The Caravelle from Prague touched down on schedule at Orly airport, Paris. Among the passengers to leave the aircraft was a short; thickset man in his middle forties. His round, fleshy face was nondescript, his steel grey eyes restless. He wore a drab brown and black check sports jacket, grey flannel slacks and a brown straw hat that rested on the back of his head. He carried a black, well-worn brief-case which he had nursed on his knees during the hundred-minute flight.

This man�s name was Jonathan Cain. He held an American passport and had a two-room office on Rue Paul Cezanne off Rue du Faubourg St. Honor�. His business was exporting fine glass to various important galleries in New York and Washington.

Every other week, he flew to Prague where his orders for glass were received with respect and attention. The Czechs needed foreign currency and Jonathan Cain represented a steady and important source of foreign currency revenue.

Leaving the bus that had taken him to the Arrival Centre, Cain walked briskly into the building, passed through the police control and the Douane with a brief nod of recognition from the coloured official, and then out into the hot sunshine where he hailed a waiting taxi, telling the driver to take him to Rue Royale.

As the taxi pulled away, Cain looked back through the rear window, his eyes alert and searching. No other taxi had moved from the rank, but he was not satisfied. He continued to look behind him as his taxi began to race along the auto-route that would eventually lead to the traffic-choked streets of central Paris.

Cain had every reason to be cautious, for apart from being a glass exporter, he was also one of the most reliable couriers working for the Central Intelligence Agency in Paris. His job was to keep contact with various agents behind the Iron Curtain, to pass on information, to take messages back to Paris and to keep tabs on the work of the agents, making sure they were earning their money and making doubly sure none of them had become blown

He was returning from Prague with disturbing news. He seldom contacted John Dorey, the Divisional Head of C.I.A. branch in Paris. It would be fatal to him if he was seen with Dorey, but the situation was such that he now had to see Dorey. He had to be certain that he wasn�t being followed.

But seeing the mass of traffic now behind him, Cain shrugged and settled back in his seat. The time to lose anyone following him would be when he reached Rue Royale.

Thirty minutes later, the taxi swirled around the Arc de Triomphe, stormed down Avenue des Champs Elys�es, forced its way round Place de la Concorde and finally reached Rue Royale. Cain got out, paid the driver, then walked towards Place de la Madeleine. At the corner of Rue Royale and Boulevard de la Madeleine was a luxury glass-ware shop. Cain entered He walked down the long aisle, flanked on either side by tiers of cut-glass, nodded to the blonde saleswoman who gave him an automatic smile of recognition, and entered a small office where Jacques Foy was talking on the telephone.

Foy, young, effeminate and blond with a sunlamp complexion, glanced up, nodded and went on talking in a shrill, petulant tone.

Shutting the door, Cain took off his sports jacket and his hat, opened a closet, hung the jacket and hat on a peg, took out a blue blazer and shrugged himself into it. From a shelf, he took a green and cream straw hat which he put on. Then waggling three fingers in Foy�s direction, he opened a door at the rear of the office and carrying his black brief-case, walked quickly down a narrow alley that led into Rue Duphot. Here he picked up a taxi and told the driver to take him to Chez Joseph, Rue Cambon.

Joseph Fevret, the owner of the restaurant, greeted him as he entered the small bar. The two men shook hands, then Fevret, portly, balding with a close clipped moustache and beard, led Cain up the narrow stairs and into a small, private dining-room. The table set for two stood by the window. White lace curtains obscured the diners from inquisitive passers-by in the street below.

�I hope you had a good trip. Monsieur Cain,� Fevret said. �Is there anything special you would care to have for lunch?�

Cain dropped his hat on a chair, wiped his face with his handkerchief and shook his head.

�I�ll leave it to you, Joseph. Something special.�

�I suggest Moules farcies en cocotte. A half a bottle of my special Chablis. Then Tournedos Massena with a half a bottle of Ausone 1945,� Joseph Fevret said, knowing that Cain always wanted the best and expected the best. He had given some thought to the suggested meal during the morning.

�Sounds fine,� Cain said. He glanced impatiently at his wrist-watch. The time was twelve forty-five. �When my friend arrives, bring him right up.�

�Of course. Monsieur Cain.� Fevret bowed and left the room.

Cain sat down away from the table and lit a cigarette. His heavy face was thoughtful. A few moments later, a waiter came in with a double Vodka martini which he placed on the table. He bowed to Cain as he left the room.

Cain ate the olive, flicked the cocktail stick into the fireplace and then sipped his drink. He again glanced at his watch. He was shooting his cuff back into place when the door opened and John Dorey came in.

Dorey, with thirty-nine years of service at the Paris American Embassy behind him, now held the exalted rank of Divisional Director of the C.I.A. Aged sixty-six, he was a small, bird-like man, wearing rimless spectacles. He looked more like a successful banker than the shrewd, ruthless head of an extremely efficient organisation that was in continual battle with the Russian espionage network.

�Hello, Jon.� Dorey said as he closed the door. �You�re looking pretty good.�

�Think so?� Cain shook hands. �I wish I felt it.�

There came a discreet tap on the door and the waiter came in with a Cinzano Bitter, soda and ice which he offered Dorey. Cain knew this was Dorey�s drink, and Dorey, taking the glass, nodded, pleased.

When the waiter had gone, Dorey drew up a chair and sat down.

�Has something happened?� he asked with deceptive mildness.

�An understatement,� Cain said. �Worthington�s blown.�

Dorey stroked his beaky nose. He sipped his drink, then shook his glass slightly, making the ice cubes clink.

�Your man in Prague?�

Cain took out a packet of Marigny cigarettes. He was used to Dorey by now. Dorey always liked to have the set-up explained to him from an outside angle as if he wasn�t aware of all the facts.

�Alec Worthington,� Cain said patiently. �English. Married to a Czech. Lived in Prague for ten years. Teaches English to various political leaders. We bought him three years ago. He has a bug about acquiring capital � who hasn�t? We pay his earnings into Credit Suisse Banque. Bern. He has saved around sixty thousand dollars. Up to now his information has been useful and he has earned his keep. Somewhere along the line, he must have made a false move. Probably he was over-confident. Now, he is suspect. He could bluff it out as I am sure there is no proof against him, but he�s lost his nerve. The money he has saved haunts him. He wants to get out and spend it. Can�t say I blame him, but that�s not much use to us. He�s a mess now. We will have to replace him. He plans to bolt.�

Dorey finished his drink as the door opened and the waiter wheeled in a trolley. The two men moved to the table, Dorey�s eyes were blank behind the glittering lenses of his glasses, but when a plate was set before him, he became alert, regarding the Moules farcies with approval.

�Joseph�s is probably still the best unknown restaurant in Paris� he said. �These look very good.�

�Yeah.� Cain began to eat. He was sure Dorey wouldn�t attempt to solve his problem until after the meal.

Later, when the Tournedos Massena arrived with the Ch�teau Ausone in a cut glass decanter, Dorey said, �You are spoiling me.�

�Okay, if that�s the way you feel,� Cain said and poured the wine. �I�m spoiling myself too.�

The two men finished their meal. There was little conversation. Dorey asked after Cain�s business. Knowing he wasn�t interested, Cain didn�t elaborate on the subject. He said business was pretty good and left it at that.

It was only after the coffee had been served and the waiter had finally left them that Dorey said. �I never did think much of Worthington. Well, all right... I�ll find a replacement.�

�I don�t envy your replacement,� Cain said seriously. �The red light�s up. It�s tough out there now. They have a Russian security man tightening up their system... a man called Malik.�

�Malik?� Dorey looked up, his eyes narrowing. �Oh... yes. He�s probably one of the best and the most dangerous of them. So Malik is out there, is he?�

�He�s the reason why Worthington has panicked and wants to get out.�

�Do you think Worthington will get out?�

Cain shrugged.

�I don�t fancy his chances. Anyway, I am sure he will try. The last time I saw him he was falling to pieces badly.�

�When do you think he will try?�

�I don�t know. Right now he is screwing up his courage. It�s my bet, once he makes a move to get out, they will grab him.�

�Haven�t we got a woman out there?�

�Mala Reid.�

�Yes, I thought so. She�s good, isn�t she?�

�She has been useful.�

�Under pressure, Worthington will talk.�

�Yes, he�ll talk all right.�

�That could be awkward for you and Mala?�

�Damned awkward.�

Dorey sipped his coffee. His mind was busy, but his expressionless face didn�t reveal the intensity of his thoughts. Cain watched him.

�I don�t want to lose Mala, and I certainly don�t want you to lose your contacts in Prague,� Dorey said eventually. �Perhaps we could do something about Worthington.�

There was a long pause, then Cain said quietly, �The only thing we could do of any use would be to kill him. Once Malik gets hold of him there�s nothing we can do. Mala and I will automatically be blown.�

�That�s something we must avoid.� Dorey finished his coffee. �It�s not as if we owe him anything. He�s been useful, but he has been well paid. It would have to be done quickly, wouldn�t it?�

�Not later than tomorrow night.� Cain stubbed out his cigarette. �Even tomorrow night might be too late.�

�I think I have his address. It�s the same?�

�Yes.�

�He lives there with his wife?�

�Yes.�

Dorey thought, then put down his coffee cup. He looked cold and remote.

�I will arrange it.� He stared at Cain. �In the meantime you had better keep clear of Prague. Have you any reason to think Malik suspects you?�

�No one suspects me.� Cain said with quiet confidence. �I�m the white-headed boy who brings in the dollars.�

�Don�t be too sure. Malik is dangerous.�

�So long as you shut Worthington�s mouth, I�ll be all right.�

Dorey nodded.

