‘Do you have any idea how many hotels there are in Prague, Noel?’

They were back in the embassy, Miklos was being checked out and patched up by a first-aider and Gibby Gibson was wondering if he should slip a sedative to his increasingly unstable Northern Irish boss, who might have a reputation for being a cool customer, but was showing no signs of it now.

‘I don’t care, I want them all checked out.’

They had a description, taken from the reception desk at the Meran and handsomely paid for, but in terms of resources what McKevitt was asking for was out of the question.

‘You might be better looking for the other chap, Barrowman.’

‘How? The bastard could be anywhere.’

‘If, as we suspect, he’s travelling on false papers like his mate then he’s committing a crime.’

‘And?’

‘If he’s staying in any kind of hotel, his details will be registered as a matter of course.’

‘Like in France and Germany, you mean?’ McKevitt demanded.

‘The embassy can inform the Czech authorities that they have reasonable grounds to suspect that a British subject is in their country under an assumed name for purposes of which we have no idea. I have to tell you, Noel, if they are given information like that, right now they will smell German spy.’

‘Who do we tell?’ McKevitt demanded. ‘I hope you are not going to say to me “the police”. If they are anything like the lot we have at home it will take them a week to get off their arse.’

‘The man we want is Colonel Doležal, who runs the Czech equivalent of MI5.’

‘They’re not much better,’ the Irishman spat, thinking of Barney Foxton. ‘How well do you know him?’

Gibson knew the meaning of the question: could Doležal be trusted? ‘Well enough.’

‘Then let’s get hold of the bugger and tell him the fella we’re after is dangerous.’

‘Is he, Noel?’

‘More than you know, Gibby,’ McKevitt replied.

‘If I can tell Doležal why that is, it might speed up his search.’

But you would not see it as I see it, McKevitt thought, not see that a man who might drag our whole nation into a war was the most lethal kind of problem we could have – and how can you tell some Czech sod who would want us involved that I am trying to put the mockers on our staying out of their stupid little predicament?

‘Hint he’s a spy, Gibby, that will have to do, and Christ, with what’s going on it should be enough.’

Having done as requested, Gibby Gibson waited till McKevitt was out of the way and made another visit to the Cipher Room, this time to send a cable to Quex himself. He wanted to ask if the outfit had any information on two men named Barrowman and Nolan, whom his station chief seemed intent on pursuing without saying why, though he checked first with Tommy that McKevitt had not sent anything similar.

‘Hasn’t been in touch with London at all, Major, since he arrived.’

‘Not at all?’

That was peculiar; it was standard practice when chasing suspects to keep Broadway informed of progress – doubly so when they had only really got the names – not necessarily the top floor but certainly his own desk, to keep abreast of things whoever McKevitt had left in charge. What was the bugger playing at?

‘If he does, Tommy, tip me the wink will you?’

Colonel Capec Doležal had a lot on his plate in a country prepared for war and in a city swarming with potential spies, so the request from Major Gibson only got attention because he was a good and trusted friend to his country and he sounded alarmed, as if this Barrowman might pose a substantial risk.

The name was added to what was a daily bulletin distributed throughout the country, a combination of police notices, intelligence dilemmas and threats to guard against that went out every morning. In a nation on high alert there were a lot of warnings being issued to the various branches of government and the only way to distribute such alarms as needed to be disseminated and ensure they might be acted on was in writing.

With the name in question, police station commanders in Prague would have their men check the hotel registration files for the past ten days. Cables were sent off to offices in other Czech cities – they would print and send out what they received locally; the one place excepted from the full effect of this was in the disputed border territories where the staff in the telegraphic office were a mix of German and Czech.

So for places like Cheb it was added to a series sent off with the despatch riders who distributed the bulletin to the various checkpoints and army headquarters that covered the country, and even when the bulletin was received, care had to be taken about what to act on and what to ignore, given the potential for any act to stir up trouble.

Cal was doing his exercises again when the telegram from Vince was delivered to his door and when he read it, even if it was not in code, he reckoned that it was secure, given the chances of anyone being able to read a mixture of rhyming slang, cockney and seriously colloquial English in this part of the world was zero; it took him some time to decipher the series of short sentences himself.

Hubble bubble was trouble; flown the coop simple; could be Old Bill needed no explanation and nor did done a runner; Nolan brief gone west, yours too probably, old one best took some working out; think about being on your toes did not. Trying for a meet – twelve dart finish. Will bell. Vince.

The hushed curse made no difference at all and it was exactly the reverse of what he had expected; Cal thought if anyone got into trouble it would be him and he could think of no rational explanation as to how it could be otherwise. Vince had got into some difficulty and had been forced to leave the Meran, his false passport the cause, and that put both false identities at risk. Added to that, despite being told not to, he was on his way and fast.

What to do? He could not just bale out without an explanation and Corrie had her last interview with Henlein that afternoon. Added to that, something was going to go off that night, he was certain, which almost guaranteed, though not for sure, he would be out of here within twenty-four hours anyway.

Then it struck him: only he, Vince and Peter Lanchester had known the identities they were operating under; had Peter been obliged to tell anyone at Broadway and had their names been leaked to the Czech authorities from there? Looked at from every other angle it was the only thing that made sense, but not a lot. The only other people who knew the names were Snuffly Bower and the man he used to doctor the documents and they had no idea where he was.

‘Breakfast time,’ came the breezy call as he picked up his phone.

‘Be along soon.’

‘Bring that pen of yours, I’ve got a typed draft I’d like you to look over.’

‘I’ve been promoted from interpreter to editor?’

‘Guess so.’

He was not going to rush, so he went back to his press-ups and squats, thinking, and that told him if Vince was moving he had to stay still, quite apart from the fact that he could not risk travelling on the documents he possessed. Once he had his own passport then he could make some kind of plan, until then it was best to just carry on.

Both before he went to sleep and this morning he had been thinking about what his late-night visitor had said. Either something had occurred that meant Veseli had to make a premature move, or, more worryingly for Cal, they had got him here on a false prospectus – getting him to undertake some action immediately had always been the aim!

The way to turn that down flat was easy – keep his car keys in his trouser pocket. But Cal possessed a curiosity to a greater degree than any cat. Before he left the room he put the canvas bag with the Mauser, folded tight, in the cupboard – it was not a thing to be carrying around discreetly – and downstairs he did as Veseli had asked and left the keys at reception with the requested instructions.