Brian Freemantle - Charlie M

‘… don’t forget that,’ he instructed.

‘… Jaroslavice isn’t on the border,’ corrected Charlie, immediately.

Kalenin sighed. ‘I know,’ he accepted. ‘I mention the town for map reference. I shall cross at Laa an der Thaya. I preseume you will have people back at Stronsdorf, but that won’t be enough …’

Charlie smiled at the man’s behaviour. It wasn’t natural, he knew. But Kalenin was sustaining it well.

‘We won’t forget the crossing point,’ he promised.

Kalenin looked at him sharply, suspecting mockery.

‘I’ve not the slightest intention of crossing in the vague expectation of a reception committee in Stronsdorf,’ announced the General. ‘I must know the arrangements that have been made to receive me in the West. And be assured they will be followed.’

Braley looked questioningly at Charlie, who nodded.

‘You were quite right, sir,’ began the American at last, ‘in your assessment of your importance. If it will convince you of our awareness of it, let me say that both the British and American Directors are personally making the trip to Austria to greet you …’

Kalenin beamed.

‘Exactly,’ he said, apparently not surprised by the news. ‘That’s at exactly the sort of level I want to conduct the whole affair.’

Charlie began to feel better and waved for more drinks, ordering a beer for himself this time. He stared around the square, trying to identify the watchers. It was hopeless, he decided, abandoning the search.

‘What time do you intend to be at Laa?’ he asked the Russian.

‘Night will be best,’ said Kalenin, immediately. ‘According to my estimate, if we travel through Ernstbrunn and Korneuburg, we can reach Vienna in little over an hour …’

Charlie nodded, doubtfully. Longer, he would have thought.

‘… I want you waiting on the Austrian side of the border promptly at 10.30. But not before. I don’t want a caravan of cars attracting attention,’ ordered Kalenin.

‘It’ll hardly be dark,’ complained Braley.

‘Dark enough,’ insisted Kalenin.

‘Shouldn’t we arrange a contingency situation, in case there is any cause for your being delayed?’ asked Charlie.

Kalenin smiled sympathetically at the Englishman.

‘Instructing me on trade-craft?’ he mocked.

‘Trying to guarantee a successful operation, General,’ retorted Charlie, tightly.

‘Nothing will go wrong,’ said Kalenin, confidently. ‘Nothing at all.’

He raised his glass, theatrically.

‘To a perfect operation,’ he toasted.

Feeling uncomfortable, both Charlie and Braley drank.

‘And another thing,’ said Kalenin. ‘I want the money brought to the border. I want to see it …’

‘… But …’ Charlie began.

‘… I want to see it,’ cut off Kalenin, definitely.

He stared at Charlie, alert for any challenge.

Charlie shrugged. ‘As you wish,’ he said.

‘I wish ,’ picked up Kalenin. ‘And please inform your people …’ he paused, ‘… on both sides of the Atlantic,’ he qualified, ‘of my insistence at being accorded the proper reception and continued treatment befitting my position.’

‘We’ll inform them,’ undertook Charlie. It would be interesting to see the reaction of both Directors when the tape was played in London, he thought.

‘There need be no further contact between us,’ said Kalenin, curtly. ‘You know the crossing point and my demands …’ he hesitated, looking at Charlie. ‘… be at Laa,’ he instructed the Englishman. ‘I shall remain in Czechoslovakia until I’m personally sure you hold the money and the Directors are somewhere in the capital.’

Charlie nodded, frowning.

‘You want me to make another crossing into communist territory?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ smiled Kalenin, easily. ‘What possible apprehension need you have? It’ll only be a few yards.’

Abruptly the tiny Russian stood up.

‘I will leave you,’ he said. He turned, then came back to them.

‘Until the nineteenth,’ he said.

Charlie and Braley watched the tiny figure bustle across the square and disappear along one of the covered pavements.

Braley extended his examination of the square, like Charlie aware they had been placed by design at the particular cafe table. They paid, rose and without talking, suspicious that listening devices might have been installed, walked into the open.

‘Well?’ demanded Charlie, as they slowly followed the route the General had taken. Both walked with their heads bent forward, so it would have been impossible for the conversation to have been lip read by their observers.

‘It’s wrong,’ judged Braley. ‘We’ve been set up.’

‘That’s what I’m afraid of.’

‘Incidentally,’ side-tracked Braley. ‘That gun was visible when you sat down.’

Charlie loosened his jacket, annoyed at the criticism. He hadn’t checked its concealment by sitting down; a stupid mistake.

‘Did you mean it, Charlie?’ asked Braley, interested. ‘If there had been any C.I.A. involvement during the meeting, would you have shot me?’

‘Yes,’ said Charlie, immediately.

Braley paused, then shook his head slightly. It was impossible to discern whether the attitude was one of disbelief or incredulity.

The C.I.A. man jerked his head in the direction in which Kalenin had disappeared.

‘What do you think he’s going to do?’

Charlie slowed in the shadow of the covered pavement.

‘I wish to Christ I knew. I’ve tried every possible permutation and it still doesn’t come out right.’

Braley looked pointedly at his watch.

‘He’s been gone fifteen minutes,’ said the American. ‘If we were going to be arrested, it would have happened by now.’

Charlie nodded agreement, having already reached the same conclusion.

‘The table would have been the best spot,’ he enlarged. ‘During the conversation, his men could have got so close that we wouldn’t have had a chance to blink.’

‘So we aren’t going to be busted?’ demanded Braley.

It was a hopeful question, recognised the Briton. He shrugged, unhelpfully. ‘How the hell do I know?’

They went through the archway and began to walk towards Wenceslaus Square.

‘If they’re going to arrest us, it won’t really matter,’ said Charlie. ‘But I think we should immediately part to double the chances of what’s been said getting back to London.’

Braley nodded.

‘If I manage to reach it, I’m going to remain in the embassy until the last possible moment for the flight,’ advised Charlie.

‘Right,’ agreed Braley, enthusiastically.

‘There’s a flight at 1530 tomorrow, BE 693,’ listed Charlie. ‘Aim for that.’

Charlie’s walk back across the Charles Bridge to the embassy was a pleasant, relaxed meander. He ate alone in his room that night, drinking nothing and left the following day with just two hours to reach the airport, knowing the flight would have been called by the time he reached the departure lounge.

Braley was waiting for him aboard the aircraft, the asthma gradually subsiding.

‘Well?’ queried Charlie. ‘Now what do you think?’

‘It doesn’t make sense,’ said Braley. ‘It just doesn’t make bloody sense.’

‘Good trip?’ asked Edith.

‘All right,’ agreed Charlie.

‘Surprised you came straight home,’ said his wife, accusingly.

Charlie stared back at her, curiously. For several seconds she held his gaze, then looked away.

‘There’s been a reason every time I’ve been late home,’ he insisted. ‘You know that.’

‘So you keep telling me,’ she said, unconvinced.

‘Don’t be stupid,’ he said. He snapped his mouth shut. It would be wrong to argue with her, using her to relieve his nervousness, he thought.