�His mouth will be shut. Now about a replacement...� He thought for a long moment. �There�s Jack Latimer. He speaks the language. He�s been working for International Calculators now for the past two years. I could get him transferred to Prague with no trouble. What do you think?�

Cain poured more coffee into his cup.

�If Malik wasn�t there, I�d say yes. Latimer is a good man but I have an idea Malik will smell him out before he can get set. The red light is up. They know you will be replacing Worthington. Any newcomer will come under a microscope.�

�Never mind about that. Could you work with Latimer?�

�Of course.�

�All right. I�ll arrange it.� Dorey got to his feet. �Thank you for a beautiful lunch. Jon. You do nothing now until I give you the green light. In a couple of weeks � with any luck � you will be able to return to Prague and contact Latimer. I am sure he will be much more useful to us both than Worthington�

Cain shook his hands. He knew Dorey well enough not to ask further questions. If Dorey said he would fix something, he did it.

He watched Dorey leave, then finished his coffee and rang for the bill.

�Look, Kitten,� Girland said, �in five minutes I have to go out. Would you please finish your drink and then put on your skates?�

The girl sitting opposite him swished the dying ice cubes around in her glass. Girland had picked her up at the Left Bank Drug Store. She was scarcely eighteen and sensationally beautiful. Dark, sensually built, wearing scarlet stretch pants and a red and white shirt, she had caught Girland�s roving eye, but now he had her back in his apartment on Rue des Suisses, he realised too late that she was too young, too eager and too generally too.

�Are you telling me to get the hell out of here?� she asked looking inquiringly at him, her head on her side, a pose she copied from a movie star who impressed her.

�Sorry, but that�s it,� Girland said with his charming smile. �I have to go out.�

�Don�t we do anything? I�m good. What�s the rush?�

Girland sighed. Why in the world, he wondered, do I get myself into these kinds of situations? The trouble with me is I never know when to say no. She looked marvellous. Damn it! She is marvellous! Why is it when most women open their mouths, they become the biggest bores? If she had only kept her mouth shut, she could have been a sensational lay.

�I invited you for a drink. You have had your drink. Now I have to go out.� He got to his feet. �On with your skates, kitten!�

She nibbled at her drink, her full lips pouting. She looked up at his tall, broad shouldered figure, his lean hard face and the scattered white hairs in his jet black hair. What a bull of a beautiful man! she thought.

�You�re not serious, are you?� she asked. �I had the idea you and me were going into action. Back home, they call me Swivel Hips. I�ll give you an unforgettable experience, boyfriend. At this moment, there�s nothing between us but the zipper on my pants.�

Girland studied her. She made him feel middle-aged. This eager, brash sexual approach was like ice water thrown in his face.

�Some other time perhaps,� he said. �Fold your tent, kitten, and steal away.�

The telephone rang.

�This I love,� the girl said. �Every time I get close to a real man, the goddamn telephone starts up.�

�That�s life,� Girland said, picking up the receiver. He waved to his front door. �That�s the way out: down the stairs and you will find the Metro on your left. So long, kitten.�

A voice over the line, speaking with a strong New Yorker accent, said, �Girland?�

�I suppose so,� Girland said and dropped back in his chair.

�This is Harry Moss,� the voice told him. Behind the voice Girland could hear distant swing music. �You wouldn�t know me. Fred gave me your number.�

The girl walked over to Girland and emptied the dregs of her drink over his head. Two dying ice cubes bounded on his shoulder and slid to the floor. Carefully, she balanced the upturned glass on top of his head and then walked to the door, swinging her small, firm hips. Sighing, Girland took the glass off his head and put it on to the side table. He waved to the girl who gave him a V sign.

�Fred... who?� he said into the receiver.

�I�ve a little job you could handle if you felt like it� the voice went on. �It means money.�

Thinking of his empty wallet, Girland became attentive.

�How much?�

�Bullion up to your navel,� the voice told him. �Want to talk about it?�

Girland looked across the big studio at the girl who had opened the front door. She smiled at him, then zipped down her stretched pants and peeled them off. She began to pull the shirt over her head.

�Sure, but I can�t talk now,� Girland said, hurriedly. It was just possible his concierge might be climbing the stairs. He could imagine how she would react if she saw what was going�on his landing. The girl had shed her shirt, and now in only a pair of black briefs, she was striking a pose.

�I�ll be at La Croix d�Or until ten. You know it?� the voice went on.

�Who doesn�t?� Girland said. �I�ll be there,� and he hung up.

The girl struck another pose.

�Like me?� she said and smiled invitingly.

Girland liked her very much, but she was still too young and too brash.

�Gorgeous.� he said. �Thanks for the show. There�s a launderette at the end of the street. Wash your mind, kitten, it needs washing.� He hurriedly slammed the door and turned the key. He stood for some moments listening to her screams of rage and the names she hurled at him through the panels of the door. He was appalled at the extent of her vocabulary. Finally, she ran out of words and breath and he heard sounds of her dressing. He wondered what his neighbours were thinking. Finally, he heard her stamp down the stairs.

He lit a cigarette and sat down.

Who was Harry Moss? he wondered. Fred? The only Fred he knew was the barman at the Bressane bar where Girland went frequently. He telephoned the bar and asked for Fred.

�This is Girland.� There was the usual exchanges about their health and how life was, then Girland said, �Know anything about a guy who calls himself Harry Moss?�

�That fella.� Fred sounded disapproving. �Sure, he blew in a couple of hours ago. Young � around twenty-three � could be a fag, but I wouldn�t swear to it. I wouldn�t trust my wife with him: come to that, I wouldn�t trust my mother with him either. He wanted a job done... I wouldn�t know what it is. I got the hint it was smuggling. I didn�t know how you were fixed so I gave him your name. Did I do wrong?�

�No. Thanks, Fred. Every door is a door of opportunity. If something jells, I�ll see you get a slice off the top,� and Girland replaced the receiver.

He sat for some minutes thinking. He needed money. When didn�t he? he thought wryly. In fact, face up to it, Girland, he said to himself, you need money damned badly. That was a mistake staying in Hong Kong for so long[1]. He thought of Tan-Toy and sighed. What a girl! The Chinese girls certainly had technique. He had remained with her until the money he had gypped Dorey out of had been spent. He had been thankful he hadn�t cashed in his return air ticket otherwise he would have become a D.A.S., and Dorey would have loved that. Well, let�s see what Harry Moss has to offer, he thought and got to his feet. You never know. Life is still full of surprises. Bullion up to your navel. Moss had said. Girland grinned. What a way to talk!

La Croix d�Or was a sleazy night club off Rue du Bac, Girland had been there a few times. It was the haunt of ageing homosexuals, and generally, it was crowded with blond handsome boys looking for a client. There was also a Negro trumpeter who had the talent of a minor Armstrong. Very few women frequented the club, and those who did were unquestionably dykes.

As Girland walked down the dimly lit stairs that led into the cellar club, he could hear the golden notes of the Negro�s trumpet. He nodded to the doorman who gave him a blank stare, then entered the smoke-laden room. The smell of body sweat, the noise of shrill voices and the golden notes of the trumpet m a d e an impact on him. He paused, looking around the crowded room, then edging past the blond boys who were shrilling and looking like gaudy parakeets, he reached the bar.

The balding barman, fat and simpering, came quickly towards him.

�Yes, dear?� he said, laying his puffy white hands on the bar. �What can I make you happy with?�

�Hello, Alice,� Girland said and shook his hands. He knew the barman liked to be known by his professional name. �Harry Moss around?�

�Yes, dear. He�s waiting for you.� The barman rolled his eyes. �Such a lovely boy! He�s upstairs... room 4.�

�Is he alone?� Girland asked.

�Of course, dear: he�s waiting for you.�

Girland grinned.

�Be your age, Alice. You�re getting your lines crossed.� He shouldered his way across the room, opened the door and climbed stairs. He paused outside Room 4, knocked and walked into a tiny cubicle where a youth was sitting at a table, a bottle of Scotch, two glasses and an ice bucket before him.

Girland closed the door.

�Moss?�

The youth looked around. His thick blond hair rested on the collar of his cowboy shirt. His small green eyes his hooked nose, his thin mouth added up to a portrait of depraved viciousness.

�Come on in,� he said and waved to a chair. �Yeah, I�m Harry Moss.� He had a strong New Yorker accent. �Glad to have you here.�

Girland sat down. He flicked out a Pall Mall cigarette and set fire to it.

�You called... I�m here... so let�s make it snappy,� he said.

The green eyes roved over Garland�s face.

�I have a job I can�t do myself. It�s strictly dishonest, but there�s no blow back. The take is thirty thousand dollars. Half to you, half to me. You interested?�

�I could be,� Girland said. �You�ll have to convince me there�s no blow back.�

�I�ve asked around,� Moss said, staring at his glass. �You sound like the guy to help me, and brother! I need help.� He sipped his drink, then squinted at Girland over the rim of his glass. �I�m telling you because I have to. I can�t stop you flapping with your mouth, but they said you didn�t talk.�

�They?� Girland asked, amused

�I told you... I�ve asked around.� Moss again stared at his glass. �I�ll put you in the photo. I got drafted into the goddamn army. Before I got over the shock, I was in West Berlin. Can you imagine? My divisional officer was such a dummy he could scarcely write his name. One of the jobs he had to do was to collect the payroll for the Officers. I drove the payroll truck while he sat on his fat fanny and looked important. A pal of mine, Ferdy Newman, went along as a guard. Well, to make this short, we decided to hi-jack the payroll. What the hell? It was asking to be hi-jacked. So one day, a month ago, we did the job. We had to tap my officer, but we didn�t hurt him much. His skull was solid bone. So we found ourselves with fifty thousand dollars and a lot of heat.� He sipped his drink and looked thoughtfully at Girland. �Boy! Was the heat fierce! Well, keeping it short, we got to East Berlin. Ferdy had the bright idea of moving to Prague, and from there eventually to Cairo where he had friends.� Again he paused, and this time he looked sharply at Girland. �You interested or am I boring you?�

�Keep going,� Girland said. �I�m never bored when anyone�s talking about money.�

Moss�s thin lips curved into a smile.

