‘I would not put it past him, and besides, he must not find out. You can travel by train tomorrow, I hope, from Paris and that will take you directly to Eger.’

‘Of course. But, sir, there must be more to this than meets the eye. McKevitt seems to be out of control.’

‘The problem is he’s not under my control at present, but out of that entirely he is not.’

Peter waited for him to expand on that, but he waited in vain.

Both he and his boss would have been even more alarmed had either been aware that, as they were talking, McKevitt was on the embassy secure line to Sir Thomas Inskip confirming that there was an operation taking place in Czechoslovakia the nature of which he was unaware and, ipso facto, so was the Government.

‘What do you suspect?’ asked a surprised Minister of the Crown, who hardly expected a call from such a location.

‘I am still in the dark about that, sir, but there is no question that it is dangerous and possibly downright illegal.’

‘And you have gone to Czechoslovakia to pursue this?’

‘I have,’ McKevitt lied – he was not going to admit he had been sent. ‘Worse, Sir Hugh Sinclair has decided to shut down the station, an idea he says he discussed with the PM to avoid anything happening to exacerbate tensions.’

‘That, if I may say so, McKevitt, does not square with what you have just been telling me.’

‘No, he’s playing some deep game all right. What I need to kill it off is the authority to override Sir Hugh, and only Mr Chamberlain can grant that.’

Accustomed to giving advice to clients as a top-flight lawyer, Inskip knew that would never be forthcoming because it had no validity unless it was in writing, and he doubted Chamberlain was fool enough to even contemplate such an instruction.

He also knew that anything he said on this telephone was strictly between him and the caller, while it seemed to him important that McKevitt should proceed; why should he not take the reins and act on his own initiative?

‘I can try to get that for you, but it would take time. Do we have time?’

‘I would say it would be tempting providence to think we have.’

Code, Inskip thought, for you have no idea of that either. ‘It may be you have to act on your own until I can get the PM’s ear and he’s away on a fishing holiday.’

‘That exposes me, sir, and I may have to act in a manner that could be seen as prejudicial.’

‘If you deem it necessary then you must do so, and you know I will back you, McKevitt, if there’s an enquiry.’

‘Do I have permission to keep you informed?’

‘A splendid idea, and I will liaise with the PM about the matter. In fact I will send him a message this very hour.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

Phone down, Sir Thomas sat and pondered, reverting to his original conclusion that no such written instruction would come from Neville Chamberlain even if he knew what McKevitt was up to and approved. This was a situation in which he could act as a conduit, and if it proved to have merit he would gain credit; if it was pie in the sky, and it very well could be that, then he could discount all knowledge of it.

As to sending a message to the PM, the poor man was on a well-earned holiday, peacefully fishing; it would not be the done thing to impinge on that. Besides, he had plenty on his desk as the Minister for Defence Procurement, not least the latest costings for the new fighter just introduced to RAF service.

The price of building these planes was going up to over twelve thousand pounds per item, and though the people who flew the Spitfire claimed it was a wonder-plane, there was no evidence that it would match whatever other nations were producing, not least the Germans. It could, in aerial combat, turn out to be a dud.

‘As long as you don’t blame me if it’s not,’ he said to himself.

When the pair came back to the hotel from their spin the Ice Maiden was waiting for them, and judging by the look she gave Corrie, it was all her fault that they had lost their followers.

‘That was very wrong of you to run away from those we have given the task of protecting you, Frau Littleton.’

‘We don’t need protection, surely,’ Cal replied, ‘and we did want to see some of the country.’

‘The Czech army is out there and has been known to shoot anyone who they think is spying on their defence works.’

The temptation to say “That must include half the Sudetenland population” had to be suppressed. Then, as she had done so many times before, she smiled at Cal and turned her body just enough to exclude the other woman.

‘But you are back, Herr Barrowman, and safe and that is all that matters.’

That changed when Cal got a peck on the cheek from Corrie; the smile was gone in an instant, before she added with sweet cruelty, ‘And we had such a lovely drive, Fräulein.’

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Major Gibby Gibson was well aware he was dithering; should he send another signal to London or not? Effectively he had been relieved of his job by Noel McKevitt, so in essence he had no authority to do anything at all and in between the worries he had there was the requirement to make arrangements to disperse the men under his command.

With the chaps from neighbouring stations it was easy, they had travelled light – pack your kit and take a train to Warsaw and Bucharest. With him and his assistant they would be giving up rented apartments, paying off people like cleaners, saying goodbye to long-standing friends, settling bills for mundane things like gas and electricity, and in his much younger 2IC’s case disentangling himself from a rather torrid love affair.

‘I think you should see this, sir,’ said Tommy the cipher clerk, bursting into Gibson’s office. ‘It’s a flash from London.’

Gibson was out of his chair before he had finished reading it, calling out for the Royal Marines he had stationed in Prague as legation guards to find Noel McKevitt and if necessary restrain him, only to receive the news that the man had taken a Humber Snipe from the pool and had left half an hour before.

‘Did he indent for a weapon?’ he asked the senior marine, a sergeant who was in charge of such things.

The reply was crisply military and given as if such a thing was an everyday occurrence.

‘Webley revolver, sir, and twenty-four rounds of ammo. Nice to see the gentleman was familiar with the weapon, sir, handled it like an old pro, he did.’

London had to be informed and he needed to know what to do – a message which took time to encode and send. It was only by sheer luck it caught Peter Lanchester, who was leaving the building to hail a cab to Victoria for the boat train. He was hauled back smartish to face a seething Sir Hugh Sinclair.

‘Change of orders, Peter,’ he said, thrusting Gibson’s signal in his hand. ‘McKevitt is to be stopped by whatever means are necessary. Right now Miss Beard is typing a letter relieving him of all duties forthwith pending an enquiry into his conduct.’

‘Can’t we get the Czechs to stop him?’

‘He’s armed and travelling on a UK diplomatic passport – what would you say if you were a local and asked to intercept an armed British official roaring around in a legation car with dip plates?’

‘I would wonder what is going on.’

‘And you would ask for clearance to act?’

Peter nodded; he knew what that meant with someone carrying a gun: permission to shoot, which would entail at the very least the Czech Foreign Ministry asking the ambassador, who in turn might well cable London for clarification.

‘Exactly, and this would all be taking place in a country where, by official diktat, we are supposed to be playing it soft. Get to Eger, Peter, and tell Jardine to abort whatever he’s involved in and get out of the country.’