Moravec came on the phone for a second time, again not identifying himself, to arrange another meeting at the same location and time, surprised when Cal insisted on knowing which entrance he would use. It was only catching him on the hop that got an answer, as well as the hint no meeting was possible without the information.
The question came about through what had been talked about the previous evening, once they had established that Cal had not been followed back to the Meran Hotel; what to do about Corrie Littleton was less pressing than nailing what was happening with Moravec.
Vince was adamant there had been no sign of a tail on the way to the cathedral, only afterwards, which implied Cal had been picked up because of the meeting and possibly tailed speculatively rather than because of any direct suspicion, though why that should be someone who was English was too much of a mystery to even go near.
Yet could they assume that the man who had followed Cal had been alone? Had someone stayed with Moravec, which implied the kind of resources that had prompted the telegram sent to London? With or without an answer something had to be done about it. Cal had been lucky to get clear once, it would be tempting providence to expect to do so twice.
‘The only solution, guv, is to get there ahead of your man and see what he brings with him.’
Cal nodded slowly. ‘If it’s two we leave without making contact.’
‘And if it’s only one?’
All that got was a slow grin as Cal picked up the phone and asked to be connected to the Ambassador Hotel. The card from the restaurant where he and Vince had eaten was on the table, and once he got through he arranged to meet Corrie there that evening, though when she asked the name he was obliged to spell out both that and the address; Czech was a language that imposed that on visitors.
Wanting to get to St Vitus’s Cathedral early he and Vince took a cab to the main railway station, then after a walk through the concourse they exited to take another up to Hradcany, paying the cab off away from the castle and entering to take up a position which gave them a good view of the huge open square before the Golden Gate entrance to the church.
Too extensive a space to be crowded on a weekday, they spotted Moravec easily as he walked into the square — from what they could see, without minders of his own. It was Vince who pointed out the man following him some twenty paces back, the same ‘geezer’ he had spotted on Cal’s tail the day before. It still did not make sense to either of them but that was by the by; the man had to be got rid of to avoid a repeat.
Moravec went straight in through the high and imposing doors, followed by his tail and in turn by Cal and Vince, who split up once they were inside, making their way up separate sides of the nave. The Czech Intelligence chief was by the same pillar as before and as he opened his mouth to speak Cal cut him off.
‘Why would anyone from British Intelligence be tailing you?’
‘I not understand.’
If the explanation was swift, Moravec’s smile was slow, though he did nod with understanding as Cal related how the man had been overheard on the phone. As they were speaking Vince was approaching the very same person outside one of the numerous small chapels, a smile of enquiry on his face and a cigarette in his left hand, which he waved before his lips and pointed in the universal signal that he wanted a light.
If his man were a staunch Catholic he would object that to smoke in a cathedral was sacrilege, disrespectful in the extreme. He wasn’t, because he nodded, patted one of his pockets, then reached into it, his eyes on those of the still silent Vince and so unaware of the clenched fist that was just about to crack him right on the point of his jaw.
In the seconds that this silent exchange had taken place Moravec had gone from a smile to a low chuckle. ‘English? The language none in my office speak. German yes, French too, Czech obviously…’
If smoking in a cathedral was uncouth, shouting at the top of your voice had to come a close second. Vince was looking over a lit match, the cigarette in his lips, fist poised and his feet in place for the very necessary stand and balance that you require to deliver a blow that would knock out a man.
It got to be no more than an extended twitch, because he heard his name and the following ‘No!’ echoing around the huge church, in a voice so loud and reverberating that it must have stopped every other visitor in their tracks and made those saying their prayers wonder if God had decided to speak to them.
That had Vince looking around and shrugging in embarrassment, before holding up the cigarette and spinning away. He had taken only a few steps when he saw Cal walking hurriedly towards him looking concerned, an attitude that evaporated as he observed that Vince’s proposed victim was still standing. Yet concentration was not allowed to slip — they did not address each other, Cal doing a forgotten-something mime before retracing his steps, Vince on his heels.
‘He’s Moravec’s minder,’ Cal hissed as soon as they were out of view. ‘He only followed me to see if I went back to the embassy.’
‘He came close to being a crock of shit.’
‘Swearing in a church?’
‘I like that,’ Vince replied, irritated. ‘I can’t swear but I’m allowed to knock a bloke spark out. So what’s happening?’
‘Don’t know yet. I best go back and find out.’
He did, but Moravec was gone.
Like most pub conversations between two middle-aged fellows, that in the snug of the Salisbury began with old times and old campaigns, their connection going back to the days when as younger men they had sought to thwart the intentions of the Irish Republican Army in the Six Counties of Ulster, just work for Foxton but a cause close to his heart, blood and religion for Noel McKevitt.
That lasted through the consumption of one of their two pints of bitter; the second took them on to the situation and the prospects of war in Europe, which was where McKevitt wanted to be. ‘It’ll come, Barney — and, by Jesus, I hope we are ready for it — but not over anything I deal with in my area of responsibility and not for several years yet, if I have anything to do with things.’
‘Can’t be sure, though, can we?’
‘Let me tell you, it’s damn near official policy, man. Chamberlain knows what’s right, and I have that from the lips of a cabinet minister friend of mine.’
That was accepted; Barney Foxton did not ask who or how McKevitt came by such a high-level source, one he could refer to as a friend.
‘But that’s not to say there are not people trying to queer that pitch, I can tell you, and that’s where I need your help.’
Too long in the tooth to react, Foxton nodded, said nothing, sank his pint and accepted the offer of another, content to wait till McKevitt sat down again and got to the real reason for this meeting.
‘One of the telegrams that came in from Prague last night went to one of our own MI6 boys. I have to tell you I think the sod is up to something out there and he’s not telling me about it.’
‘Naughty.’
Foxton replied as required but was not surprised; he worked in an organisation that was similar in its fractures. The only thing troubling him was the flush on McKevitt’s cheeks, given he had always been an opaque fellow, famous for his cool head. Now he was positively animated.
‘It’s worse than that, Barney, it’s bloody dangerous! You’ve read the papers. It’s all very well for those lefty bastards to say we should stand up to the likes of Hitler. With what, I ask you, and if he wants to duff up his Yids and take bits of the middle of the Continent back, who are we to interfere, eh?’
‘I don’t like the bugger, Noel.’
‘D’ye think I do! He’s a loon, and I say that having seen the shite close up. Honest, he has eyes that would melt metal and is daft enough to start a fight in an empty room. So the last thing we would want to be doing is givin’ the bastard an excuse, which is what might just happen if some folk are not stopped from poking about where they are not wanted.’
Tempted to calm him down, Foxton instead posed the obvious question. ‘What is it you’re after, Noel?’
‘If the certain party I mention to you gets another telegram from Prague, I want to know what it says.’ Seeing Foxton swell up for a refusal, McKevitt was quick to keep talking. ‘It’s domestic, so I can’t ask for it, but you