�That goes for me too. Well, we finally made it to Prague. They were right on our tails. The Czech Security Police came after us. We thought the heat was fierce before, but Boy! did it get white hot!� Moss frowned and shook his head. �A girl in West Berlin had given us the name of a contact. Did he turn out to be a snake! He hid us in an apartment and took twenty thousand dollars off us. The deal was he should supply us with food, keep us hidden and get us out of Prague when the heat cooled off. He certainly put us in this apartment and he certainly took the money, but that was it. We never saw him again. We stayed in that joint for three days, starving. You ever been without food for three days?�

�Why should you care?� Girland said. �Keep talking.�

�Yeah... well, by the fourth morning, we were ready to eat each other,� Moss said. �So we tossed up and Ferdy lost. He went out to buy food He hadn�t been gone three minutes when I heard police whistles. Did I lay an egg! I imagined he would bring them right to me. I beat it up on the roof. I was in such an uproar, I forgot to take the money with me.� He paused to pick his nose, then went on, �From the roof, I saw Ferdy running like hell. There were two cops after him. They were running like elephants with ingrowing toenails. Ferdy was going like a streak. Then one of the cops lifted his automatic and let Ferdy have it. I saw bits of his shirt fly off his back and blood.� He grimaced. �Well, that was the end of Ferdy.� He took another drink. �I panic easily. I went down the fire escape, touching one step in six. Right at that moment, I had forgotten the money. I just blew.� He paused. �You want to give me a cigarette? Don�t if you don�t want to.�

Girland tossed his pack of Pall Mall on the table. His face was thoughtful. This story could be true. Then again, it could be a lie, but why tell him if it was a lie?

�I won�t bore you with details,� Moss went on after he had lit a cigarette. �There was a girl...� his thin lips curved into a sneering little grin. �What would creeps like me do without a girl? Anyway, she got me out of Prague and here I am. I�ve been here two weeks biting my nails. All I can think about is that money waiting for me in Prague.�

Girland sipped his drink.

�Is that all?� he asked.

�That�s the story... that�s the problem. The money�s still there. I want someone like you to go to Prague, pick it up and bring it back here. We split the take. Fifteen thousand to you... fifteen thousand to me.�

�How do you know it�s still there?� Girland asked.

�It�s there. That�s the one thing I�m certain about. We hid it where no one would think of looking for it. It�s all in one hundred dollar bills... three hundred of them. It doesn�t take up too much space.�

�What gives you the idea I can get it if you can�t?�

�They�re watching for me... they aren�t watching for you. Maybe you don�t know it but Prague is the softest touch of the Iron Curtain. The Czechs are in a financial mess. They must have foreign currency so they love tourists. You go in as a tourist, stay two or three days, pick up the money and then come out. It�s that simple. They don�t even check the bags of tourists. I tell you... they love them.�

Girland stubbed out his cigarette while he thought, then he asked, �Suppose I do find the money, what makes you think you�ll ever see any of it?�

Moss grinned.

�It�s a gamble. I haven�t a hope of getting the money myself. So how am I worse off? It wouldn�t be that safe for you to gyp me. Sooner or later, I would catch up with you, and then you would be in trouble.�

Girland leaned back in his chair, his smile widened.

�Or you would be, Harry,� he said. �I�m tricky when little boys like you try to make trouble.�

Moss grinned amiably.

�Oh, sure. I�ve asked around. You�re tough, but I would have a try. Anyway, it�s a gamble. What do you say?�

�I�ll think about it. Where�s the money hidden?�

�I�ll tell you that when we meet at the airport and when you show me your air ticket.�

�Who�s paying for the trip? I�ll need at least two thousand francs.�

�Yeah, I�ve thought of that. I can dig up two thousand francs.�

�Well, I might do it,� Girland said. �Suppose you call me tomorrow morning around ten o�clock?� He got to his feet. �I�m not sold on the Iron Curtain. I don�t like it.�

�That makes two of us,� Moss said. �You talk around. Anyone will tell you, for a tourist, it is dead easy.�

�I�ll do just that. So long for now,� and Girland left the room.

Moss finished his drink. Then he went down to the Clubroom. Pushing his way to a telephone booth, he shut himself in He dialled a number. After a delay a curt voice said, �Yes?�

�This is A for Apple,� Moss said. �Your party is deciding by tomorrow morning. It�s my bet, he will go.�

�I thought he would,� Dorey said and hung up.

Oscar Bruckman had been in Prague now for two days. He was staying at a modest hotel in the Stare Mesto district, and had been acting like a staid American tourist. One of the first places of entertainment he had visited was the Alhambra night club. He had seen Mala Reid�s act, and had noted the time she came on and when her act finished. Bruckman, who was tone deaf, had no idea if this attractive girl could sing or not. He didn�t care, but he did appreciate her figure.

He had also been to her apartment block. His keen photographic eyes had recorded all the necessary details he would have to use later. He had stepped into the doorway to light a cigarette. He had noted there was no concierge nor elevator.

Around five o�clock on this second day in his stay in Prague he received the green light from Dorey in a coded cable. Girland had obtained a visa for Prague and would be leaving the following morning.

As Mala was beginning her act at the Alhambra, Bruckman put the package, containing the thirty thousand dollars Dorey had given him, into a shabby brief-case and left his hotel.

He walked to Mala�s apartment. At this time of night, the streets were practically deserted. Only a few tourists wandered around, gaping at the beautiful buildings, pausing to examine the various old house signs used before house numbers came into fashion.

He entered the apartment block and walked cautiously up the steep spiral staircase, making no attempt to deaden his footfalls on the bare boards. He was far too astute ever to appear furtive. He climbed the stairs as an expected visitor, and Worthington heard him coming.

The past two days had been a big strain on Worthington. Every sound outside the apartment had sent him scurrying out to the balcony. Mala had been understandably frightened of him, and to his distress, she now spent all her waking hours out of the apartment, sitting in caf�s, wandering around various museums, going to a movie... anything, rather than stay alone with him in the apartment, only returning at eight o�clock when she had to prepare for her act at the Alhambra.

Time hung heavily on Worthington�s hands. He had only his uneasy thoughts for company.

Mala had screened the alcove, containing the bed, with a sheet hung over a length of string. On her return from the nightclub, she would have a few brief, casual words with Worthington, then she would retire behind the screen, leaving Worthington to spend the rest of the bleak hours in an armchair until she again left the apartment early in the morning.

When she was dressing for the nightclub. Worthington went behind the screen and lay on the bed. He had to listen to her movements, taking a shower and dressing. He wished that she could love him as he loved her. They were two lonely people, he kept telling himself: people hovering on the brink of disaster and certain death. But she gave him no hint of encouragement. She was distant, polite and so obviously anxious to see the last of him.

Now, once again, she had gone to the club, leaving a faint smell of perfume some American admirer had given her lingering in the room and he was faced with four hours of restless sleep on his own. He was about to undress when he heard Bruckman coming up the stairs.

His heart missed a beat. Looking quickly around to make sure he had left no tell-tale sign that he was living in this room, he snapped off the light and tiptoed out on to the balcony, easing the french windows shut behind him. He drew his Colt automatic and got behind the flowering shrub. The gun in his hand gave him no confidence. Even in the worse kind of emergency, he couldn�t imagine himself ever pulling the trigger.

Bruckman paused outside the front door. The building was silent. He thumbed the doorbell and waited. He had his story ready if anyone came to the door. From the mailboxes downstairs, he had taken the name of the owner of the apartment above. He would apologise for his mistake and then walk up the stairs.

He waited patiently, then rang again. After a further wait, he was satisfied the apartment was empty. He took from his wallet a flexible piece of steel and expertly unlocked the door. He moved into the dark room, groped for the light switch and turned it on.

Peering around the shrub, Worthington caught a brief glimpse of Bruckman as he moved into the room. He immediately recognised the big heavily built man. Fear, he knew was in him but up to now had never truly experienced, paralysed him.

He knew Bruckman was O�Halloran�s strong arm thug who did most of O�Halloran�s dirty work. He was an executioner for the C.I.A. used when an Agent with important information threatened to defect.

Who had betrayed him to Bruckman? Worthington wondered, his heart hammering. He thumbed back the safety catch on his gun, but he knew he could never shoot Bruckman. There was this weak, compassionate streak in him that made it impossible for him to take human life. He knelt on the balcony, cold with fear, waiting for Bruckman to discover him.

Minutes passed: nothing happened. Terrified, Worthington again peered into the room.

Bruckman was coming out of the bathroom. He was massively menacing as he looked around the room, then he walked over to the life-size wooden angel and stared thoughtfully at it.

Worthington watched him, puzzled. Bruckman�s broad back blocked the angel from Worthington�s view. Then Bruckman half-turned and Worthington saw he was holding the angel�s wooden head in his hands. This he placed on the floor, then he opened his brief-case and took from it a small package done up in brown paper. He forced the package down the hollow neck of the angel into the body. He worked quickly and without fuss, and in a moment the angel�s head had been replaced. He looked around the room, picked up the empty brief-case, walked to the door, turned off the light and closed the door behind him.

Worthington waited, unable to believe his luck, then he gently pushed open the french windows. He could hear Bruckman clumping down the stairs and he moved cautiously across the dark room to the front door. He eased it open. Bruckman�s heavy tread was dying away. Then Worthington heard the entrance door slam shut.

