-blind, fair prey for three deadly Ivans.
But Callan was still the best the British had, and even without a gun he was a walking bloody arsenal...
