hurried to the driver’s seat.
He started badly, accelerating too quickly and felt Kalenin’s eyes upon him. Charlie gripped the wheel and slowed, staring at the twisting road.
‘A pleasant evening,’ remarked Kalenin, conversationally.
‘Yes,’ said Braley, after waiting for Charlie to respond. ‘Very pleasant, sir.’
Charlie reached the Ernstbrunn turning and came off the road to Mistelbach. On the highway far behind he could just detect the lights of the cars returning Marshall and his unhappy commandos.
‘I’m glad there was no trouble, sir,’ tried Braley embarrassed by the silence in the car.
‘I was confident there wouldn’t be,’ said Kalenin, immediately. ‘If I decree a border post remain unmanned, then it is unmanned.’
The lights of Korneuburg fireflied in front. The teams at Stockerau and Wolkersdorf would have already been informed that it had been a quiet crossing and be moving in to cover him, Charlie knew. And Marshall’s cars were quite close behind now. The protection was complete.
‘We’re well guarded?’ queried Kalenin, presciently.
‘Utterly protected,’ assured Charlie. ‘It would be impossible to stop us now.’
‘What about a routine Austrian police patrol?’
‘They would only want my driver’s documents,’ said Charlie. ‘And they’re in order.’
Langenzerdorf was deserted and they were on the outskirts of Vienna in the time that Ruttgers and Cuthbertson had estimated during their trial run. They crossed the Danube canal and passed the post office, turning right into Fleischmarktstrasse to get into the old part of the city. Over the rooftops, he could see the spire of St Stephen’s Cathedral. It looked very peaceful, thought Charlie.
Every unit would be on full alert now; and Ruttgers and Cuthbertson would have quit the first floor lounge and be in the radio room, he guessed, charting their progress street by street.
He turned slowly into Wipplingerstrasse. Marshall’s team had stopped at the junction behind him, blocking it until the Russian had entered the house.
‘Escort the General in,’ said Charlie. ‘I’ll take the car on.’
The American left the car and opened Kalenin’s door. The tiny Russian got out immediately and stopped, waiting for Braley’s lead. The secured gate opened the moment the American spoke into the grill. Subserviently, he allowed Kalenin to lead as they went along the darkened pathway. The door was opened by Hubert Jessell as Braley knocked. The American led up the stairway, the breath squeaking from him.
The lounge door was already open, light shafting into the corridor.
Ruttgers and Cuthbertson stood side by side, the table separating them from the Russian. Braley entered and then closed the door, standing directly inside. For several seconds, no one spoke, apparently unable to believe the crossing had gone so well.
Ruttgers recovered first, hurrying around the table, hand outstretched.
‘General,’ he greeted. ‘Welcome! Welcome indeed.’
Kalenin smiled at the greeting, accepting his hand.
‘You must be …?’ he invited.
‘Ruttgers,’ identified the C.I.A. Director. ‘Garson Ruttgers. And allow me to introduce my English counterpart, General Sir Henry Cuthbertson.’
The Briton had followed him around the table, hand held forward.
‘A pleasure, General,’ assured Cuthbertson. ‘A very great pleasure.’
Kalenin shrugged off his topcoat and held it awkwardly. Immediately Braley was at his arm, taking it.
Ruttgers took the Russian by the elbow, moving him further into the room.
‘A perfect crossing,’ congratulated Cuthbertson. ‘A copybook operation.’
‘I have the necessary power,’ reminded Kalenin, modestly.
‘A drink,’ suggested Cuthbertson. ‘I think a celebration is in order.’
‘I enjoy your Scotch whisky very much,’ accepted Kalenin, hopefully. ‘And I agree, we’ve got something to celebrate.’
Ruttgers and Cuthbertson were tight with excitement, each aware of the incredible prestige of their coup. The Briton over-filled the glasses, only remembering Braley as an after-thought.
‘We had taken every precaution to ensure nothing would interfere on this side,’ guaranteed Ruttgers, eager to boast.
‘A plane is waiting, at Schwechat,’ added Cuthbertson, ‘we’ll be safely in London by dawn tomorrow.’
From the communications centre below, notification of Kalenin’s safe arrival had already been sent to Wilberforce and Downing Street. By now, guessed Cuthbertson, a personal telephone call would have been made by the Premier to the American President.
‘Your health,’ toasted Kalenin, raising his glass.
‘And yours,’ responded Ruttgers, sincerely.
Kalenin moved to one of the more comfortable chairs arranged around the table.
‘It was important that you came personally to greet me,’ he said, to both Directors.
‘It’s unthinkable that we would not come,’ replied Ruttgers.
Kalenin sipped the drink, appearing quite relaxed.
‘Tell me your plans,’ he ordered.
‘There is accommodation waiting in England,’ reported Cuthbertson. ‘Four completely safe houses in each of which you’ll live from time to time.’
‘It will be a long process,’ suggested Kalenin. Apparently reminded of time, he looked at his watch.
‘Yes,’ agreed Ruttgers. ‘But during it you will live in absolute luxury and complete safety. Your security will be a joint American-British responsibility.’
‘Of course,’ said Kalenin.
‘We’ve taken every step to ensure your comfort,’ expanded Cuthbertson. He smiled, a man about to produce the best present at a party.
‘You enjoy war-games with tanks, I believe?’ he asked.
Kalenin frowned, then nodded.
‘They’ve been provided for you, at every house,’ smiled the English Director.
‘That was very thoughtful of you,’ thanked Kalenin.
‘We are anxious that you will be completely happy … we’ve complied with your every request so far …’
‘Indeed,’ said Kalenin. ‘I’ve been very grateful.’
He looked pointedly at his empty glass and Cuthbertson moved immediately to fill it.
‘As soon as you feel sufficiently rested,’ said Ruttgers, ‘perhaps it would be a good idea if we were to get to the airport.’
Kalenin nodded, without replying, the glass held before his face with both hands.
‘You created a remarkable operation,’ said the Russian, at last.
‘Thank you,’ said Ruttgers.
‘… the road all the way to Schwechat covered, this entire area from the canal to the city hall and Am Hof Square, right down to the riding school and the Volksgarten …’
Ruttgers nodded, content with the praise. His voice was strained by the smoking and he coughed, frequently.
‘… and then the border organisation, with teams at Stockerau and Wolkersdorf, Ernstbrunn and Korneuburg …’
Ruttgers began staring at the Russian, curiously.
‘How …?’ he began, but Kalenin shook his head, imperiously. Again he looked at his watch.
‘It’s been an hour and thirty minutes since I arrived in Vienna,’ the Russian declared, smiling.
Both Directors were looking at him now, baffled.
‘Time enough,’ completed Kalenin.
‘General,’ tried Cuthbertson, hopefully, ‘I’m sorry, but …’
‘… you don’t understand,’ finished Kalenin. There was a tone in his voice now, a man in control.
Reluctantly he placed his empty glass on the table.
‘Excellent whisky,’ he praised, turning to them and smiling. ‘No, there’s no possible way that you could