He turned on the light and went shakily to the armchair and sat down. He had been too close to death, he thought. He was so badly frightened that he could only sit motionless, staring at the wooden angel, thankful he was still alive. His mind crawled with alarm.

He was still sitting in the chair, now half asleep, his body and mind beginning to relax when Mala returned. As soon as she saw his face, tight with fear and the sweat beads on his forehead, she knew something had happened. Quickly she closed the door and shot the bolt.

�What is it?�

Worthington got slowly to his feet. He made a desperate effort to conceal his fear, but he could see her growing terror.

�Bruckman�s been here. He picked the lock. I... I hid on the balcony.�

Mala stared fearfully at him.

�Who is he? What do you mean?�

�He�s one of Dorey�s men,� Worthington said, trying to control his impatience. �When I saw him come in, I was sure someone had given me away.� He rubbed his dry lips with the back of his hand. �I thought he was going to murder me.�

Mala shivered.

�But why should he � he murder you?�

�Dorey knows that if I am caught I will give you and Cain away,� Worthington said, his voice desperate. �But he wasn�t here to kill me.� He pointed to the wooden angel. �He put a package in there. Is that where they leave things for you to pass on?�

�What are you talking about?� Mala stared at the angel. �He left something in there?�

�Yes. He lifted off the head and put a package in the body. I thought it was something you were expecting... after all, you are still working for Dorey.� Seeing how bewildered she looked, he went on, �If you don�t know anything about it, we�d better see what it is.�

�No! Leave it alone! If he left something in there, I don�t want to know about it!� Mala exclaimed wildly.

Worthington looked at her in exasperation.

�Are you telling me the truth? Are you sure they don�t use that as a hiding place?�

�Of course they don�t! Leave it alone! I don�t want to know about it!�

�You are behaving like a child. You are an agent. You have already passed a lot of information back to C.I.A. through Cain and me, and you have been paid for doing it. That makes you a professional. Pull yourself together! Sooner or later, they will find a replacement for me. When they do, he will contact you, and you will have to work for him as you have worked for me.�

�I�m not working for them anymore!� Mala cried, facing him. �I�ve had enough! Will you please go! No one can force me to do what I don�t want to do!�

Worthington looked pityingly at her. He could well understand her terror. When he had heard Malik had arrived in Prague, he too had become terrified.

�Please listen to me and don�t get so upset,� he said gently. �You have accepted their money. If they don�t want you, they will drop you, but you can never drop them. If you try to drop them they will silence you. The only chance you have of dropping them is to disappear as I am going to disappear. Unless you have a way to get out of this country and hide yourself, they will kill you.�

She looked desperately at him.

�I don�t believe it! They couldn�t do that!�

�Why do you imagine I�m leaving Prague? I knew this would happen and I have been preparing for just this emergency.� Worthington paused, hesitated, then went on. �This is the wrong time to tell you, but I have to.� His weak face was glistening with sweat� and his eyes were desperately earnest. �Mala, I love you. I have been in love with you from the moment we first met. I wish there were less banal words to tell you what you mean to me...� He broke off in despair when he saw her shocked expression. �I shouldn�t have told you... I am sorry.�

�Sorry?� Her frightened contempt made him shrivel. �You say you love me? Then why did you come here? Why have you made use of me to save yourself? Love me... you mean you love yourself!�

Worthington sat motionless, then finally he said, �I had nowhere else to go. I hoped and prayed you would have a little feeling for me.�

�I don�t want you here!� Mala cried. �How many more times do I have to tell you? You mean nothing to me! Don�t you understand... nothing!�

She turned away from him. Worthington studied her long, slim back, thinking how lovely she was, longing to take her in his arms.

�We could go away together,� he said. �Why don�t you come with me to Switzerland? Vlast would fake a passport for you. We could travel as man and wife. When we reach Geneva, you can make up your mind if you would like to stay with me. I have money in Geneva.�

She spun around.

�I�m remaining here! I�m not working for them anymore! If only you would go, I�ll be safe!�

�No agent is ever safe. If we leave Prague together, you will be safer with me in Geneva.�

�Oh, stop it! Why don�t you go!� Her voice shot up a note and Worthington flinched, wondering if the people above or below could hear her.

�We had better see what Bruckman has left here,� he said.

�No! Leave it alone!�

�He could have planted something on you. I don�t trust Dorey. He might be betraying you. We must see what it is.�

Mala watched in tense silence as he crossed over to the wooden angel and lifted off the head.

Bruckman had never taken Girland seriously. He regarded him merely as a layabout who had a lot of luck when he had worked for the C.I.A. He knew him to be quick with a gun, an expert karate fighter, but also a womaniser, and this was something Bruckman could never forgive. He considered O�Halloran�s respect for Girland�s abilities grossly exaggerated. Since he regarded Girland with contempt, he didn�t take the precautions he would have done had he been convinced that Girland was a true professional, and here he made a fatal mistake.

Girland spotted him as Girland was registering at the Alcron Hotel. He caught a brief glimpse of Bruckman in a mirror behind the desk as he was completing the registration card. Bruckman was moving quickly to the small bar at the other end of the lobby. Girland immediately recognised him.

Girland completed the form, his brain alerting into top gear.

Bruckman!

As soon as he had reached his bedroom on the third floor and had got rid of the porter who had carried up his suitcase, Girland dropped into an easy chair, lit a cigarette and for some minutes appraised the situation

Why was Bruckman in Prague? Why should he be at the Alcron Hotel? Was there a connection between his breaking into Girland�s Paris apartment and now being in Prague?

Girland mulled this over in his mind and then, suddenly, the nickel dropped.

Good grief! he thought. Of course! I should have tumbled to it when that kid in the stretch pants told me Bruckman had broken in. Boy! Am I slipping! I wondered if the big slob was planting something on me. I checked but I didn�t check deep enough. He did plant something and he�s planted it in my suitcase! Whatever it is, I�ve brought it behind the Iron Curtain!

He got out of the chair, picked up his suitcase and tossed the contents on to the bed. He examined the empty suitcase carefully, but could see nothing suspicious. Taking out a penknife, he made a cut in the lining, then ripped the lining out of the case. Neatly Sellotaped to the bottom of the case was a white envelope with a red sticker on it.

Girland let out a hissing breath. He knew this particular sticker indicated that the contents of the envelope was Top Secret. Carefully, he eased the envelope free, then laying it on the dressing table, he spent some minutes levering the flap open with the penknife. He removed two flimsy sheets of paper from the envelope, then he sat down.

He read the contents three times. He examined the President�s initials which he had seen often enough to recognise.

He stared at the typed heading:

and the brief distribution:

What the hell goes on? he thought. If this is a plant for the Soviets to get hold of, it could start a third world war! Just what the hell is this?

He read the memo for a fourth time, then he lit a cigarette and stared into space, his brain busy.

Although he was now no longer an active agent, he hadn�t forgotten his training and he had a sound political background He was certain that the Joint Chiefs of Staff hadn�t intended that this explosive document should be taken behind the Iron Curtain. This much was obvious. Somewhere along the line, someone � possibly Dorey � had slipped up. Or could it be that Dorey had become a double agent and he was using Girland to take this document out of Paris?

Girland decided against this idea. It was unthinkable. But it might be that Bruckman was a double agent. Again Girland dismissed the idea. If the document had been a photo-copy, Bruckman could be a suspect. But this was a numbered, original copy and it would be quickly missed. The obvious explanation was that Dorey � if it was Dorey � had slipped up.

Why should I care? Girland asked himself. I�ve been used as a sucker. I bet there�s no stolen payroll, no wooden angel. This is some bright scheme, dreamed up by Dorey, that has turned sour. But what�s it all about?

He sat for some time thinking, but he could think of no explanation. Looking again at the two sheets of paper, he wondered what to do with the m His first reaction was to bum them, then he realised if he did so Dorey�s career would be finished. Play this cool, he told himself. You could still come out of Prague with a profit. Right now I have Dorey over a barrel. This is a matter of negotiation. Dorey has made use of me. Now it is my turn to make use of him.

He put the two sheets of paper back in the envelope, then getting to his feet, he crossed to the dressing table. He removed the centre drawer. Kneeling, he fixed the envelope to the top of the space left by removing the drawer. This wasn�t the safest place to hide such a dangerous document, but he was confident that as a temporary hiding place it would do. He replaced the drawer.

It was now half-past one and he went thoughtfully down to the restaurant where he had a good lunch of hors d�oeuvres, lamb chops and fruit salad.

After lunch, he went over to the boutique that sold souvenirs of Prague and bought a street guide. He sat in the lounge and studied the map of the city, locating Chivatova ulice, the address Harry Moss had given him. He found it was within walking distance of the hotel and decided he would take a look at the street

Leaving the hotel, he walked down to the main street with its clanging trams and swarms of people, moving around like a disturbed ant�s nest. It would be dead easy, he thought, for Bruckman to tail me in this mob and he paused every now and then to look into shop windows, turning to scan the people scurrying around him, but failing to see Bruckman.

He had no need to worry about Bruckman. At this moment, Bruckman had returned to his own hotel, satisfied he now knew where Girland was staying and sure Girland wouldn�t make an attempt to collect the money until he had cased Mala Reid�s apartment. The attempt, Bruckman told himself, would take place the following day.

When Bruckman asked for his room key, the clerk handed him the key and a telegram. Up in his shabby room. Bruckman read the telegram. It was a request for certain missing invoices, followed by a list of numbers and letters. These, Bruckman knew, were the real guts of the message in code.

