Inskip nodded slowly; oversight of the intelligence service was outside his responsibilities but he knew who to talk to. ‘I shall have a word with the Home Secretary.’

‘I wonder,’ McKevitt advanced gently, ‘if it might also be wise to alert the prime minister?’

Quick to see a way to underline his loyalty, while not willing to appear to be guided by the man to whom he was talking, Inskip, the highly paid and quick-witted barrister, produced a ready answer. ‘An idea I had already considered, Noel. If what you say is true, Neville will be incandescent.’

‘Would you wish me to act as a conduit, sir?’

That involved a look into the Ulsterman’s eye, which was steady, as it should be for a man seeking in no way to hide his own hopes and ambitions, this while Sir Thomas Inskip was wondering if such an association and the information it could produce would help him to where he wanted to go, to one of the great offices of state in the gift of the prime minister: the Exchequer, the FO or the position of Home Secretary.

‘It can do no harm,’ he nodded. ‘I will instruct my civil servants that, should you call me on the telephone, you are to be put through to me on my private line. Now, if you will forgive me, Noel, I must dash – I’m invited to lunch at Cliveden by Lady Astor.’

McKevitt thought that a perfect way to tell him they were very different people; Sir Thomas Inskip thought so too.

‘Hey, Doc, I ran into a friend of yours down the Jewish Emigration Centre yesterday, nice kid called Elsa. Went kind of weak at the knees when I mentioned you, like she had a crush on you or something.’

That strident greeting, said in a loud and carrying voice, turned every head in the lobby of the Ambassador Hotel, busy with all sorts of folk; for a man who liked to be discreet it was anathema.

‘Do you ever talk softly, Corrie?’

‘Only when I carry a big stick.’

The arm was taken with the same force as previously and Corrie Littleton found herself propelled to a quieter corner of the hotel, an act that did nothing to diminish the interest of the other folk present.

‘Is that how you got pretty little Elsa out of the cradle?’

‘We’re just good friends.’

‘Well we’re not, so ease off with the third degree.’

‘Sit down and shut up, Corrie, and listen to what I have to say to you.’

‘That adds up to three things I don’t want to do, buster!’

He had to drop his voice. ‘But you would like a trip to the Sudetenland, wouldn’t you?’

About to produce a scathing response, she must have seen in his look that he was serious; she sat down quickly and he joined her. ‘You on the level?’

‘Better than that, Corrie, I think I can get you an interview with Konrad Henlein.’

‘Early morning and you’re drunk already! That guy hasn’t given an interview to a non-German newspaper for two years and the last one, from what I hear, was one of your Brits called Ward Price who the guys tell me is a Nazi himself and a prize shit.’

‘He works for a bigger one called Rothermere.’

‘What the hell, we’ve got Charles Lindbergh.’

Cal knew she was stalling. ‘Henlein is holed up in the Victoria Hotel in Cheb and if you put in a request for an interview it will be positively received. Do you want that I should go find another journalist to offer this to?’

That shut her up; there was nothing like professional rivalry to achieve her silence.

‘I am talking about just you and him, an exclusive, as well as a look around the town and Henlein’s home base in Asch, with maybe the chance to talk to the locals, and me along to interpret and make sure you don’t get yourself shot by some ardent Nazi thug.’

‘No cops?’

‘No.’

‘Why?’

‘Don’t you mean why you?’

‘No, Doc, I mean “why?” You might come across as all charm, Cal Jardine, but you are one devious son of a bitch.’

‘I’ve always admired your command of the English language.’

‘One of these days I’ll give you my personal dictionary, but right now I would like to know what is in this for you.’

‘Typical, you try to do someone a favour—’

‘Cal, I don’t give a goddam what you are up to, I just want to know what it is that you get out of this offer.’

He had known he was never going to get away without an explanation, but he had enjoyed guying her a little. ‘Care to go for a walk?’

‘What’s wrong with right here?’

Thinking of Snuffly Bower and his paranoia, Cal replied, ‘Lip-readers.’

As they exited the hotel, to a salute from the liveried doorman and a look that asked if they wanted a cab, Corrie spotted Vince Castellano and her body movement presaged a greeting.

‘Don’t say hello,’ Cal whispered, ‘Vince will follow us.’

‘To?’

‘To make sure nobody else does, or gets too close to hear what I am going to say.’

‘Part of me is saying I should get my arm out from yours and walk away.’

‘But the other part is screaming “story”, yes?’

They walked several paces before she answered. ‘So, shoot.’

‘I need to go up there to do a bit of a recce. Don’t ask why or what because I won’t tell you, on the very good grounds that it is best you don’t know.’

Expecting an objection Cal was surprised she remained silent; maybe learning to be a journalist had cured her of shooting from the lip.

‘You will have your accreditation by tomorrow and I will drive us both to Cheb, where you will be taken to meet Konrad Henlein for a full interview at his headquarters.’

‘What’s the angle?’ Cal explained about Henlein’s aim of appealing to the likes of the American German Bund. ‘They’re Nazis, Cal, and on his side already.’

‘He also wants to get his message across to the other Germans in the USA. It’s a big community and it might get him a better hearing in Washington.’

‘Depends what I write.’ That was both true and significant; Corrie had gone from doubtful to committed. ‘How the hell did you arrange this and who the hell did you set it up with?’

That he ignored. ‘He won’t speak to the press from the other democracies and I doubt he would be happy with any of the big American names who are over here and have already made their positions plain.’

‘Whereas?’

‘You are an unknown quantity.’

‘You’re avoiding the question.’

‘Let’s just say I know the right people, have a job to do and I will be travelling as your chosen escort and interpreter under a false identity.’

‘Jesus.’

‘Look, I am a guy you have never met before until you arrived in Prague, but we got along.’ He outlined what she had to do to get a response, which he assured her would be positive even if she insisted on her own German-speaker being present. ‘And it might be a good idea when we get there to let them think we are lovers.’

‘I think this is where I bale out,’ she snapped, in the manner of the girl he knew so well.

‘This is your chance to do so,’ he replied, determined she should know he was serious. ‘Once we’re committed you will have to live with whatever lie suits.’

‘You mean I might be interrogated.’

‘Meaning you are going to be in amongst people who are suspicious as hell and they will probe you, your motives and your connection to me. And as for pretence, you are going to have to act like you have some sympathy for what Hitler is trying to do. It’s the only way you’ll get the story you want.’

‘I get to write what I think?’

‘You get to come back to Prague and file, which, once it appears in your magazine, should make all those guys you drink with in the bar, who think you are a novice, want to cut your throat.’

‘You been watching me?’

‘Not me.’

‘People you know?’ He nodded. ‘One question, why are you doing what you’re doing?’

‘The idea is to keep whole the country we’re in and stop a German invasion. If I can do what I want, it may be possible to get Britain and France to stand up to Hitler.’