He made his greetings to the habitual morning crowd and indulged in the usual banter of well-worn jokes, probably about weather and wives, though being in Czech they were a mystery to Cal. He exchanged normal pleasantries with the staff and in every respect acted as if a man who could threaten his continued employment was nowhere to be seen.
It was instructive, though, to see him light up a cigarette, to notice the ever so slight tremor in the hand that held the match as it went to the tip, as well as the deep concentration he gave to his newspapers as he flicked through the pages. Having seen him in this place before, at another time and on other prearranged business, Cal was aware Janek was nervous.
There was nothing he could do to make him immediately less so, as he had no intention of speaking to him in public. The wait for him to finish was longer than normal; Janek was taking his time, no doubt wondering if Cal would go away, but eventually he had to make moves to leave. He would be due at his desk, just outside the office of the finance minister.
Cal was on his heels as he exited the cafe, heading out onto a bustling street made noisy by the volume of traffic and the passing of screeching tram wheels, in which getting to Janek’s shoulder presented no problem other than the fact that he might be jostled by those hurrying in the opposite direction, and when he spoke, in German, his voice was low.
‘I need to be put in touch with Moravec.’
Janek did not turn his head, staring straight ahead as he replied. ‘Why?’
‘For the good of Czechoslovakia.’
‘Easy to say.’
‘I’m not here to buy weapons this time.’
‘Just as well, we need all the guns we have got for ourselves.’
‘Moravec can answer certain questions I want to pose.’
Janek actually sounded surprised. ‘You want to pose?’
‘To which I need answers,’ Cal hissed, deciding to take a flyer and make a claim that was way outside his brief. ‘And so does the British Government.’
That broke his stride a little, but they walked on in silence for some twenty paces before Janek spoke again. ‘That bench ahead, you see it?’
‘Yes,’ Cal replied, his eyes flicking to the named object some twenty yards along on the edge of the pavement, a double back-to-back seat shaded by a tree.
‘I am going to sit facing the street.’
Cal immediately killed his pace — Janek had been walking quite fast — to open a gap between them and watched as his man did as he had said, dusting the seat with a flapping hand then easing himself down and opening one of his newspapers to cover his face. Cal sat with his back to him facing the shopfronts, crossing his legs and adopting the air of a curious bystander.
‘Talk.’
There was no time for long explanations as Cal outlined what he was after and why. ‘The only person who has the information is Moravec, but I doubt it is safe to just turn up at the Interior Ministry desk and ask for him.’
‘You’re right, the place is crawling with German agents, not all of them from the border areas.’
‘The ministry, you mean?’
‘The whole city!’ Janek spat. ‘Even I might be being followed.’
Cal glanced back to where Vince was standing, idly looking at shoes in a shop window. He was without a lit cigarette, a sign that he had spotted no one taking an excessive interest in either Cal or Janek.
‘As far as I can tell you are not.’ Cal spun and used the back of the bench to lever himself up, surreptitiously dropping a card into Janek’s lap as he did so. ‘Get Moravec to call me at this number and ask to be put through to room number 47.’
‘What name?’
‘He doesn’t need that. Make it a personal visit and don’t you speak to him on the phone. After that you are out of it.’
‘A piece of advice.’
‘What?’ Cal replied, bending to retie his shoelace.
‘Speak English on the streets even if you are not understood, it will be better for you. Your German sounds too good, too natural and nothing like the accent of a Sudetenlander or a German resident of Prague. Even they know it’s considered unpatriotic to speak the language of our enemies right now and use Czech in public. My fellow countrymen are not too fond of real Germans at the moment.’
‘Just get Moravec to call.’
Cal walked back the way he had come, passing Vince without saying a word. His minder waited for ten seconds, then began to follow, his eyes ranging over those between them looking for things he had noticed before: an item of clothing, particularly distinctive shoes, they being the one thing, unlike a coat or a hat, which could not be quickly changed.
The voice sounded different on the phone, soft and near to a whisper. He did not know the man that well anyway, having met him only briefly, but Moravec spoke in heavily accented English and got his tenses all wrong. That nailed him.
‘St Vitus’s Cathedral at the rear of the high altar, three o’clock.’
Cal put the phone down without responding; there was no need to, though he did wonder at such an obscure location, as well as the need to meet in such secrecy in what was his contact’s own backyard. Still, Moravec was head of Czech counter-intelligence and perhaps being clandestine was a habit more than a necessity. Besides, he could do what he liked; it was Cal who needed him, not the other way round.
Gathering up Vince he took him to a restaurant in the old town, and when he ordered some food and a couple of beers, he took Janek’s advice and spoke loudly in English, like a tourist, though there were precious few of those around these days, which guaranteed them a great deal of attention.
As usual, there were locals who overheard him and were eager to talk, either to practise their own language skills or to find out what his country might do to assist their own, not a conversation in which he could give them much of a positive nature without telling outright lies.
As they left, a card was pressed into Cal’s hand with a guttural smiling invitation from the proprietor to return soon. Then it was a slow walk for Cal, Baedeker guide in hand, like a sightseer, through the old town and across the Charles Bridge, admiring the statues that lined it at intervals, flicking through the book to get the names of the various saints, with Vince his usual several dozen paces behind.
As Vince pointed out with a chuckle as they reunited in the cathedral entrance, if anyone was trying to tail Cal they must be going mad with the stopping and starting he had been doing. The upriver breeze had been welcome on what was a hot Central European day but the effect had faded by the time they had progressed uphill to Hradcany castle and the massive cathedral that lay within its walls.
Like all great churches St Vitus’s imposed a degree of silence on all those who entered; no one spoke above a whisper as they examined the plaques in the walls as well as the statuary, most of which were in the high arched nave.
As Cal made his way to the rear of the high altar Vince had already dropped back, seeking to look inconspicuous, but both suspected that Moravec, if he was going to all this trouble, would have some of his people watching and that in itself provided what security was required to cover the meeting. Cal stopped when the voice spoke from behind a stone pillar.
‘Mr Moncrief.’
Addressed by the name he had been using previously to buy those Spanish weapons, Cal responded in the affirmative.
‘Or should I say Mr Jardine?’
‘Either will do, General,’ Cal replied.
But he did not add the name he was using on the passport he had acquired from Snuffly Bower, just as he had not vouchsafed it to Janek, on the very good grounds that he had no idea what this meeting would produce.