Twenty minutes later, he had decoded the message which now ran:

Translated, this told Bruckman:

Bruckman re-read the message, then sitting back in his chair, he blew out his cheeks. Just what the hell is this? he thought. Again he read the message. The sense of urgency infected him and he got to his feet. He had his orders. It shouldn�t be difficult to get the papers back. Girland had no idea they were in his suitcase. He set fire to Dorey�s cable and to the decoded message and let the ashes drop in the ashtray. Then he unlocked his brief-case that was lying on the desk and took from it a .32 police automatic. He checked the magazine, then slid the gun into his pocket Again from the brief-case he took a black three-inch silencer which he also dropped into his pocket. If necessary, liquidate him. He would rather knock Girland off than try to make a deal with him. Girland was too tricky to make a deal with. Bruckman thought as he moved heavily from his room

His hotel was five minutes walking distance from the Alcron Hotel. He reached the Alcron at twenty minutes past three. The American tourists who infested the big luxury hotel were out, sightseeing. There was a quiet calm in the lobby and the lounge. Bruckman walked over to the Head Porter�s desk.

The Head Porter gave him a little nod and looked expectantly at him.

�You have Mr. Girland here?� Bruckman asked.

The Hall Porter consulted his register.

�Yes, sir. Room 347.� He turned and looked at the key rack. �Mr. Girland is out right now. Do you wish to leave a message?�

�That�s okay,� Bruckman said. �I�ll telephone him. Thanks.�

He wandered over to the Boutique shop and looked at the souvenir gifts, then when he was sure the Hall Porter had forgotten him, he walked over to the elevators.

�Floor three,� he said.

As he walked down the long corridor, checking the room numbers, he thought that this was a dead easy assignment. With Girland out, he could collect the papers and then telegram Dorey for instructions.

He had his flexible steel pick in his hand as he reached the door of room 347. The corridor was deserted. In ten seconds, Bruckman had unlocked the door and entered the bedroom. He looked around, his heavy red face disapproving. This punk knows how to live, he thought, remembering his own tiny, shabby hotel room. He shut the door and slid the bolt. Then he walked over to Girland�s suitcase that was on the luggage rack He opened it relieved to find it wasn�t locked, then he had a rush of blood to his head. The lining had been ripped out... the suitcase was empty.

Bruckman stood staring down into the empty suitcase and he cursed under his breath. How the hell had this goddamn layabout found out about the papers? Well, he had! Bruckman dropped the lid of the suitcase and looked around the room.

He knew it would be a waste of time to search the room. Girland was a trained agent. He had either taken the document with him or had hidden it so securely that Bruckman would have to take the room apart to find it. If he did this, the fact would be reported, and the Security Police would move in. This was something Bruckman wanted to avoid at all cost.

He took out his gun and screwed on the silencer. He had now to talk Girland into making a deal. Obviously, Girland would have read the document, so even if he parted with it, he could still be in a position to blackmail Dorey. Bruckman rubbed his fleshy jaw. He could promise him anything. Girland was only interested in money. So he would agree to pay any sum Girland asked for. Then once Girland parted with the document, he would kill him. One well directed silent shot and Bruckman could walk out of the hotel, get on the next plane to Paris and his assignment was finished.

Pleased with his thinking, Bruckman crossed the room and slid back the bolt, then sat down in the easy chair. He put his silenced gun under his fat thigh, lit a cigarette and prepared himself for Girland�s return.

While Bruckman was waiting, Girland had reached Chivatova ulice. He was now satisfied no one was following him. Away from the main streets and once in the narrow lanes that branched like veins off the busy thoroughfares he could be sure he wasn�t being tailed. He found the apartment block he was looking for and he paused outside the high doorway that led to a dark, dirty lobby. He looked to right and left, then certain no one was watching, he moved into the lobby. A line of mailboxes on the shabby paint peeling wall told him that Mala Reid occupied an apartment on the fifth floor which Harry Moss had said had been his hide-out.

He climbed the stairs and finally reached the front door on which was pinned a card which read: Mala Reid.

Girland thumbed the bell push, moved back and waited. There was a long pause, then as he was about to ring again, the door opened.

He regarded the sable-haired girl with unexpected pleasure. Quite a doll! he thought and turned on his charming smile. His eyes ran over her. She was wearing a light blue sleeveless frock that clung to her figure with the caress of a well-fitting glove.

�Excuse me,� he said. �Do you happen to speak English?�

Mala had been preparing to visit Vlast again. She had been to his apartment in the morning, only to find him out. The sight of this tall, broad shouldered American made her heart skip a beat.

�Yes,� she said, her voice a little shrill. �What is it?�

Girland looked beyond her into the big living-room. He saw the wooden angel in the comer. Well, at least, that part of Harry Moss�s story was true.

�Would Harry Moss live here?� he asked, wondering why the girl was so obviously frightened.

�No.�

�Well, heck!� Girland looked rueful. �That�s too bad. He gave me this address. I�ve come all the way from New York... he�s an old friend of mine. Would you know where he�s got to?�

�No,� Mala said, �I can�t help you,� and she closed the door in his face.

Girland hesitated. Don�t push your luck too far, he told himself. At least there�s a wooden angel. This needs thinking about and careful handling. He turned and walked down the stairs to the street. Who was Mala Reid? A nice dish, he thought. What made her so scared? He paused outside the building while he thought. Could it be the money was really inside that angel? If it was, how could he get at it? He would have to find out when the girl left the apartment and if she lived alone. Did she know the money was there? Girland shook his head. It wasn�t going to be easy, but if it meant picking up thirty thousand dollars, he couldn�t expect it to be easy.

It was while he stood in the sunshine, outside the building that Zerov, one of the men Smernoff had planted in the opposite building, photographed him. It was a routine picture. Everyone entering and leaving the opposite apartment block was photographed. Zerov had already taken thirty-five pictures and he now wound off the film which he passed to his companion Nicalok.

�Get it processed,� he said. �Comrade Smernoff will be expecting something from us.�

Nicalok took the film cartridge and left the apartment. By then, Girland was walking back to the Alcron, pondering how he could find out more about Mala Reid. As he walked up the main street, leading to his hotel, he came upon an arcade, leading to the entrance of the Alhambra night club. He was passing it when he came to an abrupt stop. On a bill posted to the wall was Mala Reid�s name and a photograph of her, wearing black tights and a bra. The Czech letter press meant nothing to him, but the photograph was all he wanted. So... He moved on. Well, he now knew where she worked. Tonight, he would go to the Alhambra. He reached the hotel and asked for his key. The Hall Porter handed it to him.

�There was a gentleman inquiring for you, sir,� he said. �He said he would telephone later.�

�Is that right?� Girland was puzzled. �I can�t imagine who it would be. Do you remember him?�

�Yes, sir.� The Hall Porter was proud of his memory. �A tall, heavily built gentleman. He has had an accident to his right ear.�

Girland grinned.

�Oh, sure. I didn�t know he was here. He�s an old friend of mine. Thanks.� He slid a pack of Pall Mall cigarettes across the desk. He had quickly discovered that cigarettes were much more appreciated in Prague than money.

He rode up in the elevator. So Bruckman was asking for him, he thought. Watch it, he told himself. This could be action stations.

He reached his bedroom door, unlocked it and swung the door open. Then he walked in. The sight of Bruckman sitting in the easy chair came as no surprise. He was glad he had been tipped off by the Hall Porter.

�Hello, Oscar, nice to see you again,� he said, moving into the room and closing the door. �How�s the wife and kids?�

Bruckman stubbed out his cigarette in an ashtray that was now overflowing with cigarette butts. He shifted his weight slightly so he could get at his gun. His red, fleshy face was expressionless, his cold, grey eyes never left Girland.

�Sit down, punk,� he said in his cop voice. �You and me have to talk.�

Girland smiled at him.

�Now, Oscar, try to act your age,� he said, leaning against the door. �You�re getting a little long in the tooth for that kind of talk and you�ve put on too much weight. With that fat belly you�re carrying around like a pregnant cow and all the booze you have been swilling, you�re not in my class. Do you want to start something? It would be a pleasure. Where�s your buddy boy O�Brien? Remember what I did to him the last time you tried to get tough?�

Bruckman produced his gun. He was still lightning fast and the gun jumped into his hand in one dazzling movement.

�I said sit down, punk!� he said, with a snarl in his voice.

Girland laughed.

�Oscar, you slay me. You should be in the movies... strictly B features, but you might make quite a decent living. Go ahead and shoot me.� He walked deliberately up to Bruckman. When he was close to the big man, he looked down at him, still smiling. �Go on, Oscar. Fire away.� then the side of his hand smashed down on Bruckman�s wrist, sending the gun flying across the room.

Bruckman cursed and started to his feet, but Girland shoved him back in the chair.

�Relax, Oscar. You can�t murder me just yet. We have to talk... remember?�

Bruckman nursed his wrist. His eyes glowered hate at Girland who walked over to the bed and dropped on to it. He stretched out, folding his hands behind his head.

�Go ahead, Oscar,� he said, staring up at the ceiling. �What�s on the thing you call your mind?�

Bruckman continued to massage his wrist, then at last getting some feeling back into it, he got up and picked up his gun. He put it on the table near him, then sat down again.

Glaring at Girland, he said, �You know... you have a T.S., Girland. I want it.�

�You want it?� Girland grinned. �What an understatement! I�ll tell you who also wants it: Mr. Johnson wants it. Mr. Kosygin wants it. Mr. Ho Chi Minh wants it... and more than any of them, my dear old pal Dorey wants it.�

Bruckman contained his fury with an effort that turned his face dark.

�Let�s have it, Girland, and let�s cut out the funny talk.�

Girland raised his head, his eyebrows lifting.

