Any discussion about what they might be asked to do had been put to bed; Vince had been reassured that Cal would do nothing without having a good look at any problems first, but he had persuaded his boxing friend that what was on offer might fulfil the requirement of what he had been sent here to do, without the need to cross into Germany. Quite apart from that, if it could be done it was too good to pass up.
When Moravec phoned, Cal was translating some of the more florid and ridiculous bits from the newspapers to Vince in a cod German accent that had them both laughing. The call put an end to that; he advised Cal to take a tram to a station called Geologica for noon, probably chosen, Vince ventured when he looked at the tram routes on his town map, because it was the only one a foreigner could pronounce.
For Cal, having sent off his telegram to London and with a bit of spare time before the rendezvous, it presented a good opportunity to look over their own means of emergency extraction, that ugly Tatra car parked in a side street gathering dust. Having ensured it was untouched, it was back on the busy tram system to the aforementioned station, in his hand his canvas bag containing the information that had arrived the night before.
When they alighted Vaclav was waiting, as if an aspiring tram passenger, but once they had moved away and he had checked no one was following, he spun on his heel and walked quickly to get past them. With all the usual precautions he led them to where Moravec was waiting in a very different vehicle, a limousine; this time Vaclav was the driver.
Naturally the talk turned to what he had sent them and Cal’s impression of the information, to which there was only one reply — that it was comprehensive enough to qualify for praise as to the amount of detail, but it did not answer the pertinent question, this while he was vaguely aware, by the position of the sun and the time of day, that having originally travelled south-east they were now heading north in a wide arc around the city.
‘I am taking you to meet someone who might answer any questions you have.’
‘He is?’
‘The man who compiled much of what you were given, as well as the person who is still in charge of the surveillance on Henlein and the SdP.’
They drove on for about an hour out through the suburbs and into a pleasant countryside, leaving the main road for narrower tree-lined avenues, finally turning up a wooded drive and stopping at a farmhouse with a barn big enough to accommodate the car, the doors being closed once it was driven in so it was out of sight of the road.
Vaclav headed off down the drive to keep an eye on the road, Vince opting to follow him and help, knowing that, being unable to understand German, he was likely to be no more than a spectator at any discussion.
Cal and Moravec approached the door of the house, which was opened by an invisible hand, and they entered the darkened interior, progressing through to a sunlit and rustic dining area, full of the tempting smell of cooking, without a word being spoken.
The man they had come to meet could have sat for a poster of the perfect Aryan as seen by those lunatics who prated on about ethnic purity in Germany. He was tall, having several inches on Cal, broad-shouldered, with neat blond hair, piercing blue eyes and chiselled features that extended to a square jaw, as well as being deeply tanned in that bronzed way so loved by the old Wandervogel movement.
‘Captain Karol Veseli.’
As he said this Moravec took off his hat and threw it on the table, where sat a bottle of plum brandy and several glasses. Compared to this gleaming specimen, the intelligence chief, stocky, his suit crumpled, with his mop of greying hair, weary broad face and tired eyes with heavy bags beneath, looked like he was from another species.
Cal, who without vanity knew he was attractive to the opposite sex, felt he would hate to compete with this bloke for female attention and that was made worse when the sod beamed at him with teeth so white they seemed to flash, before a hand came out to be shaken in a very firm grip.
‘A drink, first,’ Veseli said, uncorking the bottle and pouring three glasses of clear liquid. ‘Then we can talk and finally we will eat.’
Whatever was bubbling on the stove smelt delicious, so that was something to look forward to. With the drink there was, of course, a clink of glasses and a toast to Czechoslovakia, made standing, before the contents were downed in one go. They then arranged themselves around the table, Cal emptying the bag to spread out the files and photos, posing an important question as he did so.
‘Where is Henlein?’
‘In Cheb during the day and Asch at night.’
‘He hasn’t gone to Bavaria?’
‘No,’ Moravec insisted. ‘He dare not be seen in Nuremberg. To do so would blow open the fiction that he is acting independently.’
‘Before we begin,’ Cal asked, now that everything was laid out, ‘I need to know if, as I suspect from all this, you suppose what you seek is in Henlein’s offices at the Victoria Hotel and not at Frank’s headquarters?’
‘Yes.’
‘To be sure of that you must have someone on the inside?’
The two Czechs exchanged looks but it was Moravec’s call and he nodded. ‘But we will not reveal the name.’
‘Naturally. But is this person in a position to aid any attempt to get to the written details of the invasion and Hitler’s instructions?’
It was Veseli who answered. ‘To do so would expose the agent, who is able to tell us everything the leadership of the SdP are doing and thinking.’
‘So I assume that I would not be given contact with this person?’
‘No!’ Moravec replied, emphatically.
Cal nodded; he had expected nothing less, because whoever that asset was he looked to be too precious to put at risk even for such a prize. ‘Can I ask if you have planned an operation to get hold of these documents?’
‘If we were certain that an invasion is imminent,’ Veseli said, ‘we would use the full power of the state so our police and army can counter the attempts of the Sudetenlanders to carry out the kind of tasks they have been set.’
‘Always assuming,’ Moravec added in a mordant tone, ‘that we have allies in the West to help us fight the German army.’
‘So,’ Cal asked pedantically, ‘is there a fully worked-out plan in place that does not depend on an imminent invasion?’
Moravec paused for several seconds before he replied, Cal thought more for effect than anything else; he wanted it to look as if the answer was being dragged out of him. ‘There is.’
‘But you cannot carry it out?’
‘For the reasons I gave you as we walked around the Jewish cemetery.’
‘Is it one that I could execute given the right circumstances?’
‘I believe so,’ Moravec replied. ‘Otherwise I would not have brought you to this place.’
‘And if Henlein takes flight, which he is bound to do under the circumstances of German invasion, what then? He would not want to fall into your hands, would he?’
That got two nods.
‘So you must have more than just a pre-planned assault on the hotel; there must be one to take him between there and his house, which he might go to on the way, or a place where you could ambush him before he gets to the German border?’
That got Cal a full flashing smile, in truth no more than an acknowledgement that he had discerned the obvious; these people had plans in place for any eventuality.
‘Naturally,’ Moravec said, ‘should the invasion come, our police would storm Henlein’s hotel and Frank’s Nazi HQ to find evidence of their activities, things that could be shown to the neutral press to increase pressure for their aid. They would not, we think, be able to remove or burn all the files in time and if they did so prematurely that would alert us to the aggressive movements of the German army.’
‘You know, you should do it now and tell your president to go to hell.’
‘To which he would say, the consequences would bring on that which we most fear. Imagine Hitler’s closing speech at Nuremberg on Monday if we do that, and besides, both locations are well defended, Henlein’s house less