�I wouldn�t have thought any of this funny, Oscar,� he said. �Suppose we begin at the beginning. You broke into my Paris apartment and planted this T.S. in my suitcase. I can only imagine you were obeying Dorey�s orders. There was a time when I began to wonder if you had turned double agent, but I decided you wouldn�t have the brains for that kind of a job.�

Bruckman nearly fell out of his chair.

�What the hell are you saying? Me... a double agent?�

�Relax, Oscar. You�ll bust your truss if you go on like this. I decided you weren�t a double agent. This T.S. is dynamite, so Dorey must have made a mistake in giving it to you. Right?�

�I�m not talking to you. Hand it over Girland!� Bruckman leaned forward, his heavy face flushed, his eyes glittering. �I know you�re a crook, but I hope you won�t be that low as to start a third world war! Now, hand it over and I�ll take it back to Paris.�

�The trouble with you. Oscar,� Girland said sadly, �is you have no appeal. Don�t give me that stuff about a third world war. Dorey started this. He picked on me, and he couldn�t care less what happened to me so I couldn�t care less what happens to him. Just what had he in mind? And Oscar, don�t try any bright lying. I haven�t been wasting my time since I�ve been here. I know all about Mala Reid. Let�s have the whole story, then I could give you the T.S., but you�re not getting it until I know the story.�

Bruckman�s eyes shifted to the gun on the table.

�Oh, Oscar, don�t revert to type,� Girland said, watching him. �The T.S. is somewhere where you won�t find it, but if you murder me � as I know you�re longing to � sooner or later. Mr. Kosygin will have it. Now come on what was this plan Dorey dreamed up in his retarded mind?�

Bruckman hesitated.

�How do I know if I tell you, you�ll hand it over?� he demanded.

�Well, of course, you don�t know, but I will. Don�t laugh right now, but you will have to trust me.�

�One of these days,� Bruckman said furiously, �I�ll fix you! Make no mistake about that! I�ll fix you for good!�

�What dialogue,� Girland said, shutting his eyes. �Boy! Have you missed your vocation! Television would love you.�

Bruckman considered his position He wondered if he should cable Dorey for further instructions. This situation was something he couldn�t handle. Then he remembered what Dorey had told him... make any deal.

His job was to get this document back to Dorey. It was then up to Dorey to take it from there.

�Okay.� he said. �This was the setup,� and he told Girland of Dorey�s plan to use him as a smoke screen to get Latimer into Prague.

Girland listened, his eyes closed. When Bruckman stopped talking, Girland opened his eyes and smiled at Bruckman.

�So the money is in the wooden angel?�

�It�s there. I put it there myself.�

�Dorey! What a lovable little midget he�s turned out to be,� Girland said. �Well. I guess he has reason to try to fix me. I�ll give him that. Okay, Oscar, now we go to work.� He sat up and swung his legs off the bed. �Tonight, you will go to Mala�s apartment and collect the money. I�ll be watching on the sidelines. We will meet at the airport. You will give me the money... I will give you the T.S. You will then fly off to Paris and give Dorey my love. But don�t get any bright ideas about alerting the police that I will be leaving with thirty thousand dollars. I assure you, if they arrest me, I�ll buy myself out of trouble by telling them the contents of the T.S. Does all this sink into the thing you call a brain?�

Bruckman glared at him.

�I couldn�t have believed any decent American could act like this.� he said. �All you think about is money. You are...�

�Oh, skip it, Oscar. You�ll have me sobbing on your shoulder. What�s so wrong about money anyway?� He got up and walked to the door which he opened. �Shove off.�

Bruckman put his gun into its holster and walked out into the corridor.

�Tonight, around ten-thirty,� Girland said. �I�ll be there, watching. So long for now, Oscar, and watch your blood pressure.� He closed the door as Bruckman walked heavily towards the elevator.

Malik ripped open the brown paper parcel that had been found by Bruckman�s body. He glared at the two folded newspapers, then went through them rapidly to see if there was anything marked, then flung them to the floor.

He looked at Zernov who was nursing a heavily bandaged arm.

�You killed a man for this?�

Only Smernoff who knew Malik well, realised how close Malik was to explosion point.

Suk who was with Zernov, said, �He was doing what he thought was right.�

Malik glared at him.

�I wasn�t talking to you.� He switched his green eyes to Zernov. �You killed a man for this?�

�He shot at me,� Zernov said sullenly. �I had no alternative.�

�This is now an international incident,� Malik said. �This man is one of Dorey�s agents. There will be an inquiry by the American Ambassador. This shooting will make headline news in the Capitalist press. By your stupidity, you have ruined the operation I have arranged. By turning on the light as you did, you have proved yourself a fool and utterly incompetent.�

Zernov�s flat, brutal face shone with sweat.

�I... I thought...� he stammered but Malik cut him short.

�Thought? How can you think without a brain? Get out!�

Although Malik�s face was expressionless, his green eyes were so malevolent, Zernov recoiled. He hurriedly left the room.

Malik turned and looked at Suk.

�That man must be punished. He is useless to you... do you understand?�

�Yes.�

There was a pause, then Malik asked. �Where is Girland?�

Suk squinted at him.

�Girland? I... I don�t know. He is being shadowed. What has he to do with this?�

�Find out where he is! I want to know!�

As Suk made to pick up the telephone, Malik went on, �Go elsewhere! I need the telephone.�

�Yes.�

Suk hurriedly left the room.

Malik closed his huge hands into fists. Smernoff watched him, feeling it was safer to say nothing. Malik remained still for a long moment, then he said: �What an operation! You allow Vlast to kill himself! That oaf kills one of Dorey�s best men! This woman Reid will be alerted! And then there�s Girland... can�t anything I order be carried out!�

�So what do we do?� Smernoff said. He found Malik�s tantrums boring.

Malik stared at him.

�We pick up the girl and Girland. We�ll make them talk. I am now handling this myself. I can�t trust any of these fools!�

�Suppose we wait for Suk�s report?� Smernoff said, lighting a cigarette. �The girl is at the nightclub now. Her act comes on in fifty minutes. We have time. We can pick her up when she leaves.�

Malik contained himself with an effort.

�Yes... give me a cigarette.�

�Why don�t you buy your own cigarettes?� Smernoff grumbled and handed over a pack of Benson & Hedges.

�These are capitalist cigarettes,� Malik said.

Smernoff grinned.

�I like them. If you don�t want to smoke that kind of cigarette, why should I care?�

Malik lit the cigarette and tossed the pack back to Smernoff.

�Why newspapers in a parcel?� he said, thinking aloud. �Bruckman broke into the woman�s apartment. Let us imagine he was looking for something of value and this woman planted this parcel.� He looked at the newspapers on the floor. �There might be a hidden message there. They must be examined.�

Suk came into the room, white-faced, his forehead moist.

�They have lost him,� he said, his voice despairing. �I had three men covering him... yet, they have lost him!�

Malik made a savage movement with his hand.

�This will be reported Comrade Suk. Girland is not to leave the country. I hold you personally responsible. I want this man!� Turning to Smernoff, he said, �We will now pick up the girl. She could tell us where Worthington is hiding. I want him too.� He glared at Suk. �Have her apartment searched!�

He left the room, followed by Smernoff.

Suk mopped his face, the n picked up the telephone receiver. He began to give instructions to every frontier post, the airport and to the guards at the railway station.

�This man must be detained,� he kept saying. �There must be no mistake.�

Worthington pulled his worn jacket closer around him and shivered. He was sitting on a flat stone, his back against a rock, looking down into the mist-covered valley far below. He had been sitting there since four o�clock and it was nearly half-past six. It had been a damp, cold watch, and he longed for the sun to come up and warm his aching bones. Resentfully, he thought it was typical of Girland to have given him the dawn watch. How he disliked this tall, handsome, cocky man! He knew Girland was without nerves, and he knew women would automatically react to him. He had seen the way Mala had looked at him. She seemed to think he was some kind of god.

He took his depleted pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He had only five left. He hesitated, the n unable, to resist the urge, he lit one.

He glanced over his shoulder at the dark cabin. There was no movement. They were all sleeping. He stared up at the lightening sky, across the treetops and once again down into the mist-covered valley. He felt a tug of fear at his heart. They would send troops. They would search every inch of the hills. Sooner or later, they would find them.

Worthington flinched at the thought of what would happen to him His hand touched the butt of his gun snug in its holster, then he remembered Girland had taken away the bullets. He couldn�t even shoot himself, if the soldiers surrounded them.

He sucked in smoke and slowly exhaled He shifted on the cold rock, trying to make himself comfortable, then he stiffened as he heard a droning sound some distance away.

Outlined against the cloudless sky, he saw a helicopter, flying above the tree tops, down in the valley. He started to his feet, his heart thumping. More sound filled the sky and, looking to his left, he saw yet another helicopter.

He ran towards the cabin as the door swung open and Girland, followed by Jan, appeared.

�Get under cover!� Girland snapped. �Quick!�

Worthington bolted into the cabin.

Girland and Jan stood under a tree, close to the cabin. They spotted one of the helicopters that was moving directly towards them.

�They�re pulling out all the stops,� Girland said.

�They won�t see us,� Jan returned quietly. �The trees cover the cabin. We�ll have to stay under cover while the sweep is on. They�re likely to spot any movement.�

The sound of the helicopter�s engine grew louder. Both men remained motionless, leaning against the trunk of the tree. The helicopter passed directly overhead, flying high and then the sound of its engine began to die away.

They looked at each other.

�They certainly think you�re important� Jan said. �Let�s have some coffee.�

Keeping under the trees, they made their way back to the cabin. The two girls were out of their bunks and looking tense. Worthington stood by the fire, holding cold, shaking hands towards the blaze.

�They won�t spot us,� Jan said soothingly. �Coffee ready?�

�In a minute,� Blanca said. She was very calm, but Mala was frightened. She crossed to Girland.

�Do you think we�ll get away?� she asked in a low, unsteady voice.

Girland patted her arm.

�Sure. We will now have to move at night and hide up during the day, that�s all there is to it.� He looked into her blue eyes. �You have nothing to be scared about so long as I�m with you.�

She hesitated, then smiled.

�I know... you really think we will get out?�

�Sure. It�ll be tricky but it can be done.� He resisted the temptation to put his arm around her seeing Worthington was watching them. She examined his hard, confident face, then she joined Blanca who was preparing the breakfast.

Catching Worthington�s smouldering glare, Girland winked at him before going to the cabin door where Jan was staring through the branches of the trees up at the sky.

�There are three helicopters now,� Jan said.

�We�ll have to move at night. If they are staging an operation this size, they will also have a lot of ground troops.�

Jan thought, then he said quietly, �They can�t know which direction we took. They�ll make a big circle around the farm and then close in.� He was looking worried.

Both men stiffened as they heard the approaching beat of the helicopter engines. This time the helicopter was flying at tree-top level. They caught a glimpse of it through the trees. It was circling a patch of forest some fifty kilometres from them.

�We�d better put the fire out,� Girland said. �It�s not giving off much smoke but as they�re flying this low, they could spot it.�

They moved back into the living-room of the cabin. The girls had heated two tins of sausages and the coffee was made. Jan damped down the fire, spreading the logs before joining the others at the table. The atmosphere was tense. They could hear the helicopter coming closer.

Suddenly it swooshed by the cabin, sending a violent gust of wind that ruffled Mala�s hair and made her stifle a scream.

Worthington turned a sickly grey. He put down the sausage he had just speared with his knife.

Girland glanced at Jan and Blanca. Neither of them showed any panic. He put his hand on Mala�s and gave it a reassuring pat.

�Think they�ve spotted us?� Blanca asked her husband.

�No... not at the speed they were going.� Jan looked at the fire that was smouldering. �There�s not enough smoke for them to see.� He cut into another sausage. �Looks as if they are covering the ground by a pattern. Probably they won�t be back this way.�

Worthington pushed aside his plate.

�That�s what you say!� His voice was husky with fear. �How do you know? We must get out of here... we�re in a trap!�

Girland helped himself to another sausage.

�These aren�t bad,� he said, ignoring Worthington. �They�d be better with a touch of chili sauce.�

Worthington jumped to his feet.

�Didn�t you hear what I said? We are in a trap!�

�I wouldn�t have thought so.� Girland said mildly. �These choppers have a psychological effect... they are meant to scare us.� The other three were staring at Worthington as he stood, shaking and frightened. �Suppose you and I take a look around? We�ll go down by the lower plateau. From there we can get a picture of the set-up.� He finished his sausage and his coffee, then got to his feet. �You others stay under cover. Come on, pal. Let�s take a look.�

Worthington hesitated, then as Jan got calmly to his feet and began to collect the empty coffee mugs, seeing Blanca looking away indifferently and Mala staring at him, her dismay at his behaviour plainly showing, he forced himself to follow Girland out of the cabin.

As they moved into the early morning sunshine, they heard the helicopter returning. Worthington was about to dart back into the cabin, but stopped as Girland continued on under the shade of the trees. Shaking, Worthington followed him. The helicopter droned by some three kilometres away.

�He wouldn�t still be patrolling if he had spotted us,� Girland said. �Come on, keep just behind me,� and he started down the long steep descent to the second plateau. As they slid down the path, they saw, from time to time, the other helicopters circling far away to their right and their left. It took them some ten minutes to reach the second plateau that gave them an uninterrupted view of the farm house far below them.

Even Girland was a little startled to see the mass of Army trucks parked in the narrow lane and the activity that was going on around the farm house. He squatted down on his heels, his back against a tree and motioned Worthington to join him. �They�ve certainly called out the troops,� he said.

Worthington looked with horror at the activity below. Even from this distance, he could see the soldiers were all armed with automatic weapons. He felt sweat start out on his face.

�I told you... we�re in a trap,� he said feverishly. �We�re mad to remain in the cabin. We�ll be surrounded.�

Girland began to feel sorry for this weak, frightened man.

�Have you any suggestions what we should do?� he asked quietly. �Here, have a cigarette. Let�s think about it.�

Worthington hesitated, then took the cigarette. His hands were shaking so violently, Girland had to light it for him.

�We must get out!� Worthington said. He took a drag on the cigarette, desperately trying to control his rising panic.

�Yes, but those boys up there would spot us. It�s too big a risk to move in daylight.�

�Then we must leave as soon as it is dark! We must! Even then we may be leaving it too late!�

They both heard the approaching beat of the helicopter�s engine. It was coming fast. Girland grabbed hold of Worthington and dragged him behind the tree, forcing him flat. The wind rustled the leaves of the trees as the helicopter roared overhead. Dry leaves and sand swirled up in the air from the suction of the propellers.

They lay still side by side, then Worthington said shakily, �You think I am a coward, don�t you? Well, I am. I admit it. It�s something I can�t do anything about. I would never have become an agent if I thought it would end like this. I needed the money. It seemed so easy. My pupils talked. I have the knack of knowing what is important and what isn�t. I was well paid for the information I gave Dorey. I�ve saved the money. It�s in Geneva.� He drew in a shuddering breath. �I don�t think now I�ll ever spend it. We�re trapped.�

�I wouldn�t bet on it,� Girland said cheerfully. �Those puppets down there are only kids. We�ll get out. We just have to be careful.�

�I have a feeling that I�m not going to get out,� Worthington said. �There�s something I want you to do for me.�

�You�ll get out,� Girland said, restraining his impatience with an effort. This man bored him.

�I�ve left all my money to Mala,� Worthington said. �If anything does happen to me, will you tell her? It is all arranged. She has only to go to the Credit Suisse Banque at Geneva, prove who she is and then they will give the money to her... it is a lot... sixty thousand dollars. It�s all for her.�

A little startled, Girland looked at him.

�Tell her yourself,� he said. �Why not?�

�Oh no. She might refuse it,� Worthington said miserably. �You see, she doesn�t love me. I mean nothing to her. It would embarrass her, but when I am dead, she will be glad to have the money... then she needn�t thank me for it.�

Girland shrugged.

�Don�t be so pessimistic. You�ll survive.�

Worthington was now watching the activity going on below. He saw army trucks, loaded with soldiers, driving away to the north.

�I know this district,� he said. �They are surrounding us. In a couple of hours we will be in a trap. Now�s the time to go.�

�On foot?� Girland�s question was slightly mocking. �How far do you imagine we can get in a couple of hours?�

�What are we going to do then?� Worthington asked in despair.

�We�ll find a way.� Girland was watching one of the helicopters. It was coming in to land. He watched it disappear behind a line of trees, some twenty kilometres down in the valley from where they were. �You say you know the district. Did you see where the chopper landed? Do you know how to get there?�

�Yes... there�s a big field behind those trees. Why?�

�Let�s get back,� Girland said and got to his feet. He began to climb to the upper plateau.

�I think he�s got us spotted,� Girland said, raising his voice above the roar of the truck�s engine. He was driving fast down a narrow lane, bordered either side by fir trees. Following Jan�s directions, he had turned off the main road soon after passing the roadblock. Now, a helicopter was circling overhead.

�We are within twenty kilometres of the frontier,� Jan said and glanced at his watch. �We have at least nine hours ahead of us before we can make the attempt to cross. We�d better leave the truck and use the forest path.�

Girland nodded. He could imagine the pilot overhead sending back a stream of radio reports. The net was getting uncomfortably tight.

�Tell me when.� After another five kilometres, with the helicopter still overhead, Jan said, �We�re coming to it now. A little bit further... now, stop!�

The lane had become even more narrow, and the trees formed a canopy, hiding the truck from the helicopter. Girland pulled up.

As they all descended to the road, Jan said, �This will have to be fast, and it�s going to be rough. They must be after us by now. Follow me.�

He slid down the bank and into the forest. Each of the three men carried an automatic rifle and a rucksack. Blanca had Girland�s automatic and a sack of canned food. Mala struggled with the blankets... it was as much as she could manage. They had left Worthington�s suitcase in the truck.

Girland kept dropping behind to help Mala, urging her on. He could hear Worthington panting as he forced himself to keep up with Jan�s pace.

During the next quarter of an hour they covered a lot of ground, then they came suddenly on a small, fast moving river.

�We�ll use this... they are certain to have dogs with them,� Jan said and slid down the bank into the water which came up to his knees. He started downstream, wading forward while the others followed him.

Girland had his arm around Mala and was forcing her along. Worthington began to fall behind. Jan didn�t look back. He kept on, knowing time was running out for them.

Very faintly they could hear the barking of dogs. Worthington, gasping, his face white with exhaustion, made an effort and began to catch up with Girland who was having trouble with Mala. She was clinging to him and she would have fallen if he hadn�t supported her.

After struggling through the water for a nightmare ten minutes, Jan headed for the bank again and grabbing hold of a tree branch, he hauled himself out on to the bank. He leaned down and helped Blanca out, then Girland passed Mala to him and turned to help Worthington.

They stood on the top of the bank, the trees forming a dense umbrella above them while they listened. They could hear the barking of dogs, but still in the distance. They could also hear the drone of the helicopter as it circled overhead, vainly trying to find them.

�Not much further,� Jan said, �then we can rest. Come on!�

He started down a narrow path, then abruptly turned off and plunged through undergrowth. They struggled after him, and after walking for a kilometre or so. Jan waved them to halt.

�There�s an airshaft to this mine quite close.� he said. �It wants some finding. Wait here,� and he moved off into the forest.

Mala dropped to the ground. She felt as if she could never move another step. Worthington too was exhausted and leaned against a tree.

After a five-minute wait, Jan returned.

�I�ve found it... let�s move.�

Girland helped Mala to her feet and the party moved off, following Jan. They came upon a mass of tangled undergrowth to the side of the path. Jan forced his way through, holding back the dead branches and the brambles so the girls could follow him. They finally came upon a large hole in the ground.

�This is it. It�s not deep,� Jan said, �and it leads into the mine. I�ll go first.� He sat on the edge of the hole, his feet dangling into darkness. �I�ll be at the bottom to catch you as you come,� and he slid out of sight.

A few minutes later, they were all standing in an inky black tunnel that dripped water. Girland lit a candle and they looked around. Mala shivered and put her hand on Girland�s arm for comfort.

Lighting another candle, Jan said briskly, �Follow me and watch your heads.�

Crouching, he started off down the tunnel.

It seemed to Mala they walked for hours then suddenly they came into a vast cave, and Jan thankfully put down his rifle.

�Here we are. We should be safe here for a day or so, then we will make the crossing. It would be too risky to try tonight. Do you agree?�

�I guess so,� Girland said. �But how do we get out of here?�

�The exit leads right to the frontier,� Jan said and blew out his candle. �Keep yours alight... one is enough.�

Thankfully they sat down on the dry sandy floor of the cave.

�Suppose we have something to eat?� Jan said.

Blanca began to unstrap one of her rucksacks. Girland found a can opener and opened the can of sausages Blanca gave him.

While they were beginning to eat, the pilot of the searching helicopter was radioing back to Smernoff.

Malik was pacing around the room. A radio engineer had rigged up a small loudspeaker so both he and Smernoff could follow the hunt.

The pilot reported that the truck had stopped in a forest on Map reference 15. Checking his map, Smernoff alerted the nearest patrol.

While waiting for their report, Smernoff leaned back in his chair and lit a cigarette. His face was lined with fatigue. He had been without sleep for thirty-six hours and even his iron constitution was beginning to feel the strain Malik came over to the table and stared down at the map. �They are within ten kilometres of the frontier,� he said. �Yes.� Smernoff flicked ash on to the floor. �Suk has moved additional troops there. The whole frontier is alert.� He looked up at Malik. �You want them alive. This gives them a chance to get across. Remember, my friend, it is your order to capture them alive. This means the guards, even if they see them, can�t shoot at them. So...�

Malik frowned.

�They have important information.�

Smernoff shrugged.

�They could get across. They now have automatic weapons. What do you expect our men to do if they are shot at? I told you... to try to capture Girland alive is impossible. If you think you can take such a risk, then at least, you give me a genuine excuse should I fail to catch them.�

�They must not get across,� Malik said.

�That is different. Then I have your permission to cancel your order to take them alive?�

Malik hesitated. He knew Kovski would engineer his disgrace if he let these people slip through his fingers. He also knew Kovski wanted the information the girl and Worthington had.

�Yes, cancel it,� he said finally. �They must not get across the frontier.�

�So now we are quite sure of stopping them,� Smernoff said. �Suk has fifty of the best riflemen at his disposal... each equipped with telescopic sights. They are already in position. They cover the whole length of the frontier where these people have to cross. Have a cigarette.� He put his pack of Benson & Hedges on the table. Then picking up the microphone, he began to talk. �Dead or alive,� he kept repeating. �Previous instructions cancelled. Repeat: dead or alive.�

As Malik lit the cigarette, he said, �I�m going out there. I�ll take a radio truck and keep in touch with you. Suk is a fool. I don�t trust him.�

�Please yourself,� Smernoff said. �They will probably have them before you get there.�

Malik stared at him and then went out into the warm sunshine. He got in the passenger�s seat of the radio truck and told the Sergeant to take him fast to section 15 on his map.

The Sergeant studied the map, nodded and started the engine.

�How long will it take?� Malik demanded.

�Two hours. Comrade... the roads are dangerous and narrow.�

�I will give you an hour and a half... then, if you are late, you will lose your rank.�

The Sergeant shrugged.

�I would prefer to lose my rank than my life Comrade.�

Malik smiled. It was not often that he smiled, but he appreciated frankness

�Very well... drive as fast as is safe.�

For the past hour, Malik had been sitting in the radio truck waiting and seething with fury. Next to him sat a Sergeant Radio Engineer, listening through headphones to a flood of messages coming to the truck. So far nothing of importance had come through. An officer at the farm house had sent a message to say that Smernoff had returned to Prague. Malik guessed Smernoff had gone after a map of the mine. In the meantime, he had to contain his impatience.

As he was lighting cigarette, he heard in the far distance a dull thump of an explosion. Then another. Then faint sounds of machine-gun fire. He stiffened to attention and looked at the Sergeant who was sitting forward, listening.

There was a long pause, then the Sergeant said something in Czech into the microphone strapped to his chest. He listened. Again he said something, then taking off his headphones, he turned to Malik, his face showing his excitement.

�There has been an attempt to cross the frontier. Comrade Malik,� he said. �A man and a woman have been killed by a mine. An investigation is now taking place.�

Girland? Malik wondered.

�I want a description of those two!� he said. �Get it!�

The Sergeant replaced his headphones. He flicked switches on his radio set, frowned, flicked more switches, waited, then shook his head.

�They have gone off the air Comrade,� he said finally.

�Keep trying!�

�A message coming in Comrade Smernoff to Comrade Malik,� the Sergeant said. �He wants to talk to you,� and he passed the headphones and the microphone to Malik.

�Boris?�

�Yes. I have a map of the mine. There are only two exits. One of them is completely blocked with water... the other leads directly to the minefield at the frontier.�

�They have already tried to cross. Two of them are dead,� Malik said. �Are you sure the second exit is blocked?�

�Yes... the tunnel is full of water.�

Malik thought for a brief moment.

�Come here and bring the map,� he said and handed back the headphones and the microphone to the Sergeant. �See if you can find out who these two dead are.�

The Sergeant juggled with switches. After a few moments, he got a reply. Turning to Malik he said, �The bodies are in the middle of the minefield. It will take some time to get to them. From what can be seen through the field glasses, the man is heavily built and the woman is blonde.�

Could it be Girland? Malik wondered. But if Girland was still alive, would he attempt to reach the Austrian frontier by the second exit? Smernoff had said the exit was blocked by water. Did that mean Girland couldn�t break out? Was he trapped in the mine?

There was nothing to do but to wait for Smernoff to arrive.

�Ask them how long it will take to clear the minefield,� Malik said.

The Sergeant again made contact with one of the watchtowers. After some moments of talking, he said to Malik, �About five hours. They have no mine detectors. These are coming. The clearance will be dangerous and slow.�

Malik had some experience of frontier hazards. The possible delay came as no surprise. Five hours! If Girland was alive, he could do a lot in that time. He might even escape!

He got out of the truck and began to pace up and down the narrow lane, smoking cigarette after cigarette.

Smernoff arrived two hours later. He had been driving like a lunatic and twice he had nearly skidded into a ditch. Even Malik was startled to see him so soon. He had thought Smernoff couldn�t possibly have made the journey under two and a half hours.

�Let me see the map,� Malik said, striding to Smernoff�s dusty car as Smernoff got out.

Smernoff handed him the map. Using his flashlight and spreading the map on the hot hood of the car. Malik examined it.

�There are two exits. You see this second one comes out three hundred metres inside the Austrian border. But I am told it is completely blocked.� Smernoff indicated on the map the two exits.

�What does that mean... completely blocked?� Malik demanded.

�There is water in the tunnel for at least four kilometres.�

�Girland would think nothing of swimming four kilometres!�

Smernoff grinned.

�The water is stagnant, oily and full of water rats. They would eat him alive. Besides, there is a concentration of gas in the tunnel.�

�How do you know?� Malik snapped.

�They made a test six months ago. The gas is lethal.�

�It could have evaporated by now.�

Smernoff shrugged.

�Experts have told me the tunnel is impassable. You either believe them or you don�t.�

�If we were dealing with anyone but Girland, I would believe it. Girland is different. If there is the slightest chance of escaping, he will escape.�

�So what are you going to do?�

Malik moved away from the car while he thought. Then he returned and studied the map.

�The second exit is here,� he said, putting his thick finger on the map. �That is where I�m going to be when � if � he comes out.�

Smernoff stared at him.

�Are you mad? You can�t touch him in Austria!�

�I can wait by the exit... it is only three hundred metres from the frontier. If he comes out, I will kill him. Before the Austrian guards arrive, I�ll be back this side.�

�It�s madness!�

�Girland is not to escape!�

Smernoff hesitated, then shrugged.

�Very well. Then I�ll come with you.�

�No. You must stay on this side. When you hear shooting, you must organise my return. The electricity must be cut off. A path must be made for me through the minefield. I don�t trust these fools to do the job properly. You must see to it.�

�You don�t even know Girland will come out by this second exit,� Smernoff pointed out. �You could be risking your life for nothing.�

�That is a chance I am prepared to take. If he doesn�t break out, then he will be trapped in the mine. As soon as the minefield has been cleared, we send troops into the mine. But I am taking no chances. Now we will go to the frontier post where the bodies are. We�re wasting time here.�

He slid under the wheel of Smernoff�s car and started the engine, Smernoff got in beside him.

The car shot away down the narrow lane, leaving a cloud of dust behind it.

See You Have Yourself A Deal (French title La Blonde de Pekin